Reading Time: 135 Minutes
Title: A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Annwn
Author: Aussiefan70
Fandom: Harry Potter
Genre: Humor, Supernatural
Relationship(s): Gen
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Major Character Death, Violence-Against Children/Child Abuse. Mild character bashing, Ambiguous ending
Author Note:
Beta: Rachel (Raechem), SASundance
Word Count: 53500
Summary: Amelia Bones is killed by Death Eaters in the summer before Harry Potter’s 6th year at Hogwarts, but Fate intervenes and she’s being given the chance to go back. She gets to see a number of scenarios where her intervention might change Harry’s life for the better, and she’s going to have to make a choice. Fortunately, she’ll be ably assisted by a co-conspirator of the avian kind.
Artist: Kylia
Artist Appreciation: A big shout out to Kylia for the great art work, and lots of it! Not to mention character casting advice as well. Many thanks!
Prologue
It was August 13th, 1996, when everything changed. For the second time, really, as the first time had happened fifteen years ago, when her sister-in-law, unborn nephew and two uncles were caught unaware, when Voldemort and his Death Eaters had attacked the ancestral Bones family home, Pebblebrook House, killing them all and leaving the manor in smouldering ruins. She and her niece, along with her brother, had only survived thanks to having gone shopping in Muggle Cardiff that afternoon and stopping for an early dinner as they were running seriously late.
Unfortunately, when the Death Eaters came calling this time, Amelia Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (DMLE) in Britain’s Ministry of Magic, was at her own home, Holly Lodge. As her last thought sped through her head and the sickly green colour of Avada Kedavra came flying her way, she could only be thankful that her niece Susan, her daughter in all but blood, was staying with her best friend Hannah Abbot for a few days before heading back for their 6th year at Hogwarts. While she rued not being able to give Susan her last farewell, she could only be grateful that her niece was somewhere safe.
≈◆≈◆≈
“Croeso, Amelia,” came the soft greeting from somewhere in front of her. If the Welsh word for welcome hadn’t given this unknown woman’s origins away, the lilting tone of the valleys would have done it for her.
The words had startled her into wakefulness, and finding herself on her hands and knees on a pristine white flagstone floor, with a warm light suffusing the room, the whole situation beggared belief.
“What? Where am I?” Amelia shook her head in an attempt to clear her confusion, still unmoved from her prone position.
The woman’s voice came again, “We are in Annwn, my dear.” She might have meant to say more, but Amelia was trying madly to put the pieces together in her own mind. If only to distract her from the need to move just yet, given some part of her was utterly convinced that to do so would open the door to considerable pain.
“The Otherworld?” came the perplexed response.
Clapping her hands with delight at Amelia’s understanding, “Ah, you’ve been keeping in touch with your Welsh roots¹, I’m glad to see, Amelia o’r Buan.”
Now she was becoming drawn into this rather perturbing, yet fascinating, discussion, that had yet to explain anything of how she’d arrived here, Amelia responded, “My family hasn’t gone by that name in many generations. It’s rather nice to hear it used again. But, I’m a bit confused about who you might be and how I got here.”
“Forgive me, my name is Marwolaeth², this is the Otherworld, and I’m here to bid you welcome.”
That set Amelia back a little. Her Welsh might be pretty rusty these days, but anyone who was raised with the traditional stories knew that word meant death. She finally pushed back onto her heels, then collapsed onto her backside on the solid floor. Looking at the incarnation before her, she wasn’t exactly the personification of death she might have been expecting.
The rather attractive woman before her looked to be about the same age as Amelia, with the characteristic peaches-and-cream complexion of those born in the Welsh valleys. She was dressed in a simple silver gown, shot through with the finest threads showing all the colours of the rainbow. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back from her face, into a low ponytail, held there by a bejewelled silver clasp. Indeed no, this was not who she’d expected to greet her on the other side, not in the slightest.
The silver clad woman smiled gently at her, then began to speak. “Please call me Mari, it’s much easier to say,” death’s representative began. “I see you’re a bit surprised that I am the one to greet you, Amelia, dear. You were perhaps expecting my Greek cousin, Thanatos?”
Amelia only nodded in response, still rather befuddled to be encountering anyone but her lost family members at this moment.
“Ah, well, Thanny…he hates it when we call him that, so of course we do it at every opportunity…we had a bit of a fight over which of us would get this job. He doesn’t realise just how predictable he is in a game of rock, parchment, knife, so I managed to beat him yet again. Anyway, I rather strongly felt that this situation needed a woman’s touch, and poor Thanny, though he tries, isn’t exactly known for his tact and delicacy.”
Amelia was still rather bewildered and wondering if she was dead. Or had someone slipped her what one of her Muggleborn Aurors once described as a Mickey Finn.
“Oh, no, you are dead, my dear. Mostly, I suppose…well, it’s a bit complicated really. Come, sit down. We have much to discuss.” A pair of comfortable armchairs appeared before the women, at a sweep of Mari’s hand. Amelia gratefully planted herself in one, taking up the mug of tea that popped into being along with a small side table to rest it on. Dead or not, she was indeed an Englishwoman and there was no time in which tea would be considered inappropriate. Particularly when it was her favourite Darjeeling, if the aroma was anything to go by.
Having taken a fortifying sip or two, Amelia directed her gaze at the entity before her. “To be truthful, if I can remember the old Welsh traditions and stories told to me by my Great Granny Elspeth, I would have expected to be met by Arawn, as the harbinger of death.” She was beginning to regain a bit of her self-assurance.
“Oh, Great-Uncle Arawn retired about a century or so ago. He figured a couple of millenia in just one job was enough for anybody. So the family took a vote and I got the position. My name isn’t actually Marwolaeth, you know. It’s just a professional nom-de-plume, I guess you’d call it. Unfortunately, my contract doesn’t let me share my real name.”
Amelia could only shake her head, in a touch of disbelief. Why did the crazy stuff always happen to her? Still, it seemed real enough so she figured she might as well play along for now.
“Does this mean you need something from me, Mari?” Might as well go straight to the point.
“Well, yes. Though, you’re not obligated, of course. You’re perfectly welcome to move all the way into the Otherworld. Just say the word. However, you are uniquely suited to help us intervene in this situation, so I thought it best to catch you immediately when it’s much easier to send you back.”
“I could go back?” Amelia asked, barely able to contain her hope. Amidst her desire to be there to finish raising Susan, she also wanted to sort out Voldemort and his Death Eaters once and for all.
“That’s the attitude we hoped you would have. You are a powerful witch, in a position to make great change. We would like to see that happen.” Mari was clearly picking up on Amelia’s thoughts and yet it didn’t feel intrusive, not like the times she’d experienced Legilimency.
Mari continued, “There is a child of destiny who needs your assistance. He’s been denied every opportunity to learn how to fulfill his role in your world, and is continually used as a whipping boy by more people than I care to list at the moment.”
Somehow, Mari’s tone of voice suggested that the ‘whipping’ she talked about might be literal as well as metaphorical.
“The only boy I can think of to meet that description would be Harry Potter. So the rumours of a prophecy are true?” Never let it be said that Amelia Bones was slow on the uptake.
“Something like that. And unfortunately, at this point, the prophecy is almost irrelevant. The expectations of everyone around him, including his nemesis, will push him into that role no matter what. We’d like to increase his chances of both getting the job done and getting out alive at the other end of things. It is much too soon for that young man to be joining us. And frankly, the poor lad deserves to have a bit of joy in his life and have the opportunity to grow up and live a little.” Mari offered a sweet smile at the end of her statement. It was clear she had quite the soft spot for the teenage boy.
“All right, I’m in.” Truth be told, she’d had a great deal of compassion for Harry since Lily and James had been killed. And if the rumours Susan shared, and that went around the Ministry, were true, he’d not lived an easy life, both before and since his return to the Wizarding world. She was definitely on board with this plan. “So how do we do this?”
“I have determined three points, since receiving his Hogwarts letter, that would have let your lives intersect quite naturally. You will be able to see how you could conduct your initial approach and some short term consequences from there. Unfortunately, we can’t show you how things will eventually turn out. The minute you make the first change, things will ripple out from there. What eventually happens will be as much of a surprise to us as it will be to you.”
Amelia nodded, clearly considering Mari’s words. “What you say makes sense. So what happens after I’ve seen each option?”
“We will send you back to the time that you’ve picked. You won’t remember our discussions here, but you will have a strong drive to champion young Harry…and we will give you an ally to help move things in the direction we would see them go.”
“Sounds reasonable to me. So who would this ally be?”
“You may laugh when I show you her picture.” Suddenly, an image of a gorgeous female snowy owl appeared in Amelia’s head.
“An owl?” Confusion and disbelief warred for expression on her face.
“Ah, this is not just any owl. Meet Hedwig, Harry’s ridiculously smart best friend and familiar. She is more loyal than any human he has ever met, and there’s a special communication that exists between the two of them. It’s been there from the moment they first set eyes on each other. I will warn you, though, she’s very much the mother hen to Harry, so don’t cross her. It won’t be pretty,” Mari finished with a chuckle.
Deciding that an overprotective owl who was psychically connected to the boy wasn’t that weird, given how the rest of her day had gone, all things considered, Amelia just rolled with it. “So what comes next? I think I’m going to need some actual details now.”
“You’ll see each opportunity in which the situation for Harry could have gone better with your help and with you being on his side. You will see where you might intervene to some degree and how you would shape your actions to make things different from the past, as if you’d really been there in that time. Hedwig will nudge and guide Harry as needed, along with passing messages as any mail owl would. Once you get to the point that the future becomes too difficult to predict, the next scenario will appear before you in your mind. After the last one is done, it will be up to you to make a decision and we will send you back to that time, then watch eagerly to see how it all plays out.”
That all made sense if one disregarded the fact that this entire meeting was utterly bizarre, so Amelia settled back into her comfortable armchair, grabbed her mug of tea (with endless cup and warming charms it seemed), and within moments was ready to begin.
With a nod and a wave of her hand, Mari proclaimed, “On with the show!” as she faded from view.
≈◆≈◆≈
Author’s notes:
Please forgive any errors in the Welsh I used here. Google Translate and I were doing our best.
¹ Buan is a small community with a couple of villages on the Llŷn Peninsula in northwest Wales. It lies about five miles inland, as the broom flies, from Bardsey Island, which some consider to be the lost home of Avalon. It has housed a small, hidden magical community since before the time of Hogwarts founding. Those from the area, the o’r Buan, have seen their name become anglicised over the centuries, with the surname Bones becoming the most common variant. Despite this name shift, some of the still existent magical families teach their children to be bilingual, using both English and Welsh. But thanks to the decimation of many wizarding families through three wars in less than sixty years, this is a dying tradition.
² Marwolaeth: Near as I can approximate the pronunciation: Mar-wol-lice with a hint of a lisp to that soft ‘c’ at the end.
≈◆≈◆≈
Chapter One – One Of Our Platforms Is Missing
Platform nine and three-quarters was clearly NOT a British Rail standard platform designation, the young boy with the snowy owl in her cage and a large trunk huffed. It didn’t help that Uncle Vernon, totally ready to be shot of the ‘Freak’ that inhabited his home, had dragged him out of bed at five that morning and they’d been on the road, his uncle having eaten the bacon and eggs the boy had cooked, shortly after six.
So the tiny eleven year old known as Harry Potter had been dumped off outside of Kings Cross station in London just before half seven that morning. And while Uncle Vernon had stuffed himself with a second breakfast (two bacon and egg McMuffins with two hash browns, and a muffin with jam) at a drive through McDonalds on the way into the city, he’d certainly not bothered to offer the Freak so much as a hash brown or muffin with jam for himself.
By eight o’clock, the young lad and his owl had thoroughly explored Kings Cross station and hadn’t seen the slightest clue as to where they might find the access to the Hogwarts Express platform. He tucked himself into a nook located off in the side area that serviced the higher numbered platforms and decided a chat with his owl was the next step, absent any other ideas coming to mind.
“So what do you think, girl? Wait around to see if someone magical-looking shows up and take our chances that way? Or, hmmm, I guess you could find someone to help me. But…..who? I don’t know anyone.”
The owl peered back at the boy pensively, tipping her head to an almost ninety-degree angle. Harry dredged through his memories of what Hagrid had told him about mail owls and their abilities.
“If yeh tell ’em a name or give clear directions abou’ the place yeh’re sending ’em ter, they can find practically anyone who’s not hidden behind some sort o’ protective spells,” the big man had said.
That gave him a starting point at least, Harry considered. Thinking out loud, he contemplated his options.
“Well, there’s Hogwarts, I guess, but it’s all the way to Scotland and could you get there in three hours?” The snowy owl distinctly shook her head no.
“Hmm, then I guess it would have to be someone I met in Diagon Alley? Though I don’t know how much help they’d be. Ummm, let me think. There was, oh, what was the goblin’s name at Gringotts. Oh, Griphook. Any help, girl?” A subtle owl head shake was the response.
“Hmm, there was Madam Malkin and Mr Ollivander. Oh, and Tom at the Leaky Cauldron? Any good?”
Yet another owlish head shake. None of those could take care of her boy.
At that point, one of the transport police officers wandered by. He was an older gentleman, who looked like he perhaps had grandkids of his own. There was a genial question of, “All right there, lad?” to which the aforementioned lad nodded vigorously, before the officer moved on.
The snowy owl gave a clear double hoot right after the policeman walked off. Not to call him back, but to draw her young owner’s attention to the idea that law enforcement might be able to help. Magical law enforcement that is.
“Oooh, good idea, girl. Only…I don’t know any magical policemen. Still…when I heard the news reports on the telly from my cupboard, it seemed like it was always the Chief Constable running things. Could I send you off to whoever that person is in the magical world? Would you be able to find someone?”
A strongly affirmative-sounding chirrup and a nodding head indicated that Hedwig would have everything in hand (well, talon) if Harry was to write such a letter and give her leave to deliver it to just the right person.
“All right then, girl. Let me grab my stuff out of my trunk. Oh blimey, I’m going to have to write for the first time with a quill and it’s going to go to the head magical copper. It’ll look awful, I know it will.”
An unblinking owl stare seemed to say, ‘Will it get the job done, even if it’s messy?’
“Erm, yeah, I guess. And now I’m answering you as if you can speak. I think I’m losing it, Hedwig,” he finished somewhat humorously.
This stare was distinctly different from the first. It certainly reinforced the sense that, though they might not share a language, Hedwig was perfectly capable of getting her message across.
Harry’s hurried, “Yes ma’am. Message received and understood,” turned the owl’s look from an indignant glare to something akin to an indulgent smile. Her boy could, it seemed, take instruction.
Bending down, Harry opened his trunk, fished around until he located parchment, ink and quills, then flipped the lid shut to use as an impromptu writing desk. “It’s not like primary school, where you can ask someone to turn around so you can use their back as a writing surface. Yours is a bit small for that, Hedwig.”
The indignant bark he got for his cheek needed no translation, not in the least.
“All right, what should I say? I know.” He began to laboriously write out his letter.
Dear Magical Police Chief Constable (sorry if I have the name wrong),
My name is Harry Potter and I’m stuck at Kings Cross Station and can’t find my way onto platform 9¾. My uncle left after he dropped me and my owl off at the kerb, so I can’t ask him (not that he’d know, not being magical or a fan of anything magical at all).
Hagrid from Hogwarts, who took me school shopping and gave me my train ticket, forgot to tell me how to get onto the platform. I also don’t know if any of the British Rail people know about magic or who would be safe to ask.
Sorry to be such a bother, but would it be possible for you to send somebody before eleven o’clock, so I don’t miss the train?
I’m sitting with my owl and my trunk against the wall opposite track ten.
Thanks so much,
Harry Potter
As he’d been talking as he wrote, Hedwig gave an approving hoot, as Harry folded the parchment up and addressed the outside.
“Okay girl, see what you can do with this. If they want to write back, can you wait around a bit and see? Just don’t miss the train,” he finished fondly, “I need my best friend riding along with me.”
Hedwig preened at those words, whilst holding out her foot for the missive. Taking flight, she swooped through the open topped entrance to platform ten in front of them, darted down its length and out of the other end above the tracks. Innate mail owl magic meant that they all knew where the key magical locations were in Britain: Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic, and the latter was where she was headed.
Being a very clever post owl, she outsmarted all the normal procedures to ensure that mail was checked through security before being delivered and she dropped down onto the desk of Head Auror, Rufus Scrimgeour, quite out of the blue on his normally quiet Sunday morning. Her sudden appearance startled him enough that he missed the teacup that he was spooning sugar into.
Taking the letter from her proffered claw, and still shaking his head, Scrimgeour quickly read its contents and responded with a heartfelt, “Bloody hell!”
Seeing the snowy owl still sitting on his desk, he quickly penned a response, realising that was what she was waiting for.
Stay where you are and avoid talking to any Muggles about the platform. I’ll get someone to you as soon as possible. Don’t worry, you won’t miss the train.
Rufus Scrimgeour
Head Auror
Department of Magical Law Enforcement’
Rufus was counting his blessings that he’d decided to come into work for a couple of hours that morning, to clear his desk. Goodness knows what might have happened to the boy if the letter had gone anywhere else. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the Senior Auror on duty that day and was totally incorruptible in his boss’s mind, but if he’d been called out on a case? He just shook his head at what might have happened then. He wasn’t naive; he knew almost certainly that there were supporters of Voldemort still within the department. If one of those had gotten their hands on this letter first, the Boy Who Lived might have forever disappeared without a trace.
He called Shacklebolt into his office and asked him to take a seat, wanting the Senior Auror to hear what was going on. Taking a pinch of Floo powder and leaning into the fireplace as he threw it, Scrimgeour called out, “Madam Bones, Holly Lodge.”
A harassed looking Amelia Bones’ face soon appeared within the green flames. “Rufus, I’m trying to get Susan finished with her packing and onto the Express by eleven. What is so bloody critical that you need me on the only day I’ve deliberately taken off all year?” The DMLE Head wasn’t joking; she rarely took time off and in fact, was frequently another of the ones found clearing her paperwork backlog on a Sunday morning.
Scrimgeour replied, “Just got a letter you need to know about. I’ve got Kingsley here with me as well.” He proceeded to read Harry’s letter out loud, much to the dismay of both his listeners when he was done.
Taking charge quickly, Bones gave clear directions to all. “Kingsley, get straight to Kings Cross and take the boy through the barrier. Find a secluded spot then wait with him. Send me a Patronus message of where exactly you’re hiding out.” Shacklebolt sketched a salute and quickly departed, not needing to say anything else at that point.
Amelia continued, “Rufus, start going through the Ministry records. Dumbledore has been telling us for ten years that Potter’s been safely secluded in the Muggle world, but also getting trained in what he needs to know. That letter suggests to me that he’s not entirely safe, or welcomed at least, and certainly not familiar with our world if he sent Hagrid to make an introduction. Sorry to send you on a paperwork hunt, but it sounds like there’s much more we need to know about where and how the boy has lived for the last decade.”
“I can’t argue with you on any of that, boss,” the Head Auror replied. “And to be truthful, I’d like to keep this information as contained as possible right now. If this turns into a full investigation, as I think it will, we don’t need that to get back to certain ears.”
“I agree. I’ll be into the office after eleven, when I’ve seen Susan off to Hogwarts. We’ll play divide and conquer on the paperwork search then. Thanks for jumping right on top of the situation; this could have turned into an utter nightmare,” she finished then turned her face away as she exited the fire call. As her image disappeared, he could hear her shout, “Bronty, help Susan finish packing. We need to get to Kings Cross in the next half hour. And there’ll be no arguments about that!”
Rufus chuckled a little at his boss’s peremptory demands to her house-elf, and by extension, her niece. Amelia Bones was not a woman to be crossed, even by family. Still snickering, he began a list of departmental records that needed to be searched, and considered which of his Muggle colleagues to approach to check what records were available about the boy. Perhaps, he contemplated, it was a very good thing that this was a Sunday. Most Ministry Departments ran a skeleton staff over the weekends. There’d be a lot less nosy people sticking their beaks into this investigation, at least for one more day, that is. There were many ways this thing could indeed become a nightmare, he thought, echoing Bones’ words. The rest of the day would be spent doing his best to avoid as many of those as possible.
≈◆≈◆≈
Hedwig quickly returned to the station, being careful to dodge the outgoing train from platform ten, then swooped through the exit into the station proper and back to her boy. He took the letter she carried with alacrity and swiftly read the message.
“You’re absolutely brilliant, Hedwig. Look at you! You’ve only been gone half an hour and you’ve already got help on the way.”
Hedwig’s countenance clearly showed her pride in the boy’s comments.
“So it seems that the police are called Aurors in the magical world,” Harry mused. Hedwig nodded again; she had so much that she could teach her boy about this new world he was living in. Just as long as he asked the right yes and no questions. He seemed to be doing well with the idea so far, and to her mind was eminently trainable.
Harry, unaware that Hedwig was taking him on as a project, replaced his writing materials back in his trunk and did his best to make himself presentable. Dudley’s oversized grey school pants, held up with a frayed length of rope, along with a holey t-shirt from when the Dursleys took his cousin to Brighton, leaving Harry with Mrs Figg, didn’t offer too many options to improve their presentability. Nor did the beaten-up, two-sizes-too-large flannel overshirt and trainers improve things, but he was stuck with what he’s got. Hedwig popped onto his shoulder and began trying to groom the disarrayed mess that was her boy’s hair, but soon gave up in frustration, when nothing stayed in place.
“Sorry, girl,” Harry responded, “I’ve never been able to get it to lie flat either.”
The station clock was showing quarter to ten when Harry was surprised to see a tall, bald-headed black man appear without warning from the brick pillar between platforms nine and ten. He’d been engrossed in his first year Book of Spells textbook as he waited and had only looked up at that moment by chance. The man, dressed in neatly pressed jeans with a greyish-blue long sleeved henley with the sleeves pushed up to the elbow, approached cautiously. He got within a few feet and using a voice that wouldn’t carry, asked, “Are you Harry Potter?”
“Yes,” Harry replied. “Did Mr Scrimgeour send you?”
“Indeed he did, Mr Potter.”
“Oh, it’s just Harry. I’m thinking Mr Potter was my dad. And seeing as I can’t remember him and only Hagrid has ever told me anything about him, I don’t know whether he would have liked being called Mr Potter or not.”
Kingsley made note of that comment and resolved to show the memory of this encounter to Bones and Scrimgeour both. “Oh, I suppose I should introduce myself. I’m Senior Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt and work for Rufus Scrimgeour, who’s my immediate boss, as well as Madam Amelia Bones, who’s the head of the entire Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She asked me to get you into a safe spot on the platform and she’ll be here herself to check into things in the next half hour or so. Her niece Susan is another first year, so she was going to be sending her off anyway. I know she wants to meet you.”
“Oh, I don’t want to be any bother,” Harry replied.
“For the Boy Who Lived? She’d go to much more trouble than that,” responded the older wizard.
“Ugh, I can see I’m going to be hating that name pretty quickly,” was the muttered answer. Kingsley filed that response away as well. It was yet another sign that Harry had received little to no training about the magical world as yet.
Shrugging to dispel any tension, the Auror said with a wink, “Well, we’ll leave that to those who have bigger pay cheques than you and me. Want to feel what it’s like to walk through a solid brick wall?”
“Oh yeah! Definitely!” the orphaned boy exclaimed. “That would be totally wicked.”
It took no time for Harry to stow away his Charms book in his trunk. Making sure Hedwig’s cage was secure on the trolley, then following Kingsley’s instructions, he faced up to the brick pillar, screwed up his courage and pushed forward at a good rate of knots. In the blink of an eye, he found himself on a platform bearing a sign, 9¾. There was no train there as yet, but the Auror who’d followed through closely behind mentioned that the train usually pulled in at ten, to allow early arrivals to pick a carriage and stow their trunks. The tall man pointed toward an arched recess to the side of the platform and they both moved over to take advantage of the relative seclusion.
“That’ll stop us getting run over by overenthusiastic students coming through the wall,” he joked. “I’d better let the boss lady know you’re safe and sound.” At that, the Auror pulled out his wand from what seemed like a normal-sized jeans pocket. Seeing Harry gape at that, he said, “Expansion Charm. Dead useful, can’t remember what year Flitwick teaches it, but it’s very handy.” He then pointed his wand, called out, “Expecto Patronum.”
A shining silvery lynx appeared from the tip of the wand. Kingsley gave the command, “Go to Madam Bones and tell her Harry Potter is safe with me and we’re in the third alcove on the left.” The lynx flittered out of sight, leaving Harry to stare in utter astonishment.
“I’m going to spend my first month at Hogwarts totally gobsmacked at what you can do with magic, aren’t I?”
Kingsley just smiled and agreed. “Probably longer than that. You’ve got a fun learning curve ahead of you.” He shifted topics. “So we have about half an hour to kill before Madam Bones will be here. What shall we do to kill time? Oh, wait you must have left pretty early to be here at the time you did, unless you live right here in London. Did you even get a chance to eat breakfast?”
“Err…no. I cooked for Uncle Vernon like usual, but it’s rather hit and miss if I’m allowed a piece of toast. My uncle was pretty ticked about having to drive here from Little Whinging, so my odds were never too good today.”
“We definitely need to get you fed then. Do you feel safe leaving your trunk here for a few minutes while we head back into the station to find some food?” Kingley pulled out a distinctly Muggle wallet and looked to see what cash he had on hand. It was a good thing he kept a couple of Muggle outfits, not to mention some pounds and loose change, in his locker for times like this.
“I think it’ll be okay. Hedwig will kick up a great row if someone tries to mess with my stuff. But, I don’t have any money except for a few Galleons left over from my school shopping.” There was a worried look on the boy’s face.
“Don’t you worry about that. The boss let me raid the Auror emergency fund,” he said with a cheeky grin. The last thing Shacklebolt would do is admit to spending his own money. He sensed the boy had quite a bit of pride in managing for himself, no matter how limited his resources might be.
Passing back into the station, they headed for a cafe that seemed to offer a variety of breakfast options, along with snacks and sandwiches. Following a quick trip to the loo that is, Kingsley having tossed a twenty pence coin at Harry. The duo ordered a ham and cheese toastie each, then Kingsley insisted on stocking the boy up for the train ride, with two roast beef and salad sandwiches, along with a scone with jam and clotted cream for afters. Harry tried to protest, but eventually gave in. About to grab the bag with their food, along with two teas in foam cups and a couple of bottles of water and soft drinks for the long ride, Kingsley had a last-minute thought and asked for half a dozen cooked rashers of bacon to be wrapped and added to the total. “Hedwig will love the bacon, trust me!” he whispered in Harry’s ear.
A little bamboozled by being presented with so much food, for just one day, Harry followed along as they returned to the platform and their quiet niche. Hedwig did indeed like bacon, and seemed to grant Kingsley second-best-boy status when she allowed him to gently pet her through the open door of her cage. The bacon was soon demolished, as said first and second favourite boys followed the owl’s example by polishing off the toasties in pretty short order as well.
When Harry went to open his trunk to store the food for the ride, Kingsley suggested, “Stick the food in your book bag, along with anything you might want to read on the train. I can shrink your robes and put an anti-wrinkling charm on them. You will be able to resize them with just a tap of your wand when you get close to Hogsmeade. It’ll save you having to get your trunk up and down from the luggage rack during the trip.”
“Book bag? That wasn’t on the school equipment list. Hagrid and I just got what was on the list.” Harry was alarmed at the oversight. He rummaged through his trunk some more. He’d used one of Dudley’s old torn up backpacks to keep all his Potions things together. Lifting it out of the trunk, he asked Kingsley, “Would this maybe work instead? My cousin got a new one so he dumped it in his second bedroom. I ah…borrowed it to use for my potions stuff.”
The older man didn’t quite know how to respond to that. The backpack seemed to only have one intact strap and a couple of safety pins were making do for the obviously broken zipper. And that was without even touching on the fact that his relatives had clearly done little to nothing to prepare him for school. He took in Harry’s clothing then, the fact it was worn and oversized, and knew he’d be having a long talk with both Scrimgeour and Bones after he put Harry on the train. Things were decidedly rotten in the magical state of Denmark.
“Might not hold up to the job really well. Let me pop out to see if there’s a luggage shop and if I can find something that’ll do the trick.” He dashed for the barrier before Harry could find the words to protest.
“Well girl, it seems that we’re going to have to accept all this help gracefully. I don’t think I’m being given any choice.” Harry wryly chuckled at his own words as Hedwig nodded her agreement. Not that she was unhappy that someone was finally taking care of her boy.
Meanwhile, Kingsley had ducked into a dark corner outside the barrier, threw up a Notice-Me-Not charm and followed that with another Patronus message to Bones. “If you have a spare, even a secondhand book bag, please bring it with you. The kid has only the bare minimum of what he needs.” Half a minute later, a silver hedgehog returned with an answer. “My elf is getting a bag in Diagon with all necessary spells and will deliver it to the platform. ETA for both of us is fifteen minutes.”
Relieved that issue was sorted, the Auror returned to his charge. “Couldn’t find anything that would do the trick. Madam Bones is sending one with her house-elf, and she herself will be here in about a quarter of an hour.”
Before Harry could even begin to ask what a house-elf was, a small greenish coloured creature, wearing a black tunic and pants, with enormous eyes and ears to match, appeared in front of them clutching a leather satchel. He presented it, saying, “For Harry Potter sir, compliments of Mistress Bonesie.” The elf then popped straight back out, before the boy could say a word, not that he was sure what to say.
“That was Bronty, house-elf to Madam Bones. They’re very efficient creatures, aren’t they?”
“Err, yeah,” was about all Harry could manage in reply, before Kingsley began to show him all the features of his new bag. They fished a quill, parchment and ink out of the trunk, just in case he needed to write anything down on the train, then added the Charms book and one on the history of magic to the bag, along with the remaining food and drinks, and finally the shrunken robes. Harry marvelled over the space expansion and Featherlite charms, while the Auror explained what some of the specialty pockets were intended to store. It really was quite a magnificent creation, in the boy’s opinion.
By the time the bag was full and the trunk reorganised, there was the sound of someone coming through the barrier. First through, pushing a cart with a trunk and a cat in a carrier, was a red-headed girl who seemed about Harry’s age, followed closely by a greying, short haired woman wearing a monocle. Rather than startling a boy who was virtually unused to magic, Amelia had arrived at an Apparition point just near the station, and then came through the entrance primarily used by Muggleborn students and their families.
Noting the severe look on his boss’s face, well known in the department to mean she was royally ticked off, Kingsley leaned down and reassured Harry. “Don’t worry if she is pretty direct and looks to be or acts rather harshly, okay? It’s mostly a front to keep the blokes in the department in line, the ones who don’t like working for a woman. She’s very fair and will always hear you out.” Harry just nodded, running out of time to say anything as the Bones ladies approached.
Amelia Bones put her hand out for Harry to shake the moment they walked up. “Mr Potter? I’m Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Good to meet you. Glad we could help you out of a tight spot. Let me introduce my niece Susan, who will be starting Hogwarts this year as well.”
Having shaken Madam Bones’ hand, Harry then gave an awkward wave and slightly shy hello to her niece. It’s not like he’d ever had the chance to meet other children around his age all that much, particularly ones who weren’t bullied by Dudley so as to make him a pariah in their school.
Spotting the satchel on top of Harry’s trunk, Amelia commented, “Oh good, Bronty got that to you in time. Do you happen to have your school supply list? I’d like to compare it to Susan’s. I suspect you received the one for those raised in the magical world, rather than the Muggle. Which would be much less than helpful to you but certainly correctable. And Bronty truly loves to shop, so if you need anything, he’d be off like a shot to hit the various stores,” she offered confidingly. “Might save him from going into shopping withdrawal, with Susan off to school. Goodness knows he thinks my wardrobe is a hopeless case.” That last comment had everybody smiling; it was hard to avoid connecting with someone who could make fun of herself so deprecatingly well.
“But how would I pay for anything? I don’t even know if my vault has enough money in it to get me all the way through school.”
Amelia’s genial presence shifted to that of an investigator right there, though she was careful to mask that from the boy. He appeared stressed by these unfamiliar situations already and didn’t need any more on his plate at the moment.
Gently, she asked, “Do you have your vault key? I could help to put you in touch with one of the Goblin account managers, if I have your permission and your vault number.”
“Hagrid had my key when he brought me to Diagon Alley, and then took it back after we went to the vault. Was I supposed to keep it? I don’t know that Hagrid would have been happy if I’d tried to keep it.”
“Hmm,” she replied, “don’t worry too much about that now. We can always cover what you need, and sort all the details out over the Christmas break. The Potters are an older and relatively well-to-do family, so barring some form of absolute disaster, I’m sure you’re good for it,” Amelia finished with a smile.
As she’d talked, she’d also been looking over the two lists; Harry indeed had gotten the one for the magically raised students. “Just as I thought, you got the wrong list. Probably just a clerical error because both your parents had magic and likely paid for your education before you even reached your first birthday. I think we can get things sorted out though. At the least, you would benefit from the Muggleborn’s introductory book pack, and I can have Bronty fetch those and drop them off at Hogwarts for you. Now the other important thing, seeing as winter comes early to the Scottish Highlands, do you have a good selection of thicker trousers and shirts, along with jumpers, boots, hat, scarf and gloves and so on?”
Harry’s eyes widened in alarm. “Ahh, no. Not apart from my robes and the cloak. Most of my other stuff is what I got from my cousin and he’s really solidly built so he’s not much for rugging up in winter.” It was easy to tell though, that the boy was rather disturbed by what he seemed to be missing, and just how deep into debt he might be going.
Susan chimed in then, having silently observed up until now. “Oh, Bronty is going to think Christmas has come early, to be able to go shopping for so many things. You will have totally made his day, Harry. He’s even happier when he can put on a Glamour, which is sort of a disguise, and go shopping in the Muggle world.”
Turning to the older woman, she added, “Auntie, do that spell that tells you someone’s dimensions for Bronty. And then can I see the memory of how excited he gets when I come home at Christmas?” Susan clapped her hands in anticipatory glee, as her aunt measured Harry for the shopping trip, having asked permission to cast on him first. The fact that this particular spell was used for more than seeing what size clothes were needed, given it also documented signs of stunted growth and being underweight in abused or neglected children, was left unsaid. The information she collected would, later that day, be the first piece logged into the file on the investigation into Harry’s upbringing.
Amelia smiled indulgently at her niece, pocketed the results of the spell (which had appeared on a small piece of parchment), then asked, “Perhaps Mr Potter would like to visit for a day or two over the holiday break, so he can see that memory too.” Turning back to Harry, “If you let me know your Aunt and Uncle’s names and where they live, I can get in touch with them and make the arrangements. That’s the wonderful thing about magic, we can pick you up from virtually anywhere.”
“Oh, ahh…um, I don’t think Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon really want me to come back for Christmas. They seemed rather happy to hear that Hagrid said some students stayed at Hogwarts until the end of the school year and only went home for the summer.” It was evident, by the look on Harry’s face, that his relatives would be happy if he didn’t return even then.
“I’m sure we can figure something out,” Amelia responded mildly. “Guess they don’t think much of magic? If I had to take a chance, I’d say they’re relatives of your mum? I knew Lily and James, you know. Not very well, they were several years behind me at school. I’d already left Hogwarts by this time, but my brother said your dad couldn’t wipe the grin off his face for weeks after your mum finally agreed to go on a date with him.”
She could see the look of longing on Harry’s face, and read between the lines easily. Turning to Susan, and knowing things would be getting more personal for the boy in a second, she fished in her robe pocket and handed Susan a ten pound note and suggested, “How about you nip back over to the other side of the barrier and grab a magazine or a book, and maybe some chocolate or crisps for the train ride.” She gestured to the Hogwarts Express that had just pulled in moments before, which Harry was now staring at with total awe.
“Want me to go with her, boss? Make sure she isn’t picked up by any cute boys?” Kingsley asked, recognising the director had some delicate questions to ask the Boy Who Lived. Getting a nod in thanks, the two headed towards the barrier, Susan chatting animatedly as Kingsley mused there was a really good reason that Madam Bones had been known as the Auror to deal with children in trouble, before her promotions. That gentle, yet matter of fact, demeanour meant she managed to get information that most Aurors would struggle to obtain.
Thankful that Shack was good at picking up on cues and making himself scarce, Amelia sat herself down beside Harry on the bench. “Let me play detective a bit here. They don’t let me do that hardly at all anymore since they made me the boss.” The comment made Harry softly snicker; he was growing to like Amelia quite a lot. “If I remember right, your mum had an older sister. Is that who you’ve been living with?”
Nodding, Harry replied, “That’s Aunt Petunia. Though she never told me about my mum being a witch or my dad a wizard.” Under his breath but still just barely audible, he added, “They just said they were drunks and died in a car crash that was their fault.”
Amelia filed that bit of information away as well. “So, not too happy with you having magic, I’m thinking?”
Harry just shook his head at that, as Amelia continued, “I’m pretty good at being persuasive. Would you like to come visit over Christmas? See a bit more of the magical world?”
Harry nodded mutely to that, then warned her that the Dursleys might not be very nice to her. “Eh, I’m a big, bad Auror, I can take them.” Her irreverent act hit just the right note with the orphaned boy, who visibly relaxed then. “Go on then, you give me their name, address, phone number and so on, and I’ll see what magic I can pull off.” As intended, Harry’s adolescent groan at the deliberately bad magical pun, along with his grin in response, meant he gave those details over with nary a thought. Amelia, meanwhile, really hoped she could get to the bottom of the boy’s situation. There were definitely issues with Harry’s home life that needed to be addressed and she was just the woman for the job.
Turning to look at the snowy owl sitting quietly in her cage on the trolley beside them and seemingly taking in every word, Amelia commented to Harry, “I bet this gorgeous young lady wouldn’t mind some flights between Scotland and London. We can write back and forth as things get settled and we can make our plans.”
Hedwig had also taken to this woman who wanted to help look after her boy. And it was help he definitely needed. This owl would be on the case as well, doing her part. She pressed against the cage, inviting Amelia to pet her, giving her seal of approval. The two ladies shared a look. Harry wouldn’t be staying anywhere he was unsafe or unwanted. They’d made a deal and they’d stick to it.
A clatter from the nearby Kings Cross station concourse caught their attention then. It was another laden trolley, pushed by a blonde girl with pigtails, talking a mile a minute with Susan. A clearly long-suffering but indulgent Kingsley followed right behind, carrying a paper bag bearing a newsagent’s title, along with a plastic bag filled with crisps and chocolate bars. It appears the rather soft-hearted (around kids anyway) Auror had topped up Susan’s ten-pound limit, and by the time she worked through the train trolley offerings, Amelia suspected her niece would be all set for junk food until the Halloween feast. Ah well, she thought philosophically, at least dealing with the resultant sugar high would be Hogwarts’ responsibility that evening. Knowing her niece’s sweet tooth all too well, Amelia could be forgiven that slightly evil smirk that accompanied her contemplations.
“Harry, meet my best friend, Hannah,” Susan cried out, thankfully not attracting the attention of the scattering of other students and their families thanks to Amelia’s hastily-cast privacy barrier. Frankly, the last thing the shy and almost certainly neglected boy (if not abused as well) needed was to be harassed by the others who’d already arrived. It had taken no time at all for Amelia to determine Harry was unfamiliar with his fame, and highly uncomfortable with it to top things off. Hedwig sent her an approving look for the rapid fire protection of her boy and offered the greatest sacrifice an owl could give. Hedwig grabbed her last two pieces of bacon in her claws, that she’d been saving for the train ride, and offered them with thanks to the steel-haired witch she’d developed such a kinship with and in such a short period of time.
“The intent behind that gift is very gratefully received, my dear girl. But it’s a long trip and you’re the one who will have to put up with this lot,” she added with the hint of an evil grin. “I think thy need is greater than mine!” That did it, she couldn’t contain her laughter anymore, accompanied by the amused chirrup of the snowy owl. “Which is not to say I won’t be making a detour via the caff out there before heading into the office. That’s some good-looking bacon. I could go for a couple of bacon butties on my way out.” Now three first years plus Shack (as he insisted the kids call him) were joining Hedwig in the raucous laughter. It was the perfect closing note to Amelia and Harry’s discussion as they turned their attention to getting the trio of firsties onto the train and Hogwarts-bound, under the supervision of her ladyship, Miss Hedwig.
The three students were soon settled into a compartment about a third of the way up the train. Shack had made a manful display of heaving the trunks onto the luggage rack, while teasing the girls about hauling rocks to school. Hedwig was settled onto the middle seat, ensuring her boy had the window for the views. After all, she’d see much better even away from the window than Harry would with his ill-fitting glasses. A stern look passed from the owl to the DMLE director, the meaning readily apparent. Amelia inwardly sighed; it looked like Harry was likely lacking basic medical and optical care as well. Something else for her list it seemed.
In no time at all, it seemed, the fifteen-minute whistle blew, indicating it was now quarter to eleven. Most of the students were settled into compartments by this point, though some still chatted and shared hugs with their families down on the platform. And a few family members were still aboard the train, though they began making their way through the corridors and down onto the platform where the other parents and siblings galore began to line the platform’s edge, ready to wave off their children for another year.
After hugging Susan in farewell, Amelia and Kingsley turned to Harry next and were surprised when the eleven year old grabbed them both for a quick hug. He let go awkwardly then, not sure what had overtaken him to do that. Aunt Petunia had certainly never allowed that liberty. But both adults returned the hugs happily and seemed a little reluctant to let him go. It was the perfect send-off, accompanied as it was by Hedwig’s chirrups of approval. Final goodbyes were made then, along with promises from Amelia to keep in touch about Christmas, then the two adults made their way off the train. In no time at all, Amelia and Shack were clustered with the other adults, waiting to wave them off to school. A herd of redheads, running exceedingly late, swept past, but that was ignored as the two Aurors concentrated on sending off the trio of first years with cheers and enthusiastic waves. Just a couple of minutes later, the Hogwarts Express sent out its last whistle, took advantage of its head of steam and began to inch out of the station.
Amelia and Kingsley stayed in place, waving until the train disappeared around the first bend. Amelia’s genial face was replaced by a look of solid determination. “Right! Back to the office we go. We’re going to get to the bottom of where Harry has been living for the last decade and in what conditions, and what utter prick left that poor child there all this time.”
Shack, being both very smart and in total agreement, gave the only sensible response of, “Yes boss!” In perfect synchrony, the duo turned on a heel and disappeared with only the faintest of pops. In a certain ivory tower at Hogwarts, a long-bearded wizard with a twinkle to his eyes shivered as though someone had just walked over his grave.
≈◆≈◆≈
As the three first-years commenced their journey northwards on the Hogwarts Express, Amelia Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in the Apparition point within the Auror offices. Never so grateful for being able to avoid appearing in the Ministry lobby, like everyone else had to do, Amelia Bones was glad to avoid the gossips that would inevitably want to know why she and Kingsley appeared together on a Sunday morning. Which is not to say the Auror Corps was without gossips of its own, but glancing around the wide open office, circled by private cubicles for the more senior Aurors, she could see they’d gotten lucky. None of the worst gossipmongers were on shift that day, and the others who were present were soon glared into a total lack of interest in anything but their own work.
A few more steps had the pair standing at Scrimgeour’s door and he immediately beckoned them in, engaged every standard privacy protection afforded the Head Auror, then layered on a few more that seemed to be spell creations of his own. Amelia stayed silent, just raising a questioning eyebrow. If Rufus was going this far to ensure they could have a secure and private conversation, then he must have found something critical in his searches that morning.
“I’m guessing your deep dive into the records sections of various departments bore fruit, Rufus”, she asked drily.
“Actually, the greatest issue is that it bore very little fruit at all,” the Head Auror replied, in a very disgruntled manner. Seeing a quizzical look on his boss’s face, he continued, “Harry Potter is essentially nonexistent as far as this Ministry is concerned. There is a birth certificate on file, an order from the Wizengamot appointing Albus Dumbledore as the boy’s guardian on the first of November, 1981, in a closed session that barely reached a quorum, as I was able to discover by some, shall we say, underhanded means. There is no record of any wills for his parents being probated. Nor is there any record of the boy’s placement with Muggle relatives within the Children’s Services department. To top that off, they have no indication at all as to who he lives with or where, and as you might imagine, there have been no home visits conducted by that department for Harry since his parents’ deaths.” Amelia and Kingsley could only stare in amazement at these revelations.
Shacklebolt, indignation clearly growing with every word he uttered, rephrased that news from Scrimgeour, as if to try to find the tiniest bit of sense in them. “So, apart from a birth certificate and the motion to appoint the Chief Warlock as his guardian, and with no records at all that Dumbledore did anything to care for the boy at all, he literally doesn’t exist in our world officially?”
Scrimgeour shook his head, reflecting both his dismay and distaste at what he’d put together that morning already. “Near as I can tell, he was dropped off with some unknown Muggles at Dumbledore’s behest, and only reappeared in the last month to get ready to go to Hogwarts. To add insult to injury, he sent Hagrid as the one to do the boy’s orientation and shopping trip, no less!”
Amelia was exceedingly glad the DMLE sound suppression spells tended to be robust, because Scrimgeour had ended that last statement at shouting volume. She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out the Dursleys’ details, handing them over to the still-fuming wizard.
“This is the aunt and uncle, there’s a cousin about Harry’s age as well, as far as I could tell. Please reach out to your Muggle contacts before we take any steps to deal with them directly. The aunt, Lily’s sister I believe, has to be more magically aware than her husband or son. We can’t rule out that she may have other connections with less savoury elements of our community. Harry made it very clear, however, that they are very anti-magic. Reading between the lines, I suspect that has translated over the years to anti-Harry as well. After all, the boy is awfully small for his age, both in height and weight, and was dressed in little more than castoff, oversized rags.”
Shacklebolt, calmer now, chimed in next. “Harry was given no breakfast this morning, despite having mentioned he cooked for his uncle as usual. And his normal breakfast, when and if he gets it, seems to be only a single slice of toast. I wonder what other chores he is doing around the house, given his easy acceptance of having to cook for others at eleven. I picked up quite clearly that he fears the man, and possibly his other relatives, though if I had to guess, he’s been well-trained to keep his mouth shut.”
Continuing, the shaven-headed Auror added, “Harry had only the barest minimum of things for school. Looking in his trunk, the only new items were the ones on his list alone. There were no extras at all. And his clothing is certainly not up to handling a Scottish winter.”
Amelia interrupted at that moment, “He was given the magically raised list, not the one for those coming from the Muggle world; it matched Susan’s exactly. Shack had to get me to send my house-elf to buy him a bookbag, for Merlin’s sake. His aunt saw her sister go off to Hogwarts year after year, and likely knew what he would need. But did she bother to do anything about it?” Now Amelia’s voice was rising in anger. The polite young boy she’d met only an hour and a half ago, the supposed Saviour of the Wizarding world, deserved much better from both his blood kin and the magical adults who should have been watching over him for the last ten years.
“Oh, the uncle is just as bad, if not worse. He just dumped the boy off at half seven this morning, under no form of adult supervision, to find the platform all by himself. An issue compounded by the fact that Hagrid did a half-arsed introduction process and didn’t even bother telling Harry how to get on the platform!” Kingsley had joined the elevated and indignant voice club as well. “Come to think of it, Hagrid’s what…sixty or so years old and I know he grew up magical. Has he even been to the Muggle side of Kings Cross at any time in his life?”
The unvoiced and unanswered question, of course, was why Hagrid was sent to fetch Harry, when it was usually left to Professors McGonagall and Flitwick to do so, as they were the most experienced Heads of House for not only the task, but also for being somewhat comfortable within the Muggle world. It went unsaid that the most non-magically familiar Head, Muggle-raised Severus Snape, was left out of the process entirely, probably to ensure those students didn’t run screaming from the concept of attending a magical school.
“Hagrid didn’t even make sure Harry had any Muggle money for that first part of the journey, and I suspect if the boy hadn’t had a few galleons left over, he’d have gone not only without breakfast, but would have been unable to get anything from the trolley on the train ride. Which means he wouldn’t have eaten at all today, until they reached the Castle and were Sorted,” Kingsley added. “The uncle gave him no money either, and Harry didn’t seem to indicate that this surprised him in the slightest. If I were a betting man, that boy’s file with the welfare services should be inches thick.”
“And by the sounds of things, he seems to accept all of this as his due,” Rufus reflected, with a heavy sigh.
“We have our work cut out for us, gentlemen, and some very important toes to avoid stepping on, at least for now. Once we have completed the investigation and the boy is safe though, I intend to transfigure my shoes into the heaviest of lead boots and tromp all over any toes that deserve it.”
The look on Scrimgeour’s face indicated he would be next in line, while an enthusiastic Shack asked if he’d be invited to the dance too. It was at that moment, perched on a messy haired boy’s shoulder, riding a northbound train somewhere well outside of London, that a certain snowy owl offered a hoot of approval. It also implied she’d be joining the party as well, though perhaps without the lead shoes. After all, who needed shoes when she had perfectly sharp talons and fine, strong wings to slap idiots around the head with?
Deep in discussion with his two first year companions, her boy offered an absent-minded scratch to her chest, then returned to the topic they’d had under consideration, which happened to be which House they might be sorted into. Hedwig settled back down, tucked her head under her wing and snuggled down for a nap. Her partners in crime had things well in hand, it seemed. Might as well catch some sleep while she could.
≈◆≈◆≈
Rufus Scrimgeour spent the rest of the afternoon contacting various associates within Muggle law enforcement. A good number of Squibs and Muggleborns who left the Wizarding world ended up working in children’s services and various policing agencies. Sadly, he acknowledged, it was often because of their own less-than-ideal childhoods within the magical community for the Squibs, and lack of opportunity in the job market for Muggleborn Hogwarts graduates that drove the trend. For the latter, lacking any form of recognisable education beyond primary school ruled out getting into higher education for pretty much all but those from wealthy families. Getting their secondary school qualifications was hard enough, and many went into policing or the military afterwards, being two careers which didn’t require a university degree to make their way.
Many of the Squibs abandoned to the non-magical world came from relatively wealthy (largely pureblood, it went without saying) families. Most would be placed with distant relatives who were also Squibs or put into some sort of informal fostering situation. Only a few landed up in the Muggle foster care system, mostly due to a desire to avoid breaking the Statute of Secrecy. Paying someone off sufficiently well to ensure the child would be able to make their way in the Muggle world was the name of the game.
Most of Rufus’ children’s welfare agency contacts were drawn from those professionals who found themselves working with families who’d discovered their child had magic, and were not handling it well, usually from fear or prejudice. At times, a child’s accidental magic, in response to preexisting abuse, drew the attention of both Muggle and Wizarding authorities as well.
There was a heavily disguised room two doors down from Scrimgeour’s office. Most Aurors thought it was used to store departmental supplies. Such was the strength and ingenuity of the spells that had been applied, nobody had questioned why they never saw anybody going into that room empty handed and come out with ink or parchment or whatever else might be needed, not even Mad-Eye Moody.
In actual fact, the room contained the only working telephone within the Ministry, at least as far as they knew. The Unspeakables could have a roomful of them as well, and they’d never know, Scrimgeour mused, a wry smile on his face. Carrying the Muggle address book that held all his contacts, Rufus slipped into the telephone room completely unnoticed. His first call was to one of his former Aurors.
Max McFarland had started out with the DMLE, but then his Muggleborn wife was targeted and killed in the first war, leaving him with two small children and no family support in the magical world, given he too was a Muggleborn. He’d returned back to his non-magical family, where his children were able to be comforted by close contact with their grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. Max had joined the Surrey Police, that being the area he grew up in, and in the last decade had risen to the rank of Detective Sergeant. He dialled the man’s home number first but reached the ansaphone and hung up without leaving a message. Taking a chance, being a Sunday, that he’d find the man at work, he dialled Max’s direct extension in CID and was relieved when a familiar voice answered.
It took several minutes to explain the situation and Max was as appalled at the boy’s neglect as much as his former colleagues had been. Tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder, he initiated a record search on his desktop computer as they talked, and was not surprised at his findings.
“Ah, the stupidity of so many magically-raised wizards. They might mess with the minds of those involved, but they have no idea of how to get into a computer and erase all the evidence.”
“I gather you found something then?” asked Rufus.
“More of an alarming and familiar pattern of nothing much. There have been fourteen reports of possible abuse or neglect on Mr Potter, mostly since he started primary school. Although one neighbour reported that the boy was outside in cold weather, digging over garden beds and wearing only a t-shirt and shorts, with no shoes. It was early November, the weather was decidedly cool, and he was only five years old. The rest were from school teachers at Little Whinging Primary School. Though that concerned neighbour reported the cousin for attacking Harry at age eight, along with his gang of thugs.”
“And all the follow-ups to those reports came back with no evidence found, I’m guessing?” Scrimgeour sounded resigned. This wasn’t the first time he’d heard stories like this.
“Yes, each case was closed out immediately after those visits to the home. But whoever did the Confounding and Obliviation forgot that, while the case might be closed, the computer trail remains for anyone to see.” Max sounded no less resigned to find that someone had been messing with more than a few minds to achieve this cover-up.
“Oh, if the culprit is who I think it is, I doubt he even knows what a computer is,” was the wry response. Max, who was a very smart and politically adept man, immediately thought ‘Dumbledore’ but wisely kept that to himself.
“So, would you be up for a spot of sleuthing under a Disillusionment spell this afternoon? I had a thought to visit Little Whinging and see just what magical traces we can find on a house in Privet Drive.” Privately, Rufus hoped they’d find evidence they could tie back to the wizard with too many jobs and a belief in his own infallibility.
“The kids are with the grandparents and I was just catching up on some paperwork, so why not?” Max replied, rather enthusiastically, Rufus noticed.
With more than a hint of sarcasm, “I was doing the same when all hell broke loose this morning. Funnily enough, it all started with a very smart and very determined snowy owl who managed to bypass all the mail handling spells on the Ministry, to deliver a letter from young Harry. He was stuck at Kings Cross with no assistance or money, and no idea how to get on the train platform.”
“Huh, you’ll have to tell me more when we meet. You’ll owe me a meal and a pint at the local when we’re done later.”
Rufus just laughed and agreed readily to the demand, then arranged to meet at a park that looked close to the Dursley home on their maps.
Later that afternoon, an incensed pair of wizards ended up at the Fox and Hound, around the corner from Max’s home. Ordering a late lunch of steak and chips and a pint of lager apiece, they settled into a quiet corner of the outdoor seating area and wordlessly cast numerous privacy spells.
“Wow,” Max began, “Notice-Me-Not spells tailored to Harry Potter targeting both Muggles and magicals, compulsion spells to ignore the boy when he was seen outside the home and indifference spells at the primary school. Whoever did this wanted to make sure nobody came to the lad’s rescue, didn’t they?”
“Most definitely. The Boss isn’t going to be happy at all. The upside to it all is that with what Amelia and Kingsley saw this morning, it should be enough to ensure Children’s Services gets involved and nobody will be able to interfere.”
“Might take going to the Wizengamot to break that magical guardianship. That will go down well with the Chief Warlock, not.” Max couldn’t help but smile at the thought.
“I think that there will be a surprise hearing called in the next few months. But not until Amelia has everything locked down and watertight.” Scrimgeour had always admired that level of determination in his boss.
“She’s certainly not one you want to be getting on the wrong side of,” Max agreed, and toasted the formidable witch with his beer glass.
“Agreed!” Rufus replied emphatically, returning the salute.
≈◆≈◆≈
As day shifted toward night, the three conspirators were gathered back at the Ministry again, sharing their collective findings and making plans for how to handle the situation next. The boy under discussion was riding a boat across the lake to Hogwarts, with his two new friends, Hannah and Susan. The fourth passenger was a nervous, but genial, boy named Neville who they’d met on the train, when he came looking for his missing toad. Hedwig had been her usual take-charge self and flew out of the compartment on a self-appointed mission. Four minutes later, she returned with a squirming toad named Trevor, held gently in her claws. She’d returned to her boy’s compartment, hovered directly in front of the other boy who she just knew she’d also be taking care of, allowing Neville to get Trevor safely locked away in his container again. The toad, having had a strong talking to, from a certain owl mid-flight, settled himself down and went to sleep, his escape artist tendencies forever curbed.
The meeting in Scrimgeour’s office broke up, with all three members of the group given assignments to follow up on, while Harry was engaged in an intense debate with a certain hat.
“But that blonde boy was a real prat and snooty too. I don’t think I’d like to spend seven years with people like that. Same with the Gryffindors, who won’t see me, Harry, only a celebrity they want to be friends with because it would make them look good too, if that redheaded boy is anything to go by. I don’t think I’m really a Ravenclaw. I mean, I like reading and all, but they sound a bit too…serious I guess. Anyway, my other three friends are all in Hufflepuff already, and well, I never have been allowed friends before, so I’d like to go there please.”
The Sorting Hat, being very good at reading between the lines, was also adept at sensing those that needed the attention and care that only Professor Sprout and her students could provide. So it was really rather an easy decision to shout out, “Better be Hufflepuff!” Harry raced over to the Badgers’ table, eagerly joining his new friends. There were some looks of surprise on certain professors’ faces, and groans of disappointment from a number of students, but the enthusiastic clapping of the Hufflepuff students and the excitement on Susan, Neville and Hannah’s faces was all the Boy Who Lived noticed. At the window used by mail owls to enter the Great Hall, Hedwig nodded approvingly. Hufflepuff would make a good home for her boy while at school, and there was no doubt she’d be keeping an eye on things as well.
≈◆≈◆≈
Over the next several months, Harry’s trio, as Rufus, Amelia and Kingsley had come to think of themselves, investigated all that they could, finding multiple episodes both inside the Ministry and in the Muggle world where memories and behaviours had been altered to make sure Harry stayed with the Dursleys. Amelia had even arranged a warrant to search their home, and disguised the visit by acting as a reporter for a regional newspaper doing a special interest article on families raising orphaned children.
While the Dursleys presented a self-important air, and had done everything possible to make themselves look loving and self-sacrificing, Kingsley had been scouring the house under an Invisibility cloak. He’d been less than pleased to find evidence of Harry having inhabited the cupboard under the stairs. In fact, the sad scrawl on the wall, ‘Harry’s Room’ was the only proof he’d been there, given there were no photos or old drawings on the fridge, or even a report card from school in the filing cabinet in the spare bedroom. Meanwhile, every aspect of their adoration of Dudley was available in a bright Technicolour display.
Thanks to Amelia’s encouragement, Harry had written to both herself and Kingsley about settling into Hufflepuff and life at Hogwarts in general. It had started off with a joint letter from Susan and Harry before breakfast the day after arriving, where they gave details of Dumbledore’s warning about the third floor corridor, delivered by Hedwig naturally, who managed to convey that she was less than thrilled by the situation with little effort. Neville had also written to his gran, who’d been on the Floo lickety-split to Amelia, demanding something to be done.
The subsequent Auror raid on Hogwarts had revealed the presence of the cerberus and the devil’s snare behind the door that opened to a first year unlocking spell. Unfortunately, they’d only been able to order the removal of both dangerous items, after the Headmaster insisted they were simply safeguarding a dangerous structural problem in the lower chambers that was to be fixed over the winter break. Since they couldn’t prove how or when the damage happened, Amelia’s hands were tied. Still, she’d insisted on stronger barriers that would require Mastery level skills to remove and ensured they were checked weekly to prove that they’d not been tampered with all term.
While at Hogwarts, and knowing she was revealing her hand to Dumbledore, not that she had any doubt he’d find out anyway, she waylaid Hagrid after he’d secured Fluffy into a sturdy pen to await transport to a sanctuary in Armenia.
The mountainous groundskeeper continuously wiped away a steadily replaced trail of tears as he prepared a pot of tea to share with the head of the DMLE. She smiled at the groundskeeper, and the fact that the normally affable man couldn’t help but offer common hospitality, despite his upset.
“Hagrid,” she began softly, “You had to know a Cerberus was only legal if you had a licence for Class 5x animals.”
“Am I goin’ ter be in trouble then? Yeh wouldn’ wan’ ter send me ter Azkaban, would yeh? Don’ think I could handle tha’ again.” Hagrid said, between pauses to sniffle back more tears.
Patting the gentle giant reassuringly on the hand once he’d laid down the jam-jar-sized mug of tea in front of her, Amelia replied, “No, you don’t have to worry about that. Nobody got hurt and you agreed to have him moved to the sanctuary, so there’s no real harm done. Even though my curiosity is begging to know how you managed to find a Cerberus,” she finished with a slightly cheeky tone.
“Well, I met this Greek chappie at the Three Broomsticks an’ he was down on his luck a little an’ couldn’ afford ter rent a place big enough ter keep Fluffy. I said I’d be happy ter take care o’ ‘im an’ he was righ’ grateful fer the help.”
And wasn’t that Hagrid in a nutshell, Amelia mused. He’d give the shirt off his back to anyone who needed it, especially if it meant helping a dangerous creature as well. Though her irreverent side had to add that if Hagrid had given over his shirt, the Greek chappie probably could have used it as a camping tent for both himself and his three headed dog.
“You’re a good man, Hagrid,” she responded. Then in for a Sickle, in for a Galleon, she broached an even more delicate subject, knowing the ever-loyal Hagrid would relay it all to Dumbledore. Which made it imperative to keep her tone light and a touch on the gossipy side. “So Susan said you got lucky and got to take young Harry Potter shopping for his school things? He seemed a nice sort of lad when I met him at Kings Cross Station,” she continued, carefully omitting the circumstances of that meeting. “What did you think of the boy?”
“Oh he’s a righ’ good lad, Harry is. Polite as polite can be, which I reckon he didn’ learn from tha’ family o’ his.”
“Not the nicest of people, eh? Poor lad.” She’d learned early in her Auror career that leaving questions open-ended often elicited a wealth of information.
“Yeah well, his letters chased ’em all over the countryside, because tha’ fat oaf o’ an uncle wanted nothin’ ter do with magic. Not tha’ the aunt or cousin seemed much better. Hadn’ even told ‘im he was a wizard. Imagine!” Hagrid was still incensed at thought.
Amelia shook her head. “Some Muggles just can’t get over their prejudices, I suppose. It’s almost amazing that they were willing to drop him off for the train.”
Hagrid huddled over his tea mug, not meeting her eyes. “Yeah, ’bout tha’. Didn’ really get a chance ter talk over things with Harry’s aunt an’ uncle. Not after tha’ crazy uncle pointed a Muggle gun at me. I mean, I fixed it so the gun couldn’ work, but they wouldn’ listen ter a word after tha’.”
That certainly explained some of Harry’s lack of knowledge about getting on the train platform, was Amelia’s thought.
Casually, she then asked, “So how did you get to be the lucky one to take the boy shopping? I bet there were quite a few volunteers for that job.” The chuckle and smile at the end of that statement kept Hagrid from noticing how pointed a question that really was.
“Dunno really. The Headmaster asked me as a special favour ter ‘im. He needed me ter run another errand fer ‘im at Gringotts, so it all worked out well, really.”
Amelia sighed inwardly. As she’d suspected, Dumbledore was pulling the puppet strings again. To what purpose, she couldn’t yet tell. But she’d be keeping a close eye on things.
“Well, thanks for the tea. I supposed I’d better get back to the office before someone figures out I’m skiving off and hanging around for a natter.” She nearly made her escape before Hagrid’s tears welled up and she paused to pat him consolingly on the arm, “I’ll make sure you get updates on Fluffy and an invitation to visit over the holidays. He’ll be alright, you know. Probably find himself a girlfriend or three.”
Hagrid bestowed a watery smile on her and waved farewell from the door of his hut as she left. Minutes later, Amelia crossed the Hogwarts boundaries, made a quick part turn and was on her way back to the Ministry.
≈◆≈◆≈
Amelia Bones very deliberately absented herself from any of the further weekly checks at the school, wanting to avoid alerting the Headmaster to her interest in Harry’s wellbeing as much as possible. Which did not stop her from making sure Rufus sent only sympathetic Aurors to Hogwarts each time, with Kingsley assigned to whichever duo went to the school for the majority of the time. Both Rufus and Amelia wanted responsible eyes on Harry as much as they could wangle, while being as discreet as possible about it all.
They’d worked hard to to keep the boy’s contact with the Aurors looking as unobtrusive as possible. The first time he made contact, it was actually to Susan and her group of friends. Amelia had sent four bars of Honeydukes’ finest chocolate for him to pass on to the quartet. While many students had families who would periodically send treats, none of Harry’s three friends received much of anything. Hannah’s mum (her dad having been killed in the last war) worked hard for every Galleon she earned and there was little left over to spare on treats. Neville’s grandmother was rather strict and distant with her grandson and the idea of sending sweets to him would never have occurred. As for Harry, well there was simply no one to send anything. His uncle would rather wring an owl’s neck than use one to send a gift, while his aunt just seemed to put his presence out of her mind while he was away at school. She’d been able to determine this by sending one of her female Aurors undercover to Petunia’s Women’s Institute meeting, as someone just moving into the area. She’d struck up a conversation over the tea break during her second meeting and reported the conversation thusly.
Auror: So do you have any children, Mrs Dursley?
Petunia: Just the one, though I was gifted with the best boy in the world in my Dudley. He just began his first year at Smeltings you know.
Auror: Oh, I thought someone said you had two boys. My two are still a little young for boarding school, though we’re looking into our best options.
Petunia: Oh, well, my sister’s boy came to live with us after his parents were killed in an accident. He’s away at school too, the same place his parents went to.
Auror: Your husband must have loved having two boys to do things with. Mine loves that they’re so close in age and can do everything together.
Petunia: Dudley and Vernon have a very special bond. They spend as much time together as they can.
Auror: Not with your nephew too?
Petunia: They’ve never really seemed to click. But the boy helps me around the house and in the garden, so we’re all kept busy.
The trio looking out for Harry had no difficulty reading between those lines, that ‘the boy’ wasn’t all that welcomed by the family (the lack of use of Harry’s name was telling). It was sad and unfortunate for the young orphan, but not actionable by law enforcement. They would need Harry to tell them some details, to get a change in his legal guardianship and custody through both Children’s Services and the Wizengamot. Normally, the latter would have no part in anything along these lines, but the subterfuge by Dumbledore to get himself named as Harry’s magical guardian meant it would take the Wizengamot to override it. In the meantime, they had letters from Susan and Harry both.
≈◆≈◆≈
Harry was largely enjoying his time at Hogwarts, if you discounted his headaches from the garlic and incessant stammer in Quirrell’s class, and that having History of Magic right after lunch in a room that caught the sun and was taught by a droning ghost, guaranteed taking a nap. He was especially thrilled at having friends like Susan, Hannah and Neville, though he got on pretty well with the rest of the Hufflepuff first years, and Professor Sprout was such a kind soul. Susan was their natural leader, being more confident and outgoing than the other three. But as they were keeping up with homework, getting good marks on their assignments and finding fun things to do around the Castle when they had free time, nobody seemed to mind.
Harry had struck up a correspondence with both Madam Bones and Kingsley Shacklebolt. He’d sent Hedwig to them both the first week of school to thank them for all of their help getting onto the platform and the train. His letters to Kingsley (‘call me Shack’) tapered off somewhat after that, as he was seeing the Auror quite frequently on his visits to the school.
Much to Hedwig’s disgust, Bronty the Bones’ house-elf had appeared quite regularly at the start of term, delivering the items he had purchased for her boy. She had visited Madam Bones and attempted to stare her down over not being called to deliver the things Harry needed. The pair had quite the long talk, no matter that it was all nonverbal on the snowy owl’s side. After half a dozen rashers of crispy bacon, supplied by Bronty of course, Amelia had managed to calm the owl down and explained her reasoning.
“You’re probably the most gorgeous owl I’ve ever met, Hedwig, and the smartest for sure,” she began, “But you’re also very memorable. And people, Dumbledore mostly, will pay attention if you’re constantly bringing parcels and letters. Because I’m absolutely certain he knows that Harry’s family wouldn’t send him the time of day.” Hedwig couldn’t argue with that reasoning, she decided after a short period of consideration, bolstered by another bacon rasher and a scratch between her wings in just that perfect spot.
“For now, it’s safer to pass things back and forth through Bronty, like those Muggleborn reference books last week and Harry’s new wardrobe as we buy it. I’d kit him out all at once, but I have a feeling he’d just about pass out from getting so many new things at once, don’t you?”
The answer to that question took no consideration at all. Hedwig nodded her head emphatically in agreement.
“I think we can risk a few letters back and forth though. If we had Harry address his to the Dursleys but give verbal instructions that it’s to come here instead, can you break mail owl rules to do that? It would keep Dumbledore guessing about things.”
That question earned Amelia a solid thwack of a wing, clearly saying, “Are you trying to teach your grandmother how to suck eggs?” The DMLE head took that as a confirmation that Hedwig could do pretty much what she wanted.
“I suppose that issue is settled then. Hedwig, I look forward to a long and fruitful partnership with you, so we can properly look after that boy of yours. I’m sure we will have much to do and talk about over the next couple of months.” Hedwig gave a hoot of agreement, nicked the last bit of bacon off the plate and headed back to Hogwarts, her job (for the moment) done. Amelia just shook her head in amusement at the owl’s antics and commented to herself, “Hedwig just might be the most unconventional CI (Confidential Informant) of my career. But I suspect she’ll be one of the most useful.”
Shaking off the slight silliness that had overtaken her, Amelia turned back to the stack of private correspondence that had built up on her desk in the last week. The parchmentwork never seemed to end, not at home nor in the office. Best get busy then, she thought as she went back to the letter she’d received from an old school friend.
≈◆≈◆≈
6th October, 1991
Dear Madam Bones Amelia,
Sorry, I’ll get the hang of that eventually. Thanks so much for the new flannel pyjamas, slippers and dressing gown. The temperatures in Scotland are starting to drop, particularly at night, and they’re already making a difference. I know I’ll be really happy to have them through the middle of winter. Though are you sure you’re not getting me too many things?
I mean, you already sent a winter cloak and a coat, jeans, jumpers, new trainers and those awesome dragon hide boots. Not to mention the gloves, hat and scarf. Oops, I just did mention them didn’t I. Oh well.
But please don’t spend too much money. I’m used to getting by with what I have. It’s a bit of a shame my cousin Dudley, being the size of a small house, doesn’t get very cold during the winter or I would have had some more useful hand-me-downs. Anyway, thanks so much.
I’m so very glad Hedwig pushed me to write to you last month, and I got to meet you and Shack. Because you’ve both been wonderful to me, and I probably wouldn’t have had Susan, Hannah and Neville as my friends either. I might not have even been Sorted into Hufflepuff! And it’s the best House in the school for me, as far as I’m concerned.
If you don’t mind, can I ask some more questions about the Wizarding world? Nobody seems to have any answers on this first one, though Professor Sprout and Madam Pomfrey have looked into things. The thing is, could something magical be making my scar hurt? It’s always been a bit touchy, but I’m getting sharp pains and headaches now. Mostly in Professor Quirrell’s class (maybe all that garlic?) and sometimes at meals in the Great Hall. The headache potion Madam Pomfrey gives me does work when the headache is bad, but I can’t think it’s good to be taking them all the time.
So that’s one question. The other one is totally different. We went to visit Hagrid for afternoon tea yesterday. Never try one of his rock cakes if you ever have tea with him. You might break a tooth. Oh, that’s another question as well? Do wizards have dentists? My aunt never took me to one, but I remember kids in primary school talking about going. Only, I think I chipped a tooth on one of those rock cakes and it’s a little sore. Should I go see Madam Pomfrey, do you think?
But that wasn’t the main question. Hagrid said there’s something in the Forbidden Forest attacking the unicorns for their blood. Who or what would do such a terrible thing?
A few weeks ago, he showed us a mum and her baby unicorn that were at the edge of the forest. We stayed back, not wanting to frighten them, but they were so beautiful! How could anyone hurt something so amazing?
Hagrid said he’d helped the mum unicorn with an injured leg a couple of years ago. It looked to me like she came to show her baby off, because she was so proud, and maybe to say thank you to Hagrid.
I just can’t understand hurting such a beautiful animal, well, hurting anything at all really. My cousin didn’t seem to care about things like that, but even I can’t see Dudley hurting a unicorn. Even Uncle Vernon would draw the line as well, I reckon.
Anyway, I’ve gone on and on and taken up too much of your time already. But you seem like a smart adult that I can trust to tell me the truth about things, and I don’t know who else to ask.
Thanks again,
Harry
Reading that letter, addressed to the Dursleys for insurance as she’d suggested (and while Hedwig chowed down on a plate of bacon and hooted her thanks to Bronty), Amelia’s first words were, “What the hell is going on at that school?”
Her second thought was how to intervene without revealing that she and Harry were communicating. Because there were more than a few issues that were apparent from this letter. Grabbing a piece of parchment, she jotted them down.
Harry’s headaches. St Mungo’s/Private Healer?
Harry’s dental health. Poppy.
Has Harry ever had a health scan? Poppy.
Harry has never had real winter clothes. Children’s Services .
Harry alludes to being hurt by cousin and uncle. Children’s Services .
Attacks on unicorns? DMLE/DOM intervention.
What is Quirrell’s role in this if any? Investigate further.
Looking at the owl, still snacking away, she commented, “I can see this all turning into a right royal mess, can’t you?” Hedwig nodded in agreement and worked off her frustration with it all by viciously attacking her piece of bacon.
“This is going to get ugly,” Amelia muttered, as she Floo called Scrimgeour, then Shacklebolt, and ruined both men’s Sunday afternoons by asking if they could step through.
Thankfully, both wizards were available and arrived within seconds of each other. Amelia wordlessly handed Harry’s letter to Rufus, and Kingsley scooted in to read over the Head Auror’s shoulder. Apparently they had very similar reading speeds, because their response, nigh on simultaneously, was “Bloody hell!”
“We’re going to have to find a way to keep Harry out of this, boss. I don’t know if Dumbledore thinks we’re suspicious of him or is just a bit paranoid…”
“Or both!” came the muttered interjection from his supervisor, knowing that Kingsley’s instincts were good.
Resuming, Shack finished, “I just would hate to see the headmaster finding a way to restrict me from talking to Harry, or any other student really. And he’s been giving me some looks I’m not sure I like.”
Amelia could see her plans to get Harry permanently away from his relatives and limit Dumbledore’s influence on the boy going down the drain, if she wasn’t careful. Then a moment of inspiration struck. She quickly penned a note to Susan, listing the concerns Harry’s letter had raised and asking her to, in her own words, write about any of those issues she felt comfortable talking about, as well as anything else that was worrying her about Harry’s situation.
Apologising for breaking Harry’s confidences, Amelia told her niece she was trying to get things situated better for her friend, but was also trying to keep Harry out of the line of fire for now. Which meant she needed something in writing about these problems to get the ball rolling, just not with his signature attached. She knew Susan was mature and smart enough to understand that things were very complicated politically and needed to be kept a secret for now. Merlin knows the poor girl had heard plenty of her rants about dealing with Wizengamot and the Ministry over the years to understand her caution.
Folding her letter and sealing it, she called for Bronty and asked him to deliver it only when Susan was alone, and to wait for a reply, or at least let her niece know to call for him when she was done. Bronty nodded his understanding and popped out immediately. Hedwig gave her a look as if to say that she was perfectly capable of getting a letter to her boy’s friend. Amelia passed over an owl treat and explained that time was of the essence on this, and that there would have been a lot of back and forth trips for her in one day.
Both Rufus and Kingsley, having manfully ignored their boss placating the boy’s owl, elected to wait and see if Susan was able to send a reply. Hedwig also remained on her perch and it appeared that the owl had appointed herself as the fourth member of this pro-Harry cabal. All four retained the feeling of how perturbed and agitated the whole situation made them, as they anxiously waited for Bronty to return with Susan’s response. A small shot of firewhiskey apiece settled them down somewhat (Hedwig stuck with water as she still had a long flight back to Hogwarts, hopefully by nightfall), and happily, Bronty returned just thirty minutes after he’d left.
Amelia read Susan’s letter and mentally patted her on the back. She’d raised every concern, and added some other observations, such as the fact it had taken Harry several weeks before he’d been able to tolerate a full Hogwarts meal. Kingsley promised himself that he’d tell her how well she’d done with her letter the next time he was at the school.
Rufus asked the key question, “Do we have enough to fully go after the Dursleys now, boss? And take Dumbledore out of the picture?”
“I’ll be putting in the formal request for Children’s Services intervention first thing tomorrow morning. I think when we add the evidence you collected with Max, we have a solid case for immediate termination of their guardianship. I’ll ask Sylvia Costain to handle the case personally, to keep leaks to a minimum.”
“She’s a good pick for running that department. For once, we got someone who’s actually done the job as a case worker and not some inbred nitwit with family connections.” Rufus had always been a proponent of promoting people with demonstrated skills and experience, despising nepotism greatly.
“Do you know if there’s any ICW meetings that Dumbledore has to chair between now and the winter break? Might be a good time to call the Wizengamot meeting to decide on Harry’s magical guardian then,” Kingsley suggested.
“And that will be the second thing I do in the morning, check the ICW schedule. Smart idea!” Amelia also believed in giving recognition and praise when it was due. The meeting broke up then, with Rufus and Kingsley Flooing back to their homes.
Amelia wrote a short reply to Harry’s letter to suggest he see Madam Pomfrey about his tooth and ask about any vaccinations he should have had before starting school. She also promised she was looking into the other issues he’d written about. Hedwig was soon on her way back to Hogwarts, stuffed full of owl treats and bacon, and happily bearing Amelia’s reply to her boy. She bet herself she could make it back to Hogwarts to give Harry the letter before bedtime, then proceeded to break all mail owl speed records to date as she achieved that goal.
≈◆≈◆≈
Things began to progress and change quite rapidly after that Sunday meeting regarding Harry’s letter. Sylvia Costain’s own investigation of the Dursleys mirrored Scrimgeour’s findings, and their guardianship rights were terminated by Muggle officials, something she also duplicated magically under her authority as head of Children’s Services. That effectively made Harry a ward of the department, though none of the players knew any of this. Amelia was trying very hard to keep a lid on all of these administrative steps until the Wizengamot could be called to rule on Harry’s permanent guardianship.
When a mountain troll got loose in the school during the Halloween feast, they had a stroke of luck of sorts. Professor Quirrell’s proclamation of the troll’s presence, followed by a poorly-acted faint, occurred just as Kingsley and Gawain Robards had arrived for their weekly safety check at the school. They’d had to override Dumbledore’s order for the students to return to their dorms, and had directed that the prefects do a headcount to make sure all the students were accounted for, as the two Aurors directed the staff to take defensive positions in and around the Great Hall. Neither could believe the headmaster had wanted to send the children out into the rest of the Castle, when they were already gathered in a highly defensible location.
It took them a very short time to find and contain the troll on the second floor, then send a Patronus message to Scrimgeour for more assistance. Both Scrimgeour and Bones showed up at Hogwarts soon after, determined to figure out how a troll had broken through the school’s protections. They both refused to listen to Dumbledore’s protestations that he was perfectly capable of handling such an investigation himself.
Amelia let Rufus follow Dumbledore to his office to review what protective enchantments were in place and what else might be needed. Ostensibly, her role was supervising the troll’s removal, though in fact, she’d managed to pull Harry and Susan aside into an unused classroom.
Harry had taken the news that he’d never have to return to the Dursleys rather quietly, though his shoulders relaxed in unspoken relief at the news. His preference was for his aunt and uncle not to be prosecuted, as he made the valid point that it would probably end up in the Wizarding newspapers if they did, and he was already more than tired of the articles about the Boy Who Lived. He did, however, jump at the chance to spend the Christmas break with Amelia and Susan.
Both children seemed thrilled when she disclosed her request to Children’s Services to become Harry’s magical guardian while everything got sorted out and the final ruling could be made by the Wizengamot. Harry rather astutely asked if they were still trying to keep things quiet and not draw the attention of the Headmaster. He also requested not doing anything about the pain in his scar until the holidays, as he didn’t want to miss any classes to get seen at the hospital.
By the end of November, an increasingly nervous and stuttering Quirrell, who’d not appreciated gaining the amount of DMLE notice he’d received since his overacted fainting fit over the troll, quit summarily, sneaking out in the night and leaving his resignation letter for the headmaster on the desk in the DADA classroom.
Coincidentally, the attacks on the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest ceased at the same time. Scrimgeour and Bones, who’d jointly been investigating the man based on the information from Harry’s letter and the troll incident, determined he’d likely been under some form of possession, since his return from his year-long sabbatical travelling Europe. They couldn’t help but think that Dumbledore had to know or suspect the same and wondered what sort of game he was playing. With the third floor corridor incident at the start of term, there was plenty to be suspicious about.
The first week in December, sign-up sheets for those planning to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays had appeared on the bulletin boards of each House. It hadn’t taken too long for Dumbledore to show his hand, when he cornered Harry coming out from breakfast in the Great Hall with Neville the following day.
“Ah, Harry my boy. Might I have a word? Run along, Mr Longbottom, and Harry will catch up with you shortly.”
Neville exchanged a quick glance with his friend and moved only as far as around the nearby corner and out of sight.
Jovially, Dumbledore continued, “I rather thought you’d be staying over this Christmas so you could enjoy the wonderful holiday atmosphere that is so uniquely Hogwarts, my boy. But if your family wishes you to join them to celebrate at home, I suppose I can’t argue.”
Harry demonstrated that he was still adept at getting out of tight spaces, whether it be in the Privet Drive neighbourhood when being chased by Dudley, or verbally dodging minefields as he’d perfected with his aunt and uncle. After all, the professor hadn’t actually asked a question that required a direct answer, just insinuated that Harry should be happy to fill any blanks in the conversation.
“Ah, no sir, I suppose you can’t.” Spotting Professor Sprout heading towards the doors of the Entrance Hall, Harry took advantage of the cue, then asked, “Is that all, Professor? Only Neville and I promised to help Professor Sprout in the greenhouses this morning and she just went by. I would hate to be late.”
Caught on the back foot by Harry’s cool reaction to his prodding, Dumbledore could only attempt to regain face, as he replied, “Oh, of course, Harry my boy. Glad to see you settling in so well in your House. Well, be on your way then, but do remember to have some fun as well. It is the weekend, after all.” He strode away then, projecting an air of omniscience and having everything under control. Neville popped back around the corner and gave his friend a look, as if to say ‘What was all that about?’
Harry, having been told by Kingsley that the portraits were known to report back to the headmaster, just grabbed his arm and pulled him out onto the grounds.
“Harry?” Neville inquired, a bit concerned at his friend’s abrupt motions.
“Let’s get down to the greenhouses and I’ll tell you later.” He hadn’t been lying when he’d told Dumbledore that they’d volunteered to help their Head of House.
Done with their tasks several hours later and contentedly covered in dirt as they returned to the Castle, Harry confided the basics of Madam Bones having him removed from the Dursleys and trying to overturn Dumbledore’s magical guardianship. He’d been meaning to tell his friend what had been going on for a while, but his justifiable paranoia about saying anything inside the Castle walls had delayed things as Harry looked for a good opportunity. The duo detoured via the owlery as they headed back in, and Harry wrote a quick note to Amelia about his encounter with Dumbledore, then gave Hedwig a good cuddle and an owl treat, before sending her off with a letter for the ‘Dursleys’ once more. Then he and Neville headed back to their dorm for a shower and a change of clothes, before meeting up with Susan and Hannah for a much-welcomed hearty lunch.
≈◆≈◆≈
Several hours later, a highly incensed Hedwig showed up at Holly Lodge, the Bones home in Shropshire. The letter she bore seemed rather bedraggled, considering the owl tended to arrive with the mail in pristine condition. Having read the message from Harry, and a quick round of less than twenty questions, Amelia was able to determine that Dumbledore had attempted to waylay Hedwig as she left the owlery, and get hold of Harry’s letter. It seemed, though, not without consequences as Hedwig proudly showed off just how sharp her talons were.
It was a toss up, she pondered, as she consoled Harry’s familiar with both sausages and bacon, along with her favourite between wings scratch, as to whether Albus was being driven by suspicion, or his normal need to know and control every possible thing. In truth, she was somewhat surprised it had taken him this long to directly approach Harry with anything related to the Dursleys.
It was a good thing, Amelia thought, that they had timing on their side for a change. Switching her scratches to Hedwig’s second favourite spot, across her chest, Amelia commented, “It’s delightfully convenient that Dumbledore will be tied up with an ICW meeting in Bern this coming week. Sylvia Costain will be sending out notice of an emergency Wizengamot meeting Monday morning, for an emergency one o’clock meeting that afternoon. Harry’s custody should be decided well before the owl makes it to Switzerland.”
Hedwig bobbed her head appreciatively, both for the clever subterfuge and the highly skilled scratches she was receiving. Amelia had explained on a previous visit that very few Ministry departments had the right to call for Wizengamot hearings without notice, Children’s Services being one, given the frequently delicate and urgent in nature cases they handled. She readily agreed that this news was too important to be relayed to Harry by anyone but the ultra-stealthy Bronty. Though she wouldn’t have minded having another go at Dumbledore, her boy’s needs and safety were paramount.
In the end, it all went off like clockwork. On Sunday, Hedwig had taken advantage of the fact that Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, was a little sweet on her (he was rather taken with the feisty and beautiful owl). Meeting him in the taĺl Scots Pine tree overlooking the Black Lake, Hedwig made sure he would keep any Wizengamot owls away from his boss until the afternoon tea break the next day. Sylvia’s notices went out as planned and the Wizengamot convened Monday afternoon with around a sixty percent turnout, more than enough for a quorum.
It took less than an hour to present the case to permanently remove Harry from the Dursleys, which was sort of a moot point, as Sylvia had already terminated their custodial rights with just cause. The argument to overturn Dumbledore’s appointment as Harry’s magical guardian was easy to make based on the evidence of long term neglect and abuse. A written statement from Harry that he’d never seen or heard of Albus Dumbledore prior to receiving his Hogwarts letter was the final piece of evidence needed. Sylvia was careful to tiptoe around Dumbledore’s inactions, making much of how busy the wizard was, given the important roles he’d undertaken, both in Britain and internationally, since the end of the war, to appease those that might argue this was an unconscionable slight on Dumbledore’s character. Fortunately, the strategy worked well.
Griselda Marchbanks, chairing the hearing as the most senior Wizengamot member while the Chief Warlock was absent, quickly moved to a vote to permanently transfer Harry’s magical custody to Amelia Bones, having taken Harry’s clear wishes into account. The resolution passed easily and with an unarguable majority. By two-thirty Monday afternoon, Amelia had signed the paperwork accepting responsibility for Harry’s care until he reached adulthood at seventeen as was Wizarding custom. By three-thirty, she’d made her way to Hogwarts, met Harry, Susan and their friends after the last class of the day and passed on the good news. Harry asked someone to pinch him, to make sure he was actually awake, a task fulfilled by a gentle nip from Hedwig, who’d somehow known that Amelia had arrived and wanted to be there for the good news as well.
No human was there to witness Dumbledore’s reaction to the results of the hearing held in his absence, though Fawkes did let Hedwig know the tantrum in Bern had been spectacular when he returned several days later. He gifted his would-be sweetheart with one of his feathers to pass onto Madam Bones, intending for the snowy owl to use it as a way to pass on that she was receiving intelligence from the Headmaster’s own phoenix. Amelia quickly translated (after another round of twenty questions) the message as a sign that Dumbledore was enraged at the decision and seemed to still be plotting in regard to young Harry. Amelia took the news with aplomb. She might not know Dumbledore’s agenda or why he was so invested in Harry, but as the saying goes, forewarned is forearmed.
≈◆≈◆≈
The last few weeks of term flew by for Harry and his friends. Thanks to their routine of always keeping on top of homework assignments and holding regular study sessions, the four first years sailed through end of term exams with only a small amount of anxiety. In no time at all, it seemed, the Hufflepuff quartet, along with Hedwig headed back to London, eager to celebrate Christmas with their families both new and old.
There was no way to predict what might happen in the future, particularly with Dumbledore and his secrets in the mix, but that was something for the DMLE head to consider later. For now, Harry, Amelia and Susan were looking forward to their first Christmas together. Neville and Hannah were relishing the chance to spend some time at home with their families as well. Hedwig was looking forward to being with her boy and their new family, of course. Along with a date with a certain handsome phoenix on New Years Eve. All the rest of the worries, for the moment, were left behind. But as far as the future was concerned, Harry knew with utter certainty it would always be better, no matter what, now that life with the Dursleys was firmly behind him.
≈◆≈◆≈
Amelia Bones watched the events as they might have been, from rescuing the boy at Kings Cross Station to Harry’s first train ride to Hogwarts, and until coming home for Christmas, as though caught in a Pensieve. Though in this case from a comfortable chair and with a nice cup of tea. Then her world shifted again, with a somewhat disconcerting spin and suddenly she was off to…
≈◆≈◆≈
Chapter Two – Marge The Barrage Balloon
“I swear, if I ever find who it was that cast the spell to double the paperwork on my desk every other day, I’ll string them up by their toenails,” muttered Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Tempted to sweep every file and piece of parchment to the floor, then start a little indoor bonfire, the whip-thin, prematurely grey-haired witch swept her wand across the desk instead. Wordlessly incanting a spell that would put the mess into reverse chronological order and banish any file more than three days old into half a dozen wooden filing boxes lined up against the wall to her left, the sea of parchment was soon sorted.
Sitting herself down with a huff of both frustration and impatience, Madam Bones then began what she likened to a triage process for the files remaining on the desk top. Routine reports from the supervisors in the various units under her command and requisition requests, both requiring a quick read through, but not much more scrutiny than that, went into the basket on the right far corner of her desk, rolls of parchment not stacking well into file organisers.
Correspondence from other departments and those outside the Ministry, mostly from Gringotts and St Mungo’s, went into the next basket across. That, again, mostly required a quick perusal and response if indicated, but she’d learned early in this job, that one of those so-called routine external files could contain hidden zingers. Zingers with the potential to disrupt investigations and prosecutions, but also might contain hidden issues that could have a widespread impact across the Wizarding world.
The next stack was much smaller, as it broke out any reports from within the department that had the potential to cause embarrassment, trouble or become a high profile situation that she needed to keep an eye on. That she kept slightly off to the side, as she’d deal with those as a priority. It was amazing what her Aurors, Obliviators, Ministry Prosecutors and Child Welfare Agents could get up to, just going about their day-to-day business.
Only two piles of documents remained. The first contained letters from the public that either her unit chiefs or secretary had flagged as needing her scrutiny. The sheer variety, and sometimes inanity, of that collection could often brighten up the most frustrating or mind-bogglingly boring days. She tended to eke that selection out over the course of her week, usually when desperate for a change of scenery, so to speak.
The final pile went straight into the last basket without any thought at all. It was all the minutiae related to Sirius Black’s escape from Azkaban and continued ability to evade the entire population of the country, both Muggle and magical, that was looking for him. Knowing that if there was any significant progress with that investigation, she’d have heard about it already, she mostly read through that collection when she had a free moment, adding a few encouraging comments here and there to shore up the morale of the troops.
Amelia centred the file containing the high priority group of reports in front of her, hoping that she wouldn’t need to be putting any fires out today. That hope only lasted long enough to open that file and scan through the contents of the first document. She quickly fished down through the next few pages and pulled them all into one stack, putting the file with the remainder aside. Laying them side by side across her desk, the director mentally checked off who had been involved in the incident and who seemed to be nominally in charge. Because that person better be readying themselves for a right royal arse kicking, for not calling her in the night before.
Checking carefully, she saw she had reports from all the usual suspects, Auror Corps, Obliviator Unit, Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and Child Welfare Services as well. Oh, and to put the cherry on top of the shite sundae, she’d also been served notice from the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic, that he’d involved himself in placing the subject of the whole mess at the Leaky Cauldron for the next three and a half weeks.
Shaking her head in something she’d not call disbelief but rather more frustrated acceptance, she noted the nominal person in charge was one of her Aurors. One who was rather notorious for his screw ups and incompetence, but who was basically under a protected status, as the nephew of Minister Fudge. Merlin, how she hated that she was still burdened with employees who had gained their positions through blood status and nepotism. She’d done her best to stamp it out since becoming head of the DMLE five years before, but had been able to do little with those already entrenched on her arrival. Amelia reached into the right lower desk drawer and pulled out the duty roster for all four units for the week, just to reassure herself that at least the rest of the employees called out to Surrey were largely competent. Then she gave into temptation and checked that the drawer above was fully stocked with potions. She was dead certain she’d need a headache reliever before this was done. Not that a Calming draft was out of the realms of possibility either.
Heaving a deep sigh, she began to read the first report.
Auror Incident Report
with Muggle Involvement
Reporting Auror: John Dawlish, Grade One
Date: 7 August, 1993
Time: 19:23
Location: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
Magicals Involved: Harry James Potter
Muggles Involved: Margery Dursley, Petunia Dursley*, Vernon Dursley*, Dudley Dursley.
* Guardians of Harry James Potter.
Summary of Incident:
The Auror Department was alerted to a large amount of magic use via the UMMA Network (Unauthorised Magic in Muggle Areas), at the address listed. A cross-listed alert also came in from the Improper Use of Magic Office (Underage Magic Division), that the home was known to contain a previously warned magic user, Harry James Potter.
Trainee Auror Otto Salomon and myself proceeded to the alarmed address. On arrival, Miss Margery Dursley was found to have been inflated to the size of a small Welsh Green dragon and had floated several blocks to the south, following the prevailing winds. The remaining Dursleys were demonstrating considerable anger and distress, accusing Mr Harry Potter of ‘blowing up his aunt’. There was no sign of Mr Harry Potter, his school trunk or his owl in either his bedroom or the rest of the home. Trainee Salomon, who visited the suspect’s bedroom, reported numerous locks on the door which had a small flap at floor level, with furniture that was in a much poorer state of repair than the rest of the home. Trainee Salomon was reminded that the focus of the investigation was on what had happened to cause this incident, and that his lack of focus would be reported to the training instructors.
Trainee Salomon was then directed to disillusion himself and fly a department standard broom (in disillusioned mode) to attach a rope to the victim and return her to the above address, while questioning of the three remaining Dursley family members was conducted by myself.
Per Mr Vernon Dursley, Mr Harry Potter took exception to some comments made about his ‘deceased good-for-nothing drunken parents’, resulting in his sister’s inflation in revenge. When asked where Mr Harry Potter had gone to, the above mentioned said that he had thrown the ‘Freak’ out for his use of magic and threatened to thrash him if he returned. Both Mr and Mrs Dursley expressed a desire for their nephew to be removed permanently from the home.
Subsequently, the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad was able to deflate Miss Margery Dursley, who was then Obliviated and put to bed thinking she’d had one brandy too many. The remaining Dursleys were reminded of their obligation to keep quiet about the incident, per the Statute of Secrecy. Trainee Salomon and myself conducted a brief sweep of the neighbourhood to attempt to locate Mr Harry Potter and ensure no neighbours saw the incident. The result was negative and we returned to Auror Corps Headquarters to report on the incident. Other DMLE units remained onsite to complete their own follow-up of the incident.
Recommendations: Mr Harry Potter clearly requires additional education on the Statute of Secrecy, given this was his second violation in little over a year, not to mention a reminder to be grateful for having a family and a home.
Trainee Salomon requires additional instruction on remaining focussed on tasks and issues related to the incident at hand. He is not yet ready for graduation and more independence with Auror investigations.
Signed: John Dawlish, Auror Grade 1
Time/Date Completed: 03:14, 8 August, 2023
Madam Bones inwardly fumed at that report. It seemed Auror Dawlish might have captured the relevant details, but had missed the big picture entirely. He tended to be completely ethnocentric and biased towards the wizarding world, which often led to him being rather dismissive of important issues when he had to deal with Muggles in his professional capacity. She made a note to talk directly to Trainee Salomon later that day, to see what else had been left out of this report. Also to see if the trainee wished for a new training partner. She had little doubt that he would answer in the affirmative after spending more than a few hours with Dawlish, given she herself could barely tolerate five minutes with the bigoted dolt.
It was surprising, in a way, that the Auror seemed to have treated the Muggles relatively even-handedly throughout this incident. Then she rechecked the time stamp on the report and made a quick Firecall to the Hops and Robbers Pub, a local haunt of the off duty Auror Corps. It was owned and run by a Muggleborn retired Auror, with a very tongue-in-cheek sense of humour, named Xander Westfell. As she suspected, Xander confirmed that Dawlish had gone off shift, after returning to the Ministry and dropping off his trainee. He’d then headed to the Hops and Robbers for around three hours, before returning to complete his report in the wee hours of the morning, clearly feeling much less uptight than normal. Sadly, by this point, it was almost certain that he’d taken either a Sober-Up or Hangover potion and there was no way to determine if he’d been impaired when writing the report.
The documentation from the Magical Reversal and Obliviation teams largely coincided with the main Auror report, just adding a few more details specific to their own actions. However, both very thorough reports included comments on the general nastiness, for want of a better term, conveyed by the Dursleys about Mr Potter, and magic in general. Obliviator Mongson included some very pointed notations on the demeanour and temperament of the Potter boy’s uncle, including the fact he must easily be four times the size of the lad and was clearly accustomed to releasing his anger verbally. Added to that was the suspicion that Vernon Dursley’s anger towards the boy came out physically as well, given the man’s clenched fists throughout the encounter and verbal threats to ‘thrash the boy within an inch of his life’ the next time Mr Potter stepped foot in the home.
Saving the Children’s Services caseworker’s report for last, knowing it would require a considerable amount of scrutiny and consideration towards the necessary followup, Amelia pulled out the note from the Office of the Minister. Thankfully it soon became clear that Cornelius had dealt with Mr Potter by himself the night before, and had not subjected the assuredly stressed and fearful boy to the dubious pleasure of meeting his exceedingly toad-like Senior Undersecretary. “Small mercies,” she muttered to herself, “Small mercies indeed.” Apart from some minor editorialising by Umbridge, about how the boy should be grateful that the Minister himself attended to his running away from home, it was surprisingly succinct. It was also lacking in any sort of justification for leaving a barely thirteen-year-old boy unsupervised in Diagon Alley for nearly a month, but she wasn’t particularly surprised by that decision. Fudge wasn’t exactly known for his attention to detail or follow through with issues in his tenure as Minister.
Finally, Amelia turned to the Children’s Services report, knowing it would be necessarily incomplete due to Mr Potter having already left the Dursley home before anyone had arrived from the Ministry. Though now she thought about it, just how long had it taken for her staff to turn out to the incident, if in that time the boy managed to pack his trunk, free his owl and pack up the cage, and then also remove himself from the immediate environs?
Checking all the details, it appeared that it took a little over ten minutes for the teams to arrive at the Dursleys. “Not a spectacular turnout time”, she mused. “Definitely warrants some drills over the month or so.” A somewhat evil gleam was evident in her eye that did not bode well for the emergency response units within the DMLE. Nobody enjoyed their job when their boss was on a justifiable tear, even more so when that boss was the utterly formidable Madam Amelia Bones.
Getting back on track though, she considered the fact that the boy was able to pack his trunk with basically everything he owned in that short amount of time. This was evident from the photos of his bedroom, appended by the Children’s Services emergency caseworker. Not only that, he’d apparently had another confrontation with his uncle before escaping the house and disappearing from the neighbourhood. But an ugly picture was emerging from the statements taken from all four Dursleys and close neighbours, who’d appeared in the street, wanting to know what the commotion was. Thankfully, none of the neighbours had seen anything warranting Obliviation.
From the victim herself, Mr Potter was described as a wastrel with poor breeding. She’d been told that the boy had been sent to St Brutus School for Incurably Criminal Boys, where beatings were routinely administered. Neighbours also reported being told the same about the young orphan’s schooling, along with the fact that he was a loner without friends, who was blamed for all local vandalism and petty crime, even when he was off at school in Scotland.
Vernon Dursley wasn’t the only member of the family to label Harry Potter as ‘the Freak’ and describe magic as freakishness also. There was no trace of any familial affection for the boy, and even his cousin Dudley, only a few months older, treated him with disdain. The cousin actually bragged that he and his friends engaged in a game that they called ‘Harry Hunting’, which consisted of chasing the boy down, then holding him to the ground as the others kicked and beat him.
Additionally, the boy’s bedroom was filled with broken toys discarded by Dudley, as he was happy to claim, whilst also complaining that Harry had taken over his second bedroom. That had only happened after they’d received Mr Potter’s first Hogwarts letter, addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. There were numerous photos of said cupboard, including a heartbreaking scrawl in crayon, ‘Harry’s Room’. Willow O’Hennessy, the Children’s Services caseworker, had also included pictures of both doors bearing locks from the outside. The locks numbered six on the door of the boy’s present room, as well as a flap she could only assume was used for meals.
It was all eerily reminiscent of Azkaban, absent the Dementors and the North Sea gale force winds. Then there was the final damning piece of evidence. There was no official record whatsoever of Mr Potter’s placement with the Dursleys, nor any contact at all from child welfare services until last night, including routine foster care visits. For that matter, there was no record of any previous incidents of accidental magic, absent the report of a year before in the Underage Magic office, which had not even been investigated in person. A violation notice was owled to the home and that was it.
Amelia just planted her elbows on her desk, face in her hands and shuddered. How in Merlin’s name had so many protocols been missed or ignored in the decade and more that the boy had been with this family? And was it a deliberate act to isolate and control the Boy Who Lived, or were there other magical children who’d been missed as well? This was going to be a nightmare to sort out, particularly given the powerful names associated with this case. And it didn’t even begin to answer the as yet unspoken question. Why had Harry Potter still been capable of performing accidental magic when that typically ceased on receiving a wand, for practically every other child?
Amelia didn’t anticipate seeing much but the desk she leaned on, for the next month or so. Which had her feeling guilty about missing out on the rest of Susan’s summer holidays. Her brother Douglas, Susan’s father, had become a recluse since losing his wife, Sophie in a horrific attack on their cottage by Death Eaters shortly before the end of the last war. She rather doubted he’d be able to handle parenting and entertaining Susan all alone, and she decided she would be doing a lot of work through the overnight hours, until her niece left on the Hogwarts Express. But barring emergencies, the evenings would be devoted to them spending time together. She could get by on minimal sleep for three odd weeks, she’d done it more than once before in this job.
≈◆≈◆≈
Harry, meanwhile, was considerably less stressed than the head of the DMLE that morning. He’d slept in until nearly eight o’clock, which was indeed late for the designated breakfast cook for his relatives. But he’d arrived late to the Leaky Cauldron, after being given a rather hair-raising tour of Britain via the Knight Bus. Then he’d been accosted by the Minister for Magic, and never let it be said that the man was short-winded when he got talking.
It had been after eleven when old Tom the barman had shown him to his room on the second floor, though thankfully the older man had brought Harry’s trunk and Hedwig’s cage up the stairs already. It had been a wonderful surprise though, to find Hedwig already in residence and snoozing away on her perch.
As he ate the full English breakfast, delivered to his room by a house-elf in a very becoming floral-patterned pillowcase, Harry knew there’d be hell to pay with his relatives when he was forced back there by Dumbledore next summer. But, with the resilience of youth, he decided that was a problem for later, given it was eleven months away. He shared his double ration of bacon with Hedwig, who’d joined him at the table, seated as she was on the back of the other sturdy chair.
“Well girl, we have three and a half weeks to kill. What should we get up to first?” he asked. The answering glare said it all.
“Yeah, you’re right. I need to get my homework finished before something else manages to disrupt the next few weeks. Oh, and head into Gringotts to get some money to spend. If I can afford it, I’d like to replace a lot of these horrid secondhand clothes that I am forced into wearing. Up for a bit of shopping with me?”
The tilt of Hedwig’s head and the look in her eye conveyed her agreement with the need to shop and her acceptance of being expected to be there as her boy tried on the clothes once he was back in their room. After all, a proper familiar was always entitled to have an opinion on her boy’s appearance and well-being.
“I’m wondering about something from last night,” Harry informed his owl. “Why didn’t Professor Dumbledore come to the rescue, either to get us settled somewhere else or help deal with Aunt Marge and the others. I mean, he tells me it’s the safest place for me over the summer. Wouldn’t it make sense he would have some way of knowing there was trouble?”
Hedwig chirruped in agreement with her boy’s assessment of the situation, even as she had suspicions of her own about, well, practically everything, now they’d been together all this time. Not for the first time, she wished she could actually write and get a letter to someone properly in authority. If an owl could tell her boy was underfed, dressed in horrible clothes and subjected to all kinds of nasty names and sometimes the fists or belt of the largest blob of blubber, then why were all these witches and wizards so blind? Hmm, she’d have to put her thinking cap on for this one. There had to be a way to find a competent person to help her boy. Hedwig then realised he had started speaking again and went back to paying close attention to his words.
“Okay, don’t take me the wrong way on this. Truthfully, I think it’s pretty wicked. I’m going to get all this time to hang around in a proper Wizarding area for the rest of this summer. There’s so much to learn and things I’ve never seen or done. And I don’t care what that Minister says. I know I can get out into the rest of London safely. What’s one boy amongst the millions who live here? I bet I can come up with a decent disguise, and I’ve always got Dad’s cloak. You and I know just how badly I need clothes and other supplies for school. A little deodorant wouldn’t go astray, being summer,” he finished with a chuckle. Which turned into loud gusts of laughter when Hedwig pretended to sniff at him, then turn her head in disgust.
“Oh girl, how I wish you could talk. I bet you could make all sorts of super clever plans!” She preened at his acknowledgement of her superior intellect. Of course she could, that went without saying.
Laughing still, Harry went on, “Where was I? Oh yeah, being left with no adult in charge ‘til we go back to school seems a bit fishy. Back at primary school, if there was something major going on with a kid’s parents and there was no other family to take care of them, they always seemed to organise temporary foster care. Isn’t that a thing in this world too?” The minute twitch of Hedwig’s wings could easily be taken as a shrug. It made no sense either. Hatchlings were almost never left unattended in the nest.
Scratching his head in confusion, Harry just gave up on that line of thought. What seemed logical to someone raised as a Muggle often didn’t seem to register with most wizards. He and Hermione had talked about this sort of thing before and not reached any conclusions either. And if the smartest witch he knew couldn’t figure it out? Well, enough said, right there. Though thinking about it, he bet Hedwig could give Hermione a run for her money in the brains department. Imagine if those two could ever communicate. They’d take over the world!
Shrugging off all his questions, Harry turned to thoughts of the day ahead. Gringotts first, because he’d used the last of his money for the Knight Bus the night before, then find somewhere other than this room, nice as it was, to do homework. ‘Ooh,’ he thought, mentally rubbing his hands together with glee, ‘I wonder if Fortescue’s has a little out of the way table they’d not mind me using? It’s perfect ice-cream weather, and it would be nice to be outside doing something other than Aunt Petunia’s gardening jobs.’
Grabbing his school satchel, he made sure he had parchment, ink and quills, reminding himself he needed to stock up on these too, then his books for Herbology and Charms. Unfortunately, he couldn’t fit much more than this, as Hagrid hadn’t mentioned upgrading to one with expansion and lightweight charms, when they’d gone shopping before first year. Not for the first time, he questioned the Headmaster’s wisdom (and motivations) at sending the gentle half-giant to introduce him to this world and take him shopping. He clearly hadn’t been familiar with the process and the information he’d need to convey. The lack of instructions on how to get onto the platform to catch the Hogwarts Express said it all.
Deciding not to replay the experience of his first time transiting through the pub with Hagrid, Harry grabbed his book bag, threw his invisibility cloak on, and left his room, depositing the tray of breakfast dishes on the shelf outside his door as he’d been instructed. The pub wasn’t too full as he passed through, but then it was still barely nine o’clock. He knew things would change closer to lunchtime. Harry snuck out the back door, doffed his cloak and secured it in his satchel, then tapped the pattern on the brick wall with his wand. As always, he marvelled at the entrancing sight of Diagon Alley as it appeared in front of him. Hedwig fluttered down and planted herself on his shoulder; it appeared she was looking forward to the day out as well. Soon the two were strolling at a leisurely pace, down the Alley towards Gringotts. Harry stopped often to explore the window displays of many shops he hadn’t been given time to notice before, some more interesting to Hedwig than others if the way she leaned forward to take her own look was anything to go by.
Finally, they reached the brilliantly white edifice that was Gringotts Bank. Hedwig changed her perch from Harry’s shoulder to an upper windowsill of the building opposite, apparently uninterested in riding the cart down to the boy’s vault. Though given the chance, she’d have clarified that. She felt that she probably wouldn’t enjoy the cart ride, no matter how much her boy had rattled on about it on their walk from the Leaky Cauldron. It was more that she was almost certain that the Goblins wouldn’t allow her to race the cart, a much more enticing proposal. Given that, she’d be content to wait here for her boy until his business with the bank was done.
Harry’s shoulder felt light and oddly empty without the weight of his familiar, as he climbed the steps of the bank, nodding respectfully to the guards on duty. One good thing about this three weeks of freedom would be the time he could spend with his gorgeous girl (not to mention infamous mother hen). A loud hoot from across the alley seemed to say, “I heard that!” He entered the bank wearing a wide grin.
Taking his place at the end of the shortest line, Harry then went into a panic. He didn’t have his vault key! Hagrid had it in his possession for first year, and returned it to Dumbledore, who’d passed it on to Mrs Weasley for their shopping trip before second year. Oh well, nothing he could do to fix that. He just hoped that Gringotts had ways of allowing customers entry to their vaults or replacing keys. Surely others lost keys sometimes?
Harry had been moving steadily towards the front of the line as he’d been considering the dilemma of having no key. Much to his surprise, when his turn came, he found himself opposite a familiar face. It was the goblin who’d driven the cart and helped him get into his vault that very first day.
“Griphook!” he exclaimed with pleasure. “You’ve come up in the world!”
Pleased to be recognised two years after that single meeting, the goblin snarked, “Indeed, quite literally.” Both lads snickered at that, no matter how many looks they received from customers and goblins alike for it. It was simply too funny a moment to go to waste.
Looking around, Harry noted some of the glares and lowered his voice confidingly, “Oops, it seems the adults aren’t happy we’re having fun.” Of course, they both had to contain their laughter again after that, barely succeeding as Griphook asked what Harry needed that morning.
“Umm, I want to go to my vault and get some money, now that I’ll be staying in the alley until school goes back. Only, I just realised I don’t have my key. Either the Headmaster or Mrs Weasley has it and they’ve never bothered to give it to me.”
Swallowing down the sigh that dearly wanted to work its way out, Griphook managed to fake a smile instead, popped a closed sign onto the counter, then waved Harry towards the end of the line of tellers. “It’s alright, Mr Potter. This is something we deal with quite often, but it takes a bit of paperwork to sort out, so we might as well head to one of the meeting rooms and be comfortable. With that, he motioned Harry through a door that led deeper into the bank, turning left into the first branching corridor, then entering the second door on the right. Griphook slid a panel on the door to one side as they went through, likely to show the room was in use, Harry thought.
“Let’s get down to business then, Mr Potter,” Griphook said, as they seated themselves at the small oval-shaped conference table.
“Please, call me Harry,” the boy replied, with a shy grin.
“Alright, Harry it is. But only when it’s just the two of us. Gringotts tends to frown on their goblin staff becoming overly familiar with the wizards and witches they dealt with.” In the past such fraternisation had led to nasty incidents of corruption, isolated though they may be. Grinning broadly now, Harry nodded his acceptance of the rules.
“Let’s get a few details out of the way first, then we can sort out getting you a key. We basically have to get the equivalent of a statement to the Muggle police, to ensure there is no attempt at fraud going on, and that we have all the facts before issuing a new key. Given the new key voids all of the older keys in circulation, you might imagine the chaos that can cause when some account members find themselves either accidentally or deliberately shut out.”
Harry cringed at that though. “I’m guessing ugly tantrums in the lobby are only the start?” He could only imagine what Uncle Vernon would do in such a situation.
“Oh, you have no idea. Though the best of the guards’ memories do make for pretty hilarious viewing in a pensieve at the annual celebration of the founding of the bank.” The pair shared another laugh at that, their senses of humour both a bit juvenile and scarily alike for two different species. But boys will be boys.
Redonning the dignity expected of a Gringotts teller, Griphook began the necessary formal questioning. “Have you ever been in possession of your vault key, Mr Potter?”
Recognising it was back to business. “No sir. In fact, I’ve only ever seen it twice, when Hagrid had it before first year and when Mrs Weasley withdrew money for school shopping last year.”
Nodding at the clear answer, Griphook continued, “Did you give permission for either of these individuals to have physical possession of your key?”
“I didn’t know I had a vault or any money at all, let alone a key, before that first day I met you. Though that might be a good thing in a way. If my aunt and uncle knew I had any money at all, I’m dead certain they would have cleaned me out well before my Hogwarts letter came.”
Griphook inwardly cringed at those words. There had been considerable speculation about the Potter boy and his living situation after that first visit. The fact he seemed utterly clueless about the Wizarding world and the state of his attire and physical being had been noted by all those who’d seen or dealt with the lad. Gringotts tried to stay out of human issues, beyond their financial concerns, but the Potters, while comfortably wealthy (they were far from their most lucrative customers), had been customers for nigh on a thousand years and had always had a reputation for being very respectful in all their dealings with the Goblins.
That kind of loyalty from both sides went a long way, and there had been arguments for intervening on the boy’s behalf before now. Those had only been stalled by the lack of information from Mister Potter, given he seemingly had very limited access to the wider Wizarding world. It would be interesting to see how his superiors would play this out, but Griphook would certainly be putting his vote in for interceding on young Potter’s behalf. He liked the boy too much to just let this all go.
Griphook then asked the second-to-last essential question to get the key replaced, though he was sure that there would be many others before they were done.
“Do you wish for Gringotts Bank to recall any and all keys to your account, and do you wish to have them replaced with a single key that will remain in your possession?”
“Uh huh, oh I mean yes, absolutely,” Harry excitedly responded. He was anxious to find out if his vault held anything from his parents, apart from the gold he’d seen on his first visit. Harry knew he couldn’t rub his relatives’ faces in the monetary value of his vault, even though it would put paid to believing the slanderous comments about his mum and dad from the Dursleys. But it would let him flaunt things a little when he showed up with clothes that actually fitted and suited him. They’d surely try to get their hands on his money, but Harry had confidence the Goblins would handle his relatives without breaking a sweat. Assuming Goblins actually sweated, was his last thought before turning his attention back to Griphook.
“Final question now. Do you wish to have Gringotts Bank conduct an audit on your account to ensure no unauthorised withdrawals have occurred in the time since your parents’ deaths?”
Confusion overtook the boy’s face, Griphook noted. ‘He’s not even considered that others having his key has given them leeway to do with his vault what they will’. The goblin inwardly cringed; he liked Harry immensely. The last thing he wanted to see was others taking advantage of the young lad.
Demonstrating his well-honed ability to recognise this whole thing could be a potential landmine, Harry asked, “So what does an audit include and what happens if you find something wrong with my account?”
Griphook internally acknowledged that Harry’s ability to pick up on non-verbal cues and hidden messages was pretty good. Which was a bit of a sad commentary on the life the child had lived to this date.
“The vaults register the magical signature of everyone who enters, as well as doing an immediate reconciliation of any funds or items stored, each time the vault doors are opened. So we can see if anything, both money and any stored items have been taken from your vault since your first visit.”
Harry’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, you mean my parents left me things and not just money? Why did I not see that when I visited my vault last time?”
Gently, cognisant of how fraught with triggers this topic might be, Griphook replied, “Thanks to shrinking spells, most of the items your parents stored in the vault have been put to one side, probably in those trunks we saw stacked against the wall. It’s a pity we didn’t have any time to explore that before now. Still, we will have the chance to discuss this during our ride down to your vault.”
Harry didn’t let the goblin finish. “You’re going to take me down there again yourself? Wicked!”
The goblin inwardly blushed, grateful to hear those words uttered. Outwardly, he maintained the dignity Gringotts liked their tellers and managers to maintain, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the openness and enthusiasm of the young wizard before him. Playing up the element of subterfuge that seemed to delight Harry so greatly, they snuck out through back corridors, arriving at the employee access to the carts via a deliberately circuitous route.
Griphook put everything he had into making the cart ride as thrilling as possible for the boy. Typically, there were limiters placed on the carts when carrying humans. But carrying a Seeker who could pull off a Wronski feint? Griphook set the cart to Goblin standards, ushered Harry on board and headed to the depths at full speed, the boy shouting with ecstatic glee. Which did mean that not much conversation and explanation happened on the ride, but Griphook seemed to know that the boy had been given few opportunities just to have fun throughout his childhood. It was a small enough gift to give the orphaned boy.
Having taken the long way around to extend the fun, Griphook reluctantly directed the cart to the Potter vault at last. Truth be told, he’d been enjoying himself almost as much as Harry; with his promotion to teller he’d decided he should act in a more dignified manner, and had reined in his wilder cart driving tendencies.
“That was totally amazing,” Harry gushed. “Have you ever thought of creating roller coaster rides and selling them to Muggle amusement parks? You’d be making a small fortune, I bet!”
A considering look crossed Griphook’s face; he’d never heard of the idea being proposed to the clan, but the boy was right. It could indeed be quite a lucrative business opportunity. When he’d been a cart driver, a small number of Muggleborn families had obtained vaults that they wished to access themselves, instead of having a teller arrange for the deposit or withdrawal. Most had mentioned the similarity to amusement park rides, but Harry was likely the first to suggest turning it into a business. He would be attending a family dinner on Sunday afternoon. It would give him a chance to pass on the idea to his Great Uncle Travoak, who was one of Clan Chief Ragnok’s senior advisers. And he would be certain to make sure credit for the idea went to Harry Potter. It was clan policy to reward those who helped institute profitable businesses, no matter if they were Goblin, Gringotts employees or not employed by the bank at all.
Harry, having climbed out onto the narrow platform beside the tracks, proudly waved his key at Griphook, then opened the vault door. This time he wasn’t dazed by the tall stacks of Galleons before him, which is not to say that he didn’t scoop up enough coins to get his school things and have some spending money for the year, but also to cover whatever he might want to do in the Alley between now and when school would start. He gratefully reminded Griphook that he was glad the Goblin had set him up with his money bag, as it made handling coins so much easier. Then the two turned their attention to the trunks lining one side of the vault.
The first mostly contained shrunken furniture and some miniaturised portraits. A swift check revealed neither of his parents had a portrait in the collection, and they soon moved on. The second trunk appeared to be the shrunken down contents of an entire library. Griphook commented softly, “Your grandparents packed away their valuable items just in case their home was attacked. Sadly, a virulent strain of dragon pox took them both two months after your parents were married. The cottage at Godric’s Hollow was their wedding gift to the couple.”
“What were their names?” Harry asked with a sombre tone. Nobody had ever mentioned them to him before.
“Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, though I heard they went by Monty and Phee respectively,” Griphook replied.
Harry bit back a laugh, “I think I would shorten my name too if I was called Fleamont.” Chuckling, Griphook could only agree.
The next trunk was less than half full, but it consisted of albums of his parents at Hogwarts, through to the time they’d had to go into hiding. Certified copies of important documents were also sorted into neat files and covered his parent’s exam scores, birth certificates for both parents as well as Harry, their marriage licence and a few other items. Finding this trunk and its contents was deeply bittersweet for the boy.
Looking at the shrunken down trunk and its precious contents, and realising it had inbuilt charms to shrink and expand, as well as reduce the weight with only the touch of his wand, Harry asked, “Griphook, would it be alright to take this trunk with me? I’d like to look through it all and take my time. And truthfully, this trunk is way better than the one Hagrid suggested I get. All those dividers and pockets to organise my things properly, and the charms to make it easy to carry, would be really helpful once school starts.”
Griphook agreed it was a good idea, but had one further suggestion. “How about I copy all of the photographs and documents, and we can keep the original contents safe here in your vault?” An archival-grade filing box appeared seemingly out of nowhere. With it was a small embroidered pouch, no bigger than a pack of cards, that he handed to Harry. “This is virtually bottomless and is tied to your magical signature. It will hold everything here, giving you more room in your trunk. It’s also charmed for security, so that only you can see it and remove it from the trunk.”
Harry thanked Griphook for the excellent suggestion, as the Goblin carried out those tasks. He was glad the teller didn’t elaborate or muse on who might try to steal his things (that would be most everyone hooked on the Boy Who Lived legend, with the issue of his relatives also left unsaid). In pretty much no time at all, they’d ridden the cart back to the main foyer area of the bank, returned to Griphook’s teller counter and exchanged some of Harry’s Galleons for pound notes. Though Fudge had directed him to stay in Diagon Alley, he was in dire need of some decent clothes that actually fit.
A quick thought jumped into Griphook’s head. “Mr Potter,” the names formal again as befitted a conversation within the main hall of the bank, “Would I be correct that you were advised to stay within the environs of Diagon Alley until you return to school?”
A little morosely, some of his bravado at taking off to go shopping in Muggle London having worn off as the adrenaline of the cart ride settled down, Harry nodded. “Minister Fudge warned me it was dangerous because of that escaped prisoner.”
“If you were to have an escort who could ensure your safety, would you be interested?” Griphook was dearly hoping the boy would say yes; someone needed to put his needs first for a change and the wizards seemed to have no intention of doing so.
“Oh, that would be brilliant. Do you know someone who’d be willing to come with me?” Suddenly, the boy’s energy had returned.
“My shift is due to end at noon and my Muggle Glamour is rather spectacular, if I do say so myself. What would you say if I met you at the Leaky Cauldron at twelve fifteen and we can go from there. I’ve been dying for some pizza lately and there’s a good place only two blocks away.”
Harry was about ready to dance with excitement but remembered where he was just in time. “You won’t get into trouble for this will you?”
“It will be fine. My great uncle is a senior adviser to our clan chieftain, and I’m sure he will be very understanding once he hears the circumstances.” Griphook kept his voice gentle so that the lad wouldn’t be worried on his behalf.
“Alright then, pizza and shopping it is! I’ll see you in a couple of hours then.” Harry stepped back from the teller’s counter with that. He had a few things to do in that time, not the least of which was to get Hedwig some more owl treats. Griphook nodded in agreement and watched the orphaned boy head towards the grand doors to the Alley. He was rather looking forward to his afternoon. It certainly beat the book he had waiting for him back at his cottage, which had been his only plan for when he got off work for the day, before the surprise that was Harry Potter appeared before him.
≈◆≈◆≈
Harry chattered away brightly to Hedwig, excited for the upcoming shopping trip. He promised to bring her some pizza if he could manage it as well, though the soft hoot and nuzzle to his ear told the boy that would be fine as long as it didn’t cause him any trouble. Though she hoped he would bring her a piece of meat lovers pizza if he managed it, that being her favourite.
A stop by Eeylops Owl Emporium saw Hedwig taste-testing and selecting two flavours of the deluxe owl treats. In the end, she went for bacon-flavoured (no surprise there) and a Muggle-influenced option that she’d never heard of before. But it had only taken a nibble to fall in love with the Spam treats and so Harry decided to spoil his girl a bit. He dropped by Madam Malkins and was measured for new school clothes, then popped into Fortescue’s to ask if it would be alright to come by the next day and enjoy the sunshine as he did his homework.
Florean Fortescue, the owner, enthusiastically agreed to the idea and promised to put a reserved sign on the small table for two to the rear of the outside dining area, where he’d get all the sunshine he wanted, but with a little protection from the wind blowing his homework around. Harry thanked him heartily, then checked his watch and realised he needed to drop his new trunk and other purchases off in his room so he’d be on time to meet Griphook.
The Goblin arrived a few minutes early to meet with Harry and was directed up to room eleven by a surprised Tom, the barkeep. Goblins weren’t seen much roaming around the alley, tending to stay below ground when not working, but the old man had run the Leaky Cauldron for too many years to show he was astonished at all.
Harry was ready to go when Griphook reached the room and they agreed that Harry would exit onto Charing Cross Road under his invisibility cloak, so as not to raise any alarms, while Griphook would return to the Alley as himself, then come back through glamoured and meet Harry outside. A quick wave of the Goblin’s hand saw him transformed into a teenager, maybe sixteen or seventeen, who looked enough like Harry to be his brother. Pronouncing the disguise to be perfect, Harry donned his cloak and followed Griphook down the stairs.
The duo had a marvellous time on their afternoon out. They’d split a meat lover’s pizza, and Griphook softly sighed to himself on hearing it was Harry’s first time to try such a relatively mundane Muggle food. They ordered a personal pizza with the same toppings to take with them for Hedwig before they left and Griphook surreptitiously applied a stasis charm to make sure it wouldn’t spoil, then shrunk it down so it could fit in one of Harry’s pockets.
They rode the Tube towards Tottenham Court Road, where Griphook knew there were quite a lot of shopping options. Clothing shopping took the longest, given Harry needed everything from underwear to a decent winter coat. Shoe shopping followed next and Harry was soon kitted out with winter boots, a pair of trainers and some lace-up shoes suitable for wearing with his school uniform, along with a pair of sandals to wear for the rest of the summer. A trip into Boots met the toiletry needs, though Griphook mentioned the name of a store on Diagon that sold magical versions that tended to be longer lasting.
The afternoon was rounded out by a trip into Sainsbury’s where Harry was able to stock up on snacks (something he’d always been denied at the Dursleys), as well as a variety of stationery items. Harry had resolved from now on to only use quills and parchments for those tasks such as essays or exams, where his professors required them. Note books, a hole punch to go with the ringed folders to store assignments, pens, pencils and so on, made much more sense to the barely teenaged boy. Griphook took them back to the station via a specialty stationers, where he picked up a fountain pen that the Goblin promised to permanently transfigure into looking like a quill, but the tip would never break or dull, and it would operate exactly as a normal fountain pen would, only with a self-filling ink capability. Harry could only sigh in relief at that and resolved to practice so that his homework would be considerably more legible this summer. He was also very glad that he hadn’t picked up new quills that morning, though he might stock a few in his trunk, because Ron was always losing or breaking his.
As he had at every stop, Griphook managed to shrink the shopping bags with no one noticing, and then they headed back to the Tube to return to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry promised to stop by the bank at least once a week and let Griphook know how everything was going, while the Goblin promised to himself to make time to show Harry more of the various alleys surrounding Diagon Alley that offered a greater variety in shops and restaurants.
As Griphook headed back in the direction of Gringotts, Harry snuck back into his room under his cloak and deposited the small pile of parcels on his bed. They all resized themselves with a touch of his wand, including the pizza which Hedwig pounced on like she hadn’t eaten for three days. Harry just chuckled to himself. His gorgeous owl really did like pizza!
While Hedwig merrily chomped away, Harry slipped back downstairs and managed to get Tom’s attention without the rest of the customers seeing him. He ordered the day’s special, steak and chips, along with a salad to be sent to his room so he could eat in peace, as well as a piece of the strawberry cheesecake Mrs Tom had made that morning. With a promise that it would be delivered shortly, Harry went back up to his room and enjoyed the sight of Hedwig on a pizza high.
Dinner was delicious and the cheesecake lived up to its excellent reputation. Harry then modelled some of his new outfits for Hedwig’s approval and thankfully she seemed satisfied with all his choices. Exhausted from all the activity and excitement, Harry decided on an early night and fell asleep almost as his head hit the pillow.
≈◆≈◆≈
Madam Bones and the rest of her people associated with the Potter accidental magic case had not had quite as pleasant a day as young Harry did. Far from it in fact. The DMLE head had the dubious pleasure of calling in John Dawlish for additional information about the state of the Potter boy’s home environment and the way his relatives had talked about him in the boy’s absence. Having to come in on his day off to answer to the ultimate boss of his department, Dawlish was surly and dismissive of the Dursleys as typical backwards Muggles who he’d only dealt with under sufferance. He also had little compassion for the boy in question, labelling him an ‘obvious troublemaker’ with no evidence to support that claim. Frustrated at this pointless but necessary exercise, Amelia sent him on his way with a flea in his ear about doing his reports hours after the case and with alcohol in his system. She’d have felt better about the whole situation if she thought Dawlish might change at all from the dressing down, but she wasn’t one for indulging in wishful thinking.
The next in line for questioning was Trainee Otto Salomon. She’d checked his training record before calling the young Auror in, and had been impressed with the reports on file. Amelia resolved to remove any complaint issued against the young man by Dawlish, though she rather thought that slacker was unlikely to follow through. Getting up and going to her door, asking her assistant to bring in some tea when she had a moment, Amelia then motioned for the trainee to enter her office and take a seat.
“Before you ask or worry about this, you’re not in any trouble, Trainee Salomon.” The young man’s shoulders descended from being in the vicinity of his ears and he relaxed slightly more in the chair.
Continuing, she spoke in a relatively conversational tone, “What were your impressions of the Dursley family and the residence when you were called there last night?”
“To be honest, Madam Bones, I reckon if Vernon Dursley wasn’t so stressed out about his sister being blown up and demanding everything be returned to normal, that he wouldn’t have even let us step foot in the house. He repeatedly referred to anything magical, including his nephew, as freakishness that clearly offended his sensibilities. Not to mention, he maintained a high level of anger the whole time we were there. His face was bright red, he rarely said anything without shouting and his hands were always fisted. To be perfectly honest, I am glad the Potter boy left the house, because I’d have feared for his safety if he’d remained.”
Amelia couldn’t help but agree, based on all the reports. Finding she was liking this level-headed Trainee who was showing such good instincts, she asked, “Did you get the feeling that Mr Potter faced that level of anger or potential violence on a regular basis?”
Salomon took the time to consider his response, before replying, “I suspect verbal abuse would be a daily thing in that household, and the cousin seems inclined to attack Mr Potter physically whenever an opportunity presents itself. What I suspect is routine in that house is that the boy is given a considerable number of chores each day, because the aunt was muttering about having to do all the cooking, cleaning, laundry and gardening herself. She finished that complaint by saying the only reason she let him stay over the summer was so she didn’t have to do all those things herself. And I am fairly sure any infraction on Mr Potter’s part would see him locked away in his room with minimal access to food or water, if both Dursleys can be believed on that.”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure they can,” Madam Bones agreed sarcastically. “What would be your recommendations for Mr Potter?” she asked, testing to see if he’d carried this situation through to its logical conclusion.
“Obviously I’m not a Child Welfare caseworker, but if anyone I was related to ended up in that situation, I’d have them out of there, make sure they’d never be allowed to return, and look to see if there was enough evidence for prosecuting the abusers.”
Amelia nodded, “I think the exact same way. I’m talking with the caseworker next. So, I have one question for you and then a small favour to ask, that you are in no way obligated to fulfill. Firstly, if I were able to offer you a different training officer, would you welcome the opportunity? Between you and me, I don’t think Dawlish is well suited for the role.”
Heaving a sigh of relief, Salomon responded, “Thank goodness you offered. Another three months and I might have been looking for a career change.”
“And that would have been a great shame,” Amelia replied. “I think you’re well on your way to becoming a topnotch Auror. Alright then, the small favour. Minister Fudge took it upon himself to install Mr Potter in a room at the Leaky Cauldron until he goes back to school.”
“He didn’t have Child Welfare Services find a temporary placement?” There was a distinct look of horror on the younger man’s face.
“Unfortunately not and I don’t have the power to override him on this. He’s got such a bee in his bonnet over Black escaping that he’d likely make a more irrational decision if I pushed the issue right now.” Normally Amelia wouldn’t be this forthcoming to such a junior member of her department, but this situation was far from normal.
“Would you mind popping into the Leaky Cauldron some time each day for me, just for right now? Just check in with Tom or Mr Potter himself if he’s there. Make sure he feels safe and knows who to call if he needs help. And help out if there’s anything else he might need, given it appears all he owns fits in his school trunk. I’ll try to get a rotation going with a couple of the other Aurors so you’re not stuck doing this for the rest of the month, but right now, there’s just too many major issues to deal with first.”
“I don’t mind doing that at all, Madam Bones. It’s no imposition as I have a flat off Diagon Alley so I’m already there anyway.”
Amelia thanked the young man with great sincerity. And a sense of hope for her Auror Corps if all the trainees were this good. She’d keep an eye out for Otto Salomon; he had the potential to do very well in his choice of career.
Picking up the final report she needed to review, Amelia glanced at the clock on her wall and cursed her own inattention. The morning had flown by and she’d promised Susan that they’d go shopping for her school supplies this afternoon. She needed to Floo home, change out of her work robes for something more casual, collect her niece and call Hannah to Floo over to join them, and all in about fifteen minutes. Not to mention she really needed to talk to Willow O’Hennessey from Children’s Services, to see if she’d been able to contact Mr Potter at the Leaky Cauldron yet. The more she considered the whole convoluted mess, the greater her inclination to sit in on that interview and see if she could get a better read on the whole thing.
A quick Floo conversation with Willow O’Hennessy helped resolve things a little. She’d been over to the pub and spoken with Tom when it became evident that the orphaned boy was not in his room. Harry Potter had received a brief visit from a Gringotts Goblin half an hour before, perhaps to drop off a money bag Tom thought. Regardless, it appeared that the boy had left unnoticed during the lunch time rush, and could be anywhere within the Alley right now.
Willow had left a note with Tom, asking to meet with Mr Potter at nine the next morning. Amelia suggested they should arrive at the Leaky Cauldron fifteen minutes before nine the next day, which would let them compare notes before talking with the boy. Amelia then ended the Floo call, glad to have firm plans now in place.
Realising time was tight, she called for her House-elf Bronty, who popped right in, efficient as always.
“Please let Susan know I’ll be there in a few minutes and have her call Hannah to Floo over. I just need to tidy things on my desk and I’ll be home to change, then we can go shopping.”
Bronty replied, “Would Madam Bonesie like me to set out some good-for-shopping robes after I give Missie Susan her message?”
Amelia nearly hugged the small creature for his foresight and kindness. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Thanks, Bronty. You’re an absolute treasure.”
Bronty gave her a shy, blushing smile, then popped out of sight. Five minutes later, having locked away all the Potter investigation files in her most secure filing cabinet, Amelia notified her assistant of her departure and Apparated directly home. Bronty had picked the perfect outfit, Hannah and Susan were ready to leave, and perhaps they’d get lucky and spot Mr Potter in the Alley and get to introduce themselves. With that, all three witches Flooed to the Leaky Cauldron and headed through into the Alley. First stop was lunch at their favourite bistro, and then it would be time to shop ‘til they dropped.
≈◆≈◆≈
Glad to have the bulk of Susan’s shopping done to get ready for her third year at Hogwarts, Amelia was ready to start afresh the next morning. She arrived at the Ministry at eight and reviewed each unit’s reports, glad to see she hadn’t gained any new crises to deal with. She made it to the Leaky Cauldron with five minutes to spare and confirmed with Tom that Mr Potter was still in his room.
Willow O’Hennessy arrived right on time and they took Tom up on his offer of tea as they reviewed the file under heavy privacy spells.
Leading off, the caseworker commented, “If Harry had been present when I arrived at the scene, I would have immediately removed him to foster care. The level of animosity from his family was unreal.”
“Even the Aunt?” Amelia asked, saddened that Lily’s sister hadn’t seemed to really care for the boy.
Willow nodded. “She doesn’t seem as inclined to violence as the male Dursleys, but there wasn’t an ounce of kindness or compassion when she spoke of her nephew and she seemed utterly unconcerned about where he might go, as long as it wasn’t in her home. Though I could have sworn that her son said Harry should come back just once so his mum could throw a frypan at his head again as their unique version of saying goodbye.”
Amelia winced at those words. It wasn’t unusual for Muggle families to struggle with finding out that their children had magic, but it was relatively uncommon for it to be greeted with that level of violence and vitriol.
“I can’t see that there could be any reason to return young Harry to that environment, particularly given the photos attached to your report,” she responded to the younger witch.
“I talked things over with my department head yesterday afternoon and she started looking for potential foster families who might have any familial connection to Harry, even if it’s remote. She said outright that he wouldn’t be going back.”
“Did Sylvia have any luck finding any candidates?” Amelia asked, having no argument with her department head’s decision.
Willow replied, “It turns out that Harry’s paternal great grandmother was Dorea Black. So there’s definitely some relatives there. But even better, Andromeda and Ted Tonks are registered foster parents with us. Their daughter is even one of your trainee Aurors.”
“Somehow I always forget Andi was a Black before she was married. The family might have disowned her, but it doesn’t negate her blood connection to Mr Potter. They’re a wonderful choice in my opinion.” Amelia and Andi had both been in Hufflepuff in school, though not in the same year. Having reached an accord on handling the case, they were about to gather their things to go up to Harry’s room when Tom led the boy in question over to their quiet corner booth.
Willow introduced them both then offered Harry a choice of where they could talk. He invited them up to his room, introduced them to Hedwig, then joined the two women at the small table, taking the extra chair Amelia had Transfigured from a pillow on his bed. He then watched in fascination as Amelia wove an intricate combination of privacy and protection spells around them, much to the dismay of the waterbug perched on the window sill as those spells also repelled animagi. Propelled backwards out of the (fortunately) open window, a very frustrated Rita Skeeter transformed back to her normal self and stomped back to the Daily Prophet offices, much aggrieved at missing out on a huge scoop.
In a skillful manner, Willow ran through what had happened the night before last at the Dursleys, drawing from the reticent boy all the provocations that led to the outburst of accidental magic. Slowly becoming reassured that he wasn’t in trouble and increasingly hopeful he wouldn’t have to return to his relatives again, Harry provided more details of life on Privet Drive, including all the chores he was expected to do, the limited amount of food he was given to eat (which was often withdrawn as a form of punishment), and the verbal abuse he underwent constantly. Finally, reluctantly, he talked about the episodes of physical abuse by all three Dursleys, and Marge in the form of setting her dog on the boy when she visited. By this time, Hedwig had moved over to sitting on Harry’s shoulder, providing obvious comfort as she nuzzled his hair.
“Did you ever tell anyone what was going on?” Amelia questioned the boy gently.
“A couple of my primary school teachers asked questions about my home life, but every time, my aunt and uncle managed to make it look like I was the troublemaker and then would punish me later, so I decided it wasn’t worth trying again.”
Following up, Willow asked next, “What about when you went to Hogwarts?”
Harry shrugged; it was the gesture of a child who had been failed too many times and no longer trusted that adults would or could do anything to make his life better. Both Willow and Amelia were all too familiar with the look. “Well, I asked Dumbledore not to make me go back there at the end of first and second year. But he never asked why and just said I needed to be under the special protections he’d set up there. Ron and the twins had to rescue me last summer, because my uncle locked me and Hedwig up after that crazy House-elf Dobby caused trouble and tried to get me expelled, by doing magic. I mean he meant well and all, but Uncle Vernon still put all those locks on my door and a cat flap so I could get a can of soup when he thought about it, and he put bars on my window. That wasn’t at all fair to Hedwig. I had to split my soup with her so she didn’t starve. Anyway, after I didn’t answer any letters, the twins drove Mr Weasley’s car and came to rescue me. They pulled the bars off and broke through the locks then got my trunk from where it was locked in the closet under the stairs that used to be my bedroom. We barely escaped from my uncle, but at least I got to spend the last few weeks at the Weasleys. I know Fred and George told their parents what they saw, but I never heard anything more after that.” Hedwig had moved to Harry’s lap by this point and almost seemed to be cuddling into the boy. He gently stroked her feathers and hugged her back; there was clearly a strong bond between the two.
Hedwig, for all her gentleness with her boy, had never been so frustrated about her inability to speak directly to humans in all her life. There were so many, many more things she wished to tell these kind witches about how badly he’d been treated by those horrible people in Surrey. Amelia found herself fixed with an intense stare and wished that Legilimency worked on owls, because she was sure that what they’d been told was the mere tip of the iceberg. As if she understood what Amelia wanted, Hedwig bobbed her head as if to affirm they were both upset by and frustrated with all that had happened to the boy who was only a few weeks into his teen years.
When Willow broached the subject of finding Harry a Wizarding family who could take him in, the boy shrugged again, this time in hopeless resignation. “If the Professor says I have to go back to Privet Drive, then that’s where I’ll be going. Doesn’t seem possible to change the Headmaster’s mind.”
“But your Aunt is your guardian, Harry. Dumbledore doesn’t really have any say in that,” Willow persisted. “We can have them relinquish their guardianship to the Children’s Services department and then that will be up to us to find you a good foster family.”
Harry just sighed and responded, “Good luck with that. He was the one who stuck me with my aunt and uncle when I was a baby. And he’s this big, powerful wizard who everyone seems to think runs most of the Wizarding world. I’ll be back there next summer, after I’ve had the disappointed grandfather talk about how families are important and that the Dursleys really do love me.” Harry was clearly an old hand at this, even as he ended with a muttered, “Hate to see what they’d do if they really disliked me. Haha!”
Wincing, Amelia replied, “Fortunately, Dumbledore is out of Britain on ICW business for the next two weeks, so we can get arrangements in place, and I’ll bring it all before the Wizegamot for them to arbitrate if he won’t back off on his return.” Amelia’s voice rang with determination, and Hedwig gave her a soft approving hoot as she continued to comfort her boy.
“We actually have an established foster family who are distantly related to you, Harry. Your great-grandmother and Mrs Tonks’ grandmother were siblings, which makes her a cousin of sorts. They’ve even got a daughter only seven years older than you.”
The windows in the room suddenly started to rattle and the teacups on the table did as well, as Hedwig let out a squawk of alarm, but stayed huddled in her boy’s arms. Harry’s voice never rose in volume, but the tone was icy cold. “You mean I had magical relatives who could have taken me in. Instead of being made to live in that…that…I want nothing to do with Hogwarts and I never want to see that lying bastard’s face again!”
Hearing the unexpected swear word out of the previously soft spoken boy’s mouth was almost as shocking as the power of his accidental magic, Amelia thought to herself, even as Harry brought himself back under control. Hedwig softly chirruped, the sound comforting and soothing, helping him settle further. There was easily five minutes of silence as they let him get calmed down and in a place to continue talking.
“I meant what I said. I want to get as far as possible away from Dumbledore, and whatever he plans for me.” Showing the maturity and self-reliance seen all too often in abused children, he sounded calm and resolute.
“What if I could get him out of the school and made sure he stayed away from you? At least you could stay with your friends and in a familiar place.” Amelia was almost one hundred percent certain she could get the Board of Governors to suspend Dumbledore and remove him from the Castle, particularly if Harry was willing to allow him to share some memories with the Board. Lucius Malfoy would jump at the chance and most of the other members wouldn’t be able to resist settling some of the injustices Harry had suffered. Or so she thought, until he revealed more.
“Yeah, alright. I’d miss my friends, but the rest? All those students who tormented me last year, just because I can speak to snakes. They called me the Heir of Slytherin and treated me as evil, including Susan and her friends. I got hexed in the halls, tripped on the stairs and called nasty names, because some kids got petrified. Which wasn’t me. And that didn’t stop until I saved the student who’d been possessed by a young version of Voldemort, killed him and killed a humongous Basilisk. Oh, and got bitten by it, and only lived because Fawkes cried on the bite and saved me. Oh, and then Dumbledore brushed it all under the carpet and sent me back to the Dursleys again.”
Aghast at the revelations, neither witch knew how to respond, though Amelia began to recover first.
“I’m the head of the DMLE and this is the first I’ve heard of any of this. Even Susan said not a word.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” was the bitter response. “Bet you didn’t hear about Quirrell having Voldemort on the back of his head all of first year either. He tried to steal the Philosopher’s stone that was hidden at Hogwarts. Me and Ron and Hermione went after him and I ended up face to face with him. Quirrell tried to attack me but when I touched him, he began to burn up. He turned into a pile of ash as this black cloud escaped his body, and I woke up in the Hospital Wing three days later. All I got from Dumbledore was vague explanations and sent back to guess where?”
As Hedwig continued offering Harry comfort, Amelia rubbed her head, all too aware of the rapidly forming headache. Thinking quickly, she came up with a proposal formed out of desperation.
“I can absolutely see why you have very mixed feelings about going back to Hogwarts, and I have about three weeks to sort things out and hopefully, give you a safe place to go to school, whether it be Hogwarts or somewhere else. Here’s my ideas,” she finished, swiftly organising her thoughts as she did.
It took some time to lay out all the options but they basically broke down to stay or go, though the fact that Harry was barely thirteen meant technically, he could make his wishes known but his adult guardians would be making the ultimate decision.
Using a hedge-her-bets approach, Amelia proposed that both options be kept in play for now. After a quick review of the alternative magical schools, Harry voted for Beauxbatons in southern France, after being advised the Goblins sold a language potion that would ensure that he would be fluent in French overnight. Harry had made a mental note to talk with Griphook about other languages he could learn, if he could afford it, because the idea of being able to go anywhere and speak the language fascinated him. Willow agreed to contact the headmistress there to find out how to go about a transfer as a third year student.
Meanwhile, Amelia would work on getting Dumbledore out of Hogwarts and ensuring he had no form of guardianship over Harry. The young teen agreed to meet the Tonks but didn’t feel comfortable moving in with them for just a few weeks until school began. When they broke for lunch a short while later, Amelia made a Floo call to Andromeda Tonks, briefly explained things and asked if she was free to join them. Andi agreed readily, eager to meet her cousin of sorts, and soon all four were chatting over Mrs Tom’s delicious shepherd’s pie and Harry’s much beloved treacle tart for dessert.
Understanding Harry’s reluctance to move in with strangers, Andi came up with the perfect solution. As a research historian, she worked to her own schedule and could free up plenty of time to spend getting to know Harry. Her husband Ted and daughter Nymphadora (Amelia whispered in Harry’s ear, “Just call her Tonks unless you want to get hexed”), could come by in the evenings as well, so they’d all become familiar with each other.
During the day, Andi suggested she could help Harry with his homework and was totally on board with doing that from Fortescue’s patio. She also suggested visiting Beauxbatons for a day via Portkey so Harry wasn’t making decisions sight unseen. Otherwise, there’d be lots of talks about Wizarding history and culture, sharing as many stories as Andi could recall about Lily and James, Harry’s parents, and perhaps some day trips to fun things like the Welsh Dragon Reserve, which had Harry nearly in fits of rapture. Hedwig, delicately chewing on her bacon rashers and one of Mrs Tom’s pork pies that she’d quickly become rather addicted to, nodded approvingly of these plans. She’d go along too, of course, just to keep her boy company and for his added safety, but she was quite satisfied with all of these suggestions.
The idea of taking outings outside of Diagon Alley had Amelia speaking up. Asking Harry if he was aware of the escapee from Azkaban, he responded that he’d seen Black’s picture on the telly at the Dursleys and had also been warned by Minister Fudge. Treading carefully, knowing Harry had been kept in the dark again, she explained that Sirius Black had been his godfather, but betrayed the location his family had been hiding at to You-Know-Who, and after his parents had been killed, went after another friend and ended up blowing up a street killing the friend and twelve Muggles. He’d been heard to mutter “He’s at Hogwarts,” repeatedly over several days before escaping Azkaban, hence their fears he was after Harry.
Harry barely reacted to this news, having finally reached his limit of stuff being dumped on him. He needed to take a breather, as they all could see, especially as Hedwig was starting to glare at them all in a way that suggested it was time for them to leave. Before they left though, Harry agreed to a temporary guardianship under Andi until plans could be finalised, simply because it made everything less awkward legally when doing things like travelling as a minor by international Portkey and so on. Harry and Andi also readily agreed to an Auror escort when they took off on their various excursions, given the Black situation.
Amelia promised to get the other balls rolling and planned to join the two for late afternoon ice-cream and an update at Fortescue’s the next day, while Willow left to inform her supervisor as to what had happened and start to get all the legal requirements sorted out. Harry grabbed a quick dinner of soup and toasties downstairs (wearing a hat to hide his scar), and was dead to the world by eight o’clock, exhausted by all the emotional turmoil.
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The following few weeks were hectic for everyone, to say the least. Andi spent a good part of each day with Harry, whether it was doing homework, visiting the dragon reserve which blew Harry’s mind, or simply helping him to learn and understand what having a real parent was like, as they worked through homework (and ice-cream) or practiced their French, Andi having also taken the language potion.
The visit to Beauxbatons went well, on the surface at least. Harry and Andi agreed the chateau was beautiful as was the surrounding countryside. Their summer school programme was in progress, something neither Brit was accustomed to and they got to meet some of the students. And this was where the puzzle pieces started to not quite fit together. Despite speaking French, neither Harry or Andi felt they fit in well with the students, even though they’d received a generous welcome from Madame Maxime, the Headmistress.
Every one of the students they met was a pureblood or half-blood and every single one was magically raised. When asked about any Muggleborn or Muggle-raised students, they were told that sort attended the Paris day school with clear disdain. Harry realised, to his dismay, that they would make an exception for him to attend, only because he was the Boy Who Lived. Thankfully near the end of their tour, Harry and Andi were both happy when the Portkey carried them away, back to Britain. There was no way Harry could see himself attending the French school.
It was fortuitous that the Hogwarts Board of Governors had met the same day, when Amelia joined them all for dinner. Ted Tonks, a Healer who’d scanned Harry early on (sending his findings along to Children’s Services) had begun him on a potions regimen to treat his old injuries and poor nutrition. Most of all, he updated Harry’s glasses prescription to the teen’s amazement at the results, as well. His daughter, who still insistently answered only to Tonks, was free for dinner also, not needing to be studying for an exam or being on patrol that night.
Amelia took great delight in announcing to the group (they’d booked Tom’s private room for dinner that evening) that Dumbledore wasn’t suspended, he’d been sacked. The memories Harry had provided of his ‘adventures’ over the previous two years, which had been hidden from the Board and all the parents as well, was enough to send them over the edge. Hedwig, who’d naturally been invited to dinner as well, did a victory lap around the room, then swooped down onto Amelia’s shoulder before beginning to meticulously groom her short steel-grey hair as a reward. Having gotten used to the owl and her antics over the last week or so, the DMLE head handled it with equanimity, and went on to explain that she would be calling the Wizengamot into session two days from now.
“Won’t the news of being sacked get to Dumbledore and ensure he comes back and tries to interfere?” Ted asked with concern.
“Ah, therein lies the beauty of my plan,” was the reply as Amelia took her seat and fed a gourmet owl treat to the snowy creature still occupying her shoulder. The pair had become good friends in the time since they’d met. Hedwig had relished how busy she’d been kept, as she’d been the sole messenger between all parties involved, to maintain operational security, as Amelia had termed it. She had become a familiar sight dashing through the halls of the Ministry and scoffing at the slow pace of the paper plane messages. She and the monocled witch had also evolved their own form of twenty questions, based purely on yes and no responses, so that Amelia could check in each day on how Harry was coping with all the chaos, as well as beginning to learn what it was like to be part of a loving family. Because loving it was. Within ten days of taking temporary custody, Ted and Andi had applied for permanent guardianship, thrilled at the idea of adding such a wonderful son to their family.
Hedwig shook herself mentally, she’d become distracted in thinking about recent events. She turned her attention back to Madam Bones, to find she’d not actually missed anything, because the witch was drawing out her announcement for dramatic effect.
“I want Dumbledore there,” she affirmed excitedly, “Because I’ve got enough evidence to bury that man. Minerva McGonagall, since the board sacked him, has had a crisis of faith, and shared her memories of when Dumbledore left you with the Dursleys. She also sent me the info on Mrs Figg, the Squib that Dumbledore placed close by the Dursleys to spy on Harry but never intervene.”
“But she used to watch me when my aunt and uncle didn’t want me to go with them somewhere. Why didn’t she say anything about magic or me being a wizard?” Harry’s voice was plaintive at the end and Hedwig immediately headed to her boy to offer comfort.
“It appears that Dumbledore used some sort of compulsion spell on her, Harry. Basically, she wouldn’t have been able to act on anything unless she feared for your life,” Amelia replied in a soft tone, knowing her words offered little comfort.
The young teen buried his face in his hands as the impact of this news sunk in. “He’s treated me like a puppet all along, hasn’t he? I’m not a person, not a kid to him. He wants something from me though goodness knows what. But it’s all been a lie, hasn’t it?”
There wasn’t much that could be said in answer to that, for Harry voiced the questions they were all thinking. Andi scooted her chair in close, offering a side hug that was careful not to disturb Hedwig, while Ted laid a comforting hand on the boy’s back and sent looks of loving reassurance to the daughter who looked as if the bottom had fallen out of all she’d believed in and known.
“I’m so sorry Harry, I know this is hard for you to hear. But with McGonagall’s testimony, she roped in other professors to share their own experiences, even Snape, along with some of those who’d belonged to Dumbledore’s vigilante group in the first war, including Mad-Eye Moody. The list of his questionable activities is growing by the hour and there’s no way the Wizengamot won’t decide to go beyond removing him as Chief Warlock, and accepting he needs to go to trial for his actions.”
“Will I have to testify?” Harry asked, not sure he was ready to be face-to-face with the man who’d sentenced him to more than a decade of neglect and abuse at the Dursleys and done nothing to protect him from being bullied and scorned to the extreme at Hogwarts.
“I’m almost certain that your memories alone will be sufficient, Harry. No matter what, I won’t make you sit in that courtroom or in witness seclusion. Send Hedwig to me that morning and go do what you want. I know she’ll find you within minutes, if I ask. After all, she’s my favourite partner in crime!” Hedwig visibly swelled at the compliment and sent a very clear ‘Of course I am’ hoot to Amelia, even as she continued loving on on her boy.
“So who’s going to take over at Hogwarts,” Andi asked, curious as to the Board’s decision.
“None of the Hogwarts staff, as it turns out. Each Head of House decided that they needed time away from Dumbledore to get their heads back on straight. Filius recommended the Deputy Head of the Paris Day School. Says he knows him as a formidable duelling opponent, but also someone he’s corresponded with for years as Charms Masters and teachers both. Several of the Board members had heard good things about the man also, which helped sway the rest. When I left the Board, they’d already sent off an owl asking for an urgent appointment to discuss a new employment opportunity.”
Andi looked Harry in the eye and asked, “So what do you think? Willing to give a new and improved Hogwarts a go?” Harry, still overwhelmed, just nodded and cuddled in with Hedwig, who’d moved to her boy’s lap, better to offer comfort.
Ted sat back in his seat, contemplating the mind blowing events of the day, then looked over to the boy weighed down by so many expectations from those in the Wizarding world. A boy he was more than halfway to considering his own. And he recalled part of a song he’d heard as a teen, “It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life and I’m feeling good,” he hummed to himself, making a vow to the boy that would soon be his son, that he’d one day soon also be able to sing, “And I’m feeling good.”
Still seated in her very comfortable armchair with a lovely scone to go with her cup of tea, Amelia continued to play outsider looking in. She was rather intrigued by what might happen next, but knew it was way too soon to decide as her reality swirled once again and she disappeared into the blackness, headed to…
≈◆≈◆≈
I’m enjoying this story very much so far, and look forward to reading the rest. But what stopped me in my tracks (between Platforms 9 and 10, hah!) is this: In actual English muggle train stations, do you have to PAY to use the restroom?! That’s DEPLORABLE! Access to free, sanitary restrooms should be a universal right, certainly in so-called “civilized” countries!
So glad they don’t have that anymore, I remember when I was a kid the public bathrooms in stores and malls were set up so you couldn’t open the door unless you put in a dime (later a quarter). I remember people used to wait outside until someone was coming out to grab the door, or the person coming out either holding the door open if the was someone waiting or putting a folded up paper towel in the door jamb to keep it from completely closing.
Glad you’re enjoying it. And yes, I actually researched this one for another fic, because I certainly encountered this is train stations, public loos and even a couple of museums when travelling in Europe in the mid 1990s.
You’ll be pleased to know all British train station loos are now free, though that happened in quite a higgledy-piggledy manner, and took way longer than you’d think. Though it makes me wonder how clean they still are now.
Think it still depends on the station – if run directly by Network Rail, then yes free (which is good, because dancing about trying to find a coin in Leeds Train Station was not my favourite thing to do.
Not every station has loos though, which is very annoying!
Oh definitely! And it’s a bit hard for us ladies just to disappear into some tall bushes…unlike the blokes. Lol
It’s interesting to see Madame Bones be the one to time travel and fix things. I look forward to finding out which scenario she chooses and why.
Sequence 1: I like that there is no golden trio and Bones takes care of all that first year nonsense; I don’t like not knowing how they beat Dumbledore. It leaves a lot open for imaging what happens in the future.
Sequence 2: Griphook here is nothing like in the real book; he seems like a potential friend. I did rather like this portrayal of Andromeda. The goblin friend and Tonks family would make things interesting.
Of these two options, I’m more for option one.
Option 1 is growing in popularity.
The more i look back at book 1, the more I wonder why Molly Weasley didn’t just go up to the only messy haired boy with glasses and a scar and an owl (because so many Muggle kids run around with caged owls) and ask if he was stuck finding the platform, rather than that whole contrived scene in canon. I think a barely 11 year old kid of any kind would have stuck like glue with the adult who rescued him like that and gotten set up together on the train. And so, instead, he got Susan and her friends and a much healthier set of relationships than Ron.
With scenario 2, all we really know of Griphook from canon to date was that he was a cart driver in the bank. Which left him as a delightfully blank slate for me to play with as a character. Then again, I’m much more kind to Goblins than JKR, so I like exploring those connections too.
As for Andromeda and the Tonks family, as far as I can tell from piecing together bits and pieces of canon, they’d have to be Harry’s closest magical relatives that aren’t former Death Eaters or escaped Azkaban inmates at the start of third year. Truth be told, they probably should have had legal custody of Harry all along, absent a will, which it seems got left out of the original series entirely. Well, if sensible rule of law actually applied in the HP ‘verse. Lol
But you offer great analysis of the 2 scenarios so far. Isn’t it fun to contemplate what some very simple changes can make?
Glad you’re enjoying it. And yes, I actually researched this one for another fic, because I certainly encountered this is train stations, public loos and even a couple of museums when travelling in Europe in the mid 1990s.
You’ll be pleased to know all British train station loos are now free, though that happened in quite a higgledy-piggledy manner, and took way longer than you’d think. Though it makes me wonder how clean they still are now.
Fascinating to see where different paths lead and I love Amelia’s proactive approach, such a change after all the lacklustre adults in Harry’s life.
Although earlier intervention prevents more exposure to the Dursleys and trauma at Hogwarts, it is important that there is enough evidence to ensure Dumbledore has no say in Harry’s life and to prevent the most egregious events for the benefit of all students.
Yes, you hit on it perfectly. There is that need to balance out Harry’s well-being in that moment by intervening when he’s younger. But there’s also the need to look long term as well. Because just getting Harry away from the Dursleys doesn’t eliminate the threats of Dumbledore or Voldemort. Glad it wasn’t me having to make that decision. 😁🤣