Harry Potter 1. 1 The Porter Mansion

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter universe

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter universe. I don't make money from writing this rubbish that drips from my fingers to the keyboard. Don't sue me, because you'll only be disappointed when you find out how poor I am.

A/N: Welcome back to the new and revised 'Message in a Bottle.' This story has been adapted to take into account The Deathly Hallows… including the 'epitaph…' err, I mean, 'epilogue.' As I've been writing, I've found that a lot more needed to be explained about the future Wizarding and Muggle Worlds in this story, so the setup is a bit more informative and comprehensive and takes up the first two chapters. Hopefully, this story won't be quite as long as my 'Demon' story, but you never know what path my mind may take as I work through this iteration of the Harry Potter universe. The chapters are going to be somewhat shorter than with the 'Demon' story, probably between 3000 - 4000 words each, as compared to 4500 - 7500 words per chapter that was common to 'Demon.' As always, I'm trying to make this story as different as possible from anything else out there. With any amount of luck, I can keep you all both interested and guessing! The first few chapters are going to be quite angsty, (at least, that's what I'm aiming for) but I have plans for future H/Hr fluff, too! I'm planning that the fluffiness will come much quicker than it happened in the 'Demon' story, but who knows? I hope that all of you will enjoy this story, because that is the main reason I write this stuff… not only for myself, but also for you! Sit back, relax, and immerse yourself in this time-bending tale of angst, friendship, betrayal, power, and the love that should have occurred in canon! (Word Count: 3608)

-Junko- (aka - Hotaru/Angry Hermione)

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Chapter 1: The Porter Mansion

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October 31, 2141 - 11:03 PM

A pair of teenaged boys were walking uneasily along an overgrown dirt road on the outskirts of Ventnor, a community on the Isle of Wight off the southern coast of England. The boys stopped and looked at each other for a moment, before turning back to look at the group of teenagers who were urging them on behind them.

A laughing voice called from the group, "You mates chickenin' out so soon?" That voice was followed by another, higher pitched voice, "What are you scared of? Afraid that the ghost of 'Ol' Man Porter' will get you?" The group burst out in laughter when one of the girls yelled out, "Look at 'em! They's about ta wet theyselves!"

The two boys looked nervously at each other, and then continued to walk silently down the dark road. One of the boys, who had a mop of longish sandy brown hair and wearing a white tee shirt and a faded pair of jeans that were slightly too small for his slightly portly frame jumped in alarm when a raven cawed out loudly from a nearby branch of one of the many long dead trees that seemed to inhabit the area around the old estate.

The other boy, a tall, thin teenager with dirty blonde hair and light blue-gray eyes shook his head at his friend and said, "Cor, Nigel, don't be so jumpy. It's just an old house. We'll poke around a bit, grab something to prove we were in there, and pop out again."

The shorter boy turned his scared hazel eyes to his friend, "I don' like this, Ian. Not one bit. What abou' ol' man Porter? Getting' snuffed ain't worth being a member of a club o' gits like them. An' it bein' 'alloween ain't too comfortin', neither."

"Nobody's seen that geezer in over thirty years. 'E's probably in the ground already, anyway."

The smaller boy still looked unsure, causing the taller boy to sigh as he said, "Just look at the place. Nobody would live in a dump like that… and Halloween is just another day. You still don't really believe in ghosts and ghoulies, do ya? That's kid stuff!"

Nigel looked through the wrought-iron fence that encircled the Porter estate and sighed nervously. The nearly full moon in the cloudless sky illuminated the old Victorian manor house in the distance. No lights were visible through the scores of windows, many of which were missing panes of glass because of weather, neglect or vandals.

A few minutes later, they found themselves in front of the large, rusting wrought-iron gates of the old Porter estate. They looked at the thick chain that secured the gates closed, fastened together with a huge, antique looking brass padlock that strangely showed no signs of being tarnished.

Ian's eyes scanned the length of the ten-foot tall fence before he hesitantly reached for the lock, but apparently thought better of it and lowered his hand, saying, "There's got to be a way in. Let's follow the fence around."

They walked along the tall fence in silence, keeping their eyes peeled for any breach through the wrought iron bars. The silence of the night was sporadically punctuated by the call of the strange raven, which, if they didn't know better, had appeared to be following their progress around the estate.

After over a half hour of walking, the iron fence came to an end, butting against a high stone wall that stretched out into the ocean, separating the estate's beachfront from the outside world.

Ian walked along the wall towards the beach, studying the rough surface and looking for any place where it might be scalable. He stopped close to the waterline, running his fingers over the weathered wall. Due to decades of exposure to the salty ocean air and the eroding effects of the water, he saw that a lot of the mortar between the stones had crumbled away, creating open cracks in the wall that could be used as toe and hand holds.

With a little effort, Ian managed to scale the wall. Once on top, he reached down and helped Nigel, who had a much more difficult time climbing up the wall than he had. The land on the inside of the wall was much higher than the outside, making it easy for the boys to jump down the few feet to the beach of the estate.

The moment their feet hit the sand, both Nigel and Ian jumped in fright as a loud caw sounded from the raven that was now perched on top of the wall from where they had just jumped. The black bird let out another angry screech and then flew off in the direction of the manor house.

The two boys looked at each other, as if waiting for the other to call the whole thing off. A biting cold wind suddenly swept in from off of the ocean, causing them both to shudder involuntarily. Ian took a deep breath and said, "Well, we've come this far…"

Ian started walking towards the large house with Nigel following slowly behind. It seemed that the nearer they got to the house, the colder and more forceful the wind became. By the time they reached the large, overgrown mass of dried and decaying vegetation that at one time had been a sprawling garden, they were sprinting through the underbrush, anxious to get to shelter of any kind. They rushed up a set of stone steps from the garden to a wide patio. The paver stones were cracked and uneven, causing each of them to stumble more than once before they reached the set of wide French-style glass doors.

When Ian reached for the tarnished brass handles, he was surprised to find that the doors were unlocked. With no small amount of force, the two boys pushed the doors closed against the wind. The moment the doors clicked shut, they were plunged into nearly complete silence, even the eerily wailing gale from outside was barely audible.

They each turned on their hand torches and scanned the room in which they found themselves. Long ago, this must have been a richly furnished grand ballroom, but time and neglect made the huge room look more like an abandoned church. They looked up at the faded and cracked murals that were painted on the vaulted cathedral ceiling. The high windows that lined the walls were nearly opaque with soot and grime. Old, rotted tapestries and ruined portraits lined the once golden walls, which were now blackened with a slimy mildew. The vast hardwood floor was warped and covered with patches of moss and mold. In the looming darkness that was the far end of the room, they could just make out a set of huge oaken doors, presumably leading to the main area of the house.

"Come on, let's find something and get out of here," said Ian as he stepped towards the oak doors.

Nigel nodded and said, "The sooner the better. This place is creepier on the inside than the out. A righ' fine settin' for a 'orror film this 'ouse'd make, t' be sure."

They crossed the creaky, uneven floor, scanning for any trinket they could take to prove to the others that they were actually inside of the old house. Bits of debris lay all over, collapsed chairs, rotted branches, long dead leaves and many small piles of some smelly, unidentifiable matter, but nothing that could be considered anything more than rubbish.

When they reached the doors, Ian turned the ornately engraved brass handle and pulled on the door. A loud creak from the rusty hinges echoed through the vast hall. Instantly, the air was filled with shrill, piercing shrieks, accompanied by the sound of hundreds of flapping, fleshy wings.

"Bats!" yelled Ian, as he realized that the piles of stuff all over the floor were mounds of guano that had fallen from the high rafters. They rushed through the door amidst a cloud of the startled, flying rodent-like creatures, who were desperately swooping around, looking for ports of egress from the old house.

They frantically pulled on the door and it closed with a loud slam that echoed through the manor. Several of the bats that had made it through the doorway before they closed it were buzzing haphazardly around the room, eventually finding an exit through the many missing or broken panes of glass.

They trained their flashlights around the dark room and saw that they were in a large entrance hall. On each side of the door they had just entered through were two wide, curving staircases that ascended to the second floor. Another set of stairs under the staircase on their left descended down into a lower level. The smell of mildew and decay permeated the room, mostly from a wide, rotting old oriental carpet that spanned nearly the entire hall. Two sets of doors on either side of the room led off into rooms unknown, and a wide pair of glass doors straight ahead of them led to what appeared to be a receiving hall, with the massive front doors of the manor on the far side.

"Look around," commanded Ian breathlessly, "there's got to be something here we can use."

Nigel uneasily nodded and began searching through a set of cabinets on the right, while Ian searched a long counter along the left wall that appeared to be a wet bar. They both noticed an old grandfather clock in the corner, obviously broken for many, many years. Most of the numbers were missing from its' face, and both hands hung limply over where the Roman numeral six used to be. Its tarnished brass weights and chains lay on the bottom of the case, and its' pendulum was half-protruding out from the broken glass that had once covered the bottom compartment.

Ian moved behind the bar, searching around the dust covered bottles. He glanced up on the wall over the bar and was surprised to see a very large painting that was relatively untouched by the ravages of exposure and time. The thought briefly crossed his mind to take that painting as proof, but he knew it was much too large to carry out of the old estate.

It wasn't really the condition of the portrait that initially drew his attention, but the subject of it. It was a painting of a room, papered in red velvet, and cheerily warmed by a roaring fireplace in the background that looked so real that it appeared that the flames were actually moving. In the center was a small table on which rested a large jug of wine, a partial loaf of bread, a small fruit bowl, and a plate that contained a wheel of cheese with a knife protruding from it. Right beside the table was an antique, red leather chaise lounge with a strikingly pretty, and very naked, girl lounging upon it holding a crystal goblet of the red wine. She appeared to be in her early to mid twenties, with a thin, lithe body, unusually long, yellow-blonde hair and wide, strikingly beautiful icy-blue eyes. If it weren't for her leg being positioned just right, he would have been able to tell if the carpet matched the drapes. She also held the goblet so that it, and her arm, had strategically covered the important bits of her rather full breasts. Ian stared at the portrait for a long moment, noticing the tarnished brass plaque that was affixed to the bottom of the frame that read, 'Jaana Marie Figg: 1970 -'

Ian turned around and called to Nigel, "Oy, Nige, come have a look at this bird. Must be one of Ol' Man Porter's relatives that… that…"

Nigel turned away from the frustrating cabinet after pulling off one of the handles from a wedged, worm-eaten drawer and looked to see why his friend went abruptly silent. As he walked across the room, he saw Ian was still standing behind the bar, just staring at a large painting of a room with a sofa, table and fireplace.

He looked at the painting for a few moments before asking in a whisper, "What did you say, mate? What bird?"

"The girl," he said with wide eyes and a wavering voice as he pointed at the now unoccupied portrait, "she was lying there on that couch a moment ago, naked as a baby, she was… now she's… not there…" he turned to Nigel, and seeing his friend's suspicious frown, said angrily, "I know I saw her!"

Nigel turned his head away from his friend's piercing glare, where his eyes rested on a dusty bottle of old wine. Picking it up, he said, "'ere, we'll take this. It'll make a fittin' toast to our acceptance into the club, now le's go."

Ian's eyes drifted along the line of bottles. He reached out and grabbed another, muttering, "I'm gonna need more than just one."

Ian walked around the bar and towards the large oak doors, hoping that the bats had all left to go hunting insects for the night. As he passed the front of the bar, he trained his light back to the painting to give it one last look.

Nigel, who was already reaching for the door handle, heard the smashing of a bottle on the floor. He spun around to see the bottle that Ian had been carrying lying broken on the floor in a puddle of spilled wine. Ian's face was pale and his eyes were wide with terror as he stared back at the bar. Nigel looked to where Ian's torch beam pointed and felt his own blood run cold. Sitting on the chaise lounge in the painting was an old man with long gray hair and sporting a white beard that was nearly as long as his hair, just smiling serenely while casually holding a crystal goblet full of wine.

Suddenly, the old grandfather clock in the corner, the one that both boys could have sworn was broken beyond repair just a few minutes before, began loudly chiming, with its' hands both pointing to the roman numeral twelve at the top of the eerily glowing face, announcing that midnight had arrived.

A startled gasp escaped Nigel's throat. He turned and grabbed the handle to the oak door. As he threw his weight on the door, it opened with the loud screeching of the rusted hinges, which seemed to snap Ian out of his shock because he immediately began sprinting towards the door.

As the door swung fully open, Nigel let out a terrified scream as he found himself face to face with a pearly, translucent figure of a young woman. Her shimmering facial features were contorted into a scowl of rage as she opened her mouth and emitted a mournful, banshee-like wail.

Nigel was back-stepping away from the door with his mouth moving in a panicked, silent monologue. Ian skidded to a halt upon seeing the ghost of the girl he had just seen in the large painting a minute before. Both of the teens turned in the direction of the glass doors that led to the front of the manor, desperate to flee from this house of nightmares. They hadn't moved three steps when something materialized right in front of the glass doors. It appeared to be an old, graying bed sheet with elongated holes cut out of it for eyes, and a jagged rip as a mouth just beneath the eyeholes made for a very disturbing sight, especially since there was a red, evil-looking illumination glowing from within the sheet. It was hovering between where the teens stood and the glass doors that led to the front exit and freedom. The floating sheet began moving slowly towards them.

The jagged tear in the sheet opened, emitting a deep, otherworldly voice, "How dare you enter my home… unbidden… unwelcome… Are you here to plunder my treasures? Alas, you'll find no treasure here… only your doom!"

Ian's eyes rolled up into the back of his head and he fell backwards to the floor in a dead faint. Nigel wore a blank, empty expression as he stood motionless, staring at what appeared to be a point on the distant horizon.

The young ghost floated lazily across the room and stood in front of the catatonic boy. She waved her translucent hand in front of the youth's face, but it elicited no response from the boy at all. The ghost sighed and turned to the old man with his pet raven perched on his shoulder who had just emerged from the stairs to the lower chambers.

"We nearly killed these two, you know," she said with the slightest touch of mirth in her voice, "They would have left quick enough. Did you have to use that thing, too?" she asked as she pointed to the ruined bed sheet that was now lying motionless on the dirty floor. Before he could respond, she hastily added, "If you'd only remember to renew the muggle repelling charm every few years like you're supposed to…"

"Enough, Jaana… you know how busy I've been," replied the old man as he reached down and picked up two shards of the broken wine bottle, "and these stupid muggles aren't dead. You'd think that kids these days would have better things to do than break into old houses."

The old man walked up to the catatonic teen and looked into his unfocused eyes. His nose wrinkled as he detected the pungent smell of urine and excrement. With a chuckle, he commented, "Oh, dear. It seems this one had a bit of an accident. Maybe I did overdo it a smidgen. Still, he'll be okay in a few days. A quick modification and he'll be right as rain."

He drew his wand from the sleeve of his robes, pointed it at the teen and muttered, "_Adjicius Commoneo._"

"I'll let the other one remember what happened. Nobody will believe him anyway, and if they do, then maybe it'll keep his friends away from here."

He tapped each shard of glass with his wand and incanted, "_Portus._" The bits of jagged glass shuddered in his hand, and after the familiar blue glow subsided, he placed a shard onto the unconscious teen and placed the other into the pocket of the one still standing before tucking his wand back into his sleeve. He turned his head to the raven on his shoulder and, after thanking him for keeping a lookout, sent him out through a broken window and into the night. He turned and slowly walked back to the stairs. Before he made it to the first step, the two teens had disappeared in a fall of colour.

The old man made it halfway to the lower landing when he was stopped by a pointed clearing of Jaana's ethereal throat. He looked up at her standing at the top of the stairs and he asked her exasperatedly, "Well? What now?"

The ghost put her hands on her hips and said in a shrill, bossy voice, "The muggle-repelling charm? Honestly, Harry… if it weren't for me, you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached!"

A pained look flashed in the old man's eyes and a slight frown crossed his lips, which didn't go unnoticed by the ghost. She knew that look… he was thinking of _her_ again. Sometimes Jaana wished that her personality wasn't so eerily similar to his long lost friend.

The old man turned and walked back up the stairs. He stood in the middle of the room, and with a slow, practiced sweeping motion of his hand, he muttered a long phrase in perfect Latin. A glowing blue circle appeared around his feet and quickly expanded outwards in all directions. He held the incantation long enough for the radius to reach just beyond his property, where he flicked his fingers and sealed the ward. With a sad, tired sigh, he returned to the stairs and continued his descent into the lower chambers of the mansion.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and walked past the moldy, deteriorating bric-a-brac that had been in the basement well before he had claimed the house as his own. He stood before a portion of blank wall, which he tapped with his wand causing a doorway to materialize. He deftly stepped through the new doorway into a warm, sparsely furnished antechamber, moderately lit by a fire crackling in a wide fireplace. He walked over to a desk that was positioned near the warmth of the fire and sat heavily down. He picked up his quill, loaded it with ink and began scribbling into the thick book that was resting on the desktop.

After he had written a few lines, his eyes glanced up to the line of magical photographs that adorned the topmost shelf of his desk and rested upon one in particular. The enchantment that allowed the figures in the picture to move had long since faded, but the frozen image that remained was enough to fuel his resolve. The intense gaze of the pair of enlightened brown eyes, framed by the mass of unruly, chestnut-brown hair, was all the motivation he needed. Why couldn't he have seen then what was so clear to him now… now that it was far too late for him to do anything about it? Well, he hoped it wasn't too late, in a sense.

He tore his eyes from the photograph and resumed his work. He couldn't do anything about it directly, but maybe if he had a wake-up call when he needed it most… if he had just been given a timely clue… not just about his romantic life, but of the perils that awaited him that were caused by actions that seemed so trivial… so unimportant at the time…

'_Almost done,'_ he thought to himself as he continued to chronicle his life's story, _'I don't know how much longer I can live with this.'_

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	2. A Trip Prepared

Chapter 1A:

_Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any claim to, the 'Harry Potter' universe. I claim the plot and whatever original characters I choose to create._

_A/N: Here's the second chapter of Message in a Bottle. Many of you who have read the first chapter long ago will know that this was originally the last half of Chapter 1. Since I'm trying to make the chapters smaller, I split it into two. I have made MANY changes to this story since then, so I strongly suggest re-reading the first chapter. I'll try to keep up with the updates to this story in a timely manner. (Word Count: 3868)_

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Chapter 2: A Trip Prepared

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November 1, 2141 - 1:37 AM

The old man could feel Jaana's pearly eyes silently watching him as he worked. After an hour had passed, he lay the quill down and tiredly rubbed his eyes. His gaze gravitated back to the set of old wizard photographs that lined the upper tier of his desk. He could feel the ghost float up behind him and look over his shoulder at the set of very familiar photographs. He wasn't surprised at all when she began speaking to him.

"Are you sure that you know what you're doing? I mean, you've led a long and hap… productive life. I know I'm not the best company one could have, considering what I am, but it hasn't been that terrible being with me for these past hundred and thirty years, has it?"

"One hundred thirty three years, two months, sixteen days, twelve hours and thirty…" he glanced at the clock on the mantle and paused for a few seconds before continuing in a whispered monotone, "thirty two minutes, to be exact." His eyes drifted back to one particular photo, "Has it really been that long? It still seems like… I mean, have I really lived with it for this long?"

She could tell that he was about to go into one of his 'moods' again, and knew there was nothing she could do or say to stop it. She wished that she could hold him, to comfort him somehow, but there were distinct disadvantages to being a ghost. All she could do was try to reason with him, knowing full well how futile the effort would be.

"You do know that you could make things worse, don't you?" Jaana offered, "Maybe much worse?"

The old man let out a tired sigh and looked up at the youthful ghost, "I can't imagine how it could get worse. I can't believe I let it happen in the first place. All I've been doing is thinking about it… how I failed them… how I had failed myself."

Jaana let out a sigh, thinking, _'Yep, one of his moods.'_

"You're right, I could spend my remaining months cloistered here beneath a dilapidated mansion and let Voldemort have what's left of the world whenever he next comes back… and you know he _will_ come back." said Harry distantly, not really looking at his ghostly friend, "just a handful of scared magicals and a country full of angry muggles… but you already know what he'll do. There's nothing left here in Britain that he wants except me. Once I'm gone, he'll continue his assault on the continent and beyond…. with nobody around to stop him. Do you really think I could pass on and doom the world to enslavement for the remainder of time?"

Jaana simply nodded in a morose sort of way, then looked down to the book that he'd been working on for decades, "How far along are you? I know you finished the part about advanced magic years ago."

"Yes, that bit's done. There have been quite a few advances made since I went to Hogwarts, you know. I daresay I'd have been quite the wizard back then if I knew half of these spells and techniques. It's ironic how most of those new techniques were developed by…"

Harry drifted into silence as his eyes once again looked up to the photograph atop his desk.

"So, what are you adding now? Philosophy? Poetry? I mean, what else can you send that would be useful?"

He reached up and lifted the photograph that had captured so much of his attention over the years. His heart sank in his chest and the painful ache returned, just as it always did when he concentrated on those soft chocolate eyes. Without lifting his gaze from the image of his long lost friend, he answered in nothing more than a whisper, "I've written about what happened. All of it. About what I did… what I saw… about everything that happened, and everything that should be changed… everything," he looked up to the ghost and added more firmly, "That's the whole point of this project, isn't it? You say it could be worse, but how can it? There's nothing left… a whole race… the entire magical world… snuffed out in what seems like an instant."

"Are you sure it's wise writing so much about it? I mean, just the fact that you're sending it is going to change everything. You're going to make him more powerful than anyone could ever imagine. Won't the knowledge of those events be pointless?"

"No, not really. It will let him know why I'm sending it... why I needed to do it. It will make him aware of what I lost, and of what everyone will lose if he doesn't wake up and smell the pumpkin juice… and I have to convince him that this is real… he needs to understand."

The ghost looked up at a painting on the wall, seeing herself as she looked when she was alive. The portrait Jaana and the ghost Jaana smiled wistfully at each other before the naked painted image walked to the edge of the frame to return to the red divan and the jug of wine that awaited her in the receiving hall.

She turned to the old man and asked, "Have you decided when you're going to send it? Will it get there before I… you know… died?"

The old man smiled at the hopeful spirit and said, "Yes, I figure the best time would be the summer before his sixth year, at least that's what I'm aiming for… that's when everything started to go to hell in a handbasket. A spell like this has never been attempted before… for obvious reasons… and of course I've written all about you. About how wonderful you are and how you came to be in your current state. I'm sure he'll take the appropriate steps to ensure your safety," then he added with a wink, "After all, he has the same _'saving people thing'_ that I do, you know… and you _are_ practically family."

She just nodded as she continued to look over his shoulder. After a few minutes, she broke the silence, "So, how much more do you have to write?"

The old man glanced at the clock on the mantle and saw that it was nearing two in the morning. He lightly blew a breath on the freshly written page to dry the ink, and then closed the book as he rose from the seat. He picked up the large tome, tucked it under his arm, and said, "Nothing. I've just finished it. I'm going now to have a last look around. Then I'm going to place it where only he can find it and perform the ritual."

"So, this is it?" asked the ghost anxiously, "I'm never going to see you again?"

With a wry smile, he answered, "Oh, I believe that you'll be seeing me much sooner than you think."

The ghost stared into the old man's piercing, green eyes and said, "I hope you're right, Harry. I hope you're right about everything."

"Well, if I'm wrong, then we'll know soon enough, won't we?"

When the old wizard silently faded from sight, the ghost wiped a silvery tear from her face and said to the empty room, "Goodbye, Harry, and good luck."

The old man appeared on a jagged outcropping of rock overlooking the silent rubble that was once Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Gone were the lofty towers and proud battlements, long ago reduced to rotted timber jutting out from broken stone during one of the 'final battles' with Tom Riddle. This particular destruction happened during his fourth rebirth… the fourth 'final battle.'

As his eyes scanned over the ruins and through the murky mists he could just catch a glimpse of one or two of the hundreds of ghosts that still wandered the area. There were many more today than when he had gone to school there. Many, many more. Most of the people here died so suddenly… so horribly… that they didn't have time to ponder whether to 'pass on' or not. He then thought that, because of the dark nature of the magic that was used here, maybe they didn't have the choice at all.

His gaze drifted over to where the vast Forbidden Forest used to be, now just a wide bramble field littered with decayed stumps. Nothing grew there, no animals inhabited the land. The centaurs, the acromantulas, the unicorns… everything gone… except for the bones of the giants and the others that were caught in the forest when it went up.

He turned towards where the lake had once been. In the dim moonlight, he could see the bleached bones of the merpeople sticking out from the dry, cracked lakebed. He could also see imprint of where the massive remains of the giant squid that once inhabited the former lake had rotted away to a squid-shaped stain on the now barren lakebed.

He finally let his eyes wander to the far end of the lakebed where the little hamlet of Hogsmeade used to stand. That was destroyed just after the Dark Lord's second rebirth. There was nobody there, no lights, no people… just a few dozen burned-out husks that once were wizarding homes and businesses. That area was also infested with ever-wandering souls, most of them existing as if they were still alive, which caused the wizarding world to dub the place a true ghost town. They sold their ethereal goods to one another, they drank at the decimated pubs, they ate their dinners in the midst of the wreckage that was once their homes… oblivious to the fact that they were dead.

Already feeling the draining effects of being in the area, he prepared to leave. He gave one last look at the ancient tomb that sat upon the barren ground near the dry lake. His eyes narrowed briefly as the memories flashed through his mind. The memories of all the things that he found out far too late to be of any use to him or anyone. If Dumbledore had only pulled his head out of his arse sooner… if he hadn't kept so many secrets from him. By far, his biggest gripe with his former Headmaster was that he withheld the knowledge of his older sister from him, but he only found out about her after she was already dead… after nearly everyone was already dead.

Harry's face hardened as he disappeared from the cliff. He faded into existence directly in front of the old Ministry of Magic building. He looked around the dark, empty streets of central London. Nobody lived here anymore. The muggles believed that some kind of a nuclear device, a 'dirty bomb,' was detonated by a terrorist, making the area uninhabitable for a thousand years. He knew the real reason.

It was during Lord Voldemort's seventh return to the land of the living.

Almost as if that thought summoned them, a throng of slow, hulking figures shambled out of the darkness surrounding him. Emaciated flesh hung loosely from brittle bone, soulless eyes stared blankly at him as the horde of inferi continued their endless, mindless search of any magical being. With a sweep of his hand, he created a tall wall of fire around himself, keeping the animated corpses at bay as he removed the seal that he, himself, had placed on the entrance and quickly entered the building.

The place was just how he had left it nearly two decades before. Scores of skeletons, some dressed in auror robes, some dressed in the infamous black cloaks and skull masks, littered the floor of the atrium. The place was almost as silent as a tomb, save for the scratching and pounding of the inferi as they tried in vain to follow him in.

He stepped through the once golden gates that led to the magical lifts. He looked longingly at the now useless lifts. The magic that allowed them to operate had long since faded, forcing him to take the arduous trip by the stairs.

It took quite a while for him to reach level nine, where he stepped out of the stairwell and began walking down the bare, windowless corridor. When he opened the black door, he was momentarily surprised when he saw a figure standing in the center of the circular room. He could barely make out his features in the dim light, but the identity of the figure was obvious to him.

Standing in the room was a thin young man, with dark, unkempt hair, a lightning-bolt shaped scar, and wild eyes that flashed with an emerald fire. The young man had an eleven inch, holly and phoenix feather wand pointed at him threateningly.

The initial shock wore off quickly when he realized what was happening. With surprising agility for someone his age, he instantly had his own wand in his hand and incanted, _"Riddikulus!"_

The effect was immediate. The angry young man before him morphed into a life-size, inflatable sex doll, which immediately let out a comical farting noise as air escaped from it, causing it to haphazardly zip around the room like a rocket before it disappeared under the door that led to the Brain Room.

The half-smile that he wore disappeared as he walked through the door to the Time Room. He paused to look around at all of the different clocks that appeared to take up every free surface on the desks, tables and walls. All of the clocks and gadgets were silent, as the magic that kept them going had left them long ago. All except for one item… the item that he had come for.

In the far corner of the room, next to the bell jar that had once housed the time-cycling hummingbird, stood a small table with an old hourglass resting upon it. He studied the hourglass for a moment. Inside, instead of sand, it contained a strangely swirling mist that reminded him of one's memories before being placed in a pensieve. With an appreciative nod, he gingerly picked the item up from the table.

He placed it in an inside pocket of his robes and began the long trip back to the first level. He exited from the building by climbing up through the visitor's entrance, thereby avoiding being caught in the middle of the inferi that was awaiting him at the main entrance. Once clear of the building, he silently faded from view.

The old man reappeared on a street in a quiet neighborhood in the village once known as Little Whinging. For a few moments, he just stood and stared at the row of now ancient houses, noticing that very little had changed in the past one and a half centuries. He looked between the houses to the northeast horizon and saw the spotlights and warning beacons of the mile-high wall that the muggles had built around London. They said it was to keep the radiation from spreading… he knew that it was due to the inferi infestation.

He briskly strode to the door of Number Four, Privet Drive, which opened for him automatically at his approach. When he stepped into the old house and scanned the interior, his eyes briefly paused on the small door to a cupboard beneath the staircase that lead to the second floor. He saw the flickering light from a muggle holographic running in the living room, telling him that the current occupants might still be awake.

As he walked to the stairs, a voice called out from behind him, "Oy! What'cha doin' in me 'ouse?"

He turned to see a rather large, middle-aged muggle rising from an easy chair with an angry look on his face. With barely a gesture from the old man, the muggle's eyes glazed over and he silently sat back down and continued to watch his holographic of a naked young woman, gyrating seductively to slow and rhythmic music.

The old man climbed the steps and entered the smallest bedroom, which was currently furnished as a small home office. With a sweep of his hand, the desk silently slid across the room, and with another sweep, the carpeting lifted from over a small area of the ancient hardwood floor where a tiny bed had once rested over a hundred years before.

With a pained groan, the old man sat down on the floor and pried up a loose floorboard, revealing his secret cubbyhole. He carefully placed the large book into the space beneath the floor and stared sadly into the dark opening.

He drew his ancient holly wand from the sleeve of his robes and began drawing on the floor with its tip while incanting long sentences, alternating between the Latin, Greek, and Sumerian languages. The tip of his wand left a glowing green line in its' wake, forming a circle around the hole in the floor. The speed and intensity of his incantation grew as he began drawing glowing red runes around the circle, which began pulsing brighter and brighter with every new rune added. As he placed the last rune, the very air in the room seemed to vibrate with magic.

He withdrew the hourglass from his robes and set it in the center of the circle, right over the loose floorboard. He tapped the hourglass with his wand while saying, _"Novotempus!"_ The swirling gaseous liquid inside that had been gradually seeping from the top half to the bottom seemed to slow, then came to a stop. A moment later, the process began to reverse, with the contents quickly moving up through the aperture to the top half of the hourglass. As soon as the bottom half was empty, he turned the hourglass over and the process repeated itself.

He was counting each time he flipped the glass… twenty… fifty… seventy-five…

As he sat turning the hourglass over and over, a frown marred his face as he thought about the seventh and final, elusive horcrux… he had never found the seventh horcrux due to a fatal error on his part. He thought Nagini was the last horcrux. He remembered the relief he felt when Neville Longbottom decapitated the vile snake… but he was wrong. Voldemort discovered that Harry was after his horcruxes. That day, Voldemort created his last horcrux… the seventh horcrux… and hid it somewhere…somewhere… well, if he knew where, he wouldn't have had to fight the persistent prick every ten or fifteen years. At the bottom of the ocean? Frozen under the ice at the South Pole? Buried in the sand somewhere in the middle of the Sahara? Perhaps buried under a tree along the banks of the Amazon River? Maybe it was a nondescript manhole cover in the middle of Trafalgar Square? Only one being knew, and he certainly wasn't going to tell a soul… living or dead.

Every time the Dark Fuck returned, he was angrier and more desperate than the last… The last time, there was such vast, senseless devastation... such massive loss of life… Even the muggles were dragged into the fight. The resulting World War left very, very few unscathed. So little was left… so little…

Every sign pointed to his next return, but Harry wasn't getting any younger. He now knew what Dumbledore must have felt like in his final years. Harry knew he couldn't fight again and win… this thought steeled his resolve as he continued to turn the hourglass.

Unnoticed by him, Harry had accidentally repeated a count or two during his disturbing ruminations…

One twenty-five… one forty… one forty-four, one forty-five, one forty-six.

He watched as the remainder of the substance climbed up through the hourglass until the bottom was empty. With another tap of his wand, he incanted, _"Recolo,"_ and watched as the ethereal sand reversed itself and began trickling back down to the bottom.

He raised his wand, but paused as a rush of vivid memories flashed through his mind... memories of the seventeen years that his scar didn't bother him at all… until that one night, the night of September First after he had seen his children, or who he _thought_ were _his_ children at the time…off on the doomed train that was the Hogwarts Express… the train had never made it to Hogwarts. The memory of the second 'Final Battle' came to his mind, where he once again defeated the Dark Lord, Voldemort, and during which, he lost his wife, Ginerva Potter. He had found out about the ongoing affair that his wife was having with Draco Malfoy only after her death, where the fact was thrown in his face by Malfoy himself. The blonde-haired bastard gleefully rejoined the ranks of the new generation of Death Eaters upon Voldemort's return, all too willing to torture Harry by telling him of the affair and of the fact that Ginny's children were actually _his_, and not Harry's. He was never able to verify that particular point, but he was sure of the lengthy affair they shared. Upon reflection, it certainly explained the odd 'look' that Malfoy had given them just before the very last Hogwarts Express trip so long ago.

The faces of long dead friends, enemies and strangers flashed before his eyes. Every time the Dark Fuck returned, more faces were added to the seemingly never-ending throng of victims.

He vividly recalled the engagement of his two best friends to each other, and their subsequent wedding… the memories of their constant bickering, both before and after their wedding. He recalled with a scowl their vicious, sometimes violent arguments that he always seemed to be around to witness. After the deaths of their children, Ron had changed. The memory of his friend's drunken rage that fateful night… the one that sent his once-again pregnant, bushy-haired wife to St. Mungo's… came to the forefront of his mind.

Tears were streaming down into his beard at the memory of Hermione's deathbed confession of her unrequited love, her true love, for not his best friend, Ron, but for himself. His face screwed up in anguish as he recalled the funeral of the forty year old, brown haired, brown-eyed witch, and at the memory of his despondent, red-haired best friend's suicide and subsequent funeral. The memory of the past one hundred and thirty long, lonely years of researching and experimenting, and fighting a losing battle against an immortal Dark Lord… all culminating to this very moment in time.

_Time that he was about to re-write… the world deserved a second chance… HE deserved a second chance…_

With a final sweeping gesture of the Elder Wand, he called out in a strong, determined voice, _"Contrado Terebrum Aetas Pridem!"_

A wave of rippling energy flashed out from a small, aged house on a street called Privet Drive and instantly expanded out past the horizon. Time and space reconfigured and reinvented itself… The world shifted and changed, until it no longer resembled what it once had been, or more accurately, it changed to resemble exactly how it was before Britain was plunged into unending chaos. Nearly a century and a half collapsed in upon itself, focused upon a single, pivotal point in the old planet's history.

Time… such a beautiful and terrible thing.


	3. Just Another Ordinary Day

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I don't make any money at all from writing this drivel. For entertainment purposes only!_

_A/N: Well, I just got through with the cliffhanger known as Chapter 5, so I figured I'd post this chapter early. Here you find out just how badly 'old' Harry screwed up with his counting! (Well, give him a break, he was rather distracted with his thoughts!) Many things are set up here, so sit back and enjoy! (Word Count: 3787)_

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Chapter 3: Just Another Ordinary Day

Wednesday, March 2nd, 1988 7:25 AM

A scrawny, seven-year-old boy lay shivering, curled tightly in a small, threadbare blanket, which was really nothing more than a torn and dirty scrap of cloth that was barely the size of a dish towel. He had been awake since his portly cousin, Dudley, came stomping down the stairs that served as a ceiling to his cramped 'bedroom' that was actually a tiny storage cupboard under those same stairs.

The boy laid there wishing he was still asleep. If he were asleep, he wouldn't know how cold he was. As the smell of the breakfast that was currently being served to his cousin and uncle drifted in through the cracks around the cupboard door, he doubly wished he was still asleep. If he were asleep, he wouldn't know how hungry he was.

He closed his eyes, hoping that sleep would overtake him once again, but unfortunately, the sounds of silverware clattering loudly on plates and the roars of lighthearted laughter and conversation from the kitchen prevented him from doing so.

Some time later, he heard the chairs being dragged across the floor and two sets of heavy footsteps rambling up the staircase above him. A few moments later, he heard the bolt being briskly undone on the cupboard door. It opened, sending in a wave of bright, early morning daylight that temporarily blinded him.

"Get out of there, boy!" came the screeching voice of his aunt, "You are not going to have a lie in all day when there's work to be done! Get out here and eat your breakfast, and don't forget to wash the dishes when you're through!"

The blinded boy reached out his hands to find the edge of the small doorway when he felt her thin, claw-like fingers firmly grab hold of the collar of his shirt. He let out a yelp of pain as he felt her long, sharp nails scratch along the skin on the back of his neck. A moment later, he tumbled into the kitchen after being roughly pulled from his cupboard and hurled through the doorway.

He heard his aunt's voice call waspishly back from the stairway, "You had best get a move on, boy! You've half an hour to leave for school, or you'll be late again!"

The boy picked himself up from the floor and looked at the stack of dirty cookware piled in and around the kitchen sink. His eyes then drifted hopefully towards the table, but they were only met by a stack of the nearly empty dishes that rested upon it.

He plugged the drain in the kitchen sink and turned on the tap, running his cold, stiff fingers through the warming stream of water. He then walked to the table, picked up the stack of dishes and carried them to the counter by the sink. One by one, he picked up a dish, licked whatever scraps and crumbs he found on it, then placed it into the soapy water. He smiled when he reached the bottom dish, for there he found a half-eaten slice of bacon that was obviously overlooked during the morning feeding frenzy, or maybe it had been dropped on the floor. It didn't matter to him, he just happily stuffed it in his mouth and greedily chewed and swallowed it. He liked to imagine that his aunt had purposely hidden it there for him. He knew that idea was a totally unrealistic fantasy, but fantasizing like that helped to make his wretched life a bit more livable.

After hastily washing all of the plates and silverware, he started on the cookware. He found a few more small bits of bacon left in the fryer that were much too overdone for either his uncle's or cousin's liking. They were rock hard and tasted like crumbling bits of ash, but at least it was something. After scraping off the cloudy layer of bacon grease in the fryer with his fingers, he licked each digit clean before he submersed the pan in the dishwater and began scrubbing.

After he finished drying and storing the last pan, he began scrubbing along the counter and was thrilled to discover a single piece of dried toast that was left forgotten in the toaster. At the same time that he noticed the toast, he heard the heavy footsteps of his uncle thundering down the stairs. In a panic, he snatched the toast from the toaster, shoved it down the front of his oversized, hand-me-down shirt, and then turned to face his uncle who was just reaching the bottom of the stairs. He silently prayed that he wasn't wearing a guilty expression.

He tried to look as innocent as possible as his uncle paused at the bottom of the staircase and sent him one of his usual, menacing sneers. His uncle's beady eyes glared at him for a few moments longer than he usually did, which caused the boy's pulse to immediately quicken. After a tense moment, the boy turned away from his uncle, and with cloth in hand, began to hurriedly wipe down the countertop. He could feel his uncle's stare boring through his back for a few heartbeats longer before he heard the framework of the easy chair in the living room groan under the man's formidable weight. The boy felt the tension leave his shoulders as he finished cleaning the countertop.

He placed the dirty rag in the laundry chute and headed for his cupboard to get his books and papers ready for school. He was on his hands and knees, reaching into his cupboard when he heard a sharp intake of breath behind him.

"What have you done, boy?" he heard his aunt's scolding voice just above him.

He froze in place for a moment, but then tentatively looked up over his shoulder. His aunt was standing right behind him with extreme displeasure in her eyes. His hand instinctively made his way to his waistline, and he could feel the slice of toast still securely nestled under his shirt. Knowing that he couldn't be in trouble for that, a confused look appeared on his face.

"Put on another shirt this instant!" his aunt commanded, "Do you want people to think that we abuse you?"

The boy almost… _almost…_ snorted at that last statement, but he was in no mood to pay _that_ kind of price again.

She roughly pulled the back of his collar, stretching the loose material around so that he could see the streaks of blood on the back of his shirt. He knew it was from when his aunt's fingernails scratched the back of his neck as she pulled him from the cupboard earlier that morning, but he knew better than to put voice to that particular fact. Again, that would cost him more than he was willing to pay.

The boy hesitated, realizing that he couldn't remove his shirt with the toast tucked underneath it. Of course, his aunt took his hesitation as a blatant act of rebellion, and that type of behavior would never be tolerated in that household. Well… that kind of behavior wouldn't be tolerated _from him_ in that household.

Immediately, he felt his aunt's bony hands grasp his shirt at the shoulders and she began pulling the offending garment up over his head. This caused him to drop his books and papers so that he could place both his arms around his stomach to keep the hidden toast concealed from view.

It was then that a much larger, meatier hand grabbed hold of the hair on top of his head and violently jerked him back, dragging the boy from the confined space of the cupboard. The pain of having whole locks of hair being ripped from his scalp caused his hands to instinctively reach up to protect his head, which, in turn, caused the pilfered toast to slide out from under his oversized shirt and drop to the floor.

The boy watched in horror as the eyes of his aunt and uncle focused on the toasted bread lying upon the floor.

He closed his eyes, knowing full well what was to come next.

Heartbeats passed in silence. Curious as to why he had not felt the slap to his face that he would have bet everything he owned, not that it was much, was coming, he opened his eyes just in time to see his uncle's shiny, black wingtip shoe connect with his abdomen. He felt his back connect painfully with the wall opposite the cupboard door before he slid heavily down and doubled-up on the hallway floor.

"Stealing food right from out of our mouths, are you now, Potter?" bellowed his uncle as he reared back his foot again, sending a vicious kick to his chest.

The boy could feel a 'pop' inside of his chest as the foot connected. A sharp pain tore through his lungs, making it impossible for him to immediately draw a breath to replace the wind that was knocked from him.

His uncle placed his foot on the boys' chest and leaned heavily down while panting from the exertion, saying in an enraged hiss, "This is the last straw, you mutant! You're just a worthless leech on this family! I'm warning you now, boy… if you step out of line one more time, just once, and you're out of this house for good!"

His uncle pushed off hard with his heel, causing the boy to roll onto his side, still making that horrid, high-pitched gurgling sound as the air still refused to enter his lungs properly.

The boy watched through teary eyes as his uncle stooped down with a wheeze and picked up the offending slice of toast. Standing right behind his uncle was his obese cousin Dudley, who was wearing a wide, leering grin. His uncle turned around to head back to the sitting room, and in the process, handed the toast to his son, Dudley.

Dudley took the toast, and making a grand show of it, prepared to take a large bite. His face suddenly screwed up in disgust as he whined, "But… but there's no marmalade on this!" Still leering at the other boy, Dudley walked to the rubbish bin, spit on the toast and then carelessly dropped it inside. He was still snickering heartily as he made his way back up the stairs to finish preparing for school.

After a long, harrowing minute, the boy on the floor finally managed to draw in a wheezing breath, in spite of the burning pain that ran across the right side of his chest. He coughed piteously a few times as he tried to regain some semblance of normal breathing, but it just wasn't coming easily.

The boy wasn't sure how long he was on the floor, because he seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. It wasn't until he felt the bony hand of his horse-faced aunt lift him easily from the floor. He choked out a groan of pain as she roughly pulled the oversize, bloodied shirt over his head. In doing so, his arms were forced over his head so that the sleeves could be removed, which caused the stabbing, burning pain in the side of his chest to increase tenfold. As soon as the shirt cleared his head, he bent over and retched what little he had put into his stomach onto the floor.

His aunt screeched in anger and she pushed the boy roughly towards the bathroom, "You get in there and clean yourself up, and when you're done, you will clean and disinfect that mess you just made! _I'm_ certainly not going to do it!"

The boy lay still on the cool, tiled floor. Tears were running down his face, not from fear or anger, but from the blinding pain. A hiss escaped him as his fingers tentatively touched the growing purplish-brown bruise on the side of his ribcage.

After a few minutes, he pulled himself up to the sink and ran the cold water. After rinsing the sick from his mouth, he splashed some of the water to cool his sweaty face. As he turned off the tap, his eyes met his reflection in the mirror above the sink.

He stared at the reflection of himself. He lightly touched the fading bruise on his left cheek that he received when he accidentally received a better grade than Dudley on the Mathematics exam the week before. He involuntarily shuddered as he recalled the look in his uncle's eyes when his piteously weeping cousin informed him of that little fact. Of course, everyone at his school believed that he got the black eye from an enraged older brother of a neighbourhood child that he was bullying… or that was the story Dudley told everyone, anyway.

When he was finally able to leave the bathroom, he heard the tires of the family car crunching through the freshly fallen snow as it pulled out from the driveway. His uncle Vernon was behind the wheel with his aunt Petunia in the passenger seat, and Dudley taking up nearly the entire back seat. Vernon would drop Dudley off at the school, and then take Petunia to the local beauty salon for her weekly appointment, which was clearly an exercise in futility, before driving himself to work at Grunning's. That left the boy to make his own way to the school, after he cleaned up the mess that he made, that is. Fortunately, the school that Dudley and he attended was only a few short blocks away, but God forbid that his obese oaf of a cousin would be forced to walk like _he_ had to.

After cleaning up the hallway in front of the cupboard, the boy looked at the clock and found that he only had ten minutes to get to the school. Normally, he could have run that distance with a few minutes to spare, but with the stabbing pain in his ribs, along with the snow covered sidewalks, he knew for certain that he was going to be late. With considerable effort, he managed to don a relatively clean shirt, and, after ensuring that all of the doors to the house were locked, he made his way as quickly as his condition would allow towards his school.

As he expected he was over ten minutes late to his first class. He didn't bother apologizing to the teacher, just as he didn't bother to explain his tardiness, because he already knew that his cousin would have already told some wild story about why he was late. The teacher just gave him a disgusted look and pointed to one of the few empty seats in the room, a seat which just happened to be next to one Veronica Sbardella, a somewhat dim-witted girl with greasy black hair, a rather pronounced Roman nose, and a wide, round face with olive skin that told of her Mediterranean heritage. Veronica took great delight in making those around her ill by her near manic aversion to soap and water and her apparent fondness for beans of all kinds.

With a resigned sigh, he made his way to the indicated seat. He could see his cousin sitting in the back of the classroom between two of his friends, Dennis and Piers, all three of whom sneered menacingly at him… indicating a promise of a round of 'Harry Hunting' later in the day. He carefully sat down in the hard wooden seat and gingerly leaned into the backrest, thankful to feel the blissful pain of the pressure against his aching ribs.

The morning passed slowly, partly because of the constant nausea that he felt from the relentless pain in his side, and partly because Veronica seemed determined to find out exactly how he did so well on the previous week's exam. Her incessant prattling during each of their classes earned him a detention in each. He noticed that for some reason, the teachers seemed unwilling to give Veronica detention. Honestly, he didn't blame them in the least. If he were a teacher, he would ensure that the unpleasant girl spent as little time in his classroom as possible.

By the time that lunch rolled around, he was more than anxious to get to his latest hiding spot, a small alcove concealed by the school's rubbish bins behind the cafeteria hall. Even in his sluggish state, he knew he could make it there before Dudders and his gang came looking for him… After all, Dudley's gang of hoods couldn't expect his portly cousin to chase him on an empty stomach.

He sat in the dirty, snow-strewn alcove with his back against the back wall while quietly trying to read one of his textbooks, but the thought of Dudley stuffing himself in the cafeteria kept dragging his focus back to his own empty stomach. He could even hear the clinking of silverware, the clatter of trays and the echoes of the differing conversations through the cracked-open window above his head. He wished he had some money to buy food. It wasn't very comforting knowing that he would see nothing until the Dursleys finished their dinner that night, and if history was any indication, what he would get then wouldn't satisfy a mouse.

With a sigh, he redoubled his effort to concentrate on the book in his lap, and even managed to get through two pages before he was startled out of his reading when the door to the kitchens opened. A stout woman with graying, red hair emerged from the doorway carrying a large rubbish bin. She hefted up the heavy can with ease, emptying it into the large rubbish container that blocked the view into the alcove that he was sitting in.

Just as the door closed, the first afternoon bell rang. The boy unsteadily stood from the ground and brushed the dirty snow from his baggy pants, silently giving thanks that he made it through another lunch break without getting beat up by his cousin and his gang of thugs.

As he walked past the large rubbish bin, he glanced inside and saw the pile of refuse that the kitchen worker had just dumped on top of the rest of the snow-covered garbage. It looked as though the kitchen staff had just cleaned out the older staples from their larders. There were a few wrapped sandwiches and desserts, presumably past their freshness date, along with a few dozen containers of milk.

The boy briefly glanced around at the now empty schoolyard, and then looked back longingly into the bin again. He was about to leave for his next class when his stomach let out a mighty rumble which stopped him in his tracks. He reached into the bin, picked up one of the small cartons of milk and tore open the seal. He nearly gagged when he smelled the sour liquid within. He opened three more before he found one that didn't smell too wretched and greedily drank it down. While it wasn't completely spoiled, it still burned slightly as it slid down his throat.

With all sense of embarrassment abandoned, he reached in and began sifting through the sandwiches. The egg salad and tuna salad were all far from palatable, and it even looked as though the maggots weren't entirely enjoying them. He came across what looked like a meatloaf sandwich, and aside from the bits of mold on the bread, seemed to be the least spoiled of them all… and there weren't that many maggots on that one. Deciding that it was probably edible, he brushed off what few maggots he could find and carefully tore off the moldy bits of the bread before digging into it. He just managed to force down the last bite when the final bell rang…

'Damn,' he thought, 'late again."

The afternoon progressed much like the morning had, trapped next to the olfactory nightmare that was Veronica Sbardella and being glared at threateningly by his cousin and his goons.

Sometime during his last class, he began feeling queer. He was sweating profusely, and could feel a cramping in his lower abdomen. The combination of Veronica's odoriferous assault, the stifling heat that was coming from a grate in the floor right next to him, and the constant stabbing pain in his chest began to make him very queasy. Five minutes after he had first raised his hand, the teacher, who it seemed purposely avoided noticing said hand, finally looked to him and derisively asked, "What is it now, Mister Potter?"

"Sir, I need to use the loo, if it's not too much trouble."

The teacher let out a dramatic sigh, then, while glancing up to the clock on the wall, said, "Come now, there's only twenty minutes left to class… surely you can…"

The teacher's words were interrupted by a loud, heaving belch as the half-digested dregs of partially soured milk and spoiled sandwich made its encore appearance on the floor of the classroom beside the boy's desk.

"Why didn't you say something earlier, you stupid little boy?" yelled the teacher before pointing to the door, "Out with you, Potter!" The teacher turned towards the boy's cousin and commanded, "You! Dursley! Go summon the janitor to clean up this mess!"

Dudley narrowed his eyes at the retreating back of his cousin, angry at the fact that he had to actually move his bulbous body when it wasn't absolutely necessary.

Moving as quickly as he could, he made his way down the stairs to the nearest lavatory, which happened to be in the basement near to the boiler room. He made it inside the lavatory, and was just a few yards from a stall when he felt the first push against his colon. Before he even made it to the stall door, he felt his bowels release into his pants. The odor almost instantly met his nostrils, which caused his stomach to clench and launched a new wave of vomit out of his throat, fortunately, aimed at the toilet that was now in front of him. The compression of his abdomen sent a jolt of pain through his chest, and the effort of vomiting caused yet another explosion from his bowels. He could feel the liquid waste creeping down his legs under his trousers. Being next to the boiler room, the air inside of the lavatory was stifling hot, and the heat, along with the smells of his vomit and waste, made his head spin. He could hardly breathe.

The next thing he knew, he was lying on the warm concrete of the lavatory floor just before unconsciousness claimed him.

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	4. The Nurse’s Office

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing this stuff._

A/N: Hmmm… Either you love it or you hate it… I think I'll delay my major comments about this story and the reviews I've been getting until a few more chapters are up. Let's just say things are going to get worse before they get better, but they will get better, and soon! I'd say, 'Enjoy!' but I'm not so sure anymore… (Word Count: 4026)

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Chapter 4: The Nurse's Office

Wednesday, March 2nd, 1988 6:27 PM

When Harry next opened his eyes, he found himself lying on a cot in a dimly lit room with a cold compress resting on his head. The room smelled strongly of isopropyl alcohol and some sort of disinfectant. After a few more moments of consciousness, he sat up and discovered, to his horror, that he was wearing nothing at all beneath the thin white sheet that was covering him. Well, he wasn't entirely naked… someone had firmly wrapped his chest up in neat bandaging. The pain was certainly still there, but it was dulled considerably by being nicely packaged the way it was. It was a 'good' kind of ache, meaning one he could easily get accustomed to.

Harry looked around the unfamiliar room, noting the variety of health related posters that adorned the walls. One proclaimed the benefits of brushing one's teeth regularly, another reminded the viewer of the upcoming booster shot schedule, and yet another sang the praises of a well balanced diet. If he wasn't feeling so dreadful, he might have laughed at that one. He then noticed the clock on the wall, and was surprised to find that it read six-thirty. He wasn't sure if it was AM or PM, because from what he could see through the curtained window it was quite dark outside, so it could have been either.

His eyes drifted to the desk that sat off to the side of the cot he was laying upon. In front of the piles of books and papers that littered the messy desktop was a small wooden name plaque with the words, 'Mrs. Marie A. Figg – School Nurse,' engraved upon it. He briefly wondered if she was any relation to the Mrs. Figg that lived around the corner from the Dursleys.

Just then, the door opened and a pretty young blonde girl of about seventeen or so walked into the room. She wore a small, lacy white cap pinned to her hair and a red and white vertical striped smock that appeared long enough to double as a dress, although he could just see the hem of her green skirt protruding from beneath it. She was carrying a bundle in her arms that, upon closer inspection, turned out to be his clothes. Harry glanced at the nameplate in the desk, and then back to the girl. He thought to himself that she looked rather young to be married, and to be a nurse, but he figured that people were marrying younger nowadays... still, he always assumed that the school nurse would be much, much older. He had never met the school's nurse before, even with all the times he was beaten up by his cousin and his gang. They always warned him not to tell or else the beatings would be much worse, so he usually suffered whatever injuries they inflicted on him in silence.

"Well, I see sleeping beauty has awakened," the girl said with a smile as she laid the bundle at the foot of his cot, "I just got through washing these for you… they were a right mess, they were… and so were you, if truth be told." She moved closer to him and laid her palm on his forehead and asked, "How are you feeling now, love? Better?"

Harry didn't realize it, but he had instinctively pulled the thin sheet that was covering him up to his neck the moment the girl had entered the room. The girl giggled as she took the edge of the sheet from his hands and lowered it so that she could inspect his bandages.

"No need to be shy around me… trust me, you have nothing I haven't seen before."

Harry just nodded bashfully, but then let out a pained hiss as her fingers lightly touched the bandages over the right side of his chest.

The girl's eyes darkened as she quickly pulled her hand back. After a few moments of scrutinizing the boy, she asked, "Your name's Harry, right?"

Harry nodded.

"Well, that fat little sod wasn't lying about that, at least," the girl muttered to herself before she spoke a bit more loudly to him, "The doctor just left about three hours ago and said to let you sleep. When the doctor was here, your cousin… what was it…? Duddie?"

"Dudley," offered Harry helpfully.

"Yes, Dudley… he had told the doctor that you injured yourself when you fell from the playbars in the schoolyard at lunchtime, is that correct?"

Harry instinctively lowered his eyes and just nodded silently.

The girl leaned towards him and gently placed her finger under his chin. She lifted his head so that he was forced to look directly into her kind, ice-blue eyes as she softly repeated, "Is that correct?"

Harry opened his mouth, trying to force out the word 'yes,' but it just wouldn't come. He had a very hard time lying to anyone, but somehow he found it impossible to lie to this girl. Rather than lie, his mouth snapped shut and he remained silent.

"I thought so," said the girl as she straightened up, "Did that fat oaf of a cousin of yours do this to you?"

Harry dropped his head again and shook his head.

"Was it your father… or mother?"

Harry's head snapped up as he vehemently said, "No!" He immediately realized that the suddenness of his reply would probably make the girl think he was lying, so he clarified, "I… I don't have parents. They were killed in a car crash when I was a baby. I was told that I almost died, too. I ended up with this scar, and I…"

When Harry casually lifted the bangs of his messy hair, the girl's eyes widened in shock as she let out a surprised 'Eep!' She put a hand over her mouth and instinctively took a step backwards, knocking into a metal tray that held an array of clamps, scissors and sutures and sending them clattering noisily to the floor.

Harry dropped his hand away from his forehead and lowered his gaze again as he ruefully said, "It's not that ugly, is it, Mrs. Figg? I don't even remember getting it… I was only a baby when…"

The girl suddenly turned and raced the few steps to the desk where she lifted up a folder. She stared blankly at it before she asked in a breathy whisper, "Y-y-your last n-name is 'P-Potter… and not Dursley?' You're Harry _Potter_?"

Harry sighed in frustration. Here was yet another of the school's faculty who believed all of the stories and lies that his cousin had spread about him.

"You know, none of what you heard about me is true…" said Harry shortly.

"What?" said the girl with no small amount of wonder in her eyes, "Of course it's true! Everyone knows your story!"

"Listen, whatever you heard about me, none of it's true," Harry said forcefully, "I don't steal from the teachers' desks, I don't vandalize school property, and I'm certainly not the neighborhood bully… just look at me! Does it look to you like I could bully anyone around at all?"

The girl stared at him open-mouthed for a few moments, then shook her head as if to clear it and said, "I don't know anything about that, but you… you're… you're _Harry Potter!_ Are you telling me that you don't know anything about yourself… about what you've done? You really don't know who you are?"

Harry gave her a quizzical look as he said, "Mrs. Figg, I know exactly who I am. I'm an orphan who lives with my aunt and uncle… I'm the weird kid who everyone in this school either hates or is afraid of… or both… but really, I'm just a nobody."

'_Then he really doesn't know,'_ she thought to herself before saying aloud, "Why are you calling me Mrs. Figg? I'm not my mother, you know."

Harry nodded towards the desk where the nameplate sat and said, "You _are_ the school's nurse, aren't you?"

The girl glanced over to the desk and saw the nameplate, "Oh! No, my mum's the nurse here. I'm just helping her out while she's on vacation. I'm a healer-in-training at Saint Mungo's Hospital, so she thought a little exposure to muggle methods of healing would help my studies, although the most I've done here is to stop up a bloody nose or to give out an antacid for an upset tummy. You've been the most excitement I've seen here all week."

Harry had never heard of St. Mungo's Hospital, nor did he have any idea what 'muggle' healing methods were, but then again, he really didn't get around much, so that hospital could be right around the corner for all he knew.

"Anyway, I'm not Mrs. Figg, I'm _Miss_ Figg," the girl said with a smile, "but you can call me Jaana." The smile dropped from her face and was replaced with a concerned frown, "Now, are you going to tell me how this happened to you?"

Harry said nothing.

"Listen, the only reason I mentioned your parents was because I called the number that the office gave me to inform your family that you'd been injured. There was nobody there for the longest time, but I finally got through about an hour ago. I must say, the man who answered didn't seem to be too concerned about your injury. I told him that you shouldn't be on your feet for too long and said that he should come to pick you up. He then told me, and I quote, "You tell that boy that he had better get here right smartly… there are chores to be done, and the chores are not going to do themselves!' Then he hung up on me! I thought he was your father, so I had assumed that he might have been the one to do… that… to you. I'm sorry if I made you feel bad by asking if your parents had done it… I just assumed…"

"That's okay. You had no way of knowing."

Harry knew he had to get home soon. He didn't need his uncle angrier than how he appeared to be now. Harry was about to swing his legs off from the cot and stand up, but then froze when he remembered that he was quite naked beneath the sheet.

"If you don't mind?" Harry asked abashedly as he reached down to the foot of the cot and retrieved his bundle of clothes.

Jaana smiled at him and gave him a wink, "Aww, not gonna give an old lady a show? You know, I'm the one who took those off of you and cleaned you up."

"But… but I was asleep!" complained Harry with a comical whine in his voice that he really couldn't help.

Jaana laughed as she headed to the door, "Don't worry, love, I was just teasing. Call out when you're done."

Harry dressed as quickly as he could, which wasn't very quick at all due to his limited range of movement. After almost twenty minutes and much wincing and groaning, he was just managing to pull his shirt down over his torso when a loud knock sounded from the door.

"Hey! I was kidding before, but if you're not out here in one minute, I'm coming in there and dressing you myself! I didn't have dinner and I'm hungry, so get a move on!"

"_She's_ hungry…" he muttered to himself as he slipped on his socks and shoes. He was still feeling some of the nausea from earlier in the afternoon, but he had thrown up nearly everything he had forced himself to eat onto the classroom floor, and at this hour, he was definitely feeling quite empty. He knew the Dursleys ate at precisely six o'clock, which meant that he had nothing to look forward to except dirty dishes to wash and a kitchen to clean.

With a tired sigh, Harry walked to the door and stepped out into the darkened hallway.

"Hit those lights and let's go. I'll give you a ride home."

Harry reached back into the office and hit the switch before hurrying to catch up to Jaana, who was already halfway to the faculty lounge where the exit to the rear parking lot was. As he was half-jogging towards her, he watched her swaying hips, to which was connected a pair of impossibly long legs. He was only seven years old, true, but he knew a good looking girl when he saw one.

He suddenly noticed that she was stopped and holding the door open for him. His face burned red with embarrassment when he saw the amused look on the girl's face. She had obviously seen him staring at her backside. He dropped his head abashedly as he squeezed past her and out into the cold, dark parking lot. There was only one car parked there. He didn't know much about cars, but it looked like it was a rather expensive two-seat convertible… certainly a lot nicer and sportier than his uncle's sedan. He wished it was summertime… he'd like to have a ride in that car with the top down.

"Is that your car? It looks nice," complimented Harry.

Jaana laughed as she unlocked the car and said, "Don't let the looks fool you. This darkness hides a lot of sins as far as the body goes… and the roof leaks, the heater barely works, it's got an electrical short somewhere, and I believe it burns more oil than petrol, but it gets me to where I need to go. I'd hate to have to take the bus or the tube from London, especially in this weather."

"You live in London?" asked Harry as he sat in the passenger's seat.

"You make it sound like it's halfway around the world," laughed Jaana, "Don't tell me you've never been to London before! It's only about ten minutes away by car."

"I've only been once. My uncle took me to the zoo last summer, but I didn't have a very good time." Harry was recalling the incident with the snake, and his resulting punishment… nearly a week locked in his cupboard.

Jaana looked sympathetically at the boy next to her. As she started the car, she took in the boy's appearance. The clothes he was wearing looked to be five sizes too large for him, the coat he had on looked equally large, but very worn and thin. When she was cleaning the mess from him when he was unconscious, she couldn't help but notice how terribly thin he was.

As Jaana put the car in gear and started off, she kept an eye on his face when she said, "Hmmm… it's kinda late. Maybe instead of leftovers from your family's dinner, would you like to keep me company at a restaurant? You can have whatever you like, my treat."

She saw his eyes light up for a fraction of a second before he dropped his head and said, "If you don't mind, I'd rather just go home. I have a lot of chores to do, and I don't want to get into tr… uh, bed too late… I didn't get much sleep last night."

Jaana's eyes darkened again. That was all she needed to know. Something was going on with his family, and she was determined to find out what that something was.

"Oh, forget the chores. I'll stick up for you when I drop you off… you can blame me for making you come home late, I'll just say you slept the whole time because I didn't know you had to be home so early…" Since it didn't look like he was being swayed, she added, "You aren't going to make me eat alone, are you?"

Harry looked at her suspiciously for a moment, wondering if he could really trust her to stick up for him… something that nobody had ever done for him for as long as he could remember. After a few moments he smiled and said, "Well, okay… if you really want me to."

Although he tried to act nonchalant, Jaana could tell that the boy was very excited about the prospect of eating out. Thinking that she was offering to let him pick his favorite place, she asked him, "I'm not terribly familiar with this town, do you know of any good places to eat?"

"I really don't know anyplace," he said casually, "I've never been to a restaurant."

'_Never?'_ Jaana's lips thinned into a straight line. She took a calming breath before she said, "Well, are you in the mood for fast food like hamburgers, or would you prefer a sit-down meal like fish and chips or something like that?"

"Whatever you like," answered Harry timidly, "

Jaana nodded and took off down the street. There was one place her aunt Arabella told her about that had pretty good food at a pretty good price, and it was relatively close by.

When the waiter placed the menus on the table, Jaana picked one up, handed it to Harry and said, "Order whatever you like, remember, it's my treat."

When the waiter returned to take their orders, Jaana waited for Harry to order first. Her eyes narrowed when he ordered a plain broth soup. When the waiter nodded and wrote down the soup, Jaana motioned the waiter to look at the menu with her. Silently, she pointed at the Devils on Horseback for an appetizer, and then pointed to the beer-batter fish and chips, steak and kidney pie, smoked ribs, O'Malley's Demise, and then raised two fingers and pointed to the cherry pie a la mode for afters. The waiter smiled as he finished writing the rather substantial order and walked hurriedly towards the kitchen.

"What did you order?" asked Harry curiously. She seemed to take a long time, and the waiter seemed to be writing an awful lot on his pad.

Jaana smiled and said, "I ordered us an appetizer. Have you ever had Devils on Horseback?"

Harry made a face and shook his head.

"Oh, don't look at me like that… they're just prunes wrapped in bacon. They're very good, and you'll never know if you don't try them. They're better than Angels on Horseback… I really don't like liver…"

The appetizer came at the same time as Harry's broth. For the rest of their stay in the restaurant, the broth remained untouched. Jaana had a few of the Devils on Horseback, was able to finish half of a plate of fish and chips, and of course, a slice of cherry pie. Harry managed to stuff down everything else that had arrived at the table, including the other half of Jaana's fish and chips.

More than once, Harry had caught the girl staring curiously at him. He felt slightly embarrassed because he thought that her disbelieving stare was because of how much of their meal he was consuming. He tried to push the plates away, but she just pushed them right back in front of him and insisted that he finish everything there. He was barely able to finish the pie and ice cream… but he managed.

After the bill was paid and they were back in her car, Harry was just able to tell her his address before he nodded off in the passenger's seat. The motion of the car, the rumble of the engine, in combination with his very full stomach, seemed to quickly lull the boy to sleep. More than once she found herself smiling fondly at him as he slept. Who would have known that 'The Boy Who Lived' was such a sweet kid? She would have assumed he'd be a stuck-up prat, given his notoriety and all, but since he seemed to have no idea who he actually was, she guessed that the fame never had the chance to go to his head. She wouldn't mind having a little brother like him.

They arrived on Privet Drive a little later than they should have. Seeing him sleeping so peacefully, she didn't have the heart to wake him. She ended up driving around his neighborhood until he started to stir.

While she was driving aimlessly around, she thought about the boy's situation, and about how voraciously he had torn into their meal. She certainly had enough of an indication that he'd be put to work the moment he entered his house. She felt she had to at least try to make things a bit better for him, at least temporarily. She pulled over to the side of the road and pulled out a notepad and a pen from her purse. She quickly wrote out an official looking note and signed it, 'William Warren, M.D.' With a satisfied nod, she folded the note and put it in her pocket before pulling out onto the road again.

It was nearly nine o'clock when Jaana and the sleepy Harry pulled into the small driveway at Number Four, Privet Drive. To Jaana's surprise, the entire house was dark. The porch light wasn't even on.

As soon as the car stopped, Harry had pushed the door open as he quickly and quietly said, "Thank you very much for dinner. It was really fun. I've got to go in now… thanks again."

When Jaana opened her door, Harry's eyes widened in panic and he said, "There's no need to trouble yourself. My family's probably in bed already, and I have lots to do."

"But… I was hoping to have a word with your uncle," said Jaana as she pulled the fake note from her pocket, "I have instructions from the doctor that your family should be aware of."

Harry stopped and snatched the note from her hand before hurrying to the front door, "I'll make sure they see it… thank you again!"

The door snapped shut, leaving a concerned young witch standing alone in the dark driveway. She briefly considered marching up to the door and ringing the bell repeatedly to get Harry's family's attention, but figured she might do more harm than good for the boy's situation. With a sigh, she sat back in her car and started the engine. As she pulled out of the driveway at Number Four, a thought came to her.

A minute later, she pulled into the driveway at Number Seventeen Wisteria Walk, the home of Jaana's aunt Arabella. Four minutes after that, she was disillusioned and standing in the back yard of Number Four, Privet Drive and looking through the kitchen window at the boy she had spent the evening with. Sure enough, the lad was working slowly but diligently, scrubbing away at the pile of dirty pots sitting on the countertop next to the sink.

She watched for about twenty minutes, wanting to see how long the boy would continue to do the 'chores' unsupervised. He worked quickly and methodically, more so than anyone his age should be used to. She idly watched him finish off the plates and cookware, clean the countertop and the dinner table, but when she saw him pulling out the mop and bucket, she had to stop herself from bursting into the house, hexing whatever adults she could find and steal the boy away. She couldn't believe that anyone could treat a child, especially someone as sweet and polite as Harry, as a common house elf.

With a disgusted sigh, she backed a few feet away from the window before she disappeared with a slight 'pop.' She planned on properly visiting her aunt the following day to see if she realized that the famous 'Boy Who Lived' was living just a block away from her.

Little did she know, if she had stayed in the back yard of Number Four for just a minute longer, she would have seen the boy store away the mop and bucket, and then crawl into his 'bedroom' that was the cramped cupboard underneath the stairs.

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	5. The Bat and the Book

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing this stuff._

A/N: I've corrected most of the mistakes that were pointed out by you kind reviewers… Many thanks! (I really could use a beta reader ; ) I warned you all that this would get worse before it gets better… so here goes, and let the flaming begin! (Word Count: 4403)

Chapter 5: The Bat and the Book

Wednesday, March 2nd, 1988 - 10:21 PM

Harry stayed awake inside of his 'bedroom,' silently listening for any telltale noises in the house. When he entered the cupboard, he was careful not to close the door all the way to prevent the latch from snapping closed. If he heard any sound on the stairs above him, he'd have to close the door all the way and hope the sound of the latch wasn't detected. Being in his cupboard with the door unlocked was an extremely rare opportunity, and he had every intention of using said opportunity to the fullest.

Harry was fully aware that his uncle was awake when he had arrived home with Miss Figg, even though the house appeared to be asleep from the outside. He could see the corner of the shade pulled up in his aunt and uncle's bedroom on the second floor. He was thankful that she didn't press him to meet his uncle. Vernon would have been genial enough to her face, only long enough to get her to leave quickly, but the repercussions to him would probably have been severe if the girl mentioned anything at all about his injuries. If Vernon had suspected that Harry had even hinted at being injured to anyone, his uncle would have made life for him exponentially more unpleasant than it already was. That eventuality must be avoided at all costs… he remembered the last time that Vernon was questioned about Harry's home life by one of the neighbors who, strangely enough, had the same last name as the girl who had cared for him that day. He still bore the scars on his upper back from that day.

Every so often, Harry would peek out from the cupboard to look at the illuminated clock in the kitchen. He fully expected his uncle to come down the stairs to inspect his work, but this night he was unexpectedly lucky. When he heard the unmistakable snores of his uncle, Harry glanced out through the door at the clock and saw that it was just past eleven.

Harry waited another half hour before venturing out of his cupboard, just to make sure that the rest of the house's occupants were accustomed to his uncle's thunderous snoring. He made his way up the stairs, being careful to step over the third step, which would creak loudly with any weight placed on it. That particular step almost had him discovered the last time he was free from his cupboard. He barely made it back before his aunt sent his uncle hurrying down the steps to investigate the noise.

As he neared the top of the stairs, he cautiously peeked over the top step and looked down the darkened hallway. All of the doors were open except for Dudley's bedroom, which was the second door on the right. The first door on the right was the guest bedroom, and the first door on the left was Dudley's second bedroom where he stored all of his unread books, broken or boring toys, and anything else that he couldn't squeeze into his regular bedroom. Beyond Dudley's second bedroom was the bathroom, and at the very end of the hall was his aunt and uncle's bedroom.

In the very dim illumination that came from a nightlight in the bathroom, he could just make out the silhouette of his aunt and uncle… well, mainly his uncle, lying still on their bed. He wished that their door was closed… it would make it easier for him to move around without having to worry about any little noise he might make. If he was caught up here… well… he didn't want to think about that.

As quietly as he could, he crawled across the carpeted hallway and into Dudley's second bedroom. After silently closing the door, he breathed a sigh of relief. The hard part was over. He crept over to the window and raised the blind to let in the light from the lamppost that was just outside. With the new light, he was able to navigate through the room without much worry about accidentally bumping into something.

Harry looked around at all the wonderful toys and things that Dudley either broke or got bored with. Heaven forbid he throw out the stuff that was useless to him, much less giving them to Harry to play with, broken or not.

Harry immediately went to the shelf that held Dudley's old hand-held video game. The only thing wrong with it was that his cousin stuck a pencil through the hole that held the speaker. Since he couldn't hear the sound, he whined and cried until Vernon got him a new one, resigning the 'broken' game to the second bedroom.

Having no sound on the game made it perfect for him to play with. He huddled in a corner and switched the game on, fully prepared to spend an hour or two lost in mindless electronic entertainment. To Harry's dismay, the screen remained dark. The batteries were either dead or removed to power one of Dudley's other toys. After a thorough search, he found that all of the games that ran on batteries were either dead or empty. Not wanting to waste this rare trip to the black hole that was Dudley's 'broken toy room,' he searched around for other forms of entertainment that wouldn't make noise.

Amongst all the games and puzzles that had key pieces missing, action figures that had broken or missing arms, legs or heads, and other items that made different noises, he found nothing that was suitable. He was reduced to perusing the unused bookshelf for something to read. Harry scanned over the books, most of which were Dudley's nearly pristine textbooks from past school years. He managed to find a story book that his cousin had gotten from his aunt Marge for his birthday. He remembered that day, and the look on Dudley's face when he unwrapped his present and found a book beneath the colourful paper. That particular tantrum lasted a solid two hours, a full twenty minutes longer than when he received his first article of clothing as a gift. Of course, Dudley quieted down when Marge slipped him another five quid note.

Harry took the book and sat near the window. There was just enough light coming through for him to read by. The book was a collection of differing fictional short stories. Some were about space travel, some were mysteries, and a few were fantasy stories. It was one of the space stories that he decided to read.

Harry lost track of time while he was reading, so engrossed in the story that it took him a while to notice the strange hissing noise that sounded like bacon frying coming from somewhere behind him. When he first noticed the noise, he instinctively ducked into the shadows below the window and then remained perfectly still. The hissing was getting increasingly louder as he scanned the darkened room trying to find the source of the noise that was getting nearly loud enough to possibly wake one or all of his relatives.

Then he saw it. On the floor, just in front of the bookshelves, was a faintly glowing circle. Harry quickly stood up and pulled down the blind against the incoming light, engulfing the room in near complete darkness. In the newly darkened room, he could clearly see the eerily glowing circle. He moved a bit closer, and was startled to see a bunch of weird, smoking letters appearing from out of nowhere around the outside of the circle. The letters didn't appear to be of any alphabet he knew, they looked to him more like some kind of symbols. He stood transfixed as he watched the symbols appearing one after the other, as if some invisible hand was drawing them around the circle in a glowing, florescent red ink.

Harry shook himself out of his daze when he realized that the hiss was becoming alarmingly loud. Panicking, he did the only thing he could think to do… he threw himself down on the floor, covering the circle with his body in hopes of muffling the sound. He quickly discovered that it probably wasn't the brightest thing for him to do.

Harry immediately let out a surprised yelp as he felt a burning heat penetrate his shirt. He instinctively rolled away from the circle clutching his burned chest, his hiss of pain echoing the hissing of the now smouldering circle. Suddenly, a booming crack echoed throughout the room. It felt to Harry that the whole house shook from the resounding noise.

Harry stood there in wide-eyed panic. He was going to get caught in Dudley's second bedroom. He was going to get punished… very harshly punished. He was going…

Harry's frightened eyes passed over the spot on the floor where the circle had been, but there was no glowing circle, no strange lettering… nothing at all… except…

Harry saw that boards in the floor was lifted up, exposing a dark space beneath. He could just see a corner of a thick, hardcover book propping the board up, as if the book had pushed that board up from below.

He didn't know why, especially when he was fully aware of the absence of his uncle's snoring, but he reached down and pried the loose floorboard the rest of the way up. He picked up the book, and when he read the leather-bound cover, his mind seemed to go blank. It read, _'The Life of Harry James Potter.'_

He was still staring numbly at the cover when the door burst open. Vernon Dursley stepped into the room with a fire in his eyes and a cricket bat in his hand. In the dim light of the hallway behind his uncle, Harry could just see the faces of his aunt and cousin. Petunia's eyes were narrowed dangerously, while Dudley was looking at him as though he had been violated just by Harry's presence in _his_ second bedroom.

"You've done it this time, boy!" roared Vernon as he walked threateningly towards him with the bat raised, "This is the last straw!"

Harry dropped to his knees and reflexively raised the book in his hands to cover his head. He had seen Vernon angry before, but never, ever this angry.

Sooner than he had expected it, he felt the bat connect with his shoulder and heard a sickening crack. It took a moment for his brain to register the pain, but as soon as he felt the first sharp spasm, he felt the second blow bypass the shielding of the book and connect with the side of his head.

Harry had never felt this scared in his life. Tiny lights were dancing before his eyes and the only thing he could really hear was a pulsating, buzzing sound in his ears. Only one thought raced through Harry's head… he was going to die. He was going to die right here, right now.

Then, in the span of a heartbeat, a dozen thoughts began racing through his mind. At least he had a last meal… a last meal with a kind and pretty girl, who apparently wasted her time bandaging up his chest because he was about to die… That girl seemed to like him… he felt safe with her in her mother's office at school… safer than he had felt anywhere else…

Another blow connected with Harry's chest. As he was still trying to protect his head with the book, he left the rest of his body unprotected. The thought he heard Vernon yelling something about teaching and lessons, and his aunt screaming for someone to stop doing something, but is head was spinning so badly that he really couldn't make out the words.

He now wished the girl did come into the house… maybe this wouldn't be happening… he'd be safely locked in his cupboard… he wished he was safe… he wished he was in a safe place… he wished he was in that girl's office at school…

Harry thought he felt another strike from the bat, but he wasn't sure… what he was sure of was that he was about to die. It felt as though he were placed inside of an uninflated balloon and being squeezed from all sides. Is that what dying felt like? Maybe he'd see his parents… He couldn't breathe, either due to the suffocating, 'inside a balloon-like' sensation, or because of his newly re-injured chest… he couldn't be sure, but it didn't matter anyway… he was dead… he was dead…

That was the last thought before his consciousness left him for the second time that day.

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Thursday, March 3rd, 1988 - 6:51 AM

"Harry…?"

'…'

"Harry? Come on, love, stay with me… the healers will be here any moment."

'_Where is that voice coming from? Mum? Is that you?'_

"Damn, if they don't get here soon, I'm going to lose him… I haven't been trained for this stuff yet!"

'_I know that voice… Miss Figg?'_

Pop…! Crack… Pop!

'_What was that?'_

"Thank Merlin you're here! I dropped him off at his house last night. When I came in this morning, I found him here like… like _this_… about ten minutes ago… I think he's been here all night. I have no idea how he got into the school, or this office!"

"What have you determined so far?"

"He's got a fractured skull, a compound fracture of the left collarbone and humerus. His right lung is punctured, I think, most likely from the four broken ribs… they were only cracked this morning… he's been coughing up blood… I tried to get the bleeding from his ear to stop, but I didn't want…"

"Merlin's beard!" said a male voice, "That scar! Is that… is that Harry Potter?"

'_That voice is unfamiliar… how does he know me?'_

"This isn't good… massive internal bleeding… he's lost too much blood… No, that potion won't help him now…"

Ding… Ding… Ding…

'_That's a weird sounding bell…'_

"We're losing him…" said an unfamiliar female voice.

"Oh, no you don't, lad…" said a different male voice, "'The Boy Who Lived' isn't dying on my watch! _'Aspis Mortis Arresto!'_"

…_Darkness…_

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Saturday, June 4th, 1988 9:02 AM

"Good morning, love. Are you going to talk to me today?"

Harry heard the sound of a curtain being drawn back. Though his eyes were closed, he could tell that the brightness of his surroundings increased tenfold. He then heard a window being raised, and a moment later felt the cool early summer air wash over his face. He could now hear the increased volume of the chirping of birds from outside.

"You've got to wake up sometime, you know…" said the pleasant female voice that he thought he recognized as Miss Figg's.

It was hard for him to tell anything. He felt as though he was run over by a bus. He tried to think of the last thing he could remember, but his mind was strangely clouded. After a few moments of lying still, he tried to move, but his entire body felt so stiff and sore that his limbs weren't cooperating with his mental commands. Harry then felt a soft hand brush his cheek. He wasn't expecting it and he involuntarily flinched his head away at the touch, the movement of which caused a groan of protest to leave his lips.

He heard a sharp intake of breath and the words, "Oh my!" An instant later he heard the sound of feet hurrying away, and then a door being opened. Harry cracked open his eyes just in time to see the back of Miss Figg hurriedly disappearing from the room.

Harry's eyes wandered around the wholly unfamiliar room he was currently in. The first thing he noticed was the bed he was laying upon. It was huge, much larger than even his aunt and uncle's bed. He was covered in clean, cream-coloured sheets, and his head was resting on a large, very comfortable pillow. He was in a very old looking room, with wallpaper which bore a print of hanging vines, antique furniture scattered throughout, and a rather large bay window that he knew was just opened. A few old paintings adorned the walls, as well as a wide shelf that held a bizarre assortment of very strange stuffed animals such as dragons, unicorns, and some others that he couldn't even begin to fathom what they were. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw movement from one of the paintings, an ancient looking portrait of a small black boy in knickerbockers and a ruffled shirt, but just assumed his eyes were playing tricks on him.

The sounds of footsteps and a rushed, whispered conversation came drifting through the open doorway. The footsteps stopped just out in the hallway and Harry could barely make out portions of the banter.

"…I don't care!" said the hushed voice of Jaana Figg, "I'm the one who's been caring for him these past months… I know, but I'll be damned if they're going to take him away now!"

Another voice, deep and slow, made a comment that Harry couldn't quite hear.

"What?" Jaana said loudly before lowering her voice again, "He'll just get sent…" The rest of her sentence was so low that Harry couldn't hear it until the very end when she said forcefully, "…Promise me!"

"Harry heard the strangely accented male voice sigh before he said, "Alright, I hope you know what you're getting into."

Janna then entered the bedroom and smiled at Harry. She was immediately followed by a rather stocky middle aged man with very dark skin, a wide, jovial face, and a dark mass of long hair that fell around his head like a rag mop.

"Well, how is our little patient today," asked the man in what Harry recognized to be a Jamaican accent.

Harry, still being a bit confused over what had happened to him, looked at Jaana and hoarsely asked, "Where am I?"

Jaana sat beside Harry on the bed and ran her palm over his forehead as she answered, "This place is called The Gables. It's owned by my friend here, Healer Raymond Cooley," Jaana looked closely at Harry's eyes as she asked, "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course… You're Miss Figg… You think I'd have forgotten since yesterday?"

Jaana glanced nervously at her friend before turning back to Harry and asked, "Do you remember what happened to you?"

"Something happened to me?" asked Harry in surprise. He made another attempt to recall what had transpired the night before… he remembered having dinner… which was very good… he remembered cleaning the kitchen when he got home, and… and… _'Dudley's second bedroom!'_ Harry suddenly remembered! Reading the story book, the strange, glowing circle, being caught by his uncle… and the odd book he found beneath the floorboard!

Harry instinctively raised his hand to the side of his head, as if feeling for the place where his uncle had struck him with the cricket bat. He opened his mouth to say that he remembered being hit, then snapped it shut when he realized that he was about to tell on his uncle.

Just by his actions, Jaana could tell that he did remember, and she could see his reluctance to say anything about it.

"Don't worry, love," said Jaana kindly, "We already know what your uncle did to you, so you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I just want you to know that I'll do everything in my power to make sure you never have to go back there again."

While Jaana was speaking, Harry was watching the man who was with her waving a stick at him while mumbling words that weren't quite words at all. As the man was waving the stick, Harry could feel different parts of his body tingling as if mild electric shocks were passing through him.

"Well, I'd say you've done a fair job with the child," said Healer Cooley, "He checks out alright, and he seems to be alert and aware with all of his screws in place. Just make sure he stays off of his feet for a few more days and gets enough rest over the next few weeks… and get him something to eat, woman! The child's probably starving after being force-fed nothing but potions for months."

Harry was only half paying attention until he heard the man say he should stay off his feet for a few days, "Excuse me, but I have a test next week… will I be able to go to school?"

Jaana and Cooley looked at each other again, and Harry began to get nervous at their shared expression of concern.

"You're not going back to school, Harry. From now on, you're going to be home schooled as a proper wizard should. I've already removed your records from the muggle school, the proper memory modifications have been made to the staff and…"

"Home schooled?" asked Harry in surprise, until the rest of her sentence caught up to him where he asked suspiciously, "_Wizard?_ You mean like the magicians you see on the telly?"

"No, not like a muggle magician, 'muggle' meaning a non-magical person, by the way. I mean like a wizard… a _real_ wizard, using _real_ magic… like this…"

Janna pulled out a stick that was similar to the one used by Healer Cooley, except that hers was a reddish colour while his was a pale beige. She pointed the stick at a glass vial that was sitting on the nightstand next to his bed. Suddenly, the vial vibrated for a moment before it began shifting, changing colour and shape, elongating and expanding until it was no longer a glass vial, but a rusty-brown puppy that leapt from the nightstand into Harry's lap and began licking his face energetically. If Harry hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would never have believed it.

"That's called a mineral to animal transfiguration," explained Jaana to a stunned Harry as she changed the puppy back to a glass vial, "There are many types of transfigurations possible, and many other classes of spells that you will learn about, such as charms, jinxes, hexes, curses, et cetera."

"How do you know I'll be able to do all that?"

"Simple… because you're a wizard, just like your father was a wizard like Ray here… and your mother was a witch, just like me."

"How do you… did you know my parents?" asked Harry breathlessly, then his eyes widened even more as he said, "Wait… _you're_ a _real_ witch? You don't look like one…"

"Yes, I am a 'real' witch, did you expect a warty nose and a black, pointy hat? Well, I have the hat, but that's besides the point… and all magicals know of your parents… and of you. You're the famous Harry Potter, 'The Boy Who Lived.' There have been books written about how you defeated 'You-Know-Who' when you were a babe… There are stories and songs written about you, too."

Harry sat on the bed in a daze, trying to take all this information in. _'The Boy Who Lived?'_ he thought, _'Where have I heard that before?'_

"I've got to head back to St. Mungo's before I'm missed," said Healer Cooley as he stepped towards the doorway, "I'll stop by next week to check on the child. I'll respect your wishes and not tell anyone where you are, but you're going to have to tell somebody sometime. You know the Ministry's in an uproar, and Dumbledore and the Wizengamot are beside themselves… I hope you know what you're doing." Cooley looked back at Jaana for a moment and said, "We all miss you at the hospital… you were one of the brightest trainees to come along in a long time. You would have made an excellent healer."

"I'll be careful, Ray," said Jaana with a smile, "Thanks for everything."

After the healer had left, Harry asked, "So there are books about me? Like the one I saw in my cousin's room?"

"I didn't see a book about you in his room when I went there to collect your things," said Jaana with an angry glint in her eye as she remembered the encounter with the boy's relatives… and finding out that Harry had no 'things' to collect whatsoever, "why would those despicable muggles have a book about a wizard anyway?"

"I found a book there, a big one with a leather cover that was titled, _'The Life of Harry James Potter.'_ I didn't know it at the time… I thought it was a prank that my cousin was going to play on me."

"Well, you were holding a book when I found you in the nurse's office at school, but… hey, how did you get in there anyway? The school, and the office for that matter, was locked when we left that night."

"I was in your office?" asked Harry with genuine surprise, "I have no idea how I got there. Do you still have that book? I'd like to read it."

"Well, yes, I kept the book," said Jaana as she walked to a nearby rolltop desk and picked up the book, "But it has nothing written in it… it's entirely blank."

She handed the book to Harry.

"It's not blank, it says right here, _'The Life of Harry James Potter'_ right on the cover." Harry briefly leafed through the pages, seeing each sheet filled with heavily slanted handwriting, hand-drawn diagrams and maps, lists of strange words, and what looked like detailed cooking recipes, although a brief glance at some of the ingredients told him he wouldn't want to eat anything that resulted from those instructions.

"That's odd…" said Jaana as she watched over his shoulder while he read out loud a few short snippets from different pages in the book, "it looks completely blank to me."

Harry flipped the pages back to see the very first page. His mouth hung open wordlessly as he stared disbelievingly at the first words written in that book…

"_The Life of Harry James Potter"_

"_Written by Harry James Potter"_

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	6. The First Chapter

Disclaimer: I hold no rights to anything of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing about it… I just enjoy playing with the characters.

A/N: I must apologize for the delay in getting this posted. I could bore you all with the minutia in my life, but that would accomplish nothing. With my health issues, and my obscene work schedule, the updates to this story will unfortunately be few and far between. I have about 30 chapters planned out for this fic, but it's just finding the time to write it all down that's the problem. I also apologize for not responding to all of the wonderful reviews you've been writing. Just know that I read them all, and I appreciate every one of them. I also found a beta reader for this fic, but I sent the chapter out a week ago, and have received nothing back, so this chapter is un-beta'ed, and I'll probably be asking one of the others who have offered to read for me to beta. Well, enough of my babbling, on with the show! (Word Count: 4319)

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Chapter 6: The First Chapter

Saturday, June 4th, 1988 9:47 AM

Harry had been staring at the first page of the book in his hands for almost a half-minute. His finger traced along the signature in the book and whispered breathily, "My father wrote this!"

"He did?" asked Jaana as she looked over his shoulder at, what was to her, a blank page, "How do you know?"

"He signed it. He must have had the same name as me because it says right here…_'Written by Harry James Potter.'_"

"Harry, your father's name was James Michael Potter… surely you know that!"

Harry tore his gaze away from the book for the first time since it was handed to him. He looked into Jaana's eyes and hopefully asked, "What was my mother's name?"

Jaana's own eyes narrowed as she asked, "You're serious, aren't you? You don't know your own parents' names?"

"My relatives never talked about them, and I'd get in trouble if I ever asked anything about them," Harry hesitantly answered with downcast eyes, "All I know is that my father was an unemployed 'lay-about,' and my mother was… well… I'm not allowed to say that word. They only referred to my parents as 'Them…' among other things… they never told me their names."

"Well," began Jaana with an aggravated edge to her voice, "Your mother's name was Lily. She worked for St. Mungo's Hospital as a Potions researcher, and your father was certainly no bum! He had inherited the Silver Arrow Broomstick Company and headed up the company straight out of Hogwarts… he was the one who developed the Glidestream pattern for the straws in every modern broomstick… the man was brilliant at transfigurations!"

"Hogwarts?" asked Harry, "and broomsticks?"

"That's the school where witches and wizards go to learn about magic. You'll be going there after you turn eleven, and flying broomsticks are the main mode of transportation in the wizarding community. My mum owns a Silver Arrow, in fact. Too bad the company closed down after your father… uh… well…"

Harry just nodded as his eyes returned to the book. He thought to himself that maybe it was his grandfather who had written the book as he flipped the page to begin reading the handwritten entries, but Jaana interrupted him before he even got started.

"Do you mind if I take a closer look at that book?" she asked as she drew her wand again.

Harry couldn't help but to smile. It was so rare that anyone was actually polite to him that he handed her the book without question.

Jaana took the book and began casting every revealing spell that she knew, but nothing she tried seemed to work. The pages remained blank to her. She could detect the unmistakable presence of very strong magic, but that was about it.

"Where exactly did you find this book?" Jaana asked absently as she studied it.

Figuring that he was already in trouble with his uncle, Harry related the story of the excursion from his cupboard to his cousin's second bedroom. During his story, Jaana interrupted him repeatedly to ask questions, and with each answer he gave she seemed to get more and more agitated. By the time he got to the part where his uncle began swinging the cricket bat, Jaana was angrily pacing the floor beside his bed, intently tapping her wand against her palm.

"Wait a mo," she said as she walked to a nearby dresser and pulled out a worn sweatshirt from a drawer. Harry recognized the shirt as the one he was wearing the previous night.

"I cleaned the blood from it… I was going to throw it out, but I didn't want to toss away _everything_ you owned. Now I know why I couldn't find any of your stuff in that wretched house… I never thought to look in the storage cupboard!"

Jaana held the shirt up to Harry. Burned into the front of the shirt was a circle with the same weird characters he saw glowing on the floor of his cousin's room. She turned the sweatshirt inside-out so that the runes wouldn't appear reversed and asked "Did this happen when you laid down on the circle?"

Harry remembered the searing pain from the circle as he threw himself on top of it and instinctively felt his chest with his hand. Only then did he realize that the bandages that were wrapped around his chest the day before were gone, along with the terrible pain of his cracked ribs. As he gingerly pressed his fingers alongside his chest, he asked, "My chest doesn't hurt anymore! How did I get better so quickly? Did you use magic?"

Jaana sat back down on the bed next to Harry. She laid her hand softly on the side of his head and said, "Your uncle hurt you very badly. I won't go into details, but if I hadn't found you when I did, you would have died. As soon as I found you, I messaged the healers at St. Mungo's, and then did what I could to help you until they got there. You were in a magically induced sleep for a few weeks while they were healing you, but when they ended the spell to keep you asleep, you didn't wake up… until today. Right now, its June 4th… you've been asleep for over three months... they were afraid that you'd never wake up."

Jaana didn't mention to Harry how she had took him from the hospital when she heard that, by order of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he was going to be sent to a muggle hospital as soon as he was awake, and then back to his wretched relatives. She tried to explain Harry's situation to the Ministry officials that were sent to St. Mungo's, and they seemed genuinely sympathetic with her, but they had orders directly from the Dumbledore himself that the boy be returned to his relatives, and the Supreme Mugwump gets what the Supreme Mugwump wants.

"_Over my dead body…"_ Jaana muttered to herself as she remembered the conversation, not realizing that she said it out loud while she studied the runes burned into Harry's shirt.

Harry raised his eyes from the book and asked, "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing… just looking at these runes… runes weren't my best subject at Hogwarts," Jaana said quickly, then changed the subject and asked him, "you must be hungry… Are you in the mood for anything special?"

This question seemed to catch Harry off guard, because he was just looking at Jaana with a stumped expression. After a moment, he said, "I don't want you to go through any trouble just for me… whatever you're having, I suppose."

"Come now, there must be something you fancy?"

Harry thought for a few moments, then opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it. After about half a minute of indecisiveness, Jaana sighed and said, "Well, I guess you shouldn't have anything too heavy, since you just woke up… how about grilled cheese sandwiches and some tomato soup?"

When Harry smiled and nodded, Jaana gave him a wink and said, "Fine, then…" She turned her head and called out to the room, "Glyph?"

A few moments later, Harry was startled by a slight 'pop' that came from right beside the bed. He quickly turned his head and found himself face to face with a small, strange creature with greenish-gray skin, long, thin ears, and a very bulbous, protuberant nose that hung over it's wide and elongated mouth. Harry started and instinctively drew away from the small being and pulled the sheets that were covering him up so that half his face was hidden, with just his wide eyes staring at the small being.

The creature stepped towards the bed, and while placing her long-fingered hands on top of the mattress, she leaned towards Harry and said in a slow, squeaky voice, "So the young master Potter is awake now…" The creature then turned to Jaana and said, "What can Glyph be doing for the mistress?"

"What… I mean, who is that?" said Harry from behind the sheet in a surprised, shaky voice.

"I keep forgetting how little you know about the magical world," said Jaana apologetically, "This is Glyph, one of Healer Cooley's house elves." Jaana turned to the elf and said, "Could you please get Harry here some grilled cheese sandwiches and a bowl of tomato soup?"

"It will only take Glyph a few minutes, Mistress," said the elf as she gave a polite bow, and then vanished with another 'pop.'

"House elves are servants to some of the well-to-do wizard families. This house belonged to Ray's grandparents, and they left it to him when they died about twenty years ago. The elf just came with the house. Ray has never lived here, though… he has a flat in London close to the hospital. He's letting us stay here for the time being, at least until you're better and we can find a more secure place to keep you."

"You're hiding me from my relatives?" asked Harry worriedly, "I really won't have to go back there?"

"Harry, your uncle nearly killed you. There are some people who think that you need to live with those wretched people, but I can't, in good conscience, allow that to happen, and Ray agrees with me, which is why we're here now. Nobody really knows about this place. He's taking a big risk sheltering us like this, so we'll have to find another place when you're better." Jaana then gave Harry a critical look and asked, "Unless you _want_ to go back there… I won't hold you against your will, of course… and I can't guarantee that I'd leave you there without performing an 'extreme attitude adjustment' on that… that… _uncle_ of yours. I just want you to know that you can stay with me as long as you like. I won't force you…"

The only answer she got was the only answer she needed… the largest grin she had yet seen on the boy. At that moment, Glyph popped back into the room carrying a large silver tray with a half dozen sandwiches piled on top of it, along with a very large bowl that looked as if it held a gallon of soup. There was also a large silver goblet filled with some pale orange liquid that turned out to be sweetened pumpkin juice. Glyph summoned a bed table and placed the tray above Harry's lap before wordlessly popping away again.

"How does she do that?" asked Harry of the house elf's appearance and disappearance.

As Harry ate, Jaana explained about Apparition, and after describing the feeling one gets while Apparating, Harry excitedly said that he felt that same sensation while in his cousin's bedroom.

"That's what's known as 'accidental' magic," explained Jaana, "It usually manifests in young magicals during times of unusual stress. That explains how you got into the locked school that night. Has any other odd things happened to you… things that nobody could explain?"

Harry went through a short list of the strange occurrences that seemed to happen when he was either scared or pressured. He never mentioned the punishments that he always received for things he thought he hadn't done at all. Jaana nodded thoughtfully and explained that accidental magic is just an involuntary defense mechanism ingrained in all magical children and was usually nothing to worry about.

"I know you've been asleep for a long time, but you still need to rest… you can read all about yourself later," said Jaana as she placed the book back onto the desk, "Once you're finished eating, just call for Glyph to take the tray away and then try to get some sleep. I'll check on you in a few hours."

Jaana walked to the door, only pausing a moment to look back fondly at the small, skinny boy happily munching away on half of a sandwich before closing the door.

"Glyph?"

With a slight 'pop,' the small elf appeared, "What can Glyph be doing for the mistress?"

Jaana withdrew her wand from her pocket while saying, "Please keep an eye on the boy while I'm out. I'm going to see my aunt Arabella. I have more than a few questions for her about what she knew of Harry's situation, and then I'm going to pay a certain obese muggle a little visit."

"Certainly, Mistress."

Meanwhile in the room, Harry had already pushed the tray aside and was trying to stand up, but since he was lying there idle for so long, he was having a rather difficult time trying to get his legs to work. He had almost fallen the moment his feet touched the floor because his concentration was fixed solely on the book lying upon the desk. He just couldn't wait to read what this previously unheard of world knew of him.

Harry slid down from the bed and started crawling across the floor towards the desk, but in his single-minded determination to get to the book, he failed to notice the appearance of Glyph as she came through the door. He was halfway across the room when he let out a startled yelp as he rose from off of the floor and was flipped over while being floated back to the bed.

"Young master is being bad!" scolded Glyph as she guided him with an extended finger, "Young master is being sick and must stay in bed!"

"I just wanted my book," complained Harry.

"Master is still not finished with his food. When master is done with his food, Glyph will get the master's book for him, but master must be staying in bed!"

Harry reluctantly moved the bed table back over his lap and picked up another sandwich. He sighed in resignation as he took a bite, but noticed the little creature still there, standing by his bed as she silently watched him eating with her big, hazel-coloured eyes.

"Would you like one?" asked Harry, thinking that she was staring at him because she was hungry.

The elf seemed to gawk at him for a moment before shaking off the shock and replying, "Oh, no… Glyph will be eating later in Glyph's cupboard after the young master is seen after."

Harry looked sympathetically at the elf and offhandedly said, "Oh, so they make you sleep in a cupboard, too? Is that where I'll sleep when I'm better?"

Again, the elf stared dumbly at him for a few moments and Harry was beginning to think himself quite stupid. Glyph spoke with what Harry guessed to be a confused expression, "Master, cupboards is for storing things and for house elves… the young master will be sleeping here for as long as master likes."

Harry Nodded as he looked around the room once more… _his_ room! He took a few more bites of a sandwich, but was becoming slightly unnerved at the constant stare of the elf standing next to his bed. After a while, Harry was feeling quite self-conscious.

"I don't mean to be rude or anything, but why are you staring at me? Am I doing something wrong?"

"Oh, no, young master! The mistress asked Glyph to be watching the young master, so Glyph is watching the young master."

"Oh," replied Harry. After a few more minutes of the elf's intense, silent stare, Harry asked the elf, "So, what do you do here, besides making soup and sandwiches… which are delicious, by the way."

The elf bared her sharp, pointy teeth in a smile, which momentarily alarmed Harry until she said in her squeaky voice while bouncing on the balls of her flat, elongated feet, "Glyph is pleased that the young master is enjoying Glyph's cooking! As to what Glyph does, Glyph does what every house elf does."

"I'm sorry, but I've never seen a house elf before," said Harry, "You're the first one I've ever seen… or even heard of." He was about to ask if she was a pet of the owner, but decided that it would be terribly rude if she wasn't a pet.

Glyph appeared to look shocked at Harry's statement, but he wasn't quite sure with being so unused to the elf's expressions.

"Master is a wizard and has never heard of house elves?"

"I was raised by… um… muddles?" answered Harry, trying and failing to remember what Jaana had mentioned that non-magical people were called.

"Glyph has never seen a muggle," the elf said, "but Glyph does not leave the house often, either."

"You stay in here all the time?"

"Glyph does what a house elf is supposed to do," replied the elf as she took the nearly empty tray from the bed table and popped away.

Harry had just started to swing his legs off the side of the bed when Glyph popped back into the room. Harry was starting to become familiar with the elf's expressions because the look she was giving him could not be mistaken for anything but exasperation.

"The young master must not leave the bed!" scolded Glyph as she physically pushed his legs back under the covers, "Glyph told the master that Glyph would get the book for master when the food was done!"

Glyph padded over to the desk and retrieved the book for Harry, then stood off to the side while he eagerly opened the book and began reading.

'_If my calculations are accurate and my memory serves me correctly, you should find this book when you went to place your father's invisibility cloak in your 'secret compartment' under the loose floorboard beneath your bed. I have sent this back through time using a spell that Hermione had invented, and it should have arrived sometime just before your return from Hogwarts after your godfather, Sirius was killed. Yes, I know all about Sirius, and the loose floorboard… I know everything that you know. As you could see on the previous page, I, or should I say you, Harry James Potter, wrote this book.'_

Harry paused and read the last paragraph twice. He knew nothing of invisibility cloaks, secret compartments, and he certainly didn't know that he had a godfather, alive or not! He anxiously continued reading.

'_I understand that you probably doubt that this book was truly written by you, so I devoted the entire first chapter to chronicling your life from my earliest memories… things that I am certain only you know. Hopefully, this will convince you that this book is genuine, and what I will write of the world after this point will convince you to change things for the better, for your future, left unaltered and unmanaged, will certainly turn out to be a grim place indeed.'_

Harry turned the page and began reading. As each page turned, his jaw became looser and his eyes became wider. The book mentioned the time that Dudley cracked a vase in the Dursley's living room and blamed him, It told of his very first beating from Vernon and the reason for it… when he was three he had innocently taken one of the dozens of Dudley's candy canes from the Christmas tree in the living room. He remembered that instance vividly because at the time he really didn't understand that he wasn't supposed to have any. The more he read, the more he was amazed by the accuracy of what was written… until…

'_Then, when I was seven, there was the time when I got violently ill from eating some discarded food from the rubbish bin at school. I had barely made it through classes, but managed to make it through my last class. I thought I could make it home, but right before I arrived at the house, I accidentally soiled myself. When I walked into the house smelling like an unflushed loo, Vernon dragged me into the back garden and washed me down with a hosepipe. When he was through, he threw me back into my cupboard still soaking wet. As you must remember, it was the middle of winter and very cold outside, and being wet and cold when I was put away, I ended up with pneumonia and almost died because it took them a week to believe I was really ill before sending me to a doctor.'_

"Wait a minute," said Harry to himself, "That's not what happened! I never made it home… I got sick while I was still in school! And he never mentioned the beating he got over the hidden toast!"

Harry read back over the previous pages. Everything else was accurate down to the letter… his loathing of being left with that odd old Mrs. Figg and her cats, the horrendous visits from his aunt Marge, the torment and ridicule in school… everything! While concerned over the slight discrepancy, he continued reading. It was the future that intrigued him most.

The book told of his future life in the Dursley household, his continued loneliness and abuse, and his miserable school life. It told of his first introduction to the wizarding world by a half-giant named Rubeus Hagrid and his first trip to Diagon Alley where he got his wand, his owl, and first learned of his vault full of gold at the wizarding bank, Gringotts. The book went on to describe his adventurous early years at Hogwarts, concentrating mostly on his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

'_Hmmm…'_ thought Harry, _'She must be the Hermione that he… err, I mean I, said created the time travel spell. It's odd that I would have a friend that's a girl…'_

Harry made it to the point in the chapter where he was just starting his fourth year of Hogwarts when he read something that had surprised him. His supposed 'best friend' accused him of somehow entering his own name into a tournament while leaving Ron out of the plan. Why would his best friend, one of his two _only_ friends, think that he would do something like that behind his back just to make himself more rich and famous? The same sort of thing happened when they discovered that his pet rat, Scabbers, was really the man that betrayed his parents' whereabouts in his animagus form.

That didn't sound like a very good 'best friend' to Harry. In fact, this 'Ron' sounded to be a bit on the thick-headed side. He glanced back through the chapter and noticed other instances where his 'best friend' acted a bit like a prat. When he read that his other friend, Hermione, had believed him about the tournament right from the start, he wondered why his older self considered Ron the closer of the two.

His older self called Hermione 'Kind, pretty, and very, very intelligent,' and led him to believe that her knowledge and insights were virtually indispensable to him. There were many times in his life where he wished he had a bright friend to help him with his schoolwork… anyone to talk to about anything, and this 'Hermione' seemed to be just the type of friend he so desperately needed. He wanted to meet this 'Hermione.' Maybe they could become friends before this magic school even started!

'_Wow! A real friend… and a pretty girl, no less…'_ Harry thought to himself excitedly, _'How great would that be?'_

Harry was roused from his daydreaming from a stern but kind voice, "You're still awake?"

Jaana was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, trying to give him a scolding look but was failing dismally. She couldn't help but to be happy that he was finally awake after all those months. She drew her wand and magically lifted the book from his hands.

"Rest now, read later," said Jaana as she placed the book back on the desk. She walked to his bed and placed an open vial of sky blue liquid in his hand, "Drink this, it will help you to sleep."

Harry dutifully gulped down the liquid and handed the empty vial back to Jaana while giving her an innocent smile. He had every intention of waiting until she left the room so that he could retrieve the irresistibly interesting book, but before he knew it, his eyes had glazed over and his lids became so heavy that he couldn't keep them from closing. A startlingly short moment later, he was fast asleep.

Jaana smiled at the sleeping boy, but then her eyes drifted over to the strange book and the smile faded from her lips. There was something about that book that worried her, but there were very few wizards that she could think of that could possibly break the privacy enchantment on it. She knew that it was wrong to even think of bypassing a privacy charm that was probably put there for a good reason, but she was incredibly curious… and only nineteen… and being a teenager herself, she let her curiosity get the better of her and picked up the book.

The most obvious choice was the headmaster of Hogwarts, but with what she had recently learned of his involvement in placing the 'Hero of the Wizarding World' in that horribly abusive household, and the fact that most of the wizarding law enforcement was currently looking for the boy, gave her more than enough reason to find someone more discreet to look at the book. After a few moments thought, her smile returned. If anyone could determine the protections on the book, it would be her former Head of House, who incidentally owed her more than a few favors. If she asked, she was sure he would keep the subject of their discussion quiet. With a last look at Harry, she stepped from the room, closed the door, and disappeared from the house with a quiet crack.


	7. The Impossible Friendship

Disclaimer: I hold no rights to anything of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing about it… I just enjoy playing with the characters.

A/N: I've taken the advice of a wise reviewer and decided not to use a beta reader. Obviously, there will be some errors as I write this, so I'm counting on all of you keen readers to keep me straight. If you see that I messed up somewhere, drop me a review and point out how clueless I am about my own story and I'll fix it post-haste. I had some spare time this week, so I was able to get this update out quicker than I normally would have. I planned on putting something in between Harry's birthday and the meeting with our favorite muggleborn witch, but decided it would best be told after the initial meeting. Don't be angry with me about the meeting… things will change by the time they go to Hogwarts. Sit back and enjoy the show! (Word Count: 4772)

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Chapter 7: The Impossible Friendship

Saturday, June 4th, 1988 5:20 PM

"This is fascinating!" said the diminutive professor, "In all my years, I've never come across a more complex and detailed charm! I'm sure that the people in the Department of Mysteries would love to get their hands on this!"

Filius Flitwick was standing on a stack of books and looking down at the tome resting on the desk before him while his young former student stood patiently nearby. He had been working for over two hours with very little progress made in revealing what was written in the strange book.

"See? I've been able get to the point where the ink that was used is revealed…" said Flitwick as he drew his wand over a page in the book. For a brief moment, words appeared on the leaf, but even in the short time they were visible, it was obvious that the letters were scrambled, making the text impossible to comprehend, "but that just triggered an ingrained Confundus hex to the page… at least it appears to be a Confundus hex, but the properties of the magic are slightly different. It doesn't affect the reader, but the page itself. If it were a true Confundus, even the person who was intended to read it would see the jumbled words. I also believe that it's keyed to a particular magical signature… the person would have to be holding the book in order to read it. In other words, he couldn't set the book down and read it without touching it."

"I was looking over his shoulder when he was reading, and the pages still looked blank to me."

"That's not surprising, considering the level of magic on this book. The security, privacy, and secrecy enchantments aren't just overlapping, but magically entwined together, interwoven in such a way so that they reinforce each other. I've determined that the purpose of the enchantments is to prevent anyone from reading the book other than the person who wrote it himself."

"Could someone other than the author have put those spells on the book?" asked Jaana.

"No, the person writing the book had to have been the one to create the enchantments, of that I'm positive."

"Could it have been accidental? I mean, the only one who can read this is quite young… could he have done it himself without realizing…"

"Impossible!" exclaimed Flitwick, "This was most certainly done intentionally."

Jaana looked down at the book and asked, "Well, is there anything dangerous about this book?"

"The book itself? I don't believe so. From what I can tell, the magic is purely passive, but we have no way of knowing whether the information contained within is dangerous or not." Flitwick cast a critical eye at Jaana and said, "It could possibly help if you were to tell me who this curious book belongs to. The magic involved here is quite advanced, and I'd love to discuss…"

"I have to go," interrupted Jaana quickly as she scooped the book up from the desk, "Thank you for your time, Professor, and I appreciate that you will keep this under your hat."

"Pity… pity…" sighed Flitwick, "Well, it was good to see you again, Miss Figg. Do stop by for another visit when you have the chance."

Flitwick was still looking at the door long after Jaana had already left. With a resigned sigh, he plucked a roll of parchment from the pile on his desk and returned to grading the Charms essays that he was working on before Jaana's unexpected arrival.

The busy Charms professor failed to notice the figure of Phineas Nigellus resting beneath a tree in the background of a picturesque landscape portrait on the wall behind his desk. Once the former student had left, the painted figure rose from the grass and brushed the loose blades from his trousers. He then calmly strode across the painting with a sly smile on his face, being careful to stay within the shadows of the dense trees before he disappeared off the edge.

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Sunday, July 31st, 1988 9:01 AM

Harry grumbled as he took his pillow from beneath his head and placed it firmly over his face, but it did very little to dull the scratching and tapping sounds that had just roused him from his sleep. He wasn't sure what the noise was or where it was coming from, but it was Sunday, dammit! It was his only day to sleep in without having to deal with the daily lessons he was getting from Jaana.

'_Tap, tap… scratch… tap tap tap…'_

"Arrgh!" exclaimed Harry as he removed the pillow from over his face and sat up straight in his bed.

Harry looked over towards where the noise was originating from and saw a fat gray owl rapping and clawing insistently at his bedroom window. The owl had a large parchment envelope tied to its leg. Harry glanced at the clock and saw that it was a bit past nine in the morning, roughly two hours later than his usual waking time on Sundays. He briefly wondered why Glyph didn't wake him for breakfast as he climbed out from under the covers and walked towards the window.

As soon as the window was opened, the impatient owl hopped inside and lifted its burdened leg towards Harry. Just as he was untying the string to retrieve the letter, a second owl lit on the window sill and also stuck its leg out in Harry's direction.

"Wait a moment, girl, I'll get that one after I… huh?"

Harry suddenly noticed that there were about a hundred owls of various colours and breeds perched upon the numerous branches of the old Elm tree that sat in the yard just outside of his bedroom window. As if on cue, the parliament of owls alit from the branches of the tree and began swarming in through the now open window.

Harry let out a surprised yelp and fell backwards away from the opening as the steady stream of owls came through the window, dropped whatever they were carrying and swooped back out. Whatever owls had their burdens attached to their legs all found a place to land in his bedroom and waited for him with their legs held out for him.

Harry didn't know whether to be frightened or delighted. He knew of owl post, but before this day he had yet to receive anything from anyone using this particular delivery method. He quickly shook off his shock and began moving from owl to owl, relieving each of their burdens in turn. As soon as he untied an envelope from a particular bird, the owl would immediately take off and zoom out through the window.

An hour later, Harry was still untying the cords from owl's legs and tossing whatever they were delivering into an ever growing pile upon his bed. The stack of letters and packages was growing so large that some were sliding from the pile onto the floor, and still there were new owls arriving nearly as quickly as the older ones were being released.

"Well, someone's starting their birthday off right!" came a cheerful voice from the doorway. Harry quickly spun around, causing the owl who had landed on his shoulder to flap his wings agitatedly as he waited for Harry to relieve him of his letter. Standing in the open doorway was Jaana, who had one hand placed cockily on her hip and her other arm resting upon the jamb.

"It's… it's my birthday?" asked Harry as he wiped the sweat from his brow, "How did you know? I never told you… I never told anyone!"

"Oh, come on!" said Jaana with a smile, "Everyone knows your birthday! Surely, you must be used to this by now," she said as she waved her hand towards the ever-growing pile of letters, cards, and gifts on and around his bed.

Harry was still fumbling with a cord around an owl's leg as he answered, "Well, no… I never got any birthday gifts before."

Jaana sighed and said, "It's, '_I have_ never _gotten_ any gifts… wait… you've never gotten any birthday presents before? Ever?"

Harry shook his head and said, "No cards or letters, either. My cousin always got loads on his birthday, but my relatives treated my birthday like any other day… and this is the first owl post I've ever received, too… it's quite exciting, really and… and…"

Harry paused when he saw the shocked look on Jaana's face. For a moment, he thought he was in trouble when she quickly walked towards him with an odd, almost angry look on her face. He stiffened as she wrapped her arms around him in what turned out to be a big hug. He knew he wasn't in trouble when he heard her let out a quiet sob as she tightly held him.

"It was never a big deal," lied Harry, "I never really cared that I never got any birthday or Christmas presents. For the longest time, I never even knew I was supposed to get any until I heard some kids talking about their presents at school. I just thought the Dursleys were being nice to Dudley."

Jaana instantly knew that Dumbledore had magically re-directed the boy's owl post from his muggle household. That could be the only explanation for him never getting any post at all throughout the years. She pulled back and wiped her glistening eyes on her shirtsleeve and said, "Now I know why you never answered any of the letters I sent to you on your birthdays… well, you're not with the Dursleys any more. You're with someone who cares about you, and you're going to have the best birthday that anyone has ever had!"

Harry couldn't stop the smile that broke out on his face, but it quickly disappeared as the owl on his shoulder impatiently nipped at his ear.

Jaana laughed and said, "It looks like we'll be spending the rest of the morning sorting out all of this!"

At noontime Jaana had tried to talk Harry into leaving the pile of letters for a while to have lunch, but he was so engrossed with his first real taste of a truly happy birthday that she had to settle for Glyph bringing them a platter of sandwiches and pumpkin juice while they sorted through the correspondence. Harry still couldn't get over the fact that people he never even met were sending him cards and presents.

Even after the first onslaught of owls had been relieved of their deliveries, there was a steady trickle of new owls throughout the early afternoon as Harry and Jaana sorted out his mail. It was a little after two in the afternoon when they had finally separated his post into three piles… cards from an adoring wizarding population wishing him a happy birthday, letters from an adoring wizarding population wishing him a happy birthday, and gifts from an adoring wizarding population wishing him a happy birthday.

"Here's one from the gamekeeper at Hogwarts!" exclaimed Jaana as she handed a poorly handwritten card to Harry, "He's a bit scary, but a really kind soul… and here's one from…"

Harry took the card and saw the name on the card, 'Rubeus Hagrid,' but then noticed the change in Jaana's expression and asked, "From…?"

Jaana briefly thought about hiding the letter away and destroying it later, but she knew that she couldn't protect the boy from the harsh realities that came with being 'Harry Potter.' With an apologetic look on her face, she said, "Well… this is from Azkaban, the Wizarding prison. It's from the man who betrayed your pa…"

"Sirius!" exclaimed Harry as he quickly snatched the letter from Jaana's hands.

"Harry, he's…"

"Innocent!" exclaimed Harry, interrupting whatever Jaana was going to say about his godfather.

As Harry opened the letter, a wave of guilt overcame him. If truth be told, he had forgotten all about the fact that he had a godfather who was wrongly imprisoned… it was only mentioned once in the beginning of the book he was studying, and there was so much more in the book that seemed more important.

"Harry, no matter what he says in that letter, you must remember that he was working for 'He Who Must Not Be Named…' He's an evil man who…"

"NO!" exclaimed Harry vehemently, "He wasn't the one who told the Dark Lord where I was, it was Peter Pettigrew!"

"Peter Pettigrew is dead, Harry," said Jaana in a soft voice as she tried to calm Harry down, "Black was the one who killed him."

"Okay," said Harry calmly as he set Sirius's letter aside and silently returned to the card from Hagrid.

Jaana studied Harry for a few moments, wondering what was going through his mind when he so abruptly dropped the subject, but he seemed to content with reading the other cards and letters that he had received from the other admirers… or he was simply ignoring her. Jaana mentally shrugged it off and picked up another envelope and opened it for him.

"Ooh, this one is from a girl, and I think she _really_ likes you…" giggled Jaana, "She says she already has the flowers picked out for your wedding!"

Harry's eyes widened as he repeated, "Wedding?"

Jaana barely maintained her serious expression as she said, "Yes! White carnations along with pink roses… Oh, and she already has the names of your children picked out!"

In a panic, Harry snatched the letter away from Jaana, but quickly found out that that what she was telling him was true… the girl sending the letter really had picked out the date for the wedding, the flowers, their children's names, and even where they were going to live. Harry scanned down to the bottom of the letter and read the girl's name, 'Ginerva Weasley.' He instantly recognized the name of his supposed 'future' wife.

A cloud passed over Harry's eyes as he read the name, which didn't go unnoticed by Jaana. The only thought that passed through Harry's head as he read the name was how his older self was betrayed by that woman who supposedly loved him.

"What's wrong? Getting cold feet already?" asked Jaana with a slight laugh in her voice, although she was guessing that it was something else entirely that had the boy spooked.

"She's six years old and has a wedding planned? She sounds a bit of a nutter to me," said Harry casually as he tossed the letter onto the rubbish pile. He smiled as he considered that phrasing… the 'trash' pile… _'how very fitting,'_ he thought to himself.

It was nearly five o'clock when they finally managed to sort through the post from all of Harry's well-wishers. Harry couldn't help but to think how jealous Dudley would be if he saw the huge pile of sweets and toys that Harry had received… probably more than all the toys Dudley had received in his entire life, and that was saying something.

"Your birthday isn't over yet," said Jaana with a smile as she waved her wand and drew a huge, colourfully wrapped package from thin air and hovered it in front of Harry, "There's still one present for you to open."

Without hesitating, Harry wrapped Jaana in a tight hug, almost causing her to drop the bulky package, "I knew you wouldn't forget."

"Wait until you open it," whispered Jaana playfully. She really, really didn't want to give Harry this particular present, but with his daily pleading and her own conscience working against her common sense, she had finally given in. It's not as if breaking yet another wizarding law would get her into any more trouble than she was already in. It wasn't really 'breaking' the law, but bending it quite a bit. She had made the decision a few weeks earlier, but figured that his birthday would be the best time to spring the surprise.

Harry finished tearing the wrapping paper from the large, deep box. He quickly lifted the lid, looked inside, and yelled, "YES!"

Inside of the box was a premium number 2, cast iron cauldron, along with a wide variety of potions ingredients that easily surpassed the standard potions kit that the first-year Hogwarts students were required to obtain.

For the past month Harry had been begging Jaana to train him in magic, but with the constant monitoring of magical energy emissions performed by the Ministry since Harry's disappearance, the performance of magic by underage wizards was much more readily detectable. She couldn't take the chance of getting him a wand, which was what he really wanted, so she did the next best thing.

Even in their 'technically' abandoned magical house, magical activity was being closely monitored, as it was in all registered magical houses. This change in Ministry policy had caused an uproar in the pureblood magical community. The original intent was to detect and recover Harry Potter. The unintentional effect was much more widespread and catastrophic to the pureblooded magical community, due to the fact that underage magic was now meticulously monitored inside of pureblood homes as well as muggleborn households, compromising the inherent advantage the pureblood children had over their muggleborn counterparts when it came to familiarity with magic.

The pureblood parents could no longer covertly train their children to make it appear that they were more magically adept than the 'inferior' classes of magicals. With the ingrained magical advantage removed, the new students entering Hogwarts would be on more of an equal footing as far as practical magical experience goes. The purebloods still had the advantage of 'knowing' about magic, but the lack of practical experience would ultimately make a marked impact on the future of the wizarding world.

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Monday, September 19th, 1988 12:27 PM

Harry watched nervously as he observed the trio of girls playing jump rope in the schoolyard. He reached under his jacket for the seventeenth time to make sure that the package was still safely tucked beneath his clothing. He knew he shouldn't be anxious, but the thought of finally meeting the person that was going to be his best friend was sending his nerves into chaos.

He had been watching the other children since they were let out for lunch. He narrowed his choices down to just a few girls who were playing in the schoolyard. The book described Hermione as an attractive girl with thick, curly brown hair, bright, intense brown eyes, and a poised and sophisticated, yet elegant demeanor about her.

A short, blonde girl was swinging one end of the rope while a rather plump, auburn-haired girl twirled the other. Jumping in the middle was a very attractive girl who fit his older self's description perfectly. She had long, flowing brown hair that bounced playfully with every jump, a long, narrow face with full red lips, gleaming brown eyes and an absolutely adorable button nose. They were all wearing the standard uniform for that public school, a warm maroon jumper covering a plain white, button-down shirt along with the standard knee-length, plaid skirt, knee stockings and mary-janes. He was sure that this pretty, brown-haired girl was the one destined to be his best friend.

He stood up from the wall he was leaning on and walked over to the playing girls in what he hoped was a 'cool' manner. Harry waited a few moments until he caught the attention of the pretty, rope-skipping, brown-haired girl and confidently asked, "Hi, are you Hermione Granger?"

The reaction was immediate.

The short, thin blonde girl seemed to forget that she was holding the end of a jump rope as she placed both of her hands over her mouth in a futile attempt to stop the gasp that escaped her throat. The plump, auburn-haired girl didn't drop her end of the rope, but she did freeze in position, causing the other, newly-released, plastic-coated end of the jump rope to whip wildly upwards, catching the stunned brown-haired girl square in the mouth. The girl didn't seem to immediately notice the split lip she had just received, mainly because her ankles had become entangled in the slackened rope, which summarily caused her to fall forwards onto the pavement. The pretty, brown-haired girl let out a scream of agony as both her knees became skinned and the palms of her hands became scraped from the contact with the hard pavement of the schoolyard.

The short blonde was the first to recover her senses as she removed a hand from over her mouth, pointed a threatening finger at Harry and said through her fingers, "How dare you!"

The chubby, auburn-haired girl was staring at Harry with an open-mouthed glare as the girl on the ground rolled over and placed her bleeding hands on her bleeding knees. The brown haired girl said through gritted teeth, "I am certainly not that stuck-up harpy! What on earth made you think that I was that socially retarded minger with delusions of adequacy? I've a right mind to kick you in the yarbles, you wanker!"

With that the two other girls helped the foul-mouthed, brown-haired girl up from the ground and began walking the heavily limping student towards the school. The short blonde looked back at Harry and sent him a rude, two-fingered hand gesture before they disappeared into the doorway.

By that time a small crowd of curious spectators had accumulated around the commotion. A younger boy who had heard the entire exchange walked up to Harry and said, "The girl you're looking for is over there."

The boy was pointing to the far corner of the schoolyard where a single student was sitting at a picnic table with her back turned towards the other playing students. Now that he had noticed her, he could see that she did indeed have quite a lot of long, messy brown hair bunched around her shoulders, forced down around her collar by the short, black stocking cap she was wearing. Harry politely thanked the boy and began walking towards the girl.

"You're really going to talk to her, mate?" said the boy, not really as a question but as a slightly incredulous statement.

Harry paused, looked back and asked, "Why shouldn't I?"

The boy shrugged and said, "Hey, it's your funeral."

As Harry neared the solitary figure, he saw that she wasn't exactly what you'd call 'thin.' Her thickness certainly couldn't be blamed on the oversized jumper she was wearing. He also noticed through the visible tangled mass of hair, a thin metal strap that was wrapped around the back of her head.

When he walked up to the girl, she apparently heard his approaching footsteps because he saw her shoulders tense up and her back stiffen rigidly. Harry made to circle around the table, intending to sit on the opposite bench, when the girl growled out in a snide, derisive tone, "What do you want?"

Harry turned to face her. He had been practicing what he was going to say to her for over a month, but when he looked at her face, every thought he had in his head seemed to leak out of his ears.

The first thing he noticed, and it was impossible to miss, was the purpose of the silvery band that was around the back of her wild, tangled hair. It was a large metal retainer, wrapped tightly around her head and affixed firmly to her very buck teeth. The complexion on her puffy pink cheeks seemed irritated and oily, and there were indentations along the sides of her face from where the retainer rubbed against her skin up until it disappeared under her cap. She also had thick, unkempt eyebrows that almost joined above the bridge of her nose. Harry would have never guessed that this was the 'pretty' best friend that his older self had referred to.

Her brown eyes were narrowed dangerously as she looked everywhere but at Harry. Hesitantly, he spoke, "Hi, Hermione Granger? I'm Harry Po…"

"What do they have planned thish time?" the girl interrupted rudely, slamming the opened book she was reading down on the table as she scanned the area. It was apparent that the large, cumbersome retainer was making her slur her speech. The metal and elastics that adorned her teeth seemed to draw his focus onto her mouth as she spoke, which seemed to annoy the girl even more.

"P-planned?" stammered Harry nervously, "Nothing, I suppose, I just wanted to…"

"I shaw you talking with Kate Shpooner and her two gormlessh, fluffed-up tartsh. Did they run out of berksh in this shchool and had to shend out for shomeone new to torture me?"

"No one sent me over, I came because…"

"I know, I know… it'sh the shame thing every day. Well, you can jusht shave it for shomeone elsh. I've honeshtly had enough pranksh pulled on me to lasht a lifetime. Jusht because I'm shmarter than the lot of you combined ish no reashon to harassh me on a daily bashish."

The girl then looked directly at him for the first time and said, "Lisshen, I'd hate to have you kicked out of shchool on shuch a nish day. You sheem like a nish enough bloke… jusht walk away and I won't tell a teasher how you shtuck your hand up my shkirt and pulled down my knickersh."

"Wait a minute, I didn't…"

"And I'm not going to shtand up and give you the opportunity to do it!" she said in a dangerous hiss, "That'sh been done too many timesh before, and I'm wishe to it all… sho jusht walk away…"

The girl hastily picked up her book and began to actively ignore the stunned boy. Harry could see that she was keeping a suspicious eye on him as she pretended to read. Harry stood there in shock for a few moments before he reached under his jumper and pulled out a plainly wrapped package and set it down on the table beside her.

"Happy birthday," Harry simply said before he turned and morosely walked towards the gate that led from the schoolyard.

Hermione kept her eyes on the retreating back of the strange boy who she had just rudely sent away. She was still looking at the gate long after the boy had disappeared beyond it. She dropped her eyes to the package lying on the table beside her. It was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied together with a string. Tucked beneath the string was a yellowed parchment envelope with the words, 'Happy Birthday, Hermione' written on it in light blue ink.

Hermione's brows knit together as she pondered the strange package. It was roughly the size and shape of a rather large book. Anyone that knew her would know that a book would be a simply irresistible temptation to her, but she has had way too many cruel tricks played upon her to seriously think that there was a simple book wrapped within the paper. She gingerly poked at the package with a pencil, almost expecting it to explode or something.

Just as the pencil made contact with the package, the bell that was mounted on the wall just over her head rang, causing her to comically jump in alarm. She heard a few laughs from behind her, telling her that some of the other students had been watching the exchange she had with the odd, skinny boy.

The bell, of course, was the first warning bell announcing the end of the lunch period. Hermione waited until most of the other children in the schoolyard had entered the building before she tucked the book she was reading back into her book bag, stood up from the picnic table, and then picked up the package that the boy had left for her.

She walked to the entrance to the school. Just beside the door was a rubbish bin.

'_I'm no fool!'_ she thought to herself.

She held the curious package out over the bin, ready to drop it in, but she paused.

With a sigh, she placed the package in her bookbag and entered the school.

'_Yes, I am a fool when it comes to books.'_

She would wait until she got home to have one of her parents open the package. That way she'd have witnesses that would actually stick up for her if something happened.

Just before she closed the door, she glanced across the schoolyard and looked critically at the gate.

'_He said his name was Harry…'_ she thought to herself as she let the door close and made her way to her first afternoon lesson.

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	8. A Lightening and a Darkening

Disclaimer: No, I do not own anything of the 'Harry Potter' universe, nor do I make any money from playing with the characters.

A/N: I have no idea how I found time to write this. Large quantities of either alcohol or coffee… or both, given my hectic work/time-off schedule. I'll refrain from commenting on what this chapter implies… I'm sure many of you will see the foreshadowing of both Harry's and Hermione's forthcoming personality development. Trust me when I say that some future event will give Harry a much-needed 'wake-up call.' You'll see! (Word Count: 3799)

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Chapter 8: A Lightening and a Darkening

Saturday, October 1st, 1988 6:03 PM

Hermione Granger wasn't a vain person. She seldom, if ever, cared what other people thought of her. She was used to the pranks, the snide remarks, and the jealousy of her fellow classmates over the unerringly superior grades she always managed to achieve through her hard work and tenacity.

She had never thought about her 'social standing' amongst her peers at school. All she had ever known was the omnipresent feeling that she was different than everyone around her… somewhat better than her peers, who seemed more concerned with 'who likes who' or 'who has better stuff' than what was truly important… namely, their studies.

Then that 'boy' appeared.

She had heard through the grapevine… albeit much later than all of the other students… well, she accidentally overheard the other girls talking about him while sitting in the girl's loo at school… that the boy who had visited her on that day was some sort of 'hottie…' whatever that meant…

It was true that he had given her a birthday present… even though it was a weird fictional book about an old Scottish castle that was created for the sole purpose of being a school for magic. It was true, the reading was interesting, insightful, and well presented, but it was still fantasy… but something about it… something about the whole circumstance… something…

"Mother?" called out Hermione as she approached the parlor where her parents usually resided after work.

"She'th in the thtudy upthtairth," replied her father with a slight but noticeable lisp. The man was sitting in the recliner before their recently purchased wide, projection-screen telly, watching his favorite re-run of 'Monty Python's Flying Circus.'

For the briefest instant, and for the first time that she could remember, Hermione distinctively noticed her father's severe overbite and his lisping speech, and for the first time in her life, she internally cursed the genetic code that was passed to her from him that subjected her to the monstrosity that was her retainer.

At that moment, her mother appeared at the top of the stairs and said, "Hullo, Hunny-Bunny… what's the Phrenetic Variable to a Quadratic Surd?"

"Twishe the shquare root of the originating Polythrentic Quentry," replied Hermione in an exasperated huff, "Thish ish jusht what I mean! Othersh shee me ash an animated adding machine!"

"Don't be silly, Nilly…" retorted her mother playfully, "an adding machine couldn't possibly differentiate between the phase differential within the Standard Deviation of the Non-Tequectonic and the Sub-transquential shift in…

"I want to loosh shome weight," said Hermione determinably.

Her mother froze mid-step near the bottom of the stairs and her father tore his eyes away from the telly for the first time that morning.

"Why would you want thomething like that, pumpkin?" asked her father, "You aren't fat, you're jutht healthy…"

"Yesh, I am fat!" replied Hermione adamantly, "and thish retainer ish making me the laughing shtock of the whole shchool!"

Her parents shared a knowing look, then her mother smiled at her sympathetically and said, "Listen, it's not how you look on the outside, but what kind of person you are on the inside… if you want to make true friends, you have to wait until someone gets to know you for you…

Hermione had the card that came along with the strange birthday present clutched within her hand as she stood defiantly before her parents, "It'sh very difficult to allow shomeone to get to know 'the real me' when they're conshtantly pulling pranksh on me! Nobody ish closhe to me becaushe nobody wantsh to get closhe to me!"

"Nobody, huh?" said her mother with a sly smile, "Well, there's at least one who seems to like you… how many times have you read that Pigwarts book now? It seems to me that was a nice, thoughtful gift for you."

Hermione couldn't tell, but both of her parents noticed the slight flush of pink that graced their daughter's cheeks.

"That wash probably a mishtake," said Hermione with a hint of sadness in her voice, "I don't know who he ish, and I haven't sheen him shince my birthday."

Her mother grinned knowingly and said, "But you're hoping to see him again, and that's why you want to lose some weight and get rid of that retainer, am I right?"

Even Hermione could now tell that she was blushing. She turned embarrassedly away and didn't bother to answer the obvious question.

"Well, you're supposed to wear the retainer for another year…"

Mrs. Granger couldn't miss the despairing look that washed across her daughter's face. She impishly paused for a moment before continuing, "but I suppose we could fit you with simple braces… it will take a bit longer to correct your overbite, but at least it will be a bit less obvious."

Hermione blinked a few times, hardly believing that her parents were actually willing to sacrifice what they took to be the fastest route to her dental health if favor of aesthetic appearances. Her surprised look magnified as her mother added…

"And if you're so adamant about shedding some of your baby fat, then starting tomorrow I'll have a diet set up for all of us… Lord knows I could stand to lose an inch or two from my hips, and your father's love handles could use a bit of skimming."

Mr. Granger was about to voice some sort of complaint, but his mouth snapped shut at the warning glare his wife sent him. The Granger matriarch was momentarily surprised by the sudden hug that was given by her excited daughter. She watched the young girl bounce up the stairs towards her bedroom in a better mood than she had seen in a very long time.

As soon as they heard Hermione's bedroom door click shut, Mr. Granger rather testily commented, "Ithn't she a tad young to be worried about her appearanth?"

Mrs. Granger looked to her now grumpy husband and said, "She likes him."

"She'th only nine yearth old…"

"and she's much more mature than her years," injected his wife. Mrs Granger sighed and said, "You know how cruel children can be to people who appear or _sound_ different, don't you, dear?"

Mr. Granger's normally passive expression suddenly contorted into a pained grimace as his own memories of the teasing he endured as a child came to his mind. That was answer enough.

"Whoever that boy is, he has made a very devoted friend, whether he realized it or not," commented Mrs. Granger, "I do hope she meets him again… if he can bring about this much of a change in Hermione from a single encounter, I'm sure he could be instrumental in finally bringing her out of her shell."

Mr. Granger nodded as he said, "I'll bring her into the thurgery tomorrow and get the proper measurementh to fit a thet of bratheth for her. I'll order up a thet of thothe new graphite-compothite fittingth. Being white, they won't be tho notitheable…" and with a return of his grimace, he added, "At leatht with thothe, they can't teathe her with my old nickname, 'tinthel-teeth.'"

Mrs. Granger smiled and nodded in approval as she headed towards the kitchen to prepare their dinner. She knew the day would come where her daughter would begin to fret over her appearance… she just wished it wasn't so soon… it made her feel older than her thirty-one years.

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Sunday, October 16th, 1988 11:53 AM

"I'm at my wit's end!" said Jaana, almost in tears, "I just don't know what to do about him!"

"You say that all of this started about a month ago?" asked Cooley in his thick Jamaican accent as he looked out through the window at the young boy meditating on the grass beneath the elm tree in the back yard.

"Since the day he took off to Merlin-knows-where for over three hours. I was so angry with him for disappearing like that, but the look on his face when he returned… he looked so… so lost… I have no idea where he went, and he refused to tell me. I don't know what happened to him, but it's like he lost his pet or something… but…" Jaana let out a tired sigh and muttered, "…doesn't have a pet, and he really doesn't have any friends, besides Glyph and me. You know he can't be seen by anyone."

"How was he acting before then?"

"He was happy enough, or so I thought. All through August he was doing well with all the lessons I've been giving him. Maybe I pushed him too hard… expected too much from him."

"Nonsense," said Cooley, "If you have been following the schedule in the books I gave you, he should be receiving the same level of education as any wizard his age."

Jaana remained silent for a moment, looking guiltily away from her former healer trainer.

Cooley's eyes narrowed and he leaned towards her, "What have you been up to, Jaana?"

"Well… I might have added a few things to what the books suggested."

"Such as…?"

"Um… some basic spell theory, incantation pronunciation, some rudimentary training in runes… a bit of wand manipulation… and…"

"Good heavens, woman!" barked Cooley in astonishment, "You haven't given the child a wand, have you?"

"Of course not!" snapped Jaana, "He practices with a stick."

"I see… and what else?"

Jaana mumbled something as she looked at her shoes. She glanced up at his piercing hazel eyes and then sighed, "Potions… I've been training him in potions, too."

"You _do_ mean that you've been training him in recognizing the quality of ingredients, reagent properties, methods of stirring, cauldron materials… Potions Theory, right?"

"Well… um… Yes, well… since before his birthday… then I bought him a potions kit for a gift, and began…"

"Are you daft, woman?" whispered Cooley intensely, although he was sure nobody was around to hear them, "You have the child brewing already?"

"He wanted me to teach him actual magic!" defended Jaana, "He's been begging me for a wand since I took him in… I had to do something! I know I can't teach him practical spells… but I do remember what it was like when I was his age. I knew I was responsible enough to learn magic discreetly, but mum and dad never let me. You know potion brewing can't be tracked or detected, and he seems more than mature enough to handle the responsibility… and he's _Harry Potter!_ You know that they're going to expect 'The Boy Who Lived' to be some sort of prodigy. If he shows up at Hogwarts no better than a muggle, he's going to be mocked and ridiculed by the other students… and one certain Potions Professor… I just thought…"

Ray Cooley sighed as he said, "You Ravenclaws… always assuming that others can keep up with the workload you place upon yourselves. No wonder the child is stressed."

"But that's just it! He's not stressed! He's been picking up what I've been showing him with no trouble at all. Just last week, I explained a complex theory on the multiple attraction charm to him, and the next morning I saw him practicing the incantation with his stick… _using the correct manipulations!_"

"So the boy is a quick study?" asked Cooley with a knowing nod.

"But I hadn't taught the wand movements to him yet! It's as if he just _knew_ how to do it!"

Cooley paused in thought and his eyes returned to the boy sitting in the back yard. It took him a moment to realize that Harry was no longer sitting in the fallen leaves under the elm tree, but was sitting in the middle of the fenced-in flower bed several meters to the right. He mentally shrugged and he was about to turn back to Jaana to say something when he saw Harry vanish.

"What the…" exclaimed Cooley as his eyes scanned the expansive back yard. It took him a few seconds to find the boy who was now in the same meditative sitting position, but was now on top of the gardening shed on the far side of the fenced in garden.

"What? What is it?" Jaana asked quickly as she heard the curious exclamation.

"Look at this, Jaana!" said Cooley in an accusing tone, "Have you been teaching him this, too?"

Jaana stepped to the window and followed Cooley's stare to where Harry was sitting on the shed's roof.

"How did he get up… oh my!"

Once again, Harry had disappeared. Jaana's eyes frantically scanned the area as she practically screamed in panic, "He's gone! He's been taken! I've got to…"

"There," said Cooley calmly as he pointed towards the grove of apple trees a few hundred meters away.

Jaana had to squint to see Harry's tiny form sitting motionlessly under one of the bare apple trees in the distance. An instant later, Harry disappeared again and silently reappeared just outside of the window, back under the elm tree where he had started.

"He's… he's Apparating!" yelled Jaana angrily as she fumbled with the window lock. In her panic, she totally forgot that she was a witch, "He's going to be the death of me yet! He's going to splinch himself and get us all caught!"

Cooley just smiled and drew his wand, unlocking and opening the window with a twist, swish, and flick.

"Harry!" yelled Jaana through the now opened window, "Don't you dare move, young man!"

Harry's eyes focused and he looked up to the open window. About ten seconds later, the back door flew open and a very upset Jaana stormed through the doorway.

As Jaana neared him, Harry instinctively cowered back and covered his head protectively with his arms. Jaana stopped short, the anger falling from her face and being replaced with a look of distress.

"Oh, no… no, Harry… I'm not going to hit you!"

Jaana walked the last few steps, knelt down beside him and wrapped Harry in a hug. Her breath caught as she felt the boy flinch as she touched him.

Jaana felt the wetness building under her eyelids as she felt his body trembling in her arms. In a calm voice, she whispered to him, "Harry, no matter what you do or how angry I may seem, I'd never, ever hit you!"

"W-what did I do wrong?" asked Harry haltingly.

"You were just Apparating around the yard!" said Jaana concernedly, "I don't know how you learned to Apparate, but it's very, very dangerous! If you splinch yourself, the Ministry will know right away and send a reversal squad out to find you… and you know what will happen if the Ministry finds out where you are…"

"But… I… I wasn't Apparating…" defended Harry.

Jaana pulled back a little to look at Harry's face and patiently said, "We were watching you through the window. We saw you Apparating… I saw you move from the roof of the shed over to the orchard, and then to under this tree."

"I wasn't Apparating…" repeated Harry, sounding a little more relaxed as he explained matter-of-factly, "I was Shifting. There is a difference, you know."

"And what difference would that be?" asked Cooley, who had just emerged from the doorway and overheard the last bit of the conversation.

Harry paused, seemingly thinking about the answer, and then said, "Well, I don't know much about Apparating… I've only done it twice, and both times accidentally… When you Apparate, you force yourself into another location. When you Shift, you just let yourself be where you want to go… it's hard to explain…"

"And where did you hear about this 'Shifting?'" asked Cooley.

"In my book!" stated Harry proudly, "It's got loads of information on magic… even more than the books that…" Harry suddenly went silent as he realized what he had just said.

A look of realization appeared on Jaana's face as she glanced at Cooley. Harry had told her earlier that he was reading his life's story in the book and never bothered to question him again about the book's content. She had assumed, given the apparent size of the book, that it _only_ contained information about his life. Now she knew how he was getting the gist of what she had been teaching him so quickly, and seemed to know how to do some things even before she began teaching him about them. The book must contain some knowledge of advanced magic… maybe even Dark magic. She had never heard of 'Shifting,' and it was apparent that Cooley had no knowledge of it, either.

Jaana instantly became worried, and by the concerned look she saw on Cooley's face, it was clear that he was just as much so.

"Tell me, little man…" said Cooley to Harry in a placating tone, "what has this book of yours been teaching you other than this 'Shifting?'

Harry was young, but he wasn't stupid. He knew what he had let slip, and he certainly noticed the odd glances the adults were sending each other. He was afraid that they would take the book from him if he told them something they didn't want to hear… and that was something that he surely didn't want to happen. In the few short months that he had been in possession of the book, he had learned what the future held for him… as well as the entire world. His young mind didn't quite grasp the importance, the responsibility, or the danger involved in everything that should be done to avoid the path that the book had revealed… he just knew that his older self had tasked him to change the future, and had sent the tools he needed to do it. He couldn't allow those tools to be taken from him. He needed to learn all he could from the book. He needed a convincing lie, and pondered that thought for the briefest moment before realizing that lying was something he just couldn't do to Jaana.

Without hesitation, Harry silently vanished.

Both Jaana and Cooley jumped in surprise at Harry's sudden disappearance. The most surprising thing about it was that it was completely silent, almost as if he went invisible instead of Apparating. An instant later, Harry reappeared, sitting complacently in the exact same spot where he was before. He saw Jaana's eyes narrow.

"What did you just do?" asked Jaana suspiciously, even though she knew exactly what the sneaky young wizard had done.

"I'm sorry," said Harry solemnly, "I kinda know what you want to do, so I hid it where you'll never find it."

A cocky smile appeared on Jaana's face as she said in a nonchalant tone, "Oh, you put it in the secret compartment of the toy box in your room… You do realize that I'm the one who bought it for you, don't you?

Harry paled and his eyes widened. Before he could even think, Jaana vanished with a resounding snap, reappearing a moment later with Harry's book in her hands.

Harry reached out for the book in her arms, but she just shook her head and said, "I'm not trying to punish you… I just want to make sure that the information in this book won't get us caught. I've explained to you before that if our location is discovered, you'll be sent back to your uncle… is that something you really want?"

That thought made Harry visibly pause, something which Jaana could readily see in the boy's expression.

"If so, I'll bring you there right now and leave you on his doorstep," continued Jaana with a knowing look. She knew that she was manipulating the boy, and was feeling every bit as though she were Harry's older sister.

When Harry dropped his arms submissively, Jaana's voice softened as she said, "Look, I really do respect your privacy, but I also have to make sure you're kept safe. I don't know what happened to you last month when you went off on your little adventure, but you haven't been the same since you returned. Maybe if you told me where you went… what happened or who you saw… maybe I could help… I'm really not a wicked witch, you know, and you know that I'm on your side, no matter what… and I'm not all that old… I do understand a lot of what you're going through."

Harry remained silent, taking on the brooding manner he had adopted over the past month. Jaana's worried expression returned as she glanced inquisitively at the older healer.

Cooley looked between the two and thought for a moment before he whispered something into Jaana's ear.

Jaana sighed, and after a moment in her own thoughts, she said to Harry, "Listen, I don't really want to keep this book from you… I only worry that it might contain some dangerous information. I'll make a deal with you…"

Harry looked up with a depressed frown marring his youthful features to indicate he was listening.

"I'll hang onto the book for you, and whenever you want to read it, I'll bring it out for you, but you have to read it aloud to me. This way, you can still read all about yourself, and I can use it as a tool to help your vocabulary and reading skills… is that alright with you?"

Harry didn't like that 'deal' at all, but he couldn't immediately think of a way around it. He reluctantly nodded.

"Good," said Jaana in a relieved breath, "and another thing… no more 'Shifting' until I can determine if it's safe… and that the Ministry can't detect it. It would be a disaster if they found either of us."

Harry nodded once again and said, "I'm tired. I'd like to take a nap."

"But lunch is almost …"

The words hadn't even left Jaana's mouth as Harry silently vanished from the yard. An angry flush instantly appeared on Jaana's face, but then a small, apologetic voice came from the opened bedroom window on the second floor, "Sorry… I forgot… 'No Shifting.'"

A smile appeared on Cooley's face as he softly said to Jaana in a sigh, "Boys will be boys…"

"Well, that boy's going to be the death of me yet…" lamented Jaana tiredly, "I think I'm getting gray hairs!"

Cooley let out a deep laugh as he guided the harried young witch back into the house, saying mirthfully, "I think a cuppa Irish is just what you need."

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	9. Uncovering the Past’s Future

_Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any claim to, the 'Harry Potter' universe. I claim the plot and whatever original characters I choose to create._

_A/N: Here's another installment for you. Once again, I'd like to thank all of the people who have been faithfully reviewing this story. My biggest regret is not having the time to respond to them all, but you should know that I read and appreciate every one of them. It seems that with every chapter I write, there are more and more of you who are questioning Jaana's ability to be a good guardian… well, this chapter will add more fuel to that particular fire! ; I try to look at it from her side… she's now the guardian of one of the most important people in the wizarding world, she gave up her job and her private life to help Harry, and she has the constant threat of being discovered hanging over her head… of course she's going to be a bit overprotective at times… wouldn't you be? (Word Count: 3951)_

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Chapter 9: Uncovering the Past's Future

Wednesday, November 30th, 1988 8:03 PM

When Harry first began reading the book to her, he had started at the place that he had already made it to. Upon hearing just a few pages of magical techniques and theories… most of which Jaana barely understood herself… she had Harry start again at the beginning. Harry didn't deem to mind reading about his earlier years again, although he did have to pause from time to time when he made it to the more distressing parts that he remembered.

Harry was sitting on the floor before the fireplace with the book he was reading from in his lap. Jaana was sitting in the overstuffed chair watching over the young boy and raptly listening to every word. Over the previous months, Jaana quickly learned that the book, which initially appeared to only have a few hundred hand-written pages, actually contained thousands upon thousands of pages which were magically compressed into the binding.

Jaana also learned that the book was not just a biography of 'The Boy Who Lived,' but a complete chronicle of the future of the wizarding world that was sent back through time by Harry Potter, to Harry Potter. This had caused her more than a few nights of sleeplessness and tears.

There were many parts of the ongoing story where Jaana internally questioned what was actually happening. Harry's early years seemed to be documented accurately… according to Harry himself… except for a few instances. The first major sticking point was Harry's visit to the London Zoo and the encounter where he unintentionally freed the boa constrictor. It certainly gave his cousin a fright, but it supposedly occurred when Harry was ten years old and not six. Virtually everything else was accurate until the day that she met 'The Boy Who Lived.' It took a few weeks of reading, but Jaana eventually heard all about Harry's years at Hogwarts and the misadventures that he and his friends experienced there.

The book had mentioned nothing at all of Jaana so far. She knew enough about Time Magic to realize that the coming events in Harry's life had already been altered… how much so was still to be seen. Given this little fact, she had been warring with herself whether or not to start training Harry in magic… _real_ magic, and not just theory. She knew her best subject during her years at Hogwarts was Charms and not Defense, but that didn't mean she was a slouch, either. She wasn't a Ravenclaw for nothing.

Jaana sat silently, just nursing a glass of Elfin Sugarbrandy while Harry continued to read from the book.

"After Voldemort's second return, we began naming the wars that resulted from his endeavors. What was known as 'The First War' came to be called 'The Rise' instead. Of course, that war had ended the moment I got my scar. With his first return at the end of my forth year at Hogwarts, the battle was called 'The Purity War.' Muggleborns and Half-bloods were persecuted horribly, and the lucky ones were simply treated like slaves or forcibly ejected from the wizarding world… the unlucky ones were killed outright, although the public was never really made aware of that fact during the war. Only afterwards was the public made truly aware of the atrocities that occurred. It was during the Purity War that Voldemort discovered that his horcruxes were being destroyed. Just before the final battle, he created a seventh horcrux and hid it with much more care than his first six. We had all thought that he was finally gone for good… We were wrong."

"It took sixteen years for Voldemort to return to a body with the help of Draco Malfoy. The resulting war was dubbed 'The Purge.' The war started with the destruction of the Hogwarts Express as it was en route to the school, killing all of the children on board, including what I thought were my own children. No one had noticed that there were very few pureblood children on board the train, and those that were on board were considered to be 'blood traitors.' The war escalated with the widespread elimination of muggleborn children who were registered with the ministry and Hogwarts. The magical community didn't seem very concerned until the children of mixed-blood parents started turning up dead. When the Minister for Magic's daughter, who had married into a half-blood family, was found murdered, the wizarding government finally decided to take action… but by then, it was much too late."

"It took seven years for me to track down Voldemort and eliminate him, but by then, the magical society was seriously depleted and people were beginning to panic. The old traditions of forced betrothment and arranged marriages were becoming more commonplace as the months and years passed. Laws were hastily enacted, forcing witches of childbearing years to produce as many offspring as they physically could to make up for the dwindling number of magicals. Inbreeding was soon rampant within the older pureblood families, causing a startling number of birth defects, still-born deliveries, and a staggeringly high number of squib infants."

This caused a black market to develop, dealing in kidnapped magical babies that were procured for the British purebloods who could afford them, and also young witches that had been siezed from foreign countries and sold into sex slavery to the older pureblood families. The person who profited most from the black market commerce was none other than Draco Malfoy. He was the one who controlled the trade while hidden behind the scenes, as it was his family's money that created and fueled this horrendous new facet of the wizarding economy… and virtually all of the profit was going into magical research to find a way to return Voldemort's wandering soul to a body."

"The degrading lives that witches were forced to live ultimately led to a serious divide between witches and wizards… that divide was capitalized upon with Voldemort's next return. Again, Draco Malfoy was instrumental in bringing the Dark Lord back to the world… this time in a woman's body."

"The female Voldemort stirred up the already boiling pot, setting witches against wizards and starting the 'War of the Sexes.' The witches initially had the advantage, as the wizards were reluctant to attack the ones who would bear their heirs. The witches, led by the Dark Lady, had no such moral reservations. The War of the Sexes was the shortest war, lasting only a year, but during that time the magical population was nearly destroyed. By the time the Dark Lady was defeated, the British magical population numbered in the low thousands. It was also near the end of this war where the muggles became fully aware of the existence of the wizarding world with the murder of the Prime Minister and the Royal Family by a rogue group of witches."

The tensions between magicals and the muggles rapidly deteriorated into open hostility when Voldemort returned next. 'The Muggle War' had begun almost as soon as the 'War of the Sexes' had ended. This would become the longest war of them all, lasting almost fifty years. The wars quickly spread to nearly every country in the world as the muggles became increasingly distrustful of the magicals. Voldemort thought to use the muggles against themselves, creating discord between the European muggle governments. Intermittent wars flared between muggle Britain and the rest of Europe. Literally millions of lives were lost on all sides, not to mention the complete destruction of many historical sites throughout the world."

"The war finally ended when Voldemort's stronghold on the island of Skara Brae was attacked by the desperate muggles. They used a small device called a Californium Tactical Phase Bomb delivered by a satellite launched by the North American Consolidated City-States. Voldemort, along with the entire island and a large hunk of the mainland, was summarily vaporized. This was the only time that I hadn't personally put an end to the reborn Dark Lord's life."

"Over thirty years of peace ensued, with the muggles believing that all of the magicals were dead, and the relatively few magicals that remained in the world weren't too keen on taking on the muggles again, especially when they found out what kind of weaponry the muggles would use if they were pressed hard enough. The peace was shattered when Voldemort managed to return again, this time remaining hidden and secretly infiltrating the African Union's Space Operations Center. The satellite-borne assault lasted less than two hours, but the destruction caused by the space-based mass-driver weaponry left much of the world covered in glassy, smoking craters. The satellites were eventually destroyed by the Koreans when they dispatched one of their Corvette-class space interceptors from their space station to destroy the weapons, but the damage was already done."

With the complete destruction of the world's Ministries and the muggle government centers, it was a simple task for Voldemort to recruit an army out of the remaining magicals. This war was simply known as 'The Winter,' as the climate changes caused by the massive amounts of dust in the atmosphere…"

"That's enough for tonight, Harry," said Jaana as she rubbed her temples, "It's getting late, and I still have to set your lessons up for tomorrow."

Harry nodded, carefully closed the book, and stood up from the floor, saying tiredly, "Good night."

Harry gave Jaana a hug and she kissed him lightly on the cheek. As Harry walked to the door he glanced back at Jaana, who simply nodded and gave him a rather unsure smile. He closed the door to the den and stood outside for a few moments, thinking about what he had just read. He was about to turn around and re-enter the den to ask Jaana a question when he heard a muffled sob through the closed door.

She was crying again.

Harry silently cracked the door open just in time to see Jaana standing at the wet bar. He could see the tears rolling down her face as her shaking hands tried to refill her glass of sugarbrandy. By the time she had managed to fill the glass, there was nearly as much brandy on the bar as there was in the glass. Jaana held up the nearly empty bottle up to the light, shrugged her shoulders, and then raised the trembling bottle to her lips where she proceeded to drain the last dregs from it.

Harry sighed and quietly closed the door again. He hung his head and stepped towards the stairs that led to the second floor of the manor and his bed that was awaiting him there. He'd just have to wait until morning to ask her what 'forced betrothals' and 'arranged marriages' were about.

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Saturday, December 24th, 1988 10:33 PM

A brisk wind swept along the street and caused the figure walking along the dark sidewalk to bundle his heavy coat more tightly around him. When the figure stepped into the halo of a streetlamp, the small, brightly coloured package he was carrying could easily be seen tucked under his arm. The young boy would glance at the numbers on the gates of each of the large houses that he passed. All of the houses along the street were widely spaced, and each had nearly identical, tall wrought-iron fences surrounding their spacious yards.

The boy suddenly stopped in front of a set of massive gates. From within his pocket, he pulled a page torn from a Maidstone telephone directory. He glanced at the page, then up to the number on the front pillar. The boy nodded to himself as he shoved the paper back into his pocket. He carefully looked up and down the deserted street as he ducked into the shadows away from the lamp posts lining the street. All of the windows in the house at 1173 Arcacia Road were dark, except for one window that seemed to shimmer in red, green, and gold from the Christmas tree that could just barely be seen through the white lace curtains.

He let out a nervous sigh as he sat down on the frosty sidewalk. A look of peace washed over his face for a few moments before he silently winked out of sight, reappearing a moment later sitting in the shadowed bushes that were located just before the window where the twinkling lights were. He remained still for a few moments, straining his ears to detect any sounds from within the house. When he was reasonably sure that everyone in the house was asleep, he cautiously stood up and peeked into the window.

He found himself smiling as he looked into the comfortable parlor that was cheerily decorated for the Christmas season. Holly boughs were strung along the walls surrounding the mantle of a large fireplace, tied in place by festive red ribbons. In the far corner of the room, just beyond the large, brown leather couch that was positioned in front of the fireplace, stood a tall Christmas tree, adorned with shimmering garland, tiny silver bells and glass bulbs, and a vast array of twinkling, multi-coloured lights that stretched from it's base all the way up to the lighted silver star at the very top.

He could just see the vast assortment of gaily wrapped packages that were nestled beneath the tree. The boy couldn't help but to think how jealous his cousin would be if he saw that the child of this particular house had nearly twice as many presents as he usually received for Christmas. Of course, he couldn't help feeling his own slight pang of jealousy… in all of his past Christmases with the Dursleys, he had never once received any presents at all.

He quickly shook off those thoughts and concentrated on the task at hand. He had his own presents this year… and wanted to make sure he got those presents by being back in his bed before he was discovered.

He relaxed himself again as he focused on an open area of the floor beside the tree. An instant later, he was standing inside of the warm room right next to the sofa. He took the package from under his arm and looked at the tag that was affixed to the ribbon, _'Happy Christmas, Hermione – From Harry.'_

He carefully laid the fragile gift amongst the other presents under the tree.

"Happy Christmas," he softly said with a smile, but the smile instantly dropped from his face when he heard a sleepy voice from behind him say, "What? Huh?"

Harry spun around in a panic. There on the sofa, wrapped in a thick down comforter, was a young girl, her wide, terrified brown eyes staring into his. For the briefest instant, he wondered who this cute girl was, and it took a heartbeat for him to realize it, but the girl laying there had to be Hermione… without the monstrosity that was her retainer. The difference in her appearance was astounding. He opened his mouth to speak, but he heard her draw in a quick, deep breath. He knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, a loud, piercing scream echoed throughout the room, which was immediately followed by a vociferous cry of, "Burglar! Burglar in the house!"

Harry heard the sound of feet hitting the floor in the rooms above.

"No, no, no… you don't understand!" he tried to explain frantically, but was cut off by another shrill scream from the terrified girl.

Panic gripped Harry's chest. He had to get out of there quickly, but when he tried to Shift himself, he found that he was much too scared to even hope to do it properly. There was only one thing to do… try to purposefully Apparate… something he had never successfully done before.

'_Destination… determination… deliberation…'_ he chanted to himself while picturing his bedroom in his mind. The first attempt was a total failure, only making him seem to be trying to dance as he spun awkwardly on the spot. He heard a set of heavy footsteps bounding down some nearby stairs, greatly adding to the panic he was already feeling. He could feel the wetness building under his eyelids as he closed them tightly and concentrated.

'_Destination… determination… deliberation…'_

Harry didn't get to see the sudden look of recognition that washed across the girl's face.

----------

An earsplitting crack resounded throughout the room, sounding like a gunshot to the young girl on the sofa, causing her to jump and fall from the couch in alarm. She desperately untangled herself from the large comforter just as her father entered the room carrying a golf club.

"Where ith the blighter!" said Mr. Granger angrily as his eyes searched the room. Seeing no one other than his daughter, he rushed over to her, picked her up from the floor and hugged her tightly. He was about to ask again when he noticed the strange look on his daughter's face. She didn't appear scared… she seemed… happy?

"He was here…" said Hermione breathlessly as her eyes scanned the room, "that boy, Harry… I think he left something under the tree…"

"Where ith he? How did he get in here?"

"I… I don't know… I just woke up and saw him next to the tree… then I fell off the couch… and then he was just… gone… and that noise…"

Hermione walked to the tree and looked amongst the packages there. It was easy to spot the new addition… she had been anxiously studying the packages for days. She carefully lifted the present and read the card.

"It was him, see? It says, 'From Harry.'"

Hermione looked the package over carefully while her father was checking the windows for any signs of forced entry.

Mrs. Granger appeared in the doorway saying, "The police are on their way… What happened? I thought I heard a gunshot!"

"I don't know what the noise was, but it wasn't a gun," replied Hermione, "It was that boy, Harry. He was here, and he left this for me."

"I don't know how he got in… or how he got by me to get out… I'm going to check the retht of the houthe…" said Mr. Granger as he glanced out the window at the flashing red lights in front of the gate to the property, "and talk to the polithe… it'th good to know that they can get here tho quickly."

As her father left the room, Hermione held the package out towards her mother and nervously asked, "Can you… can you open this for me?"

Mrs. Granger sat heavily on the sofa, trying to get her heart-rate under control. She looked to her daughter and said, "There was nothing wrong with his last present to you… why don't you open this one yourself?"

Hermione gave the gift an unsure glance before she closed her eyes and nodded resolutely. She cautiously untied the bright ribbon and meticulously unfolded each seam of the wrapping paper, being careful not to tear it. Beneath the paper was a plain, white cardboard box.

Inside was a delicate cherry wood box with a lid that had a wide crystal pane set into it, appearing to be a very expensive looking jewelry box. There were small, elegant symbols etched along the edges of the glass and inlaid with a very fine golden thread, creating a graceful border where it was set into the wooden lid. She could see through the rose-tinted glass that the interior of the box appeared to glow with a soft, pink light, but she couldn't tell exactly where the illumination was coming from.

When she lifted the lid, she couldn't stop the gasp of surprise that escaped her as a light, tinkling melody began playing, and within the glass of the lid, a small, translucent figure that looked something like a tiny winged fairy began flitting and dancing around in time with the music. It was almost like watching a small television screen, but neither she nor her mother could figure out how the image was displayed within the crystal portion of the lid. Upon closer inspection of the box, they couldn't even find where the batteries were stored, and there didn't seem to be any instructions either.

Before she knew it, Hermione found that she was replaying some of her happiest memories in her mind as she listened to the haunting, melodic tune that the box was playing. She looked at her mother, only to find that she was staring dreamily across the room and wearing a rather silly grin.

Several minutes passed before Hermione realized that she had been standing there motionless while listening to the music from the box. She carefully closed the lid, halting the tune and causing the illuminated dancing fairy to disappear. Both her and her mother blinked a few times as they each came out of their vivid but pleasant daydreams.

"It's beautiful…" whispered Hermione.

"What a wonderful gift," said Mrs. Granger softly, "I wonder where he got such a thing?"

Hermione picked up the small card that was attached to the gift and flipped it over, but the only writing on it was _'Happy Christmas, Hermione – From Harry.'_

"I've checked all of the doorth and windowth… they're all locked from the inthide, and the alarm is thtill active," said Mr. Granger as he entered the room, "I've thent the polithe away, but they thaid they'll thet an extra patrol in thith neighborhood… what'th that you have there, Punkin?"

"That boy left this here for me," replied Hermione as she opened the lid to the box again, "It's a music box."

The same light, cheery tune began playing again and the three Grangers stood transfixed as they listened.

None of the muggles in the room noticed the two Disillusioned wizards who were watching them from the doorway, nor did they hear the whispered incantation that gently put them to sleep.

"Well, technically, this is a magical household… the girl's a witch," said one of the wizards, a rather large black man with a bald head and a thick, golden hoop earring as he cancelled the spell on himself.

"She hasn't even got her Hogwarts letter yet… she doesn't even know she's a witch," said the other wizard, a stocky, older man with short, sandy brown hair, widely spaced brown eyes, and a deeply lined face.

"Still, she is a witch," said the larger wizard.

"Well, it's clear that she wasn't the one Apparating… the only question is whether to leave that magical artifact in their possession."

"You know the law as well as I do…"

The older wizard nodded and said, "So we take it and Obliviate them?"

"…but to take a Christmas present away from a little girl… it just wouldn't feel right," said the large, black wizard as he approached the sleeping family. He reached down and took the still-playing music box out of the young witch's hands. He turned it over while drawing out his wand. With a well thought spell, he made the box appear as if it had a small battery compartment, complete with, what he hoped could pass for, a pair of cells within it.

"This'll be enough to fool them… as long as they don't look too closely at it," said the larger man as he placed the box back into Hermione's hands and levitated the sleeping residents onto the sofa, "Let's get going, we still have to locate the destination of that Apparition."

A moment later, the two wizards were gone, leaving the Grangers to wake up a few minutes later, none the wiser the wizards' little visit.

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	10. An Odd New Friend

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing any of this stuff._

(Word Count: 3837)

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Chapter 10: An Odd New Friend

Saturday, December 24th, 1988 11:14 PM

Jaana was having a very odd dream… of course, most of her dreams over the previous few months have been very odd.

This particular dream placed her back in Hogwarts sometime during her sixth year. She was running through the halls, trying to get to her Charms class, but she couldn't remember where the classroom was. Panic was starting to set in, as she knew she was late and she didn't want to be responsible for losing any house points.

She found herself rushing down one of the moving staircases, but it suddenly stopped mid-swing. She turned around to intending to climb back up to the landing to find another route, but was surprised to find an entrance to the dungeons at the top of the stairs. Being a dream, she thought this to be perfectly normal.

After a short jog through the dank dungeon passages, she finally came to an area that she recognized. She could even see the stone stairs at the end of the hallway that would lead up from the Potions corridor that she was currently in. She had only taken a few hurried steps when the door to the Potions classroom opened and the Potions professor stepped out into the hallway right in front of her, causing her to stop short to avoid running right into him.

"Out wandering the halls after curfew, are you?" uttered Snape contemptuously, but wearing the slightest of smiles… obviously relishing the thought of docking Ravenclaw a few house points.

"I… I was just on my way…"

"And you, Mr. Barrows… looking for a broom closet for a midnight snog with your girlfriend?" continued Snape with his sinister smile growing wider.

Jaana glanced behind her and saw her seventh-year Gryffindor boyfriend, Michael Barrows, standing right behind her. She felt a flush wash over her face as she looked into his eyes… she hadn't seen him since he broke up with her just before his graduation from Hogwarts. He had said that he couldn't wait for her to finish her last year, as he didn't want a long-distance relationship.

She suddenly realized that they were standing in a small broom cupboard, one that she distinctively remembered utilizing quite often in their after-hours rendezvous. She found herself kissing her boyfriend, feeling his hands traveling up her sided under her school jumper, unmistakably making their way up to her chest. She felt a longing, a need for him to take her… something that she had never before allowed, but now she felt that she was mature enough to bring their relationship to the next level.

She removed her lips from his, dragging them across his rough cheek and finding the soft skin of his neck. She was about to tell him that she was ready, but he ended up speaking first.

"Jaana, get up," said Michael, but his voice sounded much lower than she remembered… and very oddly accented. She thought the question strange, as she was already standing.

She felt Snape grab her shoulder from behind as he said in a similarly deep and accented voice, "Wake up, woman, we're in trouble!"

Jaana jumped in alarm as she awoke to the incessant shaking of her shoulder. She opened her eyes to see Raymond Cooley standing beside her bed.

"The Apparition ward was triggered a few minutes ago," said Cooley urgently, "I got here as fast as I could."

"Harry!" exclaimed Jaana as she jumped out of her bed, not realizing that she was dressed only in a rather flimsy nightgown and a pair of knickers. She let out an embarrassed, "Eep!" as she hastily grabbed for her robe that was hanging on the bedpost.

"Never mind that, woman!" said Cooley urgently as he grabbed her hand and began pulling her from the room and towards Harry's bedroom down the hall. Jaana had just managed to pull her robe over her shoulders when they reached Harry's door.

"Gather up whatever things of his that you can," said Cooley hurriedly as he wrenched open the door, "I'll take the boy and…"

Jaana could see for herself why Cooley went silent. Harry's bed was quite empty, although a bit rumpled from when she had tucked him in a little more than an hour earlier.

Jaana's blood ran cold.

"I thought you said that the new wards would prevent anyone from Apparating into here!" hissed Jaana accusingly, "It must be the Ministry! How could they have found out where he was?"

"Nobody got through the ward," said Cooley as he opened the cupboard door looking for Harry, "Whoever attempted to Apparate into the house got bounced out… very roughly, I might add. That's why we need to move. If anyone is trying to get in here, that means that someone found you out… unless…"

Jaana looked up from the floor where she was checking under Harry's bed. She saw his thoughtful expression and suddenly realized what he was thinking.

"You think that Harry had left and tried to get back in?"

"If he has, then we had better find him quickly. I can't imagine he'd be in very good shape if he did try to Apparate in here… I didn't even know he could Apparate."

"I only began training him last week…" said Jaana worriedly, "he hasn't managed to do it yet."

"Well, let's make sure he isn't here in the house," Cooley said to Jaana before he called out, "Glyph? Barrow?"

With two nearly identical 'pops,' two house elves appeared in the room.

"Do either of you know where Harry is?" asked Cooley as Jaana ran into the adjoining bathroom to see if Harry was there.

"No, Master," came the simultaneous replies from the two elves.

"Quickly, check the house and see if you can find him. Report back to me when you find him, or if he isn't here in the house."

Both of the elves gave a slight bow as they popped away. Cooley could hear the random noises of the elves' Apparitions as they systematically searched the rooms. Not ten seconds had passed when they both appeared before Cooley.

"Glyph and Barrow is not finding the young Master Harry in the house, Master," reported Glyph.

"Glyph, check the garden and the orchard behind the house. Barrow, search the pasture and the woods beyond the front gates. Come get me if you find him."

Cooley turned to Jaana who, by that time, was sitting on Harry's bed with her face in her hands.

"Come on, woman," said Cooley softly, "Let's go check around the stables. If he did try to Apparate into the ward, he'll be needing us."

"I don't know if I can do this anymore, Ray," said Jaana in a cracking voice, "What was I thinking, taking in a child and believing that I could protect him? I thought I was doing the right thing when I saw how those wretched muggles were abusing him, but now… now I think I've bitten off more than I can chew…"

"No time for that nonsense, girl!" said Cooley firmly, hoping to pull the young woman out of the self-censuring mood she was hurling herself into, "We need to… "

Cooley's hand flew to his neckline and grasped the thick beaded necklace he was wearing and said, "Damn it… not again!"

"What?" asked Jaana as she quickly stood from the bed.

"Hurry, gather what you can, we have to leave!" said Cooley urgently, "The ward was banged again, by two this time. Whoever they are, they're persistent!"

With a wave of her wand, Harry's room became a flurry of activity as various items and articles of clothing began flying from the dressers and the cupboard towards a trunk that slid from the foot of Harry's bed to the center of the room. Within moments, the trunk was fully packed and shrunk to the size of a matchbox, which Jaana scooped from the floor and shoved into the pocket of her robe.

I'll have my stuff packed in a moment," said Jaana as she rushed from the room. She paused just outside the bedroom door and called back to Cooley, "The presents! Go get the presents under the tree!"

Cooley nodded and rushed down to the parlor where the Christmas tree was standing. He transfigured a throw pillow that was resting on the nearby sofa into a large bag, then magically gathered all of the presents and guided them into it. After that was shrunk down and placed in his pocket, he turned to see Jaana enter the parlor through the doorway.

"I've got everything," said Jaana breathlessly, let's go."

Just then, a small pop announced the arrival of one of the house elves. The elf seemed panicked as he squeaked out, "Barrow is not finding Master Harry, but Barrow is seeing two Ministry wizards coming from the pasture."

"Lordy, I knew it," said Cooley in a sigh, "Go back to searching for the boy. If you find him, bring him to the bungalow, and let Glyph know… neither of you are allowed back into this house until I say so, understood?"

"Yes, master," replied the elf before he popped away on his mission.

"We've got to hurry," said Cooley, "if Harry's out there, the elves will find him, but we have to go now."

Jaana was shaking uncontrollably as she silently nodded and followed Cooley from the room. They rushed to the front of the house towards the front door. The moment the door was opened, Cooley gasped and Jaana let out a startled scream as their eyes spotted the figure on the doorstep.

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Saturday, December 24th, 1988 11:14 PM

Harry could immediately tell that something was wrong… _very_ wrong. He had Apparated twice before in his life, once while being chased by his cousin and his gang at school, the other was to escape the beating that his uncle was inflicting upon him back in Dudley's second bedroom. While he didn't remember the second instance, he clearly remembered the first. At the time, he had no idea how he had managed to appear on the school's roof, but he recalled that whatever had occurred was certainly uncomfortable, but not painful at all.

What Harry was now experiencing could in no way be described as 'painless.' His head felt like a balloon was expanding inside of it and squeezing his brain towards his face, every bone in his body felt as though it had been broken in numerous places, he could actually feel his internal organs squirming and seething as if they were trying to rearrange themselves in his body, and to top it all off, he found himself lying in about an inch and a half of wet, freezing slush and snow.

He made only one attempt to move and discovered that it was an unimaginably bad idea. He couldn't even lift his face, which was partially immersed in the slush. With every labored breath he took, he could feel a bit of icy slush enter his left nostril, but he could do nothing about it in the condition he was in.

He could, however, open his right eye, but all he could see was an expansive winter landscape. The clouds that had dumped all of the snow had moved on the previous day, leaving the sky dotted with stars and a meanest crescent of a moon that hardly cast any light at all. All around him he could see wisps of foggy mist rising up from the clumps of snow, creating eerie, ghostlike shapes that hovered close to the ground in the cold but humid air. He knew that the wispy fog was quite common during the cold winter months in England.

Somewhere in the distance, he could just see the pinpricks of light given off by some lampposts that presumably lined a road. He could also see the shape of a distant, large house silhouetted against the night sky. With the extreme pain and disorientation he was feeling, it took a few moments for him to realize that the structure was actually The Gables, Healer Cooley's ancestral home that he had been staying in these past few months.

What he couldn't figure out was how he came to be lying in a field well outside of the house when he should have appeared inside of his bedroom. Nothing in the training that Jaana had been giving him had mentioned that anything like this could happen in a failed Apparition attempt… the worst that could happen would be to splinch one's self…

A feeling of terror washed over the young boy as he vainly attempted to take inventory of all of his body parts, but he was in so much pain that it seemed impossible for him to tell if he was missing any bits of himself…

Another thought suddenly struck him… if he did manage to splinch himself, which seemed to him to be a distinct possibility given his current incapacitation, that would mean that the Ministry's Accidental Magic Reversal Squad would soon arrive.

The panic that he had felt back in the Granger house returned in full force as he tried once again to move, but it seemed even more unlikely that he would succeed this time than with his last attempt. The deep breath he drew as he tried to move caused a fresh batch of slushy snow to enter his sinuses, intensifying the pain he was feeling in the front of his head and giving him the worst case of 'brain freeze' he ever had in his life. He was so agitated that he didn't even think to try Shifting.

As he lay there, he could barely feel the wetness of the melting snow beneath him quickly soaking into his clothes. The pain was beginning to slowly ebb, being replaced by a bone-numbing cold that seemed just as bad. After a few minutes, he couldn't feel the side of his face that was mired in the slush. He felt an odd sleepiness creep over his entire being, and suddenly felt that taking a nice nap wouldn't be a bad thing… maybe he'd wake up in a nice, warm bed…

Harry's eyes began to get very heavy as he fought to keep his lids open. He could just barely see the strange wisps of mist that seemed to dance around him as his vision continued to get blurrier by the moment. Then he noticed something that suddenly brought his eyes into focus and made his breath hitch once again.

One of the strands of foggy mist that was hovering near to him seemed to gradually coalesce and formed into a small, roughly humanoid shape. At first, he thought he was hallucinating, or maybe dreaming, but the tiny figure solidified right before his face.

Harry found himself looking into a pair of white, pupilless eyes that seemed to be regarding him curiously. The small creature looked somewhat like a fairy, with wild, flowing white hair, a very pale, flat face, the tiniest bump of a nose, and a pointy chin supporting a small, thin-lipped mouth. The creature's foot-long body was obviously female, seeing that it was completely unclothed, and had a pair of dainty white wings on its back that had the shape and texture of snowflakes.

Harry opened his mouth to speak to the tiny creature, intending to say 'hello,' but all he managed to do was to let out a hoarse gurgle. The sound seemed to startle the slight creature, who immediately jumped and flitted away from him, evaporating back into a foggy mist that remained hovering a few feet away.

Harry laid still for a few tense moments before the wispy vapor resumed the shape of the tiny creature, who remained well away from the scary human child, but was still watching him obvious curiosity.

The creature flitted in a little closer to Harry and said something to him that he couldn't hope to understand. Her voice sounded to him like tiny shards of glass tinkling against each other. The creature looked at him expectantly, but when Harry made no reply, the creature spoke again, this time in a high-pitched squeaking that did sound like some sort of lilting words this time, but nothing he could understand.

Harry's eyes pleaded with the creature as he just managed to softly croak out a feeble, "Help me…"

The creature hovered a bit closer to him, cocked her head curiously to the side, and then said in a barely-audible peep, "Help me…"

"Yes…" said Harry weakly.

"Yes…" repeated the tiny creature with a beaming smile.

Harry's heart sank as he realized that the creature was only repeating what he was saying and didn't understand what he was trying to tell her.

The little creature must have noticed the disheartened look on what she could see of Harry's face because she looked at him critically for a moment before she inched closer to him.

Harry's eyes followed her as she flitted closely above the side of his head. She then did something that he certainly didn't expect. She bent forward and blew a slight puff of breath into his exposed ear.

At first, Harry felt a slight tingling in his ear, but almost immediately the tingling became a stinging, and then an electric sensation coursed through his head, nearly eclipsing the pounding headache that he already had. He clenched his eyes tightly against the pain, but as soon as it came, it passed, leaving him with a slightly euphoric, dizzy sensation that spread throughout his body.

Harry quickly discovered that, while he was still in pain, and he still couldn't move, he didn't feel nearly as cold as he had the moment before. His eyes were still clenched shut when he heard a light, airy voice ask, "Who are you?"

Harry opened his eyes and saw the small creature fluttering just a few inches from his face and staring inquisitively into his eyes. If he hadn't been in such a miserable condition, he would have been embarrassed at seeing a tiny, naked woman that was so near to him that he could see every detail of her thin, pale body.

Harry was just about to try to answer when an unusually loud duet of bangs sounded from nearby and echoed across the countryside.

"Bloody Hell!" bellowed a deep, unfamiliar male voice that sounded as though it were only a few yards away.

When the tiny creature saw Harry's eyes widen in alarm, she quickly flitted up to Harry's head, grabbed a fistful of his hair, which in reality was only a few strands, and faded back into a wispy mist.

At the same time, Harry felt the strangest sensation he had ever experienced in his life. All the pain and stiffness he was feeling throughout his body vanished. He couldn't feel his soaking wet clothes, or even the slushy ground that had been supporting his weight. He suddenly became aware that he could move, but when he tried to push himself up from the ground, he found that he had no arms. It took him a moment to also realize that he had no legs or body, either.

"Be very still," whispered the airy voice from somewhere very near to him.

Despite the panic he felt at discovering that he had no corporeal form at all, he obeyed the whispered voice and remained motionless. Harry took a moment to survey his surroundings, and was very much surprised that he could see the surrounding area as though it were broad daylight, although everything seemed to be in shades of pale and gray, with no discernable colors at all.

He then noticed two forms slowly rising from the snowy ground just a few meters away. They were two men, one short, hefty man with short hair, and the other a much larger and darker man with no hair at all.

"Apparition ward…" said the shorter man needlessly as he sat up and held his head in his hands.

The larger man rose unsteadily to his feet as he said, "No… really? I hadn't noticed."

The smaller man glared at his partner while saying, "We did get the location right, didn't we?"

"Yes, but who in their right mind would purposely Apparate into a ward? Surely, he knew the ward was there."

The shorter man finally got to his feet with a pained groan. He looked around, and, just for a moment, Harry could have sworn that the man looked directly at him.

"Over there," the larger man said, pointing towards The Gables.

"Let's pay the owners a little visit, shall we?"

The two men began walking slowly towards the house in the distance, each massaging their aching muscles and joints, obviously affected by their encounter with the anti-Apparition ward.

"I've got to get to that house before them… to warn them…" whispered Harry. He was surprised to find that his voice has an airy, almost ghostly quality to it. He wasn't even sure he said anything until he heard a soft reply.

"Let us go, then."

Harry felt his being drift lazily over the ground, as if he were a leaf being blown across the ground by a gentle wind. After a few seconds he felt himself accelerating uncomfortably, continually moving more swiftly until it felt like he was being pushed along by a hurricane rather than a breeze. It only took a few seconds for him to cover the distance to the house, stopping when he reached the front door."

"Thank you, it was kind of you to help me," said Harry to whatever it was that brought him home.

"Help me…?" repeated the voice questioningly, "Help me… Yes… I understand."

Harry wondered what the being meant by 'understanding' him until he heard the sound of hurried footsteps from inside of the house.

"I will help you," said the ethereal voice as Harry felt himself coalesce and solidify. A moment later, he found himself lying on the doorstep of the mansion… with all of the pain and stiffness he had felt a minute before while back in the pasture.

The door to the house opened and he heard a startled gasp followed by a muffled scream that he instantly recognized as Jaana's. Harry then felt himself being painfully lifted from the ground by a pair of strong arms.

"What have you been up to, little man?" he heard Healer Cooley ask.

With no small effort, Harry managed to croak out, "Wizards… coming…"

"Yes, I see them," said Cooley quietly, "We'll have a look at you as soon as we're away from here."

For a few moments he felt his body being painfully jostled as he was carried along the house in the opposite direction from where the strange wizards were coming. Feeling that he was finally in safe hands, he allowed the exhaustion he had been feeling to overcome him and he fell into a deep sleep.

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	11. Harry’s First Christmas

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing any of this stuff._

A/N: Wow… for the first time ever I've received more reviews from FFdotNet than from my home at Portkey. Hmmm… curious… Ah, well… this chapter has the aftermath of Harry's marginally successful trip to give Hermione her Christmas present. After this chapter, there'll be a big jump in time, so you'll get to see some of what Harry is learning from the Book. As always, sit back and enjoy! (Word Count: 3809)

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Chapter 11: Harry's First Christmas

Sunday, December 25th, 1988 8:52 AM

"I understand, Ray. Really, I do."

"I just feel badly about leaving you on your own like this. I know that you planned to come here in a few months, but this place isn't quite ready to be lived in yet."

"Well, we don't have much of a choice, now do we?" said Jaana resignedly, "At least now I'll be here all the time, so I'll be able finish it that much quicker… as long as our money holds out."

"Don't worry about the money, I've put a bit extra in your account over in Keflavik, and the rest of the materials should be arriving from Portugal by floo by the week's end. Oh, and the Evergrow will be in the city tomorrow morning, along with the boundary stakes."

When Jaana opened her mouth to complain about his giving them even more money, he just raised his hands and said, "Don't even think about it! I have more Galleons than I know what to do with, and I can't think of a better way to spend it than to help you and Harry. Now, I've got to get back to England and deal with the mess that I'm sure is waiting there for me."

"I'm really sorry I got you dragged into this… if you didn't let us stay…"

"Say no more, Jaana. Having 'Harry Potter' living under my roof is something I can tell my grandkids about…" said Cooley with a laugh in his voice, "when I get around to having kids of my own, that is."

Harry opened his eyes just in time to see Jaana giving Cooley a kiss on the cheek before she said, "You're already like a father to me."

"Hey, now! I'm only thirty-six!" complained Cooley in an affronted voice, "Don't be saying things like that, woman… you'll give me a complex!"

"Still, thank you for everything you've done for us," said Jaana gratefully.

"It has been my pleasure. I'll send an owl as soon as it's safe to do so. Remember, don't send a thing to anyone back there until you hear from me. Now make sure you give the boy those potions as soon as he awakens. I'm sure he's going to have quite the headache when he comes around."

"I will… thanks again."

Cooley left the room and a few moments later, a sharp crack was heard as he Apparated away. Jaana turned around and was surprised to find that Harry was propped up on one elbow and looking curiously around the small, sparsely-furnished and completely unfamiliar room from his bed.

Jaana quickly made her way to Harry's side, picked up one of the three potion vials on the nightstand and asked, "How are you feeling, Harry?"

Harry's eyes slowly focused on Jaana. He pulled his covers more securely around himself as he answered, "I'm okay… I feel a bit cold, though."

He saw Jaana looking back at him in surprise. She put the potion back on the nightstand and gently placed a hand on his forehead as she asked, "You're okay? Are you sure?"

Harry thought about that. He recalled the pain that he was in before he fell asleep, but realized that he actually did feel fine, except for a weird, deep-seated chill that seemed to sit within his chest. He then wondered if he had been asleep for months again, just like after the beating he got from his uncle. His eyes landed on the nearby window where he saw that there was a light frost glazing the glass and traces of snow lining each pane. It was still winter, so he couldn't have been sleeping that long.

Still, Harry was a child, so naturally his first and foremost concern was voiced immediately. He worriedly looked back to Jaana and asked, "Did I miss Christmas?"

Jaana seemed to sigh in relief as a smile crossed her face, "No, Harry, you didn't miss Christmas…"

Harry couldn't stop the broad grin from lighting up his face. Jaana, upon seeing his youthful exuberance, matched Harry's grin with one of her own, but her smile disappeared just as quickly as it came as she continued, "but we do have some things to talk about before we get to presents and such… like why you left The Gables and why you tried to Apparate back? We told you about the anti-Apparition ward last week… and the Ministry tracked your under-aged and unlicensed Apparition back to the Gables, you know. We were nearly caught… and it's a wonder that you didn't splinch yourself!"

When Jaana mentioned the Ministry, he suddenly remembered seeing the two men appear in the pasture… and he remembered the little creature that helped him. He casually glanced around the room while trying to look contrite, hoping to catch a glimpse of the tiny being. He felt a little disappointed when he didn't readily detect any misty presence in the warm room. He would have liked to thank the little creature who prevented him from being seen by the Ministry.

Harry glanced at Jaana, and then sighed as he averted his eyes again. He just couldn't lie to the girl who was taking such good care of him.

"I… I took a present that I bought to Hermione Granger," confessed Harry ruefully.

"You… you _what?_" asked Jaana incredulously, "How did you even know where she is? How did you get there? Wait… a present? What present are you talking about? Harry, that was an incredibly foolish thing to do!"

"I had to try," mumbled Harry morosely, "She's supposed to be my friend, so I thought if I gave her some presents, she might start to like me sooner so that I'd have a friend sooner…"

"Presents?" asked Jaana with narrowed eyes, "As in the plural sense… more than one? Is that where you had disappeared to back in September?"

Harry had a pained look on his face as he nodded, "I gave her the copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ that you bought for me for her birthday, and I bought a music box for her for Christmas… when we were in Diagon Alley last month while you were getting the potions supplies. While you were busy with the witch behind the counter I went next door and bought the music box in the window with some of the allowance I've been saving. I just felt that I had to try something… I've been kinda lonely…" Harry raised his head and quickly amended, "Not that I don't like being with you, you understand… it's just… it feels like you're my family, not my friend… there are just some things that you can talk about with a friend that you can't talk about with your family… at least I think that's the way it's supposed to be… I've seen other kids with friends, but I've never really had one myself, and I just wanted to have one that I can trust… well, that I think I can trust… and there's no one else to talk to about anything…"

Jaana listened as Harry rambled on, feeling the tightness building in her throat and a wetness seeping behind her eyelids. That was the first time Harry had referred to her as his family.

"Do you really feel that way?" asked Jaana as she took one of Harry's hands.

"Well, I suppose I don't actually _need_ a friend, knowing the trouble that I'm in with the government… I just thought it would be nice to have someone my own age that I could…"

"No," interrupted Jaana, "I mean about me being your family?"

Harry thought for a moment before he carefully said, "You're the way that I always thought a mother or a big sister would be. The only family I ever knew was when I was with my aunt and uncle, but I knew it wasn't right because I'd hear other kids talking about their families and how they treated them. I always dreamed that there was someone else in my family that would show up one day and take me away. When you took me in, I was afraid at first that it was only a dream, but after a while, It felt like I really was in a proper family. You hug me when I need it, scold me when I deserve it… and you never hit me or make me feel like I'm worthless…" A strange look washed over Harry's face as he hesitantly asked, "Is… is that love?"

A realization suddenly struck Jaana. Now that she had thought about it, she had never really told Harry that she loved him. She knew that she did… they had become so close during the past year that she had a hard time remembering what her life was like before she became the unofficial guardian of 'The Boy Who Lived,' even though she didn't really see him as such anymore… to her, he was just Harry Potter, the boy who needed someone to help him out of a dangerous environment… someone who needed _her_…

Jaana squeezed his hand and said, "Yes, love is that, and much, much more. It's a very hard feeling to describe, but I do know one thing… I know that I love you, and I'm sure that there's nothing in this world that could change that."

Jaana was shocked when she saw Harry's face fall into what looked like a sad frown. She wondered why he was reacting like that until Harry tossed the covers from over himself, sprang from the bed and threw his arms around the older witch. An instant later, he was sobbing heavily into her nightshirt and tightly gripping onto her as if his life was depending upon it. Of course, her anger over what he had done was long gone.

"I love you, too," said Harry between hiccups.

Jaana hugged Harry in return, unable to hold her own tears in check. She gently patted his back for a moment, but as soon as she felt the icy chill that was seeping through the back of his pajamas, she stiffened slightly and a small gasp escaped her.

"Harry! You _are_ cold! Back into bed! Now!"

Harry couldn't help but to smile tearfully as he climbed back onto the mattress and pulled the covers over himself.

"Now you stay right there and I'll go fix us a pot of tea…" said Jaana as she hurried towards the door while muttering to herself, "that is, if I can find the teapot… and the mugs… and the tea… and Merlin knows if there's any sugar in this ruddy place…"

As soon as the door had closed, Harry laid back on the bed. He was trying to contain the sporadic sniffle that escaped him when he suddenly took a deep, involuntary breath that felt almost painful. The breath was forcefully expelled, and with it came a faint, wispy vapor that hung before his face for only a moment before it quickly glided towards the window next to his bed and affixed itself to one of the cold glass panes. An instant later, the entire pane was coated with a thick layer of frost, and Harry could have sworn he heard a faint, high-pitched sigh of relief.

At the same moment that the mist had left his lungs, the icy cold that had been gripping his chest disappeared almost completely, with just a slight, chilly feeling left behind.

After shaking off the initial shock, Harry leaned towards the window and hesitantly asked, "Are you okay?"

"What did you say, Harry?" came Jaana's voice from just outside the room.

"Oh… nothing," Harry called out before turning back to the window and asking in a whisper, "You were _inside_ me?"

A faint pair of white, pupil-less eyes appeared in the frost as a tinkling, yet tired sounding voice answered softly, "Yes, inside… was too warm… I lost myself…"

Harry really didn't understand the statement. He glanced back at the door, then turned around and quietly asked, "What are you?"

"I am Wynmae."

"What's a 'Wynmae?' asked Harry curiously. He had never heard of anything called a 'Wynmae' in any of his books on magical creatures.

There was a slight pause before the answer came, "Wynmae is Wynmae… what are you?"

Harry had to pause himself as he thought about that answer. He remembered how the creature wasn't very adept at the English language, although he did realize that he could still understand her strange tongue.

"Is Wynmae your name?"

"Name…?" asked the creature affixed to the window, "Yes, name… I am Wynmae… you are…?"

"Harry," he whispered to the frosted glass.

"Harry… Yes, now Harry is Wynmae, Wynmae is Harry. Wynmae had to leave Wynmae in Harry… We are now one… bonded?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry in surprise.

Harry was startled by the voice that came from behind him. "What do I mean about what?" asked Jaana as she stepped into the room levitating a tray which held a teapot, two cups, and a plate that was laden with chocolate chip biscuits.

"Oh, umm… I was just thinking aloud," said Harry with a guilty look on his face.

Jaana paused a moment and gave him a critical look before she stepped up to his bed and wordlessly placed the tray upon the nearby nightstand next to the potion bottles that Cooley had left. She poured tea into each of the cups and handed one to Harry before picking up her own cup and sat upon a chair that was set near the bed

"Okay," began Jaana, "Why didn't you tell me where you were going and what you were doing?"

There was a long pause before Harry meekly answered, "I was afraid that you wouldn't let me go… that you'd think I was being silly."

"Well, popping off on your own with no one to protect you isn't silly, it's dangerous. If you would have told me what you were doing, I would have come along to help keep you out of trouble. I know that I'm strict with you, but that's only because I care about you… and don't think that don't understand how you feel… I get lonely sometimes, too. I mean, you know that I don't have much of a social life."

When she saw Harry nod gloomily, she quickly amended, "It's not just because of you, so don't go blaming yourself. I had a pretty bad break-up in my last relationship, and I've been a bit hesitant to climb back on that particular broomstick, if you know what I mean… but that's a story for another day, if ever. So what happened when you went to give her the present?"

Harry explained how he found Hermione's address by using a muggle telephone directory. He knew from what his older self had written that her parents were dentists and had a practice in the town of Maidstone, and the medical section in the directory listed the dental surgeries and the proprietors' names. Since there were only two Grangers listed in Maidstone, and only one of those matched the dentists' names, he figured that must be her house. He went on to describe what happened inside of the house, how he planned to just leave the gift under the tree, but was surprised by Hermione who was sleeping on the sofa, and how he was so panicked about being discovered that he couldn't calm himself enough to Shift away.

"So you tried to Apparate?" questioned Jaana while shaking her head in disbelief.

"It was the only thing I could think of…" defended Harry, "she was yelling out 'burglar!' and I heard her father running down the stairs… I… I was scared… and embarrassed… now she not only thinks I'm prone to playing pranks on her, she also thinks I'm a criminal!" then Harry added with a resigned sigh, "She'll never like me now."

"You played a prank on her?" asked Jaana in surprise.

"No, but she thought I was going to when I gave her the book. I was watching her from outside the wall of her school after I gave it to her," he then added dejectedly, "I thought that I saw her toss it in the rubbish without even opening it."

The reason for Harry's depressed mood all through October now became clear to her. No wonder he was so down after he returned. Jaana kindly patted his shoulder and handed him another biscuit as she said, "Don't worry too much about it right now. She's still young, and you never know… maybe she still needs a few more years to become the same person that your older self had met when you start school in a few years. Maybe it's not such a good idea to rush it. Maybe we'll make some new friends here before we go back to England."

Harry's head spun around to look out the window at the snowy landscape, and once again noticed the one heavily frosted pane of glass. He looked away quickly as to not draw attention to the odd pane and asked, "We're not in England? Where are we?"

Jaana smiled and simply said, "Iceland."

"Iceland?"

"The Figg family has owned this plot of property west of Reykjavík here for generations, back when it was a territory of Denmark. None of us ever built anything here, so this place is listed as undeveloped. Ray and I have been secretly constructing this place for months, and we're pretty sure that nobody in Britain knows anything about it… besides my Auntie Arabella, but I doubt she even remembers that we own this property. All of the materials for this house have been brought in from Greenland, and the magical fixtures are from Portugal, so there isn't a 'paper trail' for anyone to follow, if they were so inclined. For all intents and purposes, we've just disappeared from the British map… and since the magical community here is totally independent, there's no ministry to contend with…"

Jaana gave Harry a knowing smile as she drew her wand and summoned a colourfully wrapped package from the next room. She deftly caught the small package in one hand and held it out to him as she continued, "hence, there's no provisions for underage magic here, although it still must be kept secret from the muggles."

Harry took the package and ripped open the wrapping paper. Inside was a long, thin wooden box. Harry slowly lifted the lid and discovered, resting within the velvet-lined interior, a pale, intricately carved wand.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," said Jaana with a grin, "It's apple wood with a Dragon Heartstring core. I know that it's not perfectly suited to you, but it should be good enough to start training you in real magic and not just the theory."

"When do we start?" asked Harry excitedly.

Jaana thought for a moment before saying, "I was going to begin with the spells from the first year's book that Hogwarts requires, but now I think we should concentrate on one subject at a time. Hogwarts has a tendency to overload students with multiple subjects because they have to cram in all aspects of magic in only seven years. Do you have any preference on which subject you want to start with? As you know, Charms is the easiest…"

"Transfiguration," said Harry firmly, "My book says it's the thing I'm best at."

"Are you sure? Transfiguration is the most difficult sphere to learn, and it takes the longest to really get the hang of. It's also rather dangerous, so there'll be no fooling around if you decide that that's what you want. Are you sure that you don't want to start with Charms?"

Harry remembered reading ahead in his book about the variations of standard transfiguration spells and was very anxious to try them out. Charms, while very useful, and even necessary to some of the more advanced variations of spells listed in his book, just seemed somewhat boring to him. The training in Transfiguration would also make Charms that much easier to learn once they got around to it.

"I'd really like to start with Transfiguration," said Harry with finality.

"Alright, then," said Jaana with a smile, "TransFig it is. I have to go into Reykjavík tomorrow to pick up a few things to make the property a bit more comfortable for us, so we'll start your training after Boxing Day."

Harry could hardly believe it. He was actually going to do magic… _real_ magic! He was already going over everything he could remember from his book in his mind. He must have had a distant look on his face because he barely heard Jaana clear her throat to get his attention.

Jaana wore a serious expression as she said, "I know you're excited about the prospect of doing magic, but there's something much more important that you have to take care of right now and it cannot possibly wait a moment longer."

Harry's smile dropped into an unsure frown. He was wondering what he possibly had to do when he saw her stand up while drawing her wand.

"Accio sack!" said Jaana, and a moment later a large cloth bag zoomed in through the open doorway and into Jaana's free hand.

"You haven't forgotten already, have you?" asked Jaana in a rather stern voice.

Harry was looking at her worriedly as she opened the sack and waved her wand over the opening.

"Happy Christmas!" giggled Jaana as a steady stream of brightly wrapped packages flew out from inside of the bag. Each gift magically expanded to their original size before they landed all around Harry on his bed.

Harry looked up at Jaana with a surprised grin. For a minute, he had indeed forgotten that it was Christmas. When the last gift landed at the foot of his bed, he clambered over the massive pile of gifts and pulled Jaana into a fierce hug.

"Happy Christmas!" he returned, "I love you."

Jaana returned the hug whole-heartedly, "I love you, too."

A long moment later, Harry squirmed out of her embrace and began tearing into the stacks of gifts strewn all over his bed. He couldn't help but to think of how jealous his cousin would be if he could see the stack of presents that was easily double of what Dudley usually received. This was certainly Harry's best Christmas ever.


	12. Innocence Lost

_Disclaimer: I do not own, nor do I make any claim to, the 'Harry Potter' universe. I claim the plot and whatever original characters I chose to create._

_A/N: Yes, I know this chapter is very short, but I really couldn't add anything more without having it seem forced… or leaving it in a cliffhanger. You must appreciate the fact that I got this written and posted in record time, too. If you read the description of this story from the main menu, then you know what this chapter portends. I heartily thank everyone who has reviewed… every review is read and appreciated, even though I haven't had the time to respond to all of them… I will say, however, that FFdotNet is still submitting more reviews than PK… It still surprises me. (Word Count: 3116)_

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Chapter 12: Innocence Lost

_From __The Life of Harry James Potter__ – Excerpt from Chapter 112: Advanced Offensive Transfiguration_

_There is so much you can do to attack an opponent using combinations of the most basic of spells. For example, I remember one of the first lessons we had back in McGonagall's class… changing a matchstick into a needle. It seemed impossible at first, but soon we were able to perform the transfiguration without even thinking about it. How can a needle be used as a weapon, besides poking an opponent in the eye with it? Read on…_

_Mutatio - Basic vegetable to mineral transfiguration… wood into steel. Compact, quick and simple. Once the basic spell is mastered, nearly any organic matter that is roughly the size of a matchstick can be converted into a needle. As a fifth year student, this process should be child's play to you. Multifluus Mutatio is a bit trickier, but can easily be mastered with practice and will change dozens, or even hundreds of matchsticks into needles._

_Depulso - The Banishing charm that you learned is used to force matter away from you, just as the Summoning charm is used to draw matter towards you. Another basic, third-year spell. The fourth-year variant, the Multifluus Depulso, achieves the same thing, except that it banishes many identical things at once._

_Then we have the Enlarging charm, Engorgio - used to proportionally increase the size and mass of objects. Yet another third year charm, and with practice, can affect many objects at one time._

_You might ask how these three distinctly dissimilar spells could be used effectively in an offensive capacity? The answer is simpler than you might think._

_These three spells have the same magical 'frequency.' This is known during your time, but what isn't yet known is that spells of the same frequency can be combined and cast at the same time by using a specific combination of the various incantations._

_If you were to throw a handful of matchsticks - or pine needles, or any similar organic matter - into the air and then incant, 'Muldepultagio,' the spell would first send the relatively light matchsticks away from you at an extremely high velocity, then immediately transform the banished matter into needles, and at the same time increase their proportional size and mass, yet retaining their initial velocity. Naturally, the end result would be a hail of steel javelins moving faster than the eye can see. Quick, silent, and most assuredly deadly._

_Of course, the incantation is presented here for reference... as I have stressed many times before that all of these spells should be cast non-verbally, both to invoke the element of surprise, and to keep any surviving opponents within earshot from learning the incantation. These techniques won't be fully explored and developed for many years from your time. (It's a shame that they don't teach non-verbal casting in the first year… it makes it so much easier to learn.)_

_There are many combinations of basic spells that can be combined to devastating effect. The most useful ones I will list for you here…_

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Saturday, May 27th, 1989 6:23 PM

"Depulso!"

"Accio!"

"Depulso!"

"Accio!"

The grapefruit-sized rock sailed swiftly through the air. Before it even touched the snow and ice covered ground some thirty feet away, it suddenly reversed course and zoomed back towards the small boy who was wielding an apple wood wand. The rock sailed through the air at an alarming speed and it seemed that it would surely strike the boy squarely in his chest.

"Depulso!"

The rock reversed direction again as if it had bounced off of a wall just a few inches in front of the boy. Although the rock was mere inches from his body, the boy didn't flinch… he didn't even blink as he cast the banishing spell.

Not only was he practicing the spells, but he was also training to keep his fear and panic under control… he didn't want to live through the embarrassment and helplessness that he had experienced the past December which almost got himself, as well as his guardian and their benefactor, apprehended by the British Ministry of Magic.

He had just recast the summoning spell when Jaana stuck her head out through the window, "Harry! Come on in, it's time to eat,"

"Coming!" Harry called over his shoulder, but not taking his eyes from the speedily approaching rock. He waited until it was only a few feet away when he tried the banishing spell wordlessly. He flicked his wand and concentrated, but the rock was completely unaffected. It hit Harry in the chest with a sickening 'thud' that laid him flat onto his back and knocked the wind from his lungs.

With a pained groan, Harry sat up and gingerly opened the zipper of the heavy jacket he was wearing. He pulled down the front of his shirt and casually inspected the rapidly darkening contusion forming amidst the other black, brown and purple bruises caused by his previously unsuccessful attempts at non-verbal magic that day. He could tell that the last hit cracked one of his ribs.

He considered the pain an incentive to get the spell right.

Harry glanced back towards the house to make sure Jaana hadn't seen what happened before he breathlessly wheezed out, "Wynmae?"

A hitherto unnoticed misty vapor drifted up from a nearby clump of snow on the ground. It swirled and condensed into a tiny, fluttering, fairy-like creature that flitted up to hover before Harry's face.

"Again?" Wynmae asked in her slight, chiming voice.

"Please," he answered gratefully.

The little creature smiled just before it resumed its misty form. Harry closed his eyes and, with no small amount of effort, breathed in deeply and inhaled the floating mist. Harry involuntarily shuddered for a moment as the icy vapor snaked its way into his lungs. The cold almost instantly numbed his chest, which rendered him unable to breathe for a few moments.

Harry felt as though he were about to pass out from lack of oxygen when he suddenly and forcefully breathed out, expelling the foggy vapor which immediately reformed into the tiny winged creature that fluttered happily before his face. He felt the warmth returning to his body as he opened his eyes and smiled.

"Better?" squeaked Wynmae.

"Yes," replied Harry, obviously breathing much easier, "Thank you very much. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Wynmae gave Harry a dainty bow before she performed a back-flip and dove back towards the clump of snow where she resumed her foggy form which remained drifting eerily over the frosty ground.

Harry dusted the snow off from his damp trousers and headed back to the house. He had been practicing non-stop since lunchtime and found that he was famished.

As he entered the doorway, Jaana was just setting a crock of lamb stew onto the table.

"Hurry up and eat. I've got Miss Hansdottir coming in a few hours to watch you while I'm out with Jon to that new pub down the road. I expect you to be on your best behavior for her, and remember… no magic!"

Harry nodded with an ambiguous frown as he sat heavily into his chair and shoved a spoonful of stew into his mouth. He really didn't like the man that Jaana had been seeing for the past few weeks. He wasn't jealous… he just had the feeling that this guy, one that he had never even met, wasn't quite right for Jaana. Still, he kept his opinion to himself… there wasn't anything he could do about it, anyway.

Jaana sighed tiredly and said to him, "I know you don't trust him, but he's been okay so far, and I'll only be out for a few hours. We're going to that new pub on the west side, and I'll be back before ten.

Harry shrugged and ate some more of his stew. He knew what loneliness could do to people. She was twenty-one, and this 'Jon Jonsson' was the first man that she'd taken even a passing interest in since he's been with her. He'd accept it for now, but he didn't have to like it… and he didn't.

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Sunday, May 28th, 1989 1:47 AM

'_Thump!'_

Harry's eyes opened. He was lying on his bed with his blankets pulled high around his neck to ward off the nighttime chill. He lifted his sleepy head and looked around the room. He let out a tired breath through his nose, rolled over on his side, and closed his eyes.

'_Thump-thump'_

His eyes opened once more and he sat up on his bed. He looked over to his clock on the nightstand and saw the floating digital numbers, 1:48 AM.

'What's she doing, puttering around the house at this time of night?' Harry thought to himself. He was just about to settle back into his warm pillow when he heard a sharp crack, a muffled yelp, and something distantly clattering on the floor.

Harry threw off his covers and quickly took his wand from the drawer of his nightstand where he had kept it since before the old spinster, Miss Hansdottir, had arrived. He tucked his wand up into the sleeve of his pajamas and crept out of his room.

He looked in the doorway opposite his room and saw Miss Hansdottir sleeping heavily in the library's overstuffed chair. He then heard the sound of movement and a pained moan coming from the lower level.

Harry moved as silently as he could towards the open stairway leading down to the living room that took up most of the first floor. He could hear the faint murmuring of a male voice wafting up the stairway as he moved closer to the landing.

Harry craned his neck around the support post at the top of the stairs and saw Jaana sprawled out on the large sofa in the middle of the room with a rather husky, sandy-haired man lying on top of her. In the dim light cast by the dying embers in the fireplace, he could tell that the man's trousers and pants were pulled down around his knees and that Jaana's skirt was pulled up above her waist.

Harry looked at the scene in a kind of shocked surrealism… he kind of knew what sex was, but he would never have guessed that Jaana would be so promiscuous… especially after the very long-winded 'talk' that she gave him about the importance of sex and 'not giving it away' until marriage.

Harry's face burned with embarrassment, and he was about to turn away and go back to his room when he noticed that the front door was left wide open. As his eyes became more accustomed to the dim light of the room, he saw the wooden hat stand that was usually beside the front door lying broken on the floor next to the sofa.

He then noticed something that made his blood run cold and caused his wand to slide from his sleeve into his hand. He saw Jaana's head lolling down off the end of the sofa with her eyes closed… and there was a trickle of blood running down her cheek from the side of her mouth.

As Harry crept silently down the stairs, he found that could hear what the very drunk man was saying…

"…I don't take 'no,' you teasing wench… You'll thank me for this in the morning, you will… This will teach you to lead a fellow on, you tart…"

Somehow, he knew the man was muttering in Icelandic, but could also understand what he was saying, thanks to the magic that Wynmae had used on him months before. He also understood what was happening to Jaana. By the time he had reached the bottom of the stairs, Harry's face was still an expressionless stone mask

Later on, Harry wouldn't remember very much of happened in the following minutes. He just walked towards the sofa with a kind of tunnel vision focused directly on the man who was violently pushing himself down on his unconscious guardian.

Jon Jonsson looked up in bleary-eyed surprise when he noticed the young boy approaching.

"What's this?" slurred Jonsson, "The bitch has a kid? Go back to bed and leave your mother to me… wha?"

All Harry could feel was the numbing cold that was rapidly spreading throughout his body as he lifted his wand and began casting spells at the unfortunate muggle. He concentrated on the man's shirt and cast the strongest Depulso he could manage. The surprised man, dragged along by his own shirt, flew off of Jaana and landed on the floor some ten feet away.

Harry used a simple stunning spell to quietly incapacitate the man, and then he closed his eyes and silently called for his friend. A moment later, the familiar, wispy fog drifted into the room and solidified into the little Wynmae, who glanced down at the petrified muggle, and then looked expectantly at Harry with her wide, pupil-less eyes.

Harry looked down at Jonsson and used a spell that he remembered seeing in his book, a spell that was developed during 'The War of the Sexes' that was originally designed to throw the witches off-guard during battles… a spell that completely vanished all clothing from a person. As most witches tend to be almost criminally modest about their bodies and having values that were common centuries before, the spell was usually devastatingly effective at making the witches instinctively cover their nakedness with their arms and leaving them momentarily defenseless.

Harry wasn't using the spell to embarrass the drunken man.

Harry looked up at Wynmae and softly said in a calm, neutral voice, "Please bring him to Langjokull Glacier for me."

Wynmae smiled cheerfully at Harry and nodded in understanding before she flitted down to the floor and grabbed hold of one of Jonsson's fingers. Harry saw the pair evaporate into a wispy mist. He silently watched as the foggy vapor that was both Wynmae and Jon Jonsson quickly disappeared out through the still opened front door.

Harry then went to the kitchen to retrieve a damp cloth and carefully wiped the drying blood from Jaana's cheek and her split lip. The stoic look on his face only faltered for a moment when he smelled a faint odor of alcohol coming from his guardian. After checking to make sure she had no further injuries, he struggled a few moments as he replaced her knickers into their proper position and smoothed her long skirt back down over her legs.

Harry walked to the open door and looked at the two sets of footprints leading from a Jeep that was parked out on the road in front of the house. He saw that the smaller set of prints seemed to be dragged most of the way across the ground from the vehicle.

He went back into the house, carefully removed Jaana's shoes from her feet and put them on his own. He walked out towards the road and stood before the Jeep.

It took him a while, but he managed to dismantle the vehicle entirely, using basic transfigurations to change bits of the vehicle into clumps of ice and rock, and then banishing them to different places all along the road. Nothing was left except the faint tire marks in the hard-packed surface of the road, which he efficiently scoured to make them look much older than they actually were. With a solemn, impassive nod to himself, he walked back to the house. As he went, he used his wand to transfigure the snow, ice and earth, erasing the original footprints completely, leaving just his own, in Jaana's shoes, tracing the path from the road to the door.

Harry quietly closed the door, repaired the hat stand and righted it up beside the doorway. With a last look at Jaana, Harry climbed back up the stairs and, after checking to ensure Miss Hansdottir was still asleep and in the same position as before, returned to his room where he climbed back under his covers and immediately fell asleep.

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Sunday, May 28th, 1989 12:52 PM

"Honestly, I only had two drinks!" defended Jaana tearfully.

"Well, it doesn't matter," said Miss Hansdottir with a matronly edge to her voice, "I waited up until nearly midnight before I fell asleep. It's a good thing the boy didn't see you when you came in… whatever time that was!"

"I still don't understand what happened," cried Jaana, "The last thing I remember was Jon bringing me the second drink and then having a dance with him… everything after that is a blur."

"Well, if you're to be behaving like this, I don't think I'll be watching the boy again… good day to you, Miss Figg!"

Harry waited until the front door had slammed shut and he heard Jaana settle back into the sofa with a pained, halting sigh. Once he was sure the old bat had gone, he heavily treaded down the stairs.

"Jaana?" said Harry hesitantly as he reached the bottom of the stairs.

Jaana looked embarrassedly away from where Harry was standing, but he managed to catch a glimpse of her swollen lip and the bruise on her cheek. She picked up a small ice pack and placed it against the side of her face as she quickly said, "It's about time you came down. Breakfast is in the kitchen, and when you're done you can read your book for a while… I put it out for you on the table. No lessons today… you can practice this week's lessons in the yard again."

Harry nodded, although he knew she couldn't see it and headed towards the kitchen. Before he disappeared through the door, he looked worriedly back at his guardian who had, by then, settled back into the cushions of the couch and was almost asleep again.

Jaana never saw the satisfied smirk that flashed across Harry's lips as he headed for the stove to retrieve his lukewarm eggs, bangers and mash.

He never mentioned the episode to a living soul.


	13. As Ye Sow…

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing this stuff._

_A/N: Here we go… What kind of Karma is our Harry collecting from this chapter? You'll just have to read to find out. As the saying goes… 'How d'ya like me now?' ; (Word Count: 4365)_

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Chapter 13: As Ye Sow…

_From __The Life of Harry James Potter__ – Excerpt from Chapter 73: The Major Players in the Wizard Wars._

_By far, the most notorious Death Eater was Lucius Malfoy. Until his death in 2022, he was the major financier of Riddle's cause. The Galleons he slipped to countless businesses and Ministry officials were the catalyst for virtually all of the hardships suffered by the supposed 'underclasses' of wizarding society. His influence decidedly shaped the attitudes of the controlling pureblood elite, making my job as 'the boy who lived' exponentially harder._

_Lucius was never overt in his ministrations, he preferred to just set things into motion and then sit back and watch the chaos, ready to jump in to claim responsibility for 'cleaning things up' if events didn't go exactly as he planned. The event that perfectly demonstrated this tactic of his was when he slipped the diary horcrux to Ginny Weasley. Not only did he nearly succeed in returning Tom Riddle to a body two years earlier than he eventually did, but cemented the idea of me being Ginny's 'knight in shining armour.'_

_From that point in time, Ginny was solely focused on being 'Mrs. Harry Potter.' Eventually, she got her wish, but as with most things in life, if you get what you wish for, it may not turn out to be what you really wanted. As the years passed, she became less interested in being the wife of 'the famous Harry Potter' and more interested in what lay beyond our marital bed. That interest eventually found sanctuary in the arms of Draco._

_Draco had everyone convinced of his reluctance to serve Tom Riddle… even Dumbledore was fooled._

_I, for one, never trusted him… my suspicions turned out to be right on the money, and his actions cost me the family I had always wanted, and the life of the woman that I thought I had loved. I had never really recovered from Ginny's treacherous infidelity, nor the fact that her children weren't actually mine, but my worst enemy's._

_Yes, Lucius had taught Draco well…_

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Thursday, June 15th, 1989 8:09 AM

Harry awoke with a groan and climbed out of bed. With his eyes barely open. He crossed the room and headed for the bathroom to prepare for the day's training. As he passed by the window between his bed and the bathroom door, he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye and stopped in his tracks. He turned his head and caught sight of something that he wished he didn't see.

On a small, rocky mound of earth in the back yard sat Jaana with her head resting in the palms of her hands as she stared out to the horizon. She had been distant and pensive for the past three weeks… the time since the incident with Jonsson.

The muggle police had been by a few days after the incident investigating the disappearance of a Jon Jonsson, as Jonsson had been last seen leaving the tavern with Jaana. When Jaana explained what she remembered of the night, which was barely anything at all except for being in the tavern and then waking up at home on the sofa, Harry noticed both of the officers giving Jaana a sympathetic grimace. The officers then mentioned, off the record, of course, that there had been previous complaints filed against Jonsson… apparently he had the habit of drugging young ladies and having his way with them. The victims, usually tourists who had only come to Iceland for short wilderness vacations, would never stay in the small country long enough to have any charges carried through.

Jaana's complexion became paler as the officers explained Jonsson's history. She had told them that she didn't think that she was assaulted, but really wasn't sure. She didn't feel as though she had been violated… although she had never had sex before, she assumed that she could tell if anything had happened.

Of course, Harry knew that the man was mostly unsuccessful in his attempt to rape Jaana. When he threw Jonsson across the room, the man's bits were as soft as a grape, most likely due to how drunk the man was. Still, Jonsson had made a good show of it at the time.

After briefly inspecting the area, the police left… leaving Harry to comfort his badly shaken guardian.

Harry wished he could tell Jaana what he knew of the attack. Seeing her in her depressed state was tearing at his heart, but he really couldn't tell her about what he had done. He still didn't know what prompted him to do what he did… something came over him at the time, something that made his actions seem logical and rational… Jonsson deserved what he got. Even now, he knew he would do the same thing over again if the same situation arose. Jaana was all he had, and he couldn't bear the thought of her being harmed in any way. He couldn't lose her… not now.

Harry spent a few more moments looking out at Jaana sitting there with her lost expression. He sighed and then continued his trek to the bathroom.

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 3:16 AM

Harry sat on a stool with his chin resting on his folded arms, which were in turn resting on the tabletop in front of a steaming cauldron. Harry had his tired eyes fixed on a small hourglass whose sand was just about depleted.

He had been working on this potion for nearly a month. In just a few minutes, it would finally be ready.

As the last few grains fell from the top chamber, Harry stood from the stool, grabbed a cloth, and lifted the cauldron from the fire. He hefted up the small cauldron and immersed it in a pail of ice water, causing a cloud of hissing steam to billow up from within it.

Harry fanned the steam away with his hand as he looked closely at the liquid in the cauldron. He watched as the thin, watery liquid rapidly changed from a translucent ruby red to an opaque, pale pink. The liquid then condensed into an uneven lump of pink goo that sat on the bottom of the now cool cauldron.

Harry reached in and picked up the substance, placed it on a clean spot on the table, and began rolling it into a long, thin stick that appeared to have a rubbery quality to it. He picked up a silver knife and began cutting the substance into twenty, inch-long pieces.

After a quick reference to a page of parchment that was lying nearby, a page he had copied out of his book without Jaana's knowledge, he nodded to himself as he reached for a wooden rack that contained four small vials of different coloured liquid. He picked up the first vial containing Essence of Camphor and placed a drop on five of the pieces. Upon contact, each of the five pieces turned white. He took the white pieces, wrapped them in specially prepared grape skins, and then placed them into a small bag marked 'dispel.'

Harry repeated the process with the remaining three vials of Essence of Myrrh, Essence of Cherry Blossom, and Essence of Galangal, the results of which he placed in bags marked F, Y, and O, respectively.

Harry took a few minutes to clean his equipment before he doused the lights and headed back to his bedroom. He placed the bags deep into a corner of his trunk and climbed into bed where he sat there staring out of his window at the deep blue sky. The sun was still just under the horizon where it had been all night, but soon it would peek above the distant mountains.

He was now ready. He had everything he needed to put his plan into motion. This was the week he would right a plethora of wrongs.

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 8:45 AM

Harry rose from his bed and walked over to his desk. On the desktop was a recent copy of Britain's _Daily Prophet_. The paper was folded so that page three was on top.

His eyes focused on an article that praised the efforts of the benevolent Lucius Malfoy who had just made a sizable donation to the newly enacted 'Equal Start' plan, a program that supposedly helps children of pureblood families 'catch up' with their muggleborn counterparts. The argument was that muggleborn children were receiving a 'formal, publicly financed education' while magical children were forced to be home-schooled, causing an unfair advantage in favor of the muggleborns. Of course, it was never mentioned that the muggleborn children were not receiving any _magical_ tutoring, something that this new program would supply to pureblood children.

Harry knew that this was in response to the increased surveillance by the Ministry on all magical households, so any advantage that the Malfoy patriarch could supply to the pureblood community, especially his own son, would be pursued with vigor. He would do anything to make 'real' wizards and witches seem more adept at magic.

It had just so happened that Mr. Malfoy would be making a personal appearance that day at 9:00 AM for the opening of the new school that was located in muggle London near Diagon Alley.

Harry planned on being there, too.

It was time to set things in motion. He opened a drawer and withdrew a parchment envelope that had the name, 'Sirius Black' inked upon it. He walked across the room and opened his window. With just a thought, he summoned Wynmae who was playing down by the glacial stream that bordered the property. An instant later, the little creature was fluttering just outside of his window.

"Are you sure that it's not too far for you to travel?" asked Harry, "It will be a lot warmer there than it is here."

Wynmae giggled and said, "Not too far, and not too warm. Plenty of cold water to help Wynmae."

"Okay," whispered Harry, "just remember that you can't be seen by anyone… leave the letter for him to find and get out of there, and watch out for the dementors…"

"The Old Ones will not bother Wynmae," chimed the little creature as she reached for the envelope, "Wynmae will be back very soon."

As soon as Wynmae touched the envelope, it dissolved into a wispy vapor along with the little creature. Harry watched as the foggy mist swept across the dimly lit landscape and disappeared to the southeast. He closed his window and waited.

A few minutes later, he heard Jaana's light footsteps pass his door and disappear down the stairs. When he heard the front door close and the telltale crack of Apparition, he knew that Jaana had left for her monthly shopping trip which would end with her having lunch with Healer Cooley. He knew that he had well over four hours until she returned home.

Harry reached under his bed and pulled out a cloth sack that contained a variety of different clothing. He pulled out a small sky-blue sundress, a lacy white shirt, a small pair of girl's underwear, a pair of long white stockings and a pair of black leather shoes. He then opened his trunk and pulled out three wrapped pieces of goo from the bags marked 'dispel,' 'O,' and 'F.'

Harry quickly got undressed and placed his clothes into a small knapsack. He unwrapped the pale yellow 'F' piece and looked at it with distaste before he popped it into his mouth and began to quickly chew. A few disgusting moments later, he swallowed hard and waited.

A minute passed with no effect whatsoever, and he was beginning to think he had made a mistake in the brewing process when he felt an uncomfortable tingling begin in his belly that quickly spread throughout his body.

The change only took a few painful moments, but after the tingling had passed, he turned and looked at himself in his mirror.

Looking back at him was, what appeared to be, a very small girl, perhaps six years old, with long, black hair, thin, spindly arms and legs, and a rather thin, featureless body… well, it appeared featureless to him as he found himself staring at the place where at least one prominent feature had been just a minute before.

He shook himself out of his shock and quickly dressed in the girl's clothing he had set out for himself, stuffed his wand, the 'O' piece, and the 'dispel' piece into the bag that contained his normal clothes as well as a larger set, a small metal cage, and a muggle tape recorder. He slung the lot over his shoulder as he took another quick look in the mirror to make sure his scar was covered by the lengthened bangs of his hair before he soundlessly vanished from the room.

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 9:57 AM

Lucius Malfoy was feeling quite pleased with himself. Being a respected member of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and counting on the fact that nearly all of the other members were woefully misinformed of the true nature of muggle education, it was very easy for him to convince the entire board to support his plan to provide underage magical training to pureblood children. With the support of the entire board, it was assured that the Oversight Committee of the Ministry's Department of Magical Education would approve the establishment of the new training facility.

Those fools are so gullible…

He had just left the new facility and was walking down the sidewalk towards Diagon Alley when he noticed a small girl wearing a sky-blue sundress leaning against the wall of a building and crying piteously.

Normally, he would pass by the urchin with hardly a glance, but paused when he recognized that the girl had attended the opening ceremony for the school he had just left. As he approached the girl, he could tell that she was a magical child, and since she was at the ceremony, she was more than likely a pureblood.

He almost… _almost_… stopped and asked the girl what the trouble was. He fully intended to stroll past the girl when she looked up at him with her teary green eyes. They immediately widened in recognition.

"Mister Malfoy, sir!" pleaded the girl, "Can you help me?"

Lucius easily detected the refined quality behind her cracking voice… she was certainly a pureblood. Still, he opened his mouth to inform the whelp that he had neither the time nor the inclination to assist her when the girl spoke again.

"The muggles, sir!" said the girl in a squeaky, panicked voice, "They grabbed my sister and dragged her in there! I heard her scream!"

Lucius looked down into the shadowed alley that the young girl was pointing to. He saw nothing, and was about to scoff at the dark-haired girl when he heard the clang of a rubbish bin and a muffled cry of pain. He heard the girl behind him let out a frightened whimper, and decided that a bit of authorized 'muggle hunting' could do nothing but improve his standing in the magical community.

Lucius drew his wand and whispered to the girl behind him, "Wait here, I'll get to the bottom of this."

Lucius entered the shadows of the alley, but before he made it even ten feet in, he felt a series of sudden, sharp pains pepper his back. Even when he looked down at himself and saw the dozen thin, pointy metal shards sticking out through the front of his robes, he still had no idea what had just happened. He turned his surprised face around and saw the little girl standing just a few feet behind him… with a blank, emotionless expression on her face and an apple wood wand in her hand. As his vision faded, he could have sworn that the little girl's face was covered with frost, and the breath that was escaping her nostrils came out in vaporous clouds, as if it were the middle of winter.

That was the last thing Lucius Malfoy would ever see.

The little girl stepped over his lifeless body and walked further down the alley to where she had hidden the tape recorder that was still emitting the sounds of a struggle.

Just as she clicked the machine off, a blonde, middle-aged woman stepped into the entrance of the alley. The woman looked down in horror at the lifeless body.

"Lucius?" she asked fearfully as she stepped closer to the body. The woman looked up and saw the young, dark-haired girl standing in the middle of the alley a few meters beyond where Lucius was lying. The child looked back at her with cold, impassive eyes and silently vanished from sight.

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 10:08 AM

Harry faded into existence in central Devon in a grassy clearing amidst a copse of birch trees at the base of a hill. He had scouted out the area a few days earlier, and found it was the easiest place to begin his search for the one that had caused both him and his older self a lifetime of misery… he still had about two more hours before Jaana returned, and from this place he had about a thirty minute walk to where he could find his quarry. There was one final thing he had to take care of this day before he returned home to Iceland.

He had just begun his trek when he heard a very loud explosion come from up the hill just beyond the trees behind him.

He didn't even flinch at the loud noise. He instinctively crouched down, and then rolled across the ground to his left behind the cover of a wide bush. He came to his feet again with his wand in his hand and in a defensive posture, but the only thing he could see was a cloud of black smoke rising from beyond the trees up the hill.

Harry quickly and cautiously navigated through the woods until he came to the area at the hill's very crest. There stood a tall tower made of dark stone looming against the cloudy, late-morning sky. Out through one of the broken lower windows poured a billowing black smoke. Through the crackling fire that was burning inside, he could hear the cries of a young girl.

Instinct kicked in once again and he raced up to the tower's front door. He entered the lower level and paused for only a moment at the sight of all of the bizarre oddities that covered every inch of the walls and were scattered throughout the room. There were a series of glass display cases that held, among other things, fragments of petrified animal parts and incomplete skeletons of creatures he couldn't readily identify. There were clipped articles about odd creatures that were accompanied by blurry, unfocused pictures of whatever the articles were about.

Amidst all of the cluttered displays, he noticed a relatively clear moving photograph of a creature that he immediately recognized… it was of a being that looked very much like Wynmae. He was about to move towards that display case when he heard the girl's pitiful cry coming from the next room and he remembered why he was there.

Harry rushed across the room to the door that was next to a tall spiral staircase. When he opened the door, he immediately started choking from the wall of black, foul-smelling smoke that poured out through the doorway.

"Hello?" Harry called into the smoky room between his coughs, "Are you all right?"

There was no answer save for the sound of the small girl's crying. Harry cautiously entered the room, but he couldn't immediately see anything through the thick smoke. As the smoke began to clear, he could just make out a figure kneeling in front of a motionless form lying on the floor.

Harry carefully stepped closer and asked, "What happened?"

The kneeling form slowly turned her face towards Harry and he could see that a good portion of the small girl's long blonde hair had been singed away and that her tear-stained face was coated in the same black soot that covered everything in the room.

The girl's wide, protuberant eyes lingered on Harry for a few seconds before they drifted back down to the figure lying on the floor.

"M-my mother… dead…" whispered the girl in a halting voice.

Harry looked around the smoke filled room and saw that the fire from the burning table on the far side of the room was beginning to spread to the curtains and other nearby pieces of furniture.

Harry laid his hand on the girl's shoulder and calmly said, "We have to get out of here… the fire…"

"No!" screamed the girl as she threw herself onto the still smouldering form of her mother.

Harry grabbed the girl and tried to pull her away, but found he didn't have the strength to even budge her. He suddenly remembered that he was still in the body of a very young girl. He quickly reached into his pack and pulled out the wrapped piece of goo that came from the bag labeled, 'dispel,' peeled off the leaf wrapper, and popped the white, clay-like substance into his mouth and began to chew.

It took a minute after swallowing the goo for him to feel the effects of the prior piece wearing off. He felt his body enlarging when he suddenly realized that he was still in the sundress that was quickly becoming four or five sizes too small for his nearly nine-year-old body, but he didn't have time to change. The fire was quickly spreading and the room was beginning to rapidly fill with smoke once again.

In his original, larger body, he was easily able to pull the young girl away from the lifeless body of her mother. He dragged the kicking and screaming girl from the room and outside into the tower's front yard.

Still panting from the exertion, he told the distraught girl, "Stay here, I'll try to get her out."

She looked back at him with a confused expression, obviously trying to figure out where the small girl went and where this boy in a skin-tight, girl's dress came from.

Harry rushed back into the smoky tower and navigated through the junk towards the burning room. He would try to get the mother's body out, but he knew that it would be nearly impossible for him, and he wouldn't risk his life for a corpse. If it got too bad in there, he would abandon the body… but he had to at least try.

Harry kept close to the floor as he crawled inside of the burning room. He felt his way to the body of the girl's mother, grabbed hold of her charred robe and tried to drag the body towards the door. The rapidly building smoke burned his throat and made it difficult for him to breathe. Just as he decided it was a lost cause and he should get out while he could he heard something that made him freeze in place… a low, pained moan that came from the body he was dragging.

The woman _wasn't_ dead.

Adrenaline coursed through Harry's veins as he began frantically pulling the woman across the floor, but he knew his energy was quickly draining away along with his strength.

There was only one thing he could think of to do. He reached into his backpack once again and drew out the last piece of goo that had been labeled 'O,' unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth.

By the time the substance took effect, his eyes were burning badly and his throat was nearly closed against the smoke that permeated the burning room. He could feel bits of smouldering cinders falling against his exposed skin, as the tiny dress he was wearing had ripped away at the seams when his body took on its new shape.

Harry scooped the stricken woman up into his arms and sprinted out of the room and outside into the fresh air.

He laid the woman down on the grass and began choking in as much clean air as he could as the young girl ran up and collapsed on her mother.

"Get help," choked out Harry, "She's not dead."

The girl looked up at him with shock clearly etched on her face. He wondered why she was just staring at him until he looked down at himself and saw that he had the body of an adult… a completely naked adult, save for a few shards of blue sundress and a now very restrictive backpack.

Harry shrugged off the backpack, reached in, and pulled out a large pair of trousers. He slipped them on and was just buttoning the waist when he heard voices approaching from down the hill.

"Help is coming," Harry said to the young girl who was staring back at him with wide eyes, "I have to go. I can't be discovered here."

"Who are you really? I saw you change right before my eyes…you're not a girl, and you're not an adult… are you a Mandrogan Chameleon?"

Harry wasn't quite sure he knew what a Mandrogan Chameleon was, but he was sure that he wasn't one of them.

"I'm just a boy. My name's Harry."

"My name is Luna. Will you come back to visit me?" asked the little girl.

Harry looked closely at the soot covered girl for what seemed like the first time. He could almost see the loneliness in her eyes. He could tell that she was yet another child who was virtually friendless.

"I'll visit you soon…" said Harry as he looked over his shoulder towards the approaching voices, "I must go now."

With that, Harry silently faded from sight and returned to Iceland. He would have to postpone his quest to steal the rat from the Weasley family, but vowed to himself that he would get the traitorous rodent very, very soon.

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	14. Out of the Frying Pan?

Chapter 14:

_Disclaimer: I hold no rights to anything of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing about it… I just enjoy playing with the characters._

A/N: It's been a long time coming, but here it is… I was kinda ticked off by Portkey's suspension of this story… it had _NO_ child sexuality and, in my opinion, described an _'ATTEMPTED'_ sexual assault, even though it showed nothing explicit and explained in later chapters that Harry had stopped the attacker before anything happened… quite unfair, if you ask me. It kinda worked against my motivations I had to adjust some aspects of the story and I went back and changed the wording on a few things. Maybe someday I'll re-submit the story to Portkey, but right now... meh... Still, here is the next installment. I'll certainly make a greater effort to get the next chapter out much quicker than this one… my work environment has changed favorably, so I have a bit more time to start getting back into writing. As it stands right now, I still have no intention of abandoning this story. I believe have about 40 or more chapters outlined, with quite a few more chapters planned beyond that… it's going to be one hell of a ride before it's over. (Word Count: 4105)

--

Chapter 14: Out of the Frying Pan?

--

_From __The Life of Harry James Potter__ – Excerpt from Chapter 127: Unconventional Offence using Basic Transfigurations_

_Transfiguration is the most underestimated sphere of magic when it comes to dueling and battles. Most of these techniques were conceived and developed by Hermione, and were invaluable to me during the many confrontations with Voldemort and his followers._

_Generally, transfiguration takes too long to cast, usually has very long incantations, and the caster must focus his entire concentration on the end result. Such as it is, Transfigurations are useful only in an initial surprise assault where the defender has no idea that an attack is taking place._

_During a heated duel, time and concentration are usually at a premium, so a lengthy transmogrification is something that most wizards wouldn't dare attempt. Even if a transfiguration were attempted during a duel, the attacker would almost certainly try to do a human transfiguration to put the defender at a physical disadvantage, and the defender would almost certainly recognize the magic for what it was and could quite easily counter it._

_The key is to use the simplest forms of transfiguration. For example, let's go back to the matchstick-to-needle exercise. By now, you should be able to perform this organic-to-mineral transformation quickly and easily. The incantation is short, and the concentration required to complete the transformation is minimal. As you know, some metals are easier to produce than others. Gold and lead are virtually impossible without alchemic augmentation, metals such as copper and zinc are somewhat easier, but still require too much concentration to complete quickly, and the ferrous metals like iron are by far the quickest and easiest._

_Since the quantity of source material is a non-factor, a matchstick fifty meters long could be transformed just as easily as an ordinary two-inch long matchstick can. The same truth would apply to a fifty meter long toothpick, vine, or even a ribbon… any organic material would have the same base structure, and though the individual threads may be woven together, the item would be treated as a single unit for transfiguration purposes._

_Now, since nearly all wizard clothing is made from natural fibers such as cotton, linen, and the like, the transfiguration of someone's shirt or robe from cloth to iron is an incredibly simple and effective way to immobilize an opponent. The advantages of this magical maneuver, especially if cast non-verbally, should be readily apparent…the opponent would never expect it, transfigurations are unaffected by shielding spells, the effects are permanent and instantaneous, it cannot be undone by a simple 'Finite,' and, most importantly, the victim would no longer be wearing a two pound robe, but a hundred-plus pound metal shroud which would certainly send him immediately and painfully to the ground. If the target is in motion or in a particularly precarious position, (as on a staircase or a roof, or in a tree) the result would be that much more effective._

_If clothing is transfigured on a moving target, the momentum would also be transferred to the now impossibly heavy garment, probably inducing severe physical damage upon impact with the ground. Weight, inertia, velocity, mass… wizards just don't think about these things… they don't usually think outside of the box. If the target is wearing especially tight-fitting, long-sleeved clothing, this would not only prevent a counterattack by completely restricting his movements, but could also constrict certain circulatory and neurological paths which, given enough time, could cause the target permanent physical damage, and maybe even death._

_Other ways to use this technique to great effect, especially if the victim is unawares – Hats, Shoes, Ropes, Wooden doors, Tapestries, Curtains/drapes, Overhead tree limbs and leaves, etc. (If being pursued outdoors, transfiguring blades of grass, flowers, or fallen leaves into iron along their path could give your opponents a most painful surprise!) A wooden staircase that suddenly turns to iron would almost certainly collapse under its own weight if the supports are left as wood. A little thought, awareness, and ingenuity is usually all it takes to get one out of the very stickiest of situations, but a healthy helping of luck doesn't hurt, either._

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Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 11:56 AM

The acrid smell of smoke permeated the steamy air as Harry, still in his older body, stood in the shower with his clothes piled around his feet and the water cascading down around him. Dark rivers of sooty water from his body and clothes circled the drain and disappeared into its depths.

Harry was standing with his eyes closed and his head against the wall as the warm spray beat against his back. The warmth of the water stung at the numerous blistering welts that peppered his skin. He wished that Wynmae was back to heal him up a bit, but he could tell that she was still very far away. He wasn't sure how he could tell, but he always just seemed to know where she was.

His thoughts drifted back to the scared, blonde-headed girl back at the tower. Although they had only just met, he could feel that they had something in common. Just the way that she practically begged him to visit her again told him that she was just as desperate for friendship as he was. He did promise to see her again, after all… and something inside of him suggested that she could be trusted. He just hoped that she didn't tell anyone about his changing appearance. He would just have to be careful when he decides to visit her again.

He also thought about his little friend's trip to deliver the letter. At first, he had asked Wynmae to help his godfather escape from Azkaban by turning them both into mist and just fly away, but Wynmae explained that she could only do that with Harry now because they were bonded… whatever that meant. He tried to get an explanation from the little creature a few times before, but she didn't seem to understand how to describe what their connection was and what it entailed. They were simply bonded… a shared existence. He made a mental note that if he did decide to visit that blonde girl he would make a point of finding a way to read what he had noticed in the display case in her home.

Once the water at the bottom of the tub was running clear, Harry turned off the shower and wrung out the clothes at his feet. There was nothing left of the blue sundress, most of which was left back in the burning room in the tower. The remainder of his clothes that were in the backpack still smelled of smoke. He tentatively sniffed at the sopping wet clothes in his arms and could still detect the burnt odor. He would have to throw them out and get some new ones.

When Harry tiredly stepped out from the bathroom and into the hallway with only a towel wrapped around his waist, his ears were assaulted by a loud, startled scream. He looked down the hall and saw Jaana fumbling in her clothes and looking towards him with wide, terrified eyes. For a moment, Harry wondered why she was home so early, and what it was that had spooked her so badly. He immediately looked the other way down the hall, expecting to see some sort of threat there. When he saw that there was nothing there but an empty hallway, it dawned on him that _he_ was the threat… he was still in his older body.

"Jaana! Wait!" cried Harry desperately as Jaana finally freed her wand from her pocket, "It's me, Ha…"

--

Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 12:02 PM

A solitary, shadowed figure in a dank, drab cell sat shivering on a stone slab protruding from the wall that served as his bed. A dark gray frost coated the rough, hewn-stone walls that surrounded him. The only light came from a barred opening high above on the rear wall of the dingy cell. Even at midday, the dreary, overcast sky above the island prison of Azkaban let very little light reach the ancient stone fortress.

The man could tell that mealtime was approaching because of the receding feelings of depression and hopelessness that accompanied the temporary departure of the dread prison guards.

Sure enough, a few minutes passed before he heard the shuffling of feet outside of his cell. Moments later, a small tray containing a cup of water and a bowl of rice with some unidentifiable, meat-like substance slid through the opening at the bottom of his cell door.

"There ya go, Black…" came a gruff voice from beyond the door, "Eat up. Ya wouldn't want to be all weak and wimpy when yer master returns."

Laughter echoed through the door as the guard continued down the hallway.

Sirius stood from the bed, picked up the tray, and began to wolf down the meager meal while the dementors were still away. While he was eating, he didn't notice the wispy cloud of mist that flowed through the barred window and descended to hover over his bed. A parchment envelope materialized within the foggy cloud and silently fluttered down onto the dirty covers. The cloud then hovered up into a dark corner near the ceiling and waited.

Sirius finished his food and slid the tray back through the doorway. He turned around and froze in his tracks when he saw the envelope lying in the spot where he had just been sitting. His eyes darted around the cell, looking for anything else that was out of place.

Sirius slowly walked to the bed and looked down at the envelope. There, scrawled across its face, were the words, 'Sirius Black,' written in a messy scrawl that looked strangely familiar to him.

He once again looked around his cell searching for the source of the letter, but he was definitely alone. When Sirius reached down to pick up the envelope, it let out a faint yellow glow at his touch and unfolded into a wide sheet of parchment. His eyes narrowed in the dim light as he strained to read the words on the paper.

'_Dear Sirius,_

_You are innocent of betraying the Potters._

_I can't tell you how I know this, but I do. I also know that you can escape from that hell-hole any time you like, but you think that there's nowhere for you to go, and that you somehow deserve your punishment for suggesting to the Potters that Pettigrew take your place as their Secret-Keeper… Yes, I know that, too._

_I sent this message to tell you that you are not responsible for what happened, Wormtail is…and to tell you that there is a safe place where you can go, and that's with me. If you're thinking that you can't forgive yourself for what happened, it's unnecessary… if you feel you must be forgiven, then I forgive you._

_You ask who am I to forgive you? I'm the only one who can. I am Harry Potter._

_There… you're forgiven. Now get out of that place as soon as you can. Go to the place where Moony used to go when he had his 'furry little problem' and wait there for me. I will check there at midnight every night this week. If you don't show up during that time, I will still check there for you once a week._

_I'm asking you to make it out on your own and let me find you on my own terms… not because I don't trust you, but because of the ignorance of my present guardians…_

_Once you're free, we can get to work on finding that 'rat' who is responsible for making our lives a living hell…only then will you be truly free, and I know exactly where he is hiding._

_Hoping to see you soon,_

_Harry James Potter.'_

As Sirius finished reading the letter, a wet spatter appeared on the parchment, followed by several others. He fell to his knees, grabbed the parchment from the bed, and clutched it tightly to his chest as the tears ran down his face. What the dementors couldn't do in over eight years, a nine-year-old boy did in less than a minute. A moment later, the parchment seemed to dissolve away in his hands, dissipating into a puff of mist.

A fire seemed to light in Sirius' eyes… a spark, an aliveness that hadn't been seen there in many years. He wondered how the boy knew all of those secrets… nobody knew outside of Voldemort, Wormtail, the Potters and himself. He didn't think it was Pettigrew… why would the rat want him out of prison? It was much safer for Peter if he were kept locked away. He had no choice but to trust that it was Harry Potter. This was the first glimmer of hope he had since that fateful day in Godric's Hollow… he wasn't about to give up on it quite yet.

High above, just as quickly as it had arrived, the wispy cloud silently retreated back through the window and disappeared into the gloom.

--

Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 12:48 AM

"He's definitely British… the accent was unmistakable," whispered Jaana hurriedly, "and he knows my name! I have no idea how he found us here… you know we've been very careful…"

"Just stay calm, woman," answered a deep, distant-sounding voice, "Now, you say the boy isn't in the house?"

"I've checked every room. He's not here, but his wand is on his nightstand!"

"Well, just keep the man bound and check around the house again. I'm still working on the Lovegood woman, so it will be a while longer before I can make it there. Just stay calm and I'll come over as soon as I can get things wrapped up here. If there's any problem, go back to the Gables, but make sure you don't do any magic there… it's being monitored by the aurors nowm but it should be safe enough in an emergency."

Harry slowly opened his eyes and found that he was lying on the living room sofa with thick ropes wrapped tightly around him. He was still wearing only a towel wrapped around his midsection, and he could tell he had been there for a while considering how dry he felt. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jaana crouched before the hearth speaking through the floo with Healer Cooley. He opened his mouth to call out to Jaana, but found that he had a silencing spell placed upon him.

Harry did the only thing he could think of. He allowed himself to relax, cleared his mind, and willed himself back to his room. An instant later he faded from sight, leaving the ropes that were binding him behind, as well as the damp towel that was preserving his modesty.

Harry reappeared in his room lying upon his bed. He jumped up and opened his trunk where he found his bag of wrapped goo balls. He hurriedly popped one into his mouth and quickly chewed as he gathered up his wand and a set of his own clothes. He felt his body changing just as he faded from his room.

Harry appeared just beyond the crest of a nearby rocky ridge beyond the stream that ran along their property line. After a hasty, non-verbal finite to cancel the silencing spell, which only took him four tries to finally accomplish, he quickly clothed himself and descended the ridge to the edge of the stream.

Since the summer thaw had swelled the once tiny rivulet and submerged the rocks that usually made a stepping path across the water, he needed to find another way across. Harry pointed his wand at a nearby reed and silently cast an _Engorgio_ upon it. He focused his concentration on the reed until it was about twenty feet tall, and then, with a magical nudge, he pushed the reed so that it fell across the river. Another silent spell later, the reed had changed into a makeshift iron bridge which Harry crossed easily. Once on the other bank, he reversed all of the spells and watched the reed drift lazily downstream.

Harry tucked his wand into his pocket and calmly strode towards the house just as Jaana burst out through the back door of the house.

"Harry!" cried Jaana in a panicked voice as she raced towards him with her wand drawn and scanning the area with wide, wild eyes. She ran up to him and threw her arms around him as she rapidly said, "Are you alright? Where have you been? Did you see a naked man come out of the house?"

"No, I haven't seen anyone," answered Harry, "I was just across the stream… um…"

Harry was going to say that he was practicing his magic, but suddenly remembered that Jaana had mentioned to Healer Cooley that she had seen his wand on his nightstand.

"…I was… just…" Harry still found it difficult to lie to Jaana.

Jaana briefly glanced towards the ridge after seeing the guilty look on Harry's face and breathed a small sigh of relief, "I know… you were waiting to see if Ella Harmansdottir would pass by the road today…"

The guilty look fell from Harry's face, only to be replaced by an expression of shocked disgust. Ella was a slightly older girl who lived a few miles down the road towards Reykjavik. She was short and round, with a mottled, pale complexion, very closely cropped red hair, and the personality of a cornered shrew. He thought that she could easily pass for a boy… in fact, the first few times that he had seen her, he had thought she actually was a boy.

Harry was about to defend himself against the appalling supposition on Jaana's part when she tightly grabbed hold of his arm and said, "… but we have to leave here… now!"

Before Harry could react, he felt that suffocating, squeezing sensation that was so unlike how he normally traveled as they Apparated away.

To where, Harry had no way of knowing.

--

Sunday, July 2nd, 1989 6:03 PM

"I couldn't be sure, 'eadmaster… it looked like it could'a been 'im, but I did'n get close 'nuff ta see 'im clearly b'fore they Apparated away."

An old, gray wizard with an extremely long, equally gray beard, a crooked nose, and a weary look in his light blue eyes leaned tiredly back in his seat and rubbed at the tension in his temples.

"At least the fact that they are magical is a step in the right direction. The information we received from the Icelandic Ministry turned out to be helpful after all. Did you investigate the house after they left?"

"Aye, I did, 'eadmaster," answered the very large man standing before the Headmaster's large desk, "There wasn't much there that told us anythin' we didn' already know… the property is owned by the Figg family, an' a niece o' Arabella's has been staying there. I saw 'er name on a few documents, but we already knew 'er name was Jaana…"

"But was there anything on the boy staying with her?"

"There was one thing… I dunno if it's importan' or anythin', but the girl and some large, dark-skinned fellow came back while I was there an' I had to hide usin' my umbreller… sorry abou' that… but I saw 'er collect a few things, an' one o' them was a book. I just caught the title as she stuffed it away… "The Life o' 'arry James Potter… It's strange tha' she'd go out of her way for a simple book abou' 'arry…"

"Hmmm…" muttered the old wizard, "I never knew there was a book with that particular title, but there are so many of them written about him... The next time you're in Diagon Alley, make a point of visiting Flourish and Blott's. I'd like to see a copy of that book. In the meantime, check back with Arabella and see if there's anything new she's learned about what went on with the Dursleys. There has to be more than what she's been told… and if not, it's high time I took a personal hand in this matter. There has to something more than Harry just 'disappearing' in the middle of the night from St. Mungo's… Merlin knows there's no getting around the magical oath that the Healers take there to keep patient's personal information a secret."

"I'll talk to 'er again, 'eadmaster, but I doubt there'll be anythin' more she'll tell us. 'er niece 'asn't been back to see 'er, an' you know the Dursleys 'ave 'ad their memories erased…"

The old wizard sighed in resignation, "Well, do talk to her again. Maybe there's something that she has remembered since our last chat with her. I have a Floo meeting with Minister Fudge in a few minutes to discuss the monitoring of wizarding households here in Britain. There has been talk of removing the monitors since there's been no sightings of Harry in the country, but I'd like to see the monitors kept active… It's appalling how many pureblood families have been allowing their underage children to practice magic, just to give them a feeling of superiority over those who were raised in…"

Just then, the fireplace in the old Headmaster's office flared up with a bright green flame, and an instant later the head of the wizarding government appeared hovering within the flames in the hearth.

"Dumbledore! Dumbledore!," yelled the disembodied head in a panicked voice, "Are you there?"

The old wizard rose from his chair and approached the fireplace. Crouching down, he addressed Minister Fudge, "Yes Minister, You're a half hour early, but no matter… what can I…"

"I've just received word a moment ago!" exclaimed Fudge, "There's been an escape from Azkaban! It's that scoundrel Black! He's escaped! They were just collecting the trays after the evening meal and found his cell empty!"

The old wizard looked genuinely shocked, and the large, hairy man standing behind him wore an expression that wavered between anger and panic.

"This is bad, Dumbledore!" yelled the Minister, "What are we going to do? What do I tell the people… and the press? Do I keep this under wraps? Oh, this is dreadful!"

"No," replied Dumbledore quickly, "You must inform the public… and I'm afraid that you must let the muggles know, also. You'll need all the help you can get to find him, even from the muggles."

Dumbledore's eyes momentarily shifted to the set of whirling, tinkling, and smoking instruments on a nearby table. For over a year they had lain dormant, but earlier that day they came to life, telling him that Harry Potter was once again in range of their magic, and therefore, probably back in England.

He turned his attention back to the minister and ruefully said, "I'm afraid that the time for inaction has passed, in more ways than one. Contact whoever you need to contact."

Fudge gave an exasperated huff before the floo connection closed and the green flames returned to their normal yellow-orange colour.

Dumbledore turned back to large man and tiredly said, "Get some rest, Hagrid. You've had a busy few days."

Hagrid, still looking distraught, solemnly nodded and left the office. Dumbledore walked back to his desk and sat heavily in his chair.

He knew full well who it was that he sent Hagrid to scout after, just as he had known who it was that caused the alert with the auror squad that investigated the illegal apparition and underage use of magic the Christmas before. Just the fact that even he was having a difficult time tracking the boy was enough for him to allow the young Figg girl to continue to look after him. If it wasn't for Arabella's assurance that her niece, Jaana, could be an adequate guardian for the Boy Who Lived, along with the subsequent disappearance of said boy with him unable to locate the lad for months, he would have been much more intense in the search for the boy after he first disappeared.

He glanced around at the various portraits of former Hogwarts Headmasters and commented, more to himself than to them, "I think it's time that I invited our wayward young 'ex-healer-in-training' for a little chat… that is, if I can find her. She has been a well enough guardian up until this point, but things have just become exponentially more serious."

Most of the portraits nodded in agreement.

--


	15. A Death and a Rebirth

--

_Disclaimer: I own nothing of the 'Harry Potter' universe. I make no money writing this stuff._

_A/N: Here's another karmic chapter where Harry plans one thing, but gets sidetracked into doing something he didn't expect. You are all probably becoming aware that maybe Harry's actions and attitude aren't entirely dictated by him alone. This phenomenon will become even more apparent in future chappies, but for now, just sit back and enjoy! (This is the largest 'main' chapter yet! Well over 4000 words!)_

--

Chapter 15: A Death and a Rebirth

_From __The Life of Harry James Potter__ – Excerpt from Chapter 11: The Fall of Wizarding Britain_

_One of the hardest times for me was just after the destruction of Godric's Hollow at the hands of the Death Eaters. I had mixed feelings about the loss of my ancestral home… it was the place where my parents had lived, but it was also where Ginny and I had lived through our tumultuous marriage. In retrospect, it was probably good to have those memories wiped off the map, but at the time I couldn't quite see it that way._

_I was left homeless and on the run. I had no one to turn to… both Ron and Hermione were dead, as were most of the friends that I had gained since beginning Hogwarts. That was when I happened across the batty old squib, Arabella Figg, sifting through the ruins that were once Diagon Alley along with the other survivors of the Muggle War. Although the Alley was in ruins, it was still hidden from the muggles._

_Arabella was very old, nearly blind, could barely walk, and was in the throes of dementia, but she was coherent enough to lament to me about how she was unable to get to her family home on the Isle of Wight off the southern coast of Great Britain. Nobody but her knew of the existence of the old estate since her last living relative, a niece named Jaana Figg, was murdered years before during the Purity War where the half-bloods, muggleborns, and squibs, along with their families, were being hunted and slaughtered like animals._

_I decided to take her there in hopes of finding a place to recover from the battle at Godric's Hollow. We had to travel overland using muggle transportation because the remaining Death Eaters, who were by then in control of the Ministry's monitors, were tracking and investigating all magical travel._

_We had finally made it to the magnificent mansion, but not even a week after arriving, old Mrs. Figg passed away, leaving me her estate. It proved to be an ideal headquarters for me since it already had many of the standard magic cloaking wards left over from the War of the Sexes and the Purity War. With it's unplottability and remoteness, it has remained entirely unknown by the dark forces, even to this day. At first, I was uncomfortable in the mansion, seeing that it was being haunted by the particularly mischievous ghost of Arabella's niece, and I initially planned on banishing the restless spirit, but her wit and cleverness reminded me so much of Hermione that I never had the heart to even try._

_Fortunately, it didn't take long for me to feel that it was truly my home when she became comfortable with my presence within her domain… after all, I was the great Harry Potter, and she was alive during those years when the wizarding populace was enamored with 'The Boy Who Lived.'_

_I would like you to do a personal favor for me… well, 'us,' really. As you are reading this, Jaana is still alive, living in a small flat in the south of London near her job at St. Mungo's Hospital. When the Death Eaters took over Hogwarts, they seized the records of former students, which made it easier for them to track down the muggleborns and half-bloods that had attended the school. Since Arabella's family seemed prone to produce squibs, they went after them and their ilk with extreme prejudice. Jaana was murdered in her sleep during the winter of what would have been your seventh year at Hogwarts, about when Hermione and I spent months camping out in an enchanted tent in the English countryside. If you cannot stop the Purity War from occurring, warn her about the things to come, if you can. She's a bright girl, and very aware of the bigotry that is rife within the pureblood magical community, even being a pureblood herself. She will believe you, and her life is worth saving._

--

Sunday, July 4th, 1989 7:20 PM

Harry stared out through the small window of the old stable behind The Gables that Jaana and he were hiding in for the past few days. The small stable was just far enough away from the main house to be outside of the Ministry's magical monitors, but even so, they had refrained from using any magic at all… just to be safe.

He watched as the sun slowly made its way down towards the horizon. There was at least another two hours until night fell. Two hours until he would remove another threat from the wizarding world's future. He had tracked down the whereabouts of Walden McNair, a Death Eater who had escaped justice by claiming that the Imperious curse was placed upon him, forcing him to do Voldemort's bidding. He was currently working at the Ministry, of all places, disposing of renegade magical creatures. He was due to perform an execution on a rogue vampire at midnight in Wales… and Harry planned to be there.

He tore his eyes away from the horizon to glance at his guardian who had just begun peacefully sleeping on a pile of straw in one of the nearby stalls. Once he was sure she was fully asleep, he silently walked to the pile of bags and boxes that Jaana and Cooley had taken from their home in Iceland. He quietly opened his trunk, withdrew his wand and a small paper bag, and then closed the lid with a barely audible click.

Harry took another look at the motionless form of Jaana before he turned to look back out through the window, but at the last instant he heard a distant pop of an incoming apparition from the direction of the main house. He quickly tucked the bag into his pocket and silently called for Wynmae, who appeared a moment later in her vaporous form, hovering in front of his face.

"Someone's coming," whispered Harry, "get inside me."

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, drawing the cloud of mist in with his breath. He felt that suffocating sensation that always caused a near panic attack as she entered his body. It felt as if his lungs were frozen into immobility, making it impossible to either inhale or exhale as the odd feeling of icy water flowing through his veins spread to every part of his body. His skin briefly took on a bluish, ashen quality before the feeling faded entirely, leaving only a trace of stiffness in his joints.

Once Harry could breathe again, he walked towards the doorway to the stable with his wand in his hand. He peered out through the doorway, and his grip tightened on his wand as he caught sight of a single figure hastening down the path that lead from the back yard of The Gables. His grip on his wand relaxed and he calmly slipped it into his pocket as he recognized the tall black man approaching the stable.

"Harry!" gasped Cooley as he neared the door, "Where's Jaana?"

"Sleeping," he replied as he emotionlessly pointed to the back of the stable.

Cooley brushed past him and rushed to the rear stalls.

"Jaana, wake up!" said Cooley loudly as he gently shook her shoulder.

"Hmm? What?" mumbled Jaana sleepily before her eyes popped open in alarm and she looked up into Cooley's concerned face, "What's going on? Is the Ministry…"

"You have to come wit me," said Cooley quickly, "It's Serene… she's at St. Mungo's, and…"

Jaana's eyes widened, "Gram? What happened?"

"Your Aunt Arabella found her unconscious at her house. We tink she had a stroke… She's conscious, but she's not doing too good," explained Cooley as Jaana got up and wrapped a cloak around herself, "I figured that you'd want to be dere."

"Of course," said Jaana quickly, but paused and looked at Harry, "We can't leave Harry alone here… can you stay with him?"

"I've got to get back," said Cooley, "We'll just have to bring him along with us."

Cooley walked up to Harry and drew his wand, "This will feel strange, but it won't hurt you."

As Cooley passed his wand over Harry, a rippling wave of magic descended down around him. Harry felt a tingling sensation all down his body, but when it was over, he felt no different.

"Dere," said Cooley with a nod, "Now, try your best to keep your scar covered wit your hair and nobody should recognize you."

Harry instinctively reached up to flatten his hair over his forehead, but froze as his hand passed in front of his face. His eyes traveled from his hand and up his arms, seeing that his skin was a deep chocolate-brown color.

"I would try to pass you off as a visiting nephew or someting, but I know you could never pull off the accent… just try to remain quiet and inconspicuous and nobody should ask questions."

Ten minutes later, Harry found himself sitting alone in a corner booth in the tea room at St. Mungo's Hospital. He was quietly nursing a pumpkin juice and trying to remain as invisible as possible, which wasn't too hard for him to do as he had years of practice while he was with the Dursleys. He was staring down into the opaque orange-coloured liquid when he heard a small voice from right beside him.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" a rather portly, brown-haired boy who looked to be about his own age asked meekly, "all the other booths are full, and you're alone… It's okay if you don't want me here, I just thought…"

"It's alright," said Harry as he glanced around the crowded room, "You can sit here."

"Thanks," said the boy as he slid into the opposite seat.

Harry just stared at his pumpkin juice for several minutes, all the while feeling the eyes of the other boy on him. After a minute, Harry looked up.

"What?" he asked calmly.

"Well," said the other boy cautiously, "I couldn't help but to notice your eyes. Not many black chaps have eyes as green as yours… not that it's a bad thing… it's just uncommon, I suppose... Is your family from the continent?"

"Jamaica," answered Harry shortly, really not wanting to have an extended conversation with the other boy… but the stout lad sitting across from him, while appearing to be a normally shy kid, seemed to be in a talkative mood.

"I'm Neville," said the boy as he reached his hand across the table. Harry could tell by the boy's demeanor that he was purposely trying to appear upbeat to hide the fact that he was somewhat depressed. He wasn't sure how he knew that… he just assumed it was because of Wynmae's presence within him. She could always seem to read others' emotions.

Harry reluctantly took the other boy's hand and shook it as he simply replied, "Harry."

"Are you visiting someone here?" asked Neville.

"Not really," answered Harry in a bored tone, "my uncle is a healer here and was called in for an emergency so he had to bring me along. How about you?"

Harry noticed the brief flash of anguish on the boy's face before he regained his composed expression and answered, "I've just been to visit my mum and dad."

Something clicked in Harry's head. He remembered reading about a Neville in his book… his friend who would destroy what was thought to be Voldemort's last horcrux in the final days of the Purity War. Nagini did indeed turn out to be the sixth horcrux… nobody at that time knew that Voldemort had created a secret, seventh horcrux.

"Your last name is Longbottom, right?" asked Harry casually.

The boy looked at Harry suspiciously for a moment before replying, "Yeah… how did you know?"

Thinking quickly, Harry had only paused for an instant before saying, "As I said, my uncle is a healer here and he has talked about a few of his patients. The Longbottoms are the only husband and wife patients here that I know of… I just assumed that they were your parents."

"Yeah," said Neville as he looked down at the table, clearly buying what Harry had said, "What about you? Are you just visiting your uncle or do you live here in England? What's it like in Jamaica?"

Harry recognized that Neville was trying to steer the subject away from his parents, but something inside him made him ignore the boy's question. Without really knowing why, Harry asked, "Can we go see them?"

Neville seemed quite taken aback by the request and didn't respond immediately. After a long moment, he looked up from the table, "I… I've just been to see them, and…" It looked as though he were about to say one thing, but seemed to immediately change his mind as his eyes met Harry's.

"Sure," said Neville, who immediately looked surprised that he had just agreed to bring this small black boy, this virtual stranger, to see his incapacitated parents.

Harry silently followed behind the boy as he tried to recall what details were written about him in his book. He seemed to remember reading that he was one of the six who enters the ministry the night his godfather would die. He also recalled that Neville himself would die during the War of the Sexes as he helped his older self attempt to find the missing horcrux.

They navigated the halls until they arrived at the long-term care ward. Neville paused and looked unsurely back at Harry before he pushed the door open.

A single healer was at the desk and looked up as the pair entered. She gave Neville a kind smile and said, "Visiting hours are almost over… don't stay too long, okay?"

Neville shyly lowered his head and nodded as he led Harry down the corridor to his parents' ward room. Neville stopped short as he entered the room when he saw a man standing just beside the doorway staring at a flower vase sitting on a nightstand. Harry assumed that it was a gift that Neville had just brought his parents.

"Hello, dad," said Neville softly, "I brought you a visitor."

Neville's father didn't react. He continued to stare blankly at the flowers in the vase.

Harry, however, wasn't looking at the boy's father, but at his mother sleeping in a nearby bed.

"They've both been like this as long as I can remember. The healers say that there's no hope for…"

Neville abruptly went silent as he noticed that Harry was standing beside his mother's bed, leaning down over her face. For a moment, he thought that the strange black boy was going to kiss his mother. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open when the boy actually lowered his head and placed his lips upon his mother's.

--

Harry closed his eyes and placed his lips onto the sleeping woman's mouth. He felt the icy tingling in his throat as Wynmae's essence stretched from inside of him and entered the woman's throat, effectively connecting them together. He briefly wondered why Wynmae compelled him to do what he was doing, but he somehow knew that he had to let her try to help the woman.

Harry suddenly felt as though he had no body, similar to the way he felt when Wynmae had morphed him into her gaseous form. He opened his eyes and was surprised to find that he was standing in what appeared to be a very dark, very large room… so large that he was unable to make out any walls or even a ceiling.

Harry then noticed a figure sitting motionless on the floor a few yards away. In the darkness, it was difficult to determine who this person was, but as he approached the figure he saw that it was the woman who was sleeping in the bed, only much younger. The woman was just sitting naked on the floor with her knees hunched up in front of her and her face buried in her hands

"Mrs. Longbottom?" asked Harry quietly.

The woman visibly stiffened, then slowly pulled her hands from her face and looked up at him.

"Who are you?" the woman said.

"My name is Harry Potter," answered Harry.

The expression on the woman's face dropped, but then a sad, resigned smile creased her lips as she said, "Ah, so I really am dead. Why has it taken so long to come take me? Will you take me to see Frank now?"

"You aren't dead," said Harry calmly, "you're just asleep."

"Of course I'm dead," snapped Alice in a slightly annoyed, matter-of-fact tone, "and so are you. Just before those Death Eaters… killed me, they had said that the Potters… all of the Potters… were killed by… You-Know-Who… just before he disappeared. If you really are Harry Potter, then you're dead."

"I'm not dead," said Harry calmly, "and neither are you. You're in St. Mungo's hospital… and so is your husband."

"I don't understand…" mumbled Alice, "I'm in St. Mungo's? What happened to us?"

"I really don't know," answered Harry, "I'm here with your son, Neville. He brought me to visit you, and I…"

"Neville?" whispered Alice as her brow creased in concentration. After a moment her eyes widened and she jumped to her feet, "Neville! My baby! How could I have forgotten him? Wait… he brought you to see me? How long have I been here?"

"I'm not quite sure, exactly," said Harry, "Maybe about seven or eight years."

"Eight years!" moaned Alice as she sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands again.

Harry heard a sob escape the woman's throat. After a few moments, Alice looked up at Harry and said, "Where are we? I mean, what is this place?"

"The best I can figure is that we're in your mind."

"Well, how do I get out? Which way did you come in?"

Harry looked around at the surrounding darkness and shrugged, "I dunno… Wynmae brought me here."

Before Alice could ask who Wynmae was, Harry called out, "Wynmae? Are you here?"

A tall, pale figure emerged from the darkness behind Alice. Wynmae still sported her snowflake-like wings and her silvery-blonde hair… and, as was usual for her, she was just as naked as Alice was. Harry was surprised to see that she wasn't her normal tiny size, but resembled a fully grown woman.

"I am," Wynmae simply answered in her airy, tinkling voice.

Alice spun around on the floor and saw the beautiful, pixieish woman walking towards her. She gasped when she saw that Wynmae didn't have a stitch of clothing on. She then seemed to come to the realization that she, herself, was equally unadorned with clothing. Alice let out an 'Eep' and immediately covered herself the best that she could with her arms.

Harry was too used to seeing Wynmae's unclothed form to be fazed by either of their nakedness. In fact, he was somewhat amused by Alice's embarrassment.

"Wynmae, can you make Mrs. Longbottom here better again?" asked Harry hopefully, "You always seem to be able to heal me, after all."

"That is reason for being here," answered Wynmae in her usual disaffected tone, "Take the hand of the Longbottom."

Harry walked up to Alice and held his hand out to her. Alice looked at the offered hand, then up into Harry's eyes.

"I'm ready," said Alice as she reached for Harry's hand, "Please take me home."

When Harry took the woman's hand, Wynmae walked up and wrapped her arms around the both of them. Harry saw her wings spread out and fold themselves around the huddled group. Instantly, everything around him became totally dark as the familiar icy chill swelled within him. He couldn't breathe, feeling as if his lungs were frozen solid.

--

Harry was then vaguely aware of a distant, angry voice saying "Hey! What do you think you're doing to my mum?"

Harry opened his eyes and found himself looking into a pair of clear, green-hazel eyes. His lips were still pressed against the lips of the woman lying in the bed, although he couldn't quite fathom why he was kissing her. He jumped back, only to have his shirt roughly grabbed by the boy who made it across the ward in seemingly no time at all.

"Leave my mother alone!" cried Neville as he pushed Harry up against the nearby window.

"Neville?"

Neville froze with his hands still tangled in Harry's shirt. His eyes widened and his grip loosened as he turned to face the voice that sounded grainy and hoarse from disuse.

Alice Longbottom was sitting up in her bed and looking disbelievingly at the two boys.

"I'm pretty sure that you're not my son," said Alice as she nodded at Harry.

Harry happened to notice that she wasn't looking him directly in the eye. He instinctively reached up and flattened down the hair on his forehead when he realized that she was looking at the small portion of his scar that was peeking through his hair.

She just smiled at him and winked before her tearing eyes focused on Neville's as she said, "So, you must be Neville. My, you've gotten so big. Care to give your mum a hug?"

"Mum?" croaked Neville as he released Harry's shirt.

Alice just smiled and held out her arms.

"MUM!" yelled Neville as he launched himself at his mother, "You're talking! You know who I am!"

"Oh, Neville," sobbed Alice as she hugged her boy tightly, "I'm so sorry!"

Harry looked away from the crying mother and son and his eyes drifted to the other man in the room who was still staring blankly at the flower vase, totally oblivious to the moment that was happening just behind him. The feeling that he was getting from within him told him that he had to do for Neville's father what he had done for his mother. He walked up to the man, grabbed hold of the front of his pyjama shirt, and gently pulled down until he was face to face with the nearly catatonic man.

Harry closed his eyes and gently placed his lips upon the older man's. The paralyzing chill once again rose from his aching lungs, through his throat, stretched out through his mouth and down the man's throat.

--

Sunday, July 4th, 1989 9:47 PM

Harry was sitting back in the tea room. He had left the crying and hugging family after Neville's grandmother had arrived a few moments after Frank Longbottom loudly and energetically heralded his return to sanity and his family. Harry thought it strange that the old woman didn't appear to be as happy as he would have expected, although she did join the rest of the family in their group hug just before he left unnoticed.

He had only been back in the tea room for a few minutes before a very morose looking Cooley was leading Jaana through the doorway. Harry stood up from the bench as they approached him. Just by the look on Jaana's face, he knew that her grandmother had just passed away. Her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks were flushed and tear stained, and she was leaning against Cooley as if she would collapse if he let go of her arm.

"Come on, Harry, it's time to go," said Cooley softly.

Harry just nodded and followed the pair out into the hallway. He had the strange notion that he might have been able to help Jaana's grandmother in the same way as he had helped the Longbottoms. He felt a tinge of anger at Wynmae for not giving him that option. He would have much rather saved Jaana from the heartache that she was now enduring than that virtually unknown family… He would have to have a little chat with Wynmae the next time that they were alone.

--

Sunday, July 4th, 1989 9:53 PM

The door to the tea room burst open and a pudgy, brown-haired lad rushed in and nearly knocked over an elderly healer carrying a tray of food.

"You should know better than to run in a hospital, young man!" scolded the healer as she hovered the laden tray a few inches above the floor.

"I'm sorry," panted Neville as he scanned the room, "I need to find… ah, a friend of mine… a skinny black boy with these weird green eyes…"

I noticed him leave a few minutes ago with a healer and a young lady," commented the woman as she straightened out the plates on the levitating tray, "You just missed them."

"Sorry again," said Neville as he turned around and stood in the doorway. He quickly scanned the hall in each direction, but there was nobody there aside from the scurrying healers and shuffling patients.

Neville sighed and began walking back to the Long-Term Care ward. He couldn't believe that it was actually Harry Potter who had healed his parents. He thought that his father was either joking or having a relapse when he mentioned that it was Harry Potter who led him back, but when his mother said the same thing, and mentioned that she saw the lightning bolt shaped scar on the boy's forehead… well, he believed them, but still wanted to see for himself.

If it actually was _the_ Harry Potter, it was big news. It was all over the wizarding press how he had disappeared from his muggle home well over a year before. He then decided that if Harry Potter wanted to remain missing, who was he to squeal on him? He probably had a good reason, and, after all, he had saved his parents. He owed the boy that much.

Neville pushed the door open and sat in a chair as a battalion of healers rushed to and fro, poking and prodding his parents as they sat side by side on a bed… just smiling and holding hands.

--


	16. The Old, New, Old Home

_Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter universe, nor do I receive any compensation for using the characters in these mind droppings I call a story._

_A/N: I know, I know… it's been a long time coming, but finally here's another chapter… one that's taken me months to write, and one that I'm not entirely happy with, but some things needed to be set up, and I couldn't think of a better way to produce it. Things may seem like they're plodding along, but the points in this particular chapter will have an important impact on the rest of the story. I can't make things too obvious now, but you'll see when it all comes together. I also want to thank everyone who has left a review, they're all read and they're all very much appreciated. ^_^ (Word Count= 5191)_

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Chapter 16: The Old, New, Old Home

_From __The Life of Harry James Potter__ – Excerpt from Chapter 8: The Hogwarts Years, Year 6._

_It didn't seem to be helping at all._

_In fact, I had begun to wonder if Snape was purposely trying to weaken my mind in order for Voldemort to have easier access. I knew that he 'almost' had my best interests at heart, although the greasy bastard was absolutely loathe to admit that fact…he knew that he could have taken it easier on me, and not try to 'throw me into the fire' just to prove to me that I wasn't the miracle prodigy that everyone was making me out to be. He knew of the prophesy… he knew the importance of the task laid out before me… who he was trying to prove it to remains a mystery. Perhaps he reveled in telling Dumbledore how pathetic I was, or maybe he had hoped some ghost would float through the dungeon and witness how pathetic I was and spread it throughout the castle… I'll never know._

_However, Snape was right about a lot of things… how I had to 'close my mind,' and 'keep my mouth shut' while casting spells. When I think back on that time, I cringe at how I had involuntarily broadcast my thoughts and intentions, not only while dueling, but in nearly everything I did. I was an open book who had no chance against an experienced opponent. As much as we believed in our childish notion of invulnerability, Hermione, Ron, and I really had no idea what a true fight was like. True, we held our own during the battle in the Department of Mysteries, but we were lucky more than anything else… lucky that none of us were hurt worse than we were. Only Luna had come out of the ordeal completely unscathed… and the worst injury was… well… you know already. That moment in time haunts me to this day…_

_I wish Hogwarts had taught non-verbal spellcasting much earlier…_

_I know it's late in the game by the time you're reading this, but you have to make it a priority to learn non-verbal casting as quickly as you are able, even more so than the half-hearted Occlumancy that you'll be trying to master. The discipline of Occlumancy will come to you more naturally as your mind matures, but non-verbal spellcasting will take patience and practice to master, and a lot of each. Practice every chance you get, even when you don't need to. It will be very frustrating at first, but you'll soon discover that the skill is absolutely indispensable. I wasn't fully skilled in it until after the War of the Sexes, and even then I knew that a lot more lives could have been saved if I had been more proficient in it earlier in my lifetime._

_In the coming year, your relationship with Hermione will become strained, more so than even last year. The reason for this is twofold…Foremost, you will be showing her up in Potions lessons in front of Slughorn, the new Potions Professor, by use of Snape's old potions textbook. She's an extremely proud girl who believes that hard work and doing things 'by the book,' so to speak, is the only way to true success. Resist the use of the shortcuts the book holds while in front of her, but make sure that you learn them. As you'll see, Hermione will easily win the Felix Felicis, but if you blatantly use the shortcuts while she's trying to focus on her own task, she will become agitated and start making mistakes. Trust me when I say that she will know what to do with the potion when the time comes. You must always remember that during these hard times to come, her whole focus will be on your success… if you don't foolishly drive her away as I had nearly done._

_Secondly, and more importantly, your relationship with her will be strained because, at that point in time, she was sure that she was in love with you, and had been getting more and more frustrated with herself and her inability to come to terms with that fact… and with the mixed signals I had been inadvertently sending her. She's a brilliant witch, but in matters of the heart, she's criminally shy. Don't think for a moment that you're the only one who has no idea how love is supposed to work. You must let her know exactly how much she means to you, and do it as soon as possible. Trust me when I say that she will be absolutely indispensable in the coming years in learning non-verbal magic. Use her amazing talents, yes, but make sure to consider her feelings at the same time. She is human, too, and needs to feel love, just like you and everybody else does._

_Now, just remember that non-verbal spellcasting must be your number one priority, and I'll outline a few tricks and exercises here that will make it much easier for both you and Hermione… and don't get frustrated because she picks it up quicker than you do… it's just her 'thing.'_

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Tuesday, July 6th, 1989 7:22 AM

He was walking confidently through the Atrium on the ground level floor of the Ministry of Magic. The various witches and wizards milling around the room turned and bowed respectfully to him as he passed, just as they should to someone in his station. Even the golden figures of the Fountain of Magical Brethren seemed to lower their heads as he passed by.

He stopped at the checkpoint and reached into his robes for his wand, but the wizard there just shook his head and waved him through, quickly saying, "There's no need for that, Minister. Just go on through."

He primly nodded and slid his wand back into his robes as he continued through the golden gates towards the lifts that would bring him to his office.

He entered one of the gilded cages and watched the doors close. He pressed the button for Level One, and with only a slight lurch, the cage began its descent below the streets of London.

It took him a few moments to realize that the lift had bypassed his floor. The cage also began to pick up speed. The pleasant female voice that heralded each floor became a jumbled mix of words and the floors sped by in a blur. He became alarmed when he looked up at the indicator above the door and saw that he had just passed level seventy five.

He was distracted from the odd way the lift was acting when he felt something sharp poking at his ribs. He looked down to see one of the paper airplane memos incessantly poking his side.

"Master must come," the memo said in a rushed, squeaky voice, "The mistress is ill and is not waking up!"

"What? What the…"

He opened his eyes to find himself looking into the face of a panicking house elf.

"Gah!" he yelled as he pushed the elf from his bed and onto the floor, "What do you think you're doing, waking me up like that!"

The elf would normally be cowering on the floor and groveling for forgiveness, so he was quite concerned when the elf just jumped up again and began bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

"The Mistress, Master… the Mistress is in the den and is not waking up!" cried the elf.

He scowled at the little creature before he sighed heavily and looked at the clock on his nightstand, "Of course she's not waking up… she got drunk again, just like she does every night. She won't be up until noon, at least."

"But Master," cried the elf as he nervously pulled downwards on his long ears, "the Mistress is not waking… and has turned blue…"

It took a moment for that statement to register in his sleep-fogged brain. Even at his young age, he knew that turning blue wasn't a good thing. Not a good thing at all.

Suddenly, he felt his own panic rise as he threw the covers off of himself and raced for the door. He ran through the hallway to the wide, marble staircase that led down to the main floor. He made his way across the expansive receiving hall in seconds flat and threw open the door to the study. What he saw in the room made him freeze in his tracks.

There, sprawled on the sofa next to the fireplace, was his mother. Her soiled blonde hair was matted to her face by the dried vomit that had covered that end of the sofa and had pooled on the floor. Her arm was hanging limply to the floor, with a near-empty bottle of sugarbrandy still clutched in her pale blue hand.

"Mother?" he asked, hoping that he was wrong. Her dull, unmoving eyes were wide open. There was no rise and fall of her chest. Tears began to well in his eyes.

"MUM!" he yelled as he ran across the room and threw himself upon his mother. A gasp escaped him as he felt the unyielding stiffness and the icy chill of the body beneath him. The smell of stale liquor, vomit, and fecal matter almost made him lurch as he cried, "No! Mum! Not you, too!"

The house elf stood to the side of the sofa watching his young master wail and scream. Even with all the beatings and punishments that had been inflicted upon him throughout the years that he had served the family, he still felt a pang of sympathy for the young master. He wasn't sure of what to do for the boy, or even who to contact. He only knew of one relative of the boy, his mother's sister, but the family had been out of contact with each other for many years as the boy's aunt had been disowned and expelled from the family line.

Still… she was his last living relative… well, one that wasn't in prison, of course…

The elf tore his eyes away from his anguished master as he stepped over to the fireplace. The elf grabbed a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the hearth. The flames flared green as the connection to the floo network was initiated. He briefly glanced over his shoulder at Draco, the newest orphan in the wizarding world, before he turned back to the fire and called out, "Andromeda Tonks!"

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Wednesday, July 7th, 1989 12:22 AM

Even though the room was nearly pitch dark, from his position on the bed he could just make out the dim, twinkling reflected light from Jaana's blankly staring eyes. He had been waiting for her to fall asleep for over two hours. He needed to check on the Shrieking Shack to see if Sirius was there, but his guardian's insomnia was putting a crimp into that particular plan.

He had tried to make an appearance at the Shack as often as he could since Wynmae had delivered his letter, but it was difficult now that they were living in Jaana's grandparent's mansion. Although the mansion was huge, they had cloistered themselves in the master bedroom until Jaana and Cooley could determine if the protections in place around the estate were going to be sufficient to effectively hide them. Until they were sure, they had refrained from doing any magic at all, which was clearly wearing on Jaana's nerves. Even Harry was getting anxious to start practicing magic again.

With a quiet, frustrated sigh, Harry rose from his bed and walked across the room.

"Where are you going?" said Jaana quietly from her own bed.

"The loo," replied Harry, trying to sound sleepy.

Harry felt his guardian's eyes on him as he closed the door to the bathroom. He strained to use the toilet, just barely managing to force out a stream loud enough for Jaana to hear. At the same time he was mentally calling for Wynmae.

He had just finished up when a wispy form solidified into the tiny, sprite-like creature. Harry ran the water in the sink and then quietly said to Wynmae, "Listen, I need you to go to the shack where Sirius Black is supposed to meet me."

Harry wasn't surprised to see the look of fear that appeared on Wynmae's normally cheerful and carefree face.

"What's the matter?" asked Harry concernedly, "You've been there before for me."

Wynmae stared back at Harry with her unblinking, pupil-less eyes, motionless except for the slow fluttering of her white wings. Every time she had gone there for him, he had to practically beg her to go. After an uncomfortable moment where the little creature looked absolutely unwilling to comply, she just let out a puff of a sigh and said in a decidedly less than cheerful voice, "Wynmae will go."

"It'll be okay," reassured Harry, even though he had no idea what was causing her apparent distress, "just see if he's there and come right back. I'll make sure that the coldbox is still cracked open for you when you're done."

Harry quickly wet his hands, turned off the water, and dried them by rubbing them on his pyjama legs as Wynmae resumed her vaporous form and flowed out under the closed door. He opened the bathroom door and let out a gasp of surprise when he saw that Jaana was standing just outside.

Fearing that she had heard him whispering to Wynmae, or worse yet, had actually noticed her leaving the bathroom, Harry was about to stammer out an excuse but his thoughts were interrupted when Jaana spoke first.

"Come on, get out of there!" said Jaana sleepily, "I heard the water running, and now I have to… well…"

Harry had to stifle the sigh of relief that threatened to escape him. He just nodded and stepped past her as Jaana rushed into the newly vacated loo.

As the door closed, Harry stepped out of the bedroom into the wide hallway, making a point to avoid meeting the glances of the numerous magical paintings that lined the walls as he made his way down to the kitchen.

The old Victorian-style mansion they were now occupying, although relatively well-kept, had an ancient, depressing feel to it. It had been solely occupied by Jaana's grandmother for many decades, and even before the old witch's husband had died, the house hadn't seen many youngsters for nearly two generations. Serene Figg was ashamed of the unusually large number of squibs in her family, and didn't seem to tolerate the youthful exuberance of children in general, even the magical children in the family, although the old lady obviously had a soft spot for Jaana, seeing that she left her entire estate to her and virtually ignoring her own squib daughter, Arabella.

Harry arrived in the kitchen and fixed himself a quick snack of crackers and cheese, and at the same time he made sure to keep his promise to Wynmae and cracked the door open to the coldbox so that she could assume her preferred resting state… a layer of frost on the inside of it.

Harry had just made it to the bottom of the stairs when he saw Jaana appear at the top and looking very flustered.

"What do you think you're doing?" said Jaana in a hissing whisper, "Get up here now!"

Harry held up the plate of food as he slowly climbed the stairs and said simply, "I was hungry."

Recently, it appeared that she didn't want to let him out of her sight, which was putting quite the strain on his numerous plans. She had been becoming increasingly more manic as the days passed. On top of his being unable to check the Shrieking Shack as often as he said he would and his failure to keep his promise to return to visit that Luna girl, he had yet to make another attempt to capture Pettigrew… not to mention that he had entirely given up on trying to kindle a friendship with that Hermione girl… he had certainly botched that particular mission, but good.

Harry turned on the landing and began walking up the stairs when he heard the flapping of wings coming from the hallway above him. A Great Horned owl appeared at the head of the staircase and swooped past him to land on Jaana's outstretched arm. Harry paused to watch as Jaana removed the small note from the owl's leg.

"It's Ray," said Jaana as she read the note, "He's at the gate. I'll go let him in… and _you_ go back to bed!"

Harry climbed the stairs as Jaana walked across the main hall on her way to the front door. He walked to their room and set the plate on his nightstand. He then crossed the hall to the darkened bedroom opposite theirs and made his way to the bay window which had a wide, panoramic view of the front property of the mansion.

Harry watched Jaana through the window as she hurried down the paved drive while pulling on a dark hooded cloak. He could just make out a figure standing in the distance beyond the large, wrought iron gates.

When Jaana opened the gate, the figure quickly slipped in through the opening. Rather than coming up to the house, the pair began conversing there at the gate.

Curiosity got the best of Harry. He hurried into his room, pulled out a black hooded robe from his cupboard and quickly slipped it on. He rushed back to the window and, as soon as he was completely covered with the robe, he relaxed himself and concentrated on the top of one of the stone pillars that supported the massive front gates. An instant later, he Shifted out from the bedroom and silently appeared on the shadowed top of the right-hand pillar, arriving just a few moments after their conversation had started.

"…nothing to worry about. The wards seem to be just as strong as ever," said Cooley in his deep, Jamaican accent, "I know I'm no expert, but I know enough to say that magic is pretty much undetectable here, and the muggles I tried to bring from the village up north couldn't get within a mile of this place before they made up some excuse to leave. There's not an anti-Apparition ward in place like dere is at the Gables, but I don' tink that will be a problem as long as you keep this place secret."

Jaana sighed audibly, and then asked, "Did the Confundus work as it's supposed to?"

"Almost too well," laughed Cooley, "I had to keep reading this wretched note just to find the gate again. It's a good thing that owls aren't affected, or I'd have been standing at dis gate waiting for you to notice me."

Jaana nodded and gave Cooley a wan smile, "Thanks again. That's a load off my mind."

"But dere's something else that's botherin' you, isn't dere…?"

Jaana sighed and looked at the ground, "Its Harry…"

After a long, silent pause, Cooley prompted, "Well?"

"Well… I really don't know. I mean, he's doing okay with his studies, and he seems well enough physically, but… there's definitely something wrong," said Jaana distractedly, "I know that what he's been through with his relatives wasn't easy, but I think it's affected him more than we know. He's been so quiet and secretive… he never plays or laughs… I can't remember the last time I've seen him smile… I mean _really_ smile."

This statement from Jaana took Harry somewhat by surprise. He didn't think he was acting different than usual. Sure, he had a lot on his plate, and maybe he really didn't have that much to smile about, given his recent frustration with his inability to go forward with his plans, but he surely wasn't this stiff, brooding Emo-child that Jaana was making him out to be… was he? And as far as being secretive went… well, she had a point there, but his reasons for that were many. It wasn't as though he thought he was doing anything wrong, but he was afraid that she would try to stop him if she knew the entirety of what he was up to… and that wasn't an option.

"Do you want me t' have a look at him?" asked Cooley concernedly, "Maybe he's got a touch of the Wizard's Flu or sumtin'."

Jaana had a sad, far-away look in her eyes as she absently commented, "No, he's fine… it's more about what he has to do…"

Cooley's eyebrows rose as he asked, "And what, pray tell, does the child have t' do?"

Jaana's gaze slowly focused on Cooley's face, and after a heartbeat her eyes widened as she realized what she had said aloud. Although she had told Cooley about his training, and some of the things in Harry's book about the boy's past, she had never breathed a word about the revelations of the future it contained and what was expected of him.

Thinking fast, and hoping she could sound convincing, she said, "Well, he'll be ten soon, and getting his Hogwarts letter. Can you imagine what it's going to be like for him going to school after being 'missing' for so long?"

Cooley gave Jaana a pointed look that made it clear that he knew she meant something else entirely. After a few moments, he just shook his head and said, "I won't be prying, but I've known dere's been tings you haven't been telling me… Harry's not the only one that's changed over the last few years. It's been a while since I've seen that smile of yours, too."

"Ray, I really can't…"

"Not to worry, Jaana," said Cooley in an understanding tone, "As I said, I won't be prying… just know that if tings get out of hand, you can always call on me."

Jaana gave him a half-hearted smile and simply said, "Thanks."

Cooley pulled a scrap of parchment out of his pocket and began scribbling something down as he said, "Now, after I walk out that gate, I'm not going to remember being here. Dis note to myself will tell me where I am and why I was here. Make sure you tell Harry about the Confundus… if he wanders off the property, he won't be able to get back in easily, if at all… Remember, the only safe way in or out of here is Apparition, portkey or by broomstick by way of the sea, and dis gate, of course, but it can't be opened from the outside by anyone other than you and Harry, assuming you've tuned the wards to him."

"I've already added him, and I'll make sure he understands," said Jaana as she opened the gate, "and thanks again for everything… I'll make it up to you someday."

"No worries… just keep in touch, and let me know if there's anyting else I can do."

Jaana watched as Cooley stepped out through the gate. Almost immediately, Cooley stopped in his tracks and looked around in confusion. He didn't seem to notice the gate, the house, or even the young woman just a few feet away from him. He looked down and noticed the parchment in his hand. After briefly scanning the page, he smiled and turned towards the house. With a wave in Jaana's general direction, he Apparated away with a sharp snap.

After Jaana closed the gate, she began walking back to the house. Harry silently Shifted himself back to his room and quickly put away his robe. He grabbed the plate of food from his nightstand, picked up his wand, and vanished about half of the contents of the plate. Just after he tucked away his wand and stuffed a cracker into his mouth, Jaana entered the room.

"Well, I'm glad that you saved a few for me," said Jaana as she picked up a cracker and a hunk of cheese and popped them into her mouth.

"Hey, go make your own!" said Harry with a spray of cracker crumbs as he playfully slapped her hand away when she reached for another piece.

A flash of hurt appeared on Jaana's face, but it only lasted a moment before it morphed into a look of suspicion when she saw the smile that Harry wore.

'_Rats,'_ Harry thought to himself, _'I've got to be more careful…'_

"I was just kidding," said Harry as he purposely let the smile on his face falter and sliding back into a more subdued demeanor, "You can have the rest… I'm about done anyway."

Jaana looked critically at Harry for more than a few moments. After an uncomfortable pause, she seemed to shrug off Harry's rather abrupt change in habitual demeanor.

"That's okay, I just… well, never mind," said Jaana as she threw her cloak over the back of a chair and took the plate from Harry.

Harry settled back into his pillow, thankful that he had just managed to dodge what could have been an ugly situation… he still found it very difficult to lie to Jaana convincingly.

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Wednesday, July 7th, 1989 4:07 AM

Harry must have dozed off, because he was startled out of his sleep by a most unladylike snore emanating from his guardian in the bed across the room. He heard the steady, rhythmic breathing coming from his guardian telling him that she had finally fallen asleep. With a glance at the illuminated timepiece next to Jaana's bed, he saw that it was already after four o'clock… over three hours since he sent Wynmae on her mission. He figured that the little sprite should return at any minute.

Harry lay awake in the darkness for what seemed like an hour until he felt a chill run along his skin telling him that Wynmae was finally close by. Being careful not to make a sound, he rose from his bed and made his way out of the bedroom and across the hallway into the opposite bedroom.

As soon as the door had closed, Wynmae's form coalesced from a previously unseen cloud of thin vapor.

"Well?" asked Harry excitedly, "Was Sirius Black there?"

"No," replied Wynmae in an annoyed tone, "and Wynmae will not go back."

Harry sighed in disappointment and said, "What's the matter? Every time you go there, you get all jittery… even though you say nobody is there. The place really isn't haunted, you know… it's just a story to keep people away from it."

"No ghost is there… Wynmae is scared of the snap-and-bite," said Wynmae with a shudder, "always jumping and snapping at poor Wynmae… chasing and barking…"

"What?" exclaimed Harry much louder than he should have. He nervously looked at the door and waited a few moments. When Jaana didn't come busting out into the hallway, he turned back to Wynmae and said, "A snap-and-bite? Do you mean a dog?"

"Wynmae nodded her head emphatically as she said, "Yes! Big and black and fast and scary… always biting, always snapping at poor Wynmae…"

"Sirius!" hissed Harry, "Has the 'snap-and-bite' always been there?"

Again, Wynmae nodded, "Yes! Always barking and chasing, scaring poor Wyn…"

Harry quickly and quietly went back into his bedroom to get his wand and backpack, and then made his way down to the first floor of the mansion with Wynmae fluttering closely behind. As soon as they entered the kitchen, Wynmae let out a high pitched 'squee' and made a bee line for the coldbox that Harry had left open for her.

Harry, too, made a bee line for the coldbox and opened the door to see that Wynmae had already assumed her frosty form along the inside.

"Hmmm," said Harry to himself as he rummaged around the sparse items, "There's not much here. He's going to have to make due with some bread and cheese until Jaana can go shopping again."

Harry stuffed few food items into his backpack as he said to the inside of the coldbox, "Wynmae, do you want to come along with…"

Harry smiled as the door to the coldbox slammed shut before he could finish the sentence, "I guess not."

Harry gripped his backpack tightly as he closed his eyes and relaxed, allowing himself to silently Shift out of the kitchen, reappearing a moment later in the dark, dirty kitchen of the Shrieking Shack.

"Mister Black?" Harry called out hopefully, but was only met with silence.

Harry spent nearly ten minutes searching the shack, following the large paw prints that marred the thick layer of dust that covered the floors. He even checked the trap door that led to the tunnel onto the Hogwarts grounds, but found that the dust around it was completely undisturbed. He did, however, find a broken area in the den's wooden paneling that led to the outside and saw that there was and abundance of paw prints next to the dog-sized hole, telling him that Sirius had already left to find safer shelter elsewhere for the day.

Harry placed the bundle of food near the opening, hoping that Sirius would return the following night and would know that he had been there. With one last glance around the dreary room, Harry closed his eyes and silently vanished.

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Wednesday, July 7th, 1989 5:09 AM

A large, black dog squeezed his way through the tight opening into the Shrieking Shack. Once inside, the dog froze and carefully sniffed the stagnant air. He then seemed to notice the package lying near the entrance. He walked over to the bundle and gave it cautious sniff. A smile seemed to cross the dog's lips as he spit out the dead rat that had been held tightly in his jaws. A moment later, the bundle had been torn open and the dog was noisily chewing down its contents.

Once the meager meal had been consumed, the dog carefully meandered around the building. He was searching for that annoying little pixie… or whatever it was. He didn't trust the little imp… his canine senses didn't detect any evil or malice from the diminutive creature, but he certainly didn't detect any benevolence from it, either.

Once he was sure he was alone in the shack, he curled up upon a broken down bed on the second floor and closed his eyes… the package of food was a good sign… maybe tomorrow he'd finally meet his godson.

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	17. Home Sweet Home?

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Harry Potter universe, nor do I make any money playing with the characters. This is presented solely for the enjoyment of myself and any others who are unfortunate enough to stumble across my literary dribbling._

_A/N: This chapter doesn't have much to say, other than describing Harry's current thought processes, as well as the general layout of the Figg Mansion. This just came to me as I was writing my notes on what was in the house, and instead of scrapping the whole thing, I figured I'd post it as a chapter, seeing as I'd written this in a few short days and it could be interesting to you readers. I've seen in reviews that people are thinking that he's acting much too mature for his age, but there's a reason for that which will become apparent in future chapters. Still, there's a bit of a surprise at the end… (Yes, I know… another cliffie…) Can you guess what has him so spooked? (Word Count: 4703)_

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Chapter 17: Home Sweet Home?

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_From __The Life of Harry James Potter__ – Excerpt from Chapter 163: Essential Protections – Time Dilation and Intra-dimensional Phasing_

_This new iteration of Death Eaters had begun using Time Dilation against us to devastating effect. We had no defense against it until Hermione developed the phasing technique to offset the new spells they had developed. The Dilation spell was incredibly quick and easy to cast, and we were lucky enough to capture a very young DE who we 'persuaded' to share the spell with us. The simple incantation of 'Tempi,' a slight jab of the wand, and the imposition of the third degree of will was all it took. No shield could stop it, and the only thing that could end the effect is the willingness of the caster… or the death of him._

_When we encountered the spell during the Siege of Bristol Abbey, Malfoy Sr. and a handful of DE's took out an entire squad of the Ministry's best Hit Wizards. Neville and Susan were lucky enough to escape with their lives after witnessing the spell's effectiveness from a distance. At first, they had no idea what was going on when the Hit Wizards first entered the Abbey. From Neville's point of view, the members of the squad just seemed to freeze in place. They then saw a barrage of spellfire burst from within the building, slaughtering the nearly immobile wizards with ease. Susan was the one who noticed that the spells would dramatically slow down the instant before impacting the victims._

_They had managed to capture a DE when one apparated in directly in front of Neville. The young man had obviously just returned from a supply-gathering mission and had no idea that a battle was taking place, as he had his arms full of bags and packages. He had no chance at all of defending himself as Neville stunned, bound, and portkeyed the surprised young man to a holding cell. The spell's properties were discovered during the interrogation of the prisoner. Although Neville and Susan worked for the ministry, they were still members of my little band of vigilantes and reported everything they had learned to Hermione and me._

_When Hermione heard about the spell during their debriefing to the gathering of my closest comrades, she jumped up, screamed out in rage and instantly cast a stun wave around the room, incapacitating everyone present, including myself._

_When she brought me back to consciousness, she apologized and explained that what Neville and Susan had described was a spell that she, herself, had been recently developing and was very close to completing… a time-stop spell. I instantly recognized the implication… we had a mole in our midst._

_The idea that one of us was a spy for the Death Eaters really shook us. It was horrible not knowing who could or could not be trusted. It took a few days, but we discovered the mole. It was really a mole… an unregistered animagus who took the form of a mole. He had somehow discovered our research facility and tunneled underneath the building where he had come up through the floor in a corner behind a large filing chest. He could hear everything that was discussed in Hermione's lab and reported everything back to Malfoy._

_It was much later that Hermione confided in me that she had almost slapped her own forehead when she learned how simple it was to cast the Dilation spell… she was so sure that it was much more complex than it actually turned out to be._

_Still, we had a major problem on our hands… both sides could now encase the other in a time-shifted bubble. The outcome of subsequent battles became dependent upon who had cast first… after that it became nothing more than wholesale slaughter._

_Soon after, Hermione developed a way to counteract the Dilation… a simple rune-bind to an object worn on your person. The item would put the wearer slightly out-of-phase in the temporal dimension, or that's how Hermione described it to me… I still don't understand the mechanics of it, but it worked. It made the Time Dilation spell completely ineffective against anyone possessing a rune-bound item. It also has the power to cancel out the effects of Time-Turners, and really any other types of time manipulation… including the Impediment Jinx, the Feather-fall Charm, and the like._

_In the course of her research, Hermione discovered an odd side-effect of wearing the Phaser, as we had come to call it. If the wearer used the same movement technique as used in Shifting, it would make the wearer slightly out of phase with the physical dimension. To put it simply, it made the wearer incorporeal. Quite a handy thing, being able to phase through solid walls as if walking through a doorway. We also discovered that, with practice, we could phase through floors and ceilings, and actually float along much like a ghost. You wouldn't become invisible, but your person would take on a slightly pearly sheen._

_The only problem was the duration… the phased state would only last a few seconds… something to do with the inherent limits of the rune-bind. You would have to be very careful not to 'rematerialize,' as it were, while inside of a foreign object… that would be a bad thing._

_Still, having a Phase-Rune on your person wouldn't be a bad thing, and here's how to make one…_

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Wednesday, July 7th, 1989 11:38 AM

Harry sat at the breakfast table as Jaana stood at the stove preparing their first meal of the day. He watched as she carried two plates to the table and set one down in front of him. He looked down at the small portion of scrambled eggs, one slice of bacon, and a piece of dry toast.

Jaana must have noticed his expression and said, "I'm sorry, but it's all we have… the larder is nearly empty. I'm going into Ventnor after breakfast to stock up. We'll have a big lunch this afternoon to make up for this snack."

Harry nodded as he began picking at the meager portions on his plate.

"When I get back, I'm going to work on getting the house in order. I'm not sure what Gran has stored around here, so if you go exploring I want you to be careful. I'm sure there's nothing dark here, but you never know what could be dangerous with so many old artifacts about."

Harry looked up from his plate and asked, "When will we be able to start practicing magic again? Did Mister Cooley say anything when he was here?"

"It appears that we can start practicing again any time we like, but I think getting this house in order should be our first priority. Hopefully, we'll be here a while… I'm not keen on moving again any time soon."

Harry nodded as he finished his last bite of toast. He picked up his plate and walked to the sink where he began washing it.

"Just leave that for me, Harry," said Jaana as she ate, "Why don't you go pick a bedroom for yourself and start unpacking."

"Okay," said Harry as he turned off the water and left the kitchen.

Harry picked out one of the smaller bedrooms in the east wing near the grand staircases that led down to the first floor. Even though the room was small compared to the other bedrooms on the floor, it was substantially larger than any room he had stayed in to date. There was a private loo through the door off to the right, a large, walk-in clothes cupboard through the door on the left, and a set of French-style double doors straight ahead that opened to a wide, sheltered balcony that overlooked the expansive back garden and the pristine looking beach beyond. He was surprised to find that the walls in the room were adorned with rich, brown and tan silk cloth instead of the paint or wallpaper he expected to find, and the mahogany wood trim around the walls, windows, and doors were left their natural dark hue instead of being painted or varnished. It was obvious that the room had been unoccupied for many years by the layer of dust that coated all of the furniture in the room. It was readily apparent that the Figg family had not owned a house elf in many a year, if ever at all.

Harry spent about an hour cleaning and unpacking all of his belongings and storing them in the many dressers and shelves around the room. Between his previous birthday and Christmas gifts, and the many shopping trips to Reykjavik where he had accompanied Jaana, the number of said belongings was substantial. His clothes cupboard was near capacity, and the rest of his personal clothing had easily filled the both of the dressers and the armoire. He almost didn't have enough room in his room for all of his toys and things, and the thought of using the room next door to his as a sort of 'play room' had briefly crossed his mind, but the image of his Cousin Dudley's 'second bedroom' flashed into his conscience and mercilessly drove that thought out of his head.

Still, after he had finished setting all of his stuff up, the room looked extremely cluttered. The desk in the corner of the room had numerous books stacked upon it, the overflow from the bookcase that was filled to capacity next to the desk. He had set his telescope up outside on the balcony where he had an unimpeded view of the southern sky. The town of Ventnor was quite a few miles to the north, so there was minimal light pollution from the homes, businesses and streetlamps to wash out the night sky. With the warmer, moister air of southern England, the viewing wouldn't be quite as good as it had been back in the crisp, clear air of Iceland, but it was certainly good enough, and he was anxious to be able to see some of the more southern constellations than he had been able to when he was up near the Arctic Circle.

The only important thing Harry had left to set up was his potions lab. He looked critically at the stack of boxes that held his potion supplies, and then scanned the room in a vain attempt to find space to set it up. He sighed to himself as he came to the conclusion that he just might have to use a second bedroom to set up his lab.

Just then, Harry heard Jaana's voice wafting up the stairs from the receiving hall, "Harry, I'm heading into town to do some shopping, do you want to come along?"

Harry stuck his head out of the doorway and called down, "No, I still have some setting up to do… maybe next time."

"Is there anything that you want me to pick up for you?"

Harry thought for a moment before answering, "I don't think so… I can't think of anything off-hand."

"Alright, then, I'll be back in a few hours, at the most. Remember what I said before, be careful."

"I will," Harry answered as he waved down the stairs and watched Jaana wave back at him before she disappeared with a slight snap.

Harry turned back around and looked critically at his still packed up potions supplies and came to the conclusion that his bedroom perhaps wasn't the best place to set up a lab, something his nine-year-old mind thought was perfectly reasonable a few minutes before. It would be smelly and noisy, and if an accident were to happen… well, an empty room far away would certainly be a wiser choice.

He stepped out into the hallway and looked around, trying to decide where the best place to set up the lab. He still hadn't even seen what was in most of the rooms of this gigantic house, and he thought that perhaps there was already some sort of area set aside for potion making somewhere… it was a magical home, after all. Harry's eyes drifted upwards as he thought about where to start looking.

'Start at the top and work my way down,' he thought to himself as he walked to the far end of the east-wing hall where another staircase led up to the third floor, an area of the house he had not yet visited.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he was surprised to find that the long hallway there spanned the entire length of the house, stretching all the way to the end of the west wing. On his right there was a long line of equally spaced doors, and on his left there was a long line of large, equally spaced, white-framed windows that brightly lit the length of the hallway.

He looked out through the first window that he came to and saw the expanse of flat roof that overlooked the southern area of the estate. The outside floor was paved with large, black tiles that had a glassy look to them, and he thought that they could be made of either obsidian, or perhaps a polished black marble. The roof had a series of large pots that held a variety of exotic plants and trees, all in varying states of neglect. He thought that this place could have really used a house elf while Jaana's grandmother was alive. Even with magic, an elderly lady would be hard pressed to keep this massive estate in order by herself.

Further down the hall, he noticed a set of large glass doors that provided access to that area of the roof. He stepped out into the early afternoon sunshine and walked to the white, wooden railing that edged the roof, taking in the breathtaking view before him.

Harry looked down over the ill-kept gardens just below him, and saw that the massive fountain in the middle was only trickling weakly. Moss and mildew seemed to line the intricately carved marble basins, showing more than a few years of neglect. He briefly wondered if the water in the fountain was provided by magic or an underground piping system. He thought that it would look magnificent if it was cleaned up and the water had been flowing properly.

His eyes then drifted up over the wide, green lawn that began at the wall that lined the property to the left and stretched to the thick, wooded area on his right. Beyond the green, but somewhat overgrown lawn was the estate's private beach, complete with a lifeguard tower, a massive gazebo that looked as if it could hold well over fifty people, and a long dock that reached out about a hundred feet into the ocean, all painted a brilliant white. Bobbing in the water about twenty yards from the shore was a large floating platform that had a tall diving tower erected with three boards at differing heights that extended over the water.

A short distance away from the sandy shoreline was a small beach house that had outdoor shower stalls and a set of private loos that were there for the comfort of the beach-goers. Jaana had mentioned that the inside of that house held a small living area, a kitchenette, and a pair of small bedrooms that was used to house the groundskeepers, when there were groundskeepers employed here, that is.

He remained looking out over the Atlantic Ocean for a few minutes, watching a few ships in the distance churning by and wondered if the people on those ships could even see the property or if it was somehow magically hidden from view.

Harry turned and looked at the upper area of the house. There appeared to be another smaller floor above the north set of rooms inside, and in the middle of the roof above the glass doors was a Widow's Watch, a small, circular room surrounded by windows that would normally overlook a harbor. He thought that maybe a harbor further down the shore would be visible from that vantage point. He made a mental note to check it out.

Harry walked back into the hallway and began checking the rooms beyond the score of doors. The first few rooms were relatively empty, apparently used for storage of unused furniture and the like.

The third door that he came to opened into a large conservatory. In the dim light from the doorway, he could see that there was an array of musical instruments set up on stands along the far wall, and a grand piano set up in the middle of a raised platform. Several rows of seating rested between the platform and the door, and there was an old wet bar along the left hand wall, complete with comfortable looking stools. Along the right wall were two doors that he presumed led to a pair of bathrooms.

As soon as Harry stepped through the doorway, the chandelier in the middle of the room ignited, casting a yellowish-red glow throughout the room. Sconces along the walls also lit up, as well as the candelabra that sat upon the piano.

Suddenly, all of the various instruments rose from their stands and began playing some sort of tune. It probably would have been a beautiful melody if it weren't for the fact that nearly all of the stringed instruments were either out of tune, or had strings missing altogether. Even the piano sounded as if a cat was walking along the keys. When Harry turned and stepped out of the room, the music abruptly stopped and the instruments settled back into their respective stands.

He sighed in relief as he shut the door and made his way to the next room. There he found a comfortable looking study, two of its walls lined with bookshelves, along with a large reading desk that sat to his right. Straight ahead was a bay window that looked out over the front of the property. The recessed area in front of the window was lined with comfortable silk cushions that made a nice little reading nook for anyone who was so inclined.

He noticed a door on the right wall, beyond which he found a small private loo with just a toilet and a sink. Along the left wall, separating the set of bookcases was another door. Harry thought that it must have led to some sort of a storage cupboard, but when he opened it, his mouth dropped open in awe. In the room beyond was an expansive library whose shelves were teeming with an incredibly vast variety of books. From what he could tell, it easily encompassed the middle third of that floor of the mansion. The shelves that spanned every wall ran from the floor to the ceiling, and tall ladders on runners provided access to the upper shelves. Throughout the room more free-standing shelves that created aisles from wall to wall, and in the very center of the room were a set of four long tables, each with piles of books stacked upon them.

Now, Harry wasn't a huge recreational reader, but the sheer volume of tomes stored in this room told him that he would never be lacking for reading material… probably for as long as he lived.

Harry made his way to the tables in the middle of the room and lazily scanned the books that were laid out there, assuming that they were put there in the first place because they were interesting to the last person there. After a brief inspection, he found that most of them were history books, and very old history books at that, as most of them were handwritten, and their yellowed pages were very dry and fragile.

One particular book caught his eye. It seemed newer than the rest of the dusty tomes, but when he opened it, he discovered that it was a hand written journal of one of Jaana's great ancestors that appeared to have been penned well over two hundred years before, judging by the dates on the entries.

He leafed through the journal, stopping at a few entries that gave him unique insights of what wizarding life was like centuries before. He was about to close the book and drop it back onto the dusty tabletop when a particular entry caught his eye. As he read, he found that the author had a secret study set up off of the wine cellar in the basement that he used to get away from his wife during her 'particularly naggy times of the month.' The author's private hideaway was discovered by said wife during one of those 'naggy times,' whatever that meant, and he lamented how he thought his secret den was a particularly clever bit of spellwork, how it was cleverly hidden behind a large, old cask of decidedly foul tasting wine, and wondered how she knew to tap her wand against the off-coloured stone in the wall behind it to open the door.

Harry nodded to himself… perhaps he had discovered the perfect place to set up his lab.

He placed the book back onto the table and walked through the library's main door and into the hallway. The next door he came to was locked. He stooped to look through the keyhole below the knob and saw with the small amount of daylight from the crack under the door that there was a stairway leading up to what he assumed was the attic, or possibly the entrance to the widow's watch he had seen earlier. He rattled the doorknob again, then shrugged and moved on… he'd have Jaana open it up for him later.

The next room down was an art studio, of sorts. There were rolls of raw canvas, stacks of canvas frames, several empty easels, and a set of shelves that held a wide variety of paints and brushes. In one corner was a stack of heavy marble blocks and a sturdy looking oaken table laden with an assortment of chisels and mallets, and in another corner stood a potter's wheel along with all the supplies needed to mold clay. Everything seemed to be coated in a thick film of dust, suggesting that the room hadn't been used in many years. There were two other doors in the room, one led to another small loo, and the other was a storage room that held a sizable quantity of art supplies.

The rest of the rooms on that floor held nothing of interest to him… one appeared to be a sewing room, and the rest were just dry storage. At the end of the long hallway was another set of stairs leading down to the end of the west wing on the second floor. He knew that in this wing there was nothing but bedrooms. The rooms were somewhat smaller than the rooms in the east wing, telling him that they were either children's rooms or guest bedrooms.

Harry climbed down the left stairway to the main hall on the first floor. The wide area seemed to double as a receiving hall, as there was a long wet bar running along the west wall, many loveseat-sized sofas with matching coffee tables that clustered before a very large fireplace, and a sizable cloakroom next to the huge, oaken double-doors that he knew led to the grand ballroom. On the north side of the room were a set of large glass doors, beyond which he could see the expansive entrance hall and the main doors. The archway on the right side led to the kitchens and the dining halls, and the archway on the left provided access to the indoor pool and the gaming hall.

When they first arrived there, Harry was very excited to learn about the presence of a pool, but he was quite disappointed when it turned out to be in much the same condition as the fountain outside. It would take a lot of cleaning for it to be usable. Still, there was a private beach just outside, but the idea of being in the unconfined space of the ocean slightly troubled him… he thought it would be much safer to learn to swim in the pool.

Harry walked along the base of the stairway to a small alcove beneath that housed a narrow door. The set of stairs beyond the door were steep and the area below was poorly illuminated by the daylight from the room above.

"Lumos," said Harry, igniting the tip of his wand. He held his wand high above his head to keep his night-sight from being washed out by the bright light.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and saw the rows of diamond-shaped shelving that held innumerable dusty, old bottles. Another rack along the rear wall held a vast assortment of oddly shaped bottles in differing sizes from very small to as large as he was tall. The cellar smelled of some sickly-sweet odor that slightly turned his stomach.

Along the furthest wall he could make out a set of huge casks that looked to be about eight feet tall, even as they lay on their sides. As he approached them, he could see that each of the casks had wooden spigots protruding from the barrelheads. He blew the dust from the first spigot and managed to turn the tap a few degrees. He put his finger under the small trickle that had begun to leak from the spout and tasted it. Although he had never tasted wine before, he found that, while it was not a particularly pleasant taste, it certainly couldn't be considered foul.

He closed off the first tap, moved to the next one, and cracked that one open. Again, he tasted the liquid and found it surprisingly sweet. The third one had an odd, fruity taste that reminded him of apple juice.

When he tasted the fourth, he nearly gagged and spit out the few drops that hit his tongue. The wine in that cask tasted more like vinegar. That had to be the one.

Harry examined the framework that supported the huge cask as well as the floor beneath it. He smiled to himself as he discovered how the room was discovered by the man's wife. Although there was a layer of dust on the floor, he could easily see the scratches and indentations in the stone floor that suggested that the cask could be, and often was, swung away from the wall.

With surprisingly little effort on Harry's part, the cask pulled out and swung away to the left, revealing the stone wall behind. It was easy to spot the off-coloured stone, as it had a slightly pinkish hue compared to the rest of the gray stones in the wall.

Harry smiled as he drew his wand. He was anxious to see what was stored in this secret den that presumably hadn't been visited in centuries. Harry lightly tapped the pinkish stone, and almost immediately a narrow, open doorway appeared.

As the light from Harry's wand bathed the interior of the secret room, his eyes widened. The air in his lungs felt as though it turned to stone and weighed down on his diaphragm painfully. He felt as though he was being electrocuted, as his muscles seemed to seize in place. He stared in shock for only an instant before the air in his lungs started moving again, which resulted in a terrible, anguished scream escaping from his lips.

Harry stumbled back in terror, and then sprinted back across the cellar and up the stairs, never seeing that the wall had reappeared and the cask had silently slid back into place.


	18. Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself

_Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Harry Potter universe, nor do I make any money playing with the characters. This is presented solely for the enjoyment of myself and any others who wish to have their sanity assaulted by the utter crap that my mind produces._

A/N: What a chore it was to write this chapter. I thought I had completed it no less than four times, but ended up deleting the whole mess and restarted it. Sorry, but no cliffhanger at the end of this chapter… well, not much of one, anyway. (heh heh… let me know what you think of my little prank on Vernon… it will be a running subplot throughout the story.) On with the show! (Word Count: 5987)

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Chapter 18: Nothing to Fear but Fear Itself

_From __The Life of Harry James Potter__ – Excerpt from Chapter 15: The Purge_

_Upon Voldemort's defeat at the end of the Purity War, there was a population boom even larger than what had occurred after The Rise. The Purebloods were forced to concede that the half-bloods and muggleborns had a substantial place in wizarding society, especially when the atrocities committed by the pureblood Death Eaters and their sympathizers became public knowledge. There was a short period of time where the pureblood elite denied the extent of the atrocities, but after almost two years of very public trials where the crimes of the Death Eaters, using liberal application of Veritaserum, were confirmed and confessed to, the hard-liners had no legs left to stand on._

_There were soon calls for reparations and apologies, which were grudgingly paid by the families and estates of the convicted Death Eaters to the affected victims… the ones that were still alive, that is. Consequently, the sudden wealth of the half-blood and muggleborn witches made them irresistibly desirable, regardless of their physical appearance. Weddings of the newly affluent non-pures to the newly near-destitute purebloods became quite common, as were the results of the numerous honeymoons that followed._

_It was mildly amusing to me at the time, for as hard as Tom Riddle and his thugs tried to eradicate the 'inferior' classes of magicals, it was ultimately their machinations that did more for magical unity and the expansion of mixed bloodlines than anything else had ever done… ever._

_Alas, that unity was only fleeting. A handful of Death Eaters still remained at large, and it was commonly believed that they had fled Britain in the wake of the Dark Lord's demise. With the Ministry's use of Legilimency and Veritaserum, both of which were not used during the Death Eater trials after 'The Rise,' none could claim the Imperious Curse as a defense. Getting captured and questioned had invariably led to a death sentence, as Azkaban Prison could no longer be trusted to keep the worst sort of magicals secure._

_Thus came the fateful day that started 'The Purge.' Although there was an obvious, but at the time mostly unnoticed, absence of 'elite' pureblooded children on the Hogwarts Express, and the fact that three new carriages had been added to the train several years earlier, the train was filled to near capacity. In an instant, nearly an entire generation of mixed-blood and muggleborn children had been ruthlessly removed from magical society when the train was destroyed. There were hardly any families that were left untouched by the tragedy._

_Little did anyone know at the time, but the destruction of the Hogwarts Express was just the beginning._

_As Draco Malfoy had bought his way into the Ministry's Department of Magical Education as a Clerk in the registry of records, he was privy to the list of magical children born in the United Kingdom. As soon as a magical child was born, whether from magical, mixed, or muggle parents, a file was created in the registry. Malfoy had access to the names and addresses of every one of them._

_Within a fortnight of the Express's destruction, over ninety percent of the names of muggleborn children in the registry were marked as 'Deceased.' Of course, nothing was printed in any of the wizarding publications about the disturbing number of muggle children who vanished without a trace or had turned up dead. It was a muggle problem, after all…_

_Notice within the magical community quickly picked up when half-blooded children started disappearing at an alarming rate. Due to the recent rise in the desirability of muggleborn and mixed-blood witches, there was a rich harvest of mixed-blood children._

_Even with the growing panic and increased awareness amongst the non-pureblood families, within six months, the entire list of pre-school aged children mainly consisted of the most notable pureblood names._

_By this time, Draco Malfoy had long since resigned his position at the Ministry to pursue a more lucrative career as an… 'Entrepreneur.' The subsequent news that a multitude of foreign pureblood children were turning up missing was lost on the majority of the British wizarding populace… as they were blinded by their own miserable grief and couldn't be bothered to pay attention to foreign affairs._

_The black market on magical children in Britain boomed. The self-exiled Death Eaters were shipping in hundreds upon hundreds of pureblooded children from all over the globe. After a quick memory modification, the young magicals suddenly believed they were orphans and were anxious to join a proper wizarding family. More often than not, these 'adopted' children, once of marrying age, were quickly and quietly matched to the natural children within the elite pureblood community. Malfoy's newly established orphanage was soon trading prime pureblood children as though they were cattle… with the proceeds being used to develop the method that would eventually return Tom Riddle back from the brink of oblivion._

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Wednesday, July 7th, 1989 3:25 PM

Pale gray eyes stared out through a second-story bedroom window, absently looking down upon the back garden of a modest house in the north of London. In that garden, a teenaged girl sat at a small table which held a white china tea service. The girl carefully poured tea into a set of small china cups and placed each individually in front of the three other seats around the table while chatting amicably to her guests seated there.

The gray eyes scanned each 'guest' that was seated at the table. There was a pink erumpent gracefully lifting her trunk in order to pretend to take a sip of the newly poured tea, a fuchsia dragon that was dressed in a frilly yellow sundress, who seemed to be completely ignoring the tea and was content to blow wispy smoke rings into the air above the table, and a rather worn looking jackalope whose animating magic seemed to be fading, as its jerky movements were causing it to spill a considerable amount of tea from the cup before it ever reached its stitched-on lips.

The boy watched his cousin in a detached sort of contemplation. She was nearly seventeen and still playing 'tea party' with stuffed animals? He always knew that she was somewhat immature, but what she was now doing was downright childish. Why wasn't she out cavorting with her friends, hanging around Diagon Alley and giggling to each other over the young wizards who would pass by?

He absently studied her face as she conducted her make-believe party. She had the same pale complexion, dark blue eyes, and high-cheekboned, heart-shaped face as her mother… and his mother, for that matter, which seemed to be a defining trait for the Black women. Only her hair seemed to display the genes donated by her mudblood father. The Black women usually had jet black hair, like his Aunt Andromeda, or platinum blonde, like his mother, Narcissa.

His cousin had wavy, light brown hair… or she did at that moment. He was told that the way she looked at the moment was her 'natural' appearance. He was well aware that she could change the way she looked at any given moment, and if she wasn't paying attention, it could change involuntarily to suit her mood. She had even tried to cheer him up when he first arrived by changing her nose and mouth into an orange duck's bill surrounded by metallic green feathers and began quacking and waddling around the room. He was loathe to admit, but he almost did laugh at her childish antics…

_Almost_ laughed…

The deaths of his parents were still too fresh in his mind. He merely turned away from her and plodded up to his new room… the room in which he was now occupying.

He glumly scanned his current surroundings, noting that there wasn't much unoccupied space in this small bedroom. Every cupboard, bookshelf, every nook and cranny was taken up by all the things he took from his old, much larger bedroom. There were many things he had to leave behind simply because there wasn't enough space in his new room to store it all. The thing he missed most was his wand. His new guardians had taken it away from him when they discovered his parents had allowed him to carry one, and were appalled to find out that he was actually encouraged to practice magic with it.

He sighed and turned his gaze back to the garden just in time to see his cousin jump up and start waving her arms frantically about. He briefly wondered what she was doing until he saw the small bee that had just landed on the girl's upper chest, just above the neckline of her shirt. Sure enough, the girl let out a surprised scream as the bee stung her.

Draco's eyes widened at what he saw… or thought he saw. For the briefest instant, his cousin's hair changed to a deep, coppery red. Not only that, but her facial features shifted from its usual high-cheekboned, pointy-chinned shape to more of an oval shape with a squared chin. Her nose seemed to shrink and widen to accommodate her suddenly wider spread, teary eyes… eyes that he could tell, even from that distance, were not her usual cobalt blue color…

…and then it was gone. She was back to 'normal.'

The change happened so fast that he wasn't even sure he had seen it. It wasn't until he saw the girl look around quickly before she noticed him in the upper window. When their eyes met, a shocked, guilty look washed across her face before she sprinted from the garden and out through the back gate.

Why did she look so guilty? He initially assumed that the form she reflexively shifted to was some random manifestation caused by the pain of the sting, but now he was wondering… did she somehow revert to her 'real' natural appearance? And if she did, why was she hiding it?

He turned away from the window and the now deserted garden beyond with his pale brows furrowed in thought. He would have to keep a closer eye on his cousin.

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Wednesday, July 7th, 1989 4:22 PM

Vernon Dursley was the talk of the neighborhood in recent months. For years, all the people along Privet Drive had seen the morbidly obese man who lived at Number Four shuffle to and from his auto as he left and returned from his place of work. Many had inwardly cringed as the man entered his vehicle, causing the shocks and springs of its suspension system to audibly groan in protest each time. It was even worse when the man's equally obese son climbed in the car with him, and many couldn't understand why there weren't showers of sparks from the undercarriage grinding on the pavement each time they went for a drive.

Lately, however, the neighbors of Number Four had a different reason to stare at Mister Dursley whenever he ventured from his house. At first, they noticed that the strained suspension didn't groan quite as loudly as the man gradually looked marginally less corpulent. As the months passed, they noticed that the man had lost so much weight that he apparently had to buy a complete new wardrobe… not once, but _twice_.

It was this day that Vernon had returned from work and saw the usual neighbors puttering around in their respective yards. Mrs. Number Three next door was clipping a shrubbery by her front door… the same shrubbery she was clipping the day before, and the day before that. Mrs. Number Five, a tall, skinny woman who was only slightly older than he, was busy washing her husband's car for the third time since Saturday, which seemed somewhat odd to Vernon, as her husband had been away on business for the past week so the auto had not really been driven anywhere to get dirty.

Across the street, Miss Number Twenty One, a rather plain young woman of about thirty who lived alone there, just happened to be checking her post outside of her front door. This also seemed a bit odd to Vernon, as the post would have been delivered almost four hours earlier, and placed into the slot in the door. Even those two peculiar young chaps who roomed together at Number One were loitering in their front garden and were rather obviously watching him as he exited his car and walked towards his front door.

"Good afternoon, Vernon," chimed Mrs. Number Five as she waved the sponge that she was washing the car with above her head with unnecessary vigor, making her water-soaked tee shirt stretch across her rather ample and jiggling bosom, making it quite clear to him that she wasn't wearing any undergarments beneath the shirt.

"G'afternoon, Guv," chirped the young lass from across the street as she also waved at him. He nodded to her with an uncomfortable smile as he walked to his door. He glanced over to Mrs Number Three, a short, stocky woman with a withered face and graying hair, and saw her clipping the air above the shrubbery as she unabashedly stared at him. If that wasn't uncomfortable enough, he looked beyond Number Three and noticed the two gents waving at him in a rather limp-wristed way.

Vernon hurried his pace for the last few steps, wrenched the door open, and practically fell into his house. He leaned his back against the closed door and breathed a sigh of relief.

"Vernon, is that you?" he heard his wife Petunia's voice come from the kitchen.

"Yes, it's me," snapped Vernon irritably as he shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened his bow tie, "Who else were you expecting?"

Petunia appeared in the doorway to the kitchen as he made his way to the stairs to take a bit of a kip. His foot had just touched the first step when his wife's comment froze him in his tracks.

"Umm… dinner will be ready in an hour," stated Petunia nervously, as if she expected that the simple statement would set her husband off on some tirade, "I'll… I'll call you when it's… umm… ready… yes…"

Vernon took a quick, deep breath, and it initially looked as though Petunia's fears were spot on, but he just noisily puffed the breath back out through his bushy moustache as his shoulders slumped in apparent defeat.

"Fine," was all he said as he resumed his trek up the stairs, down the hall, and into his bedroom.

Vernon laid out a set of casual wear on the bed and stripped off the remainder of his business suit. His eyes drifted towards the full length mirror which stood in the corner of the room and he took in his drastically altered appearance.

His tired, sunken eyes just stared at the depressing reflection. Gone were the folds of engorged flab that used to encompass his frame. Now in its wake were folds of loosely hanging skin around his chest and waist that resembled large, deflated party balloons. He watched himself as his reflection ran his thin, bony hands down the clearly defined ribs along his chest. He noted, not for the first time, the dangling skin that hung loosely from his arms. He even held up one of his limbs in an 'Armstrong' pose and morosely batted the drooping flesh hanging from his bicep. He thought to himself that maybe a bit of exercise might tone up his sagging flesh, but he barely had the energy to make it to work every day, much less to exercise.

He almost chuckled to himself as he imagined the reactions of the lusty ladies that lived around Number Four if they actually had the opportunity to view what was hidden under the expensive suits that he wore…

_Almost_ chuckled…

With a depressed sigh, Vernon had lain down on the bed intending to just rest his eyes, but the weakness and fatigue from the many months of self-imposed starvation caused him to fall asleep almost immediately.

An hour later, Petunia's voice stirred Vernon from his restless slumber. He nervously glanced over to his wife in the doorway, not missing the disturbed expression on her worried face just before she scurried out of their room.

"I'm _not_ insane!" Vernon whispered under his breath, but it was painfully obvious that he, just like his wife and son, didn't really believe it himself.

After donning his leisure clothes, he left the bedroom and slowly walked to the kitchen, dragging his feet as if he were heading to the gallows. He stopped in front of the kitchen door and drew a steadying breath. He carefully pushed the door open and looked cautiously into the kitchen.

There, he saw the bane to his existence… the dining table.

Summoning up as much courage as he could, Vernon stepped into the kitchen and over to the dining table. He saw Petunia and Dudley, both of whom were already seated, watching him with no small amount of apprehension. He squared his shoulders and sat down in front of his plate, which was already filled with food, and internally dreading what he knew was about to occur.

He looked vacantly down at the volcano-shaped hill of mashed potato filled with brown gravy, the pile of steamed mixed vegetables, and the thick slab of meat loaf that had even more thick gravy covering it than the potatoes had. He drew a steadying breath as he reached for his fork with a trembling hand. He noticed that his wife and son had yet to pick up their own utensils, as they were both watching him rather intently. He sent a warning glare towards his family, causing both wife and son to drop their gazes to their own plates.

Vernon directed his shaking fork unsteadily towards the meatloaf, stopping its advance a mere inch away from the slab. He glanced up to see that both Petunia and Dudley were, once again, watching him intently until they noticed that they were caught staring again and quickly averted their eyes.

The trembling in his hand became increasingly worse as memories of past meals worked their way to the front of his mind. It all started the previous year after a visit from Petunia's odd nephew, Harry… Planter or something… It was a cordial enough visit, albeit quite short, where he said he wouldn't be able to visit anymore because he and his family were taking an extended vacation abroad, and would not likely be returning for a few years. At the time, he thought it was odd, as he couldn't remember the young lad ever visiting before.

It seemed that right after that visit, he had some sort of breakdown and ended up in the hospital. He had apparently passed out at the top of the landing and fell down the length of the stairs, suffering a few broken bones and more than a few contusions. The doctors said he would be fine, but then something quite terrifying began happening to him shortly after he returned home.

The first time it happened, he was propped up to the table with his left arm and both of his legs bound up in casts. Petunia had set down a plate with a Cornish game hen along with all the trimmings. Petunia had offered to cut up the hen for him, but he insisted that he was quite well off doing it himself.

In hindsight, he should have let her do it. He remembered picking up the fork, intending to skewer the bird with it and hold it in place with his cast, freeing his right hand to carve the bird. In a quick motion, he jabbed his fork into the bird.

Vernon had nearly jumped out of his skin as a blood-curdling wail assaulted his ears. It took him a moment to discover who… or more precisely, _what_ had made the awful sound. He looked disbelievingly at the squirming hen on his plate. His eyes opened in shock as blood began squirting out from around the tines, spraying over the front of his shirt and tie. He remembered yelling at his wife for serving him a bird that was still alive, only realizing after a second glance that the still screaming hen had no head and appeared to be fully cooked.

The worst part about it was that nobody else could hear the wails or see the blood. Petunia looked as though she'd been slapped as Vernon knocked the screeching bird from his plate and onto the floor. He thought she was mad as she scolded him for ruining perfectly good food, and if he wanted something else, then he should have asked for it beforehand instead of insulting her cooking.

After calming himself down, and getting a new fork, he was determined to finish his meal, but as soon as he pushed his fork into the pile of steamed carrots, they, too, seemed to scream out in pain and started to bleed out from where the fork had stabbed into them, spraying bloody gore all over the table that apparently only he could see.

Ever since then, every meal had been the same. Even when they went out to eat, the result was the same… screaming and bleeding food. He even tried picking up the food directly and putting it in his mouth, but the moment he bit down on whatever food he was eating, the screaming, squirming, and squirting commenced. His regular physician had referred him to a psychiatric doctor, who, after many months and thousands of Quid later, almost had the man committed. Upon realizing how close he was to being locked up in a loony bin, he feigned a 'miraculous breakthrough,' and declared himself cured of those odd visions.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Vernon felt the perspiration running down the side of his face. He stared at his trembling fork which was poised to sink into the meat loaf on his plate. He knew what was going to happen. It happened every time, but he had skipped so many meals that his need for food overcame his need to preserve what little sanity he had left. He closed his eyes and jabbed the fork downward.

_Nothing…_

Vernon cracked open one eye and peeked down at his plate. He initially thought he had missed the meatloaf, but there it was… well and fully skewered, just lying on the plate silent, motionless, and definitely not spurting blood all over the place.

He opened his other eye, just to be sure he wasn't seeing things, or rather, he wasn't _'wasn't'_ seeing things. He pulled the fork out and quickly stabbed it back into a different spot. He pulled it out and stuck it into the mashed potato volcano and lifted out a forkful, only to let it drop back down into the gravy with a splat.

Vernon's moustache twitched for a moment as his eyes continued to stare at the fork in his hand, which caused both Petunia and Dudley to look at each other concernedly. Suddenly, Vernon cracked a wide grin just before he burst out laughing. His laughter continued for a full minute, which was causing Petunia to glance at the telephone with increasing frequency, obviously debating with herself whether or not to send for the ambulance again.

"It's over!" cried Vernon as moisture leaked from his eyes caused by the extended laughter and the profound relief he was feeling, "Nothing! No blood! No screams!"

"Mum, does this mean that dad isn't bonkers anymore?" asked Dudley, who was quickly shushed by his mother as she studied her husband to determine if he really wasn't bonkers anymore. It wouldn't be the first time he faked his lucidity.

Just to prove it to his family as well as himself, Vernon cut off a rather large bite of the meat loaf, stuffed it into his mouth, and then began to chew happily. A look of relief washed over Petunia's face as she realized he was showing absolutely no sign of his previous mania.

A disillusioned figure that was standing just outside the open kitchen window in the back garden of Number Four Privet Drive intently watched the family inside as they began their meal. She had ended the previous curse the moment the man inside had sat down at the table. She grinned evilly while she waited for the man's reaction to not being cursed anymore. Her smile only grew as she watched the man laughing out loud.

The figure waited until the man of the house stuffed the first forkful into his mouth, after which she theatrically twirled her wand between her fingers before gripping the handle and sending a silent curse through the window towards the formerly morbidly obese man.

'_If he liked that last curse, he's really going to love this one!'_ thought the figure as she double checked that the groceries she had just purchased were still securely packed in her pockets before she disappeared with a muffled 'pop.'

-----~-----

Wednesday, July 7th, 1989 5:09 PM

Harry burst through the doorway at the top of the cellar stairs and immediately fell to his hands and knees on the carpeted marble floor. His eyes were wide and wild, and his breath was coming out in very short puffs, on the verge of hyperventilating. Panic gripped his chest as his mind raced to comprehend what he had just seen in the secret den below.

'How did that happen?' he thought desperately, 'What am I going to do?'

As if summoned, Wynmae came quickly flitting from the kitchen area and approached the distraught boy. As if sensing her presence, Harry lifted his face to look at the little creature, and a flicker of hope sparked in his watering eyes.

"Wynmae!" yelled Harry as he scrambled to his feet, causing the little sprite to momentarily cower back, "You've got to help her! Come on!"

Harry rushed down the stairs, only pausing for a moment to make sure that the little creature was following him. He wasn't quite sure, but she seemed a little slow and unsteady, at least compared to her usual self.

"Come on! Hurry!" said Harry in a cracking voice as he led Wynmae to the large cask against the wall, "She's hurt… so much blood… she was supposed to be out shopping

He roughly pulled the monstrous keg aside, revealing the blank expanse of wall and the off-colored stone. He tapped his wand, and the narrow doorway appeared once again.

Harry's breath hitched as he once again looked down upon the motionless form of his guardian and friend. Jaana was laying in the middle of darkened room, in what looked like a puddle of blood. Her wide open, blankly staring eyes made Harry's heart drop further into his stomach. He turned away from the doorway and croaked, "Wynmae, can you… can you help her?"

Harry looked into Wynmae's tired, pupil-less eyes. He saw her shrug her little shoulders as she glided over his head and into the room.

Wynmae suddenly let out a piercing, high-pitched shriek. At the exact same instant, Harry saw the cellar in front of him illuminate with an orange glow. A moment later, he felt a searing heat radiating from the small den behind him. If he thought Wynmae was sluggish a moment before, she certainly didn't appear that way as she flew back over his shoulder and grabbed hold of the front of his shirt, burrowing her terrified face into his chest.

Harry instinctively jumped ahead a few paces to get away from the intense heat that he could tell had singed the hair on the back of his head. His first thought was that something like a trap exploded in the hidden den, which led to the horrible conclusion that if Jaana wasn't dead before, she was certainly dead now.

Harry spun around and looked into the hidden room where he saw… well, he wasn't sure what he was looking at. It seemed to be roughly humanoid shaped, but was apparently made out of fire. He didn't know why, but a vague memory pushed its way to the front of his mind… an article, or something that he read somewhere that had a hand-drawn image of what he was now looking at. An instant later, he remembered where he had seen it. It was in the glass case in the Lovegood house, right next to the photograph of a creature that bore a striking resemblance to Wynmae.

'_A heliopath?'_ Harry questioned himself briefly before he realized that knowing the name of the burning creature wasn't helping him in the least.

He started backpedaling away from the advancing creature as he carefully grabbed Wynmae with his left hand and raised the wand that was in his right. He ran through the limited inventory of spells that he knew and started firing off anything that he could think of. He transfigured a few of the wine bottles that lined the wall into small glass javelins, then expanded them horizontally to pierce the creature, but they just passed through its fiery form and melted away in less than a second.

Harry then tried to vanish the floor beneath the creature, instantly creating a deep pit, intending to collapse the sides of the hole on top of it, but the creature dropped down only a few feet before it seemed to flow up the near end of the hole in the floor. In a last desperate move, He vanished some of the corks from the bottles in the racks and summoned the wine out of each of them, levitated the different wines into a large liquid ball and pushed it into the advancing creature. It seemed to slow for only an instant before it continued its menacing advance. He wished he knew that water creation spell, but never thought that that particular conjuration would help in what he knew he had to do in the future.

Harry glanced down at Wynmae in his hand and saw that she was paralyzed in fear. Not only that, but she also seemed to be sagging rather limply. He realized that the quickly building heat in the room was probably killing her. He had to get them out of there, and fast. Harry was about to turn and run for the stairs when the air crackled beside him as a spell whizzed past, striking the creature and blowing a hole right through it's center. The heliopath staggered for a moment, then paused as the empty hole slowly filled in. He turned towards the stairs and saw Jaana bounding down towards him.

"Harry! What the hell is that thing?" screeched Jaana as she sent another concussion spell at the creature. She rushed to place herself protectively between him and the fire-beast.

"I… I think it's a heliopath…, I just… Huh?"

The moment that Jaana stepped in front of Harry and effectively broke the unnoticed Wynmae's terrified stare, the creature stopped in its tracks. It seemed to coalesce upon itself, extinguishing the flames that made up its body and morphed into a tall, good looking, and very familiar man. A man that Harry thought for sure was dead.

Harry heard Jaana's breath hitch as the man spoke to her in his thick Icelandic accent, "Well, well… the little whore has come to play again."

Harry felt Wynmae's body begin to stir in his hand. He let go of the little sprite, who instantly vanished into a puff of mist and drifted towards the stairs. Just as he turned back to Jaana, he saw her wand slip from her hand and clatter onto the stone floor.

"No…" whispered Jaana with a terrified voice that wasn't quite her own. He saw his trembling guardian drop to her knees on the floor in front of him.

"Aye, we're going to have loads of fun now, aren't we?" cackled Jonsson with an evil, leering grin as he advanced towards the whimpering Jaana.

It was Harry's turn to step between a loved one and danger. He already had one of the larger empty wine magnums levitating and was preparing to shatter it while banishing the shards towards Jaana's would-be rapist when the man staggered back a step and then fell to the floor in a heap. Once again, Harry was looking upon the corpse of his friend and guardian.

He stared at the prone figure in shock, watching the seeping blood stain her lemon yellow hair in an expanding pool of crimson, never thinking to just look around at his real guardian. Harry jumped when he heard a broken voice curse out behind him. He turned around and saw another Jaana, one that was very much alive and wiping the tears from her face.

"Damn it!" Jaana hissed angrily as she picked up her wand from the floor, "I should have known!"

Harry's head swung back and forth between the two Jaanas until he heard the very much alive one calmly say to him, "Stay still, Harry, and don't panic. Just keep looking at it and don't move."

Harry looked back to the unmoving corpse on the floor. Deep down, he understood that it wasn't really Jaana, but the magic that was the creature before him kept whispering from the dark corners of his subconscious that she was gone and that he'd be going back to the Dursleys. It took all of his will to stand his ground and not run away in terror. He was also sure that if he hadn't been so practiced in subduing his emotions, he would already be fleeing up the stairs.

Jaana levitated a large, empty ale cask from across the room and set it beside the creature. After removing the lid from the barrel, she levitated the mock corpse from the floor and hovered it over the opening, being careful not to look directly at it while doing so. In a quick series of motions, she let the body drop into the cask and immediately slammed the lid on top of it. Only after she cast a sealing ward around the barrel did she let out the breath she was holding.

Harry was staring dumbly at the now violently shaking barrel when he was suddenly engulfed in a crushing hug from his guardian. After a few moments, she pulled her face back and looked into his still tearing eyes.

"Are you alright?" asked Jaana worriedly as she inspected his singed hair and still smoldering clothes.

Harry only just realized how hurt he was. He tentatively touched his face and felt a stinging sensation. He saw that the skin on his hands were red and felt very tight. He reached further up on his head and felt his burned hair crumble under his touch.

"Hang on a moment," said Jaana as she pointed her wand at the far end of the room and sprayed a stream of water at the smoldering barrels and wine racks. After ensuring that the cellar wasn't going to go up in flames, she turned her attention back Harry.

"Come on, let's get you fixed up," said Jaana as she motioned towards the stairs, "I'll get rid of that thing and clean up down here later."

As Harry silently climbed the stairs, he briefly glanced back at the smoky cellar. The opening to the hidden den was closed. In his panic, he didn't notice when the doorway had closed and wondered if Jaana had seen it. He supposed it didn't matter as he turned and continued up the stairs.


	19. A Day in the Sun

_Disclaimer: I do not now, nor have I ever, owned any part of the Harry Potter universe. I make no claim to any of the intellectual property, I only make the characters do things that, while entertaining, make me no money whatsoever._

_A/N: No excuses. If you knew my life, you wouldn't blame me. This is a huge chapter, over 9200 words. Lots going on, a tiny bit of fluff, only not with whom you're expecting. Yes, yes… I know, this is supposed to be a H/HR fic, and it will be… eventually… ^_^_

_And one last thing… I think you can guess that I don't like Ginny…_

Chapter 19: A Day in the Sun

_From __The Life of Harry James Potter__ Excerpt from Chapter 16: The War of the Sexes_

_The wizarding world had always been a patriarchal society. That is not to say that there weren't strong-willed witches who made it to the upper tiers of the magical government and commerce, after all, magic in and of itself is a very effective equalizer. Still, while it was common for very talented witches to gain influence and power, it was even more common for decidedly less-than-talented wizards to make it into the upper tiers of society simply because they were male, and it would take a truly extraordinary witch to fill that wizard's shoes when retirement time came around. More often than not, despite the availability of equally talented witches, another wizard would routinely be chosen to take his place._

_Upon Voldemort's demise after The Purge, the International Confederation of Wizards discovered that most of the children in Britain were actually the kidnapped offspring of pureblood families from all over the world. Although there were some whose true lineage could not be determined due to the lack of accurate records kept by Malfoy's foundation, most of the children were eventually reunited with their rightful families._

_Consequently, this caused a critical shortage of magical children in Britain once again. Wizarding patriarchs found themselves scrambling to produce natural heirs, but after The Purge, the older pureblood families found it difficult enticing witches of childbearing age to enter into marriage contracts. The vaults of those old families, once brimming with ill-gotten gold, were laid bare. The time of snatching children from other nations was gone, so the desperation of the Oldbloods turned to the snatching of domestic witches._

_Roving bands of witch hunters patrolled the country, forcibly taking any magical females of childbearing age they came across and stealing them away, either to spend their years under the Imperious Curse, pumping out offspring in Fidelis-concealed baby factories, or imprisoned in Oldblood dungeons, being forced to produce heirs for a string of 'connected' families, being impregnated until a male heir was born, then handed off to the next Oldblood patriarch on 'The List.' It didn't matter if the witches were married already or not, or whether they were of age. All that mattered to the Oldbloods was their fertility._

_Some desperate young witches began making unbreakable vows with each other, swearing never to bear a child. These witches would tattoo the vow magic upon their foreheads, proudly displaying their defiance. If these witches were captured and forced to conceive, the vow would kill them instantly, whether they were Imperioused or not. They would rather die than become slaves to the patriarchy. Unfortunately, this technique backfired on them, as the witch hunters would kill any vow-tattooed witches immediately upon capture and would leave their desecrated bodies in very public places as warnings to others._

_It didn't take long for the witches to band together themselves, creating coven pacts, blood bonds, and hidden safe houses. It wasn't long before there were no witches at all ever seen in public, except the squads of hit-witches that were scouring the country, seeking to break the baby factories and free the imprisoned heir-slaves. Soon after, the witch squads began killing wizards that were even suspected of harboring witches, even if those witches were their wives or daughters._

_Another war had broken out within the shores of Great Britain, and the wizarding world was being driven beyond hysteria by fear and paranoia… _

…_and in the middle of this paranoia was Draco Malfoy and the newly resurrected Dark Lady Voldemort._

Friday, July 9th, 1989 11:27 AM

Harry cocked his head and wiped off the perspiration from his face onto the upper sleeve of his sweatshirt as he worked. Jaana had said that she'd get around to cleaning all of the slime and mildew from the inside of the empty swimming pool, but Harry insisted on cleaning it himself.

He was alternating between the _Tergio, Scourgify,_ and the _Evanesco_ charm spells, studying the intricacies and effectiveness of each in comparison to each other. He had tried variations of each, and had even experimented with spells like the _Defluxus_ charm, which was normally used to remove inks and stains from clothing and parchment, and the _Atteros_ curse, which quickly melts living tissue away from bones, but was quickly coming to the conclusion that the standard _Evanesco_ did the most efficient job overall. While _Tergio_ was by far easiest to cast, and _Scourgify_ seemed to do a more thorough job of removing the offending substances, he determined that the _Evanesco_ would cover a substantially larger area than the other two, even if he did have to go over an area two or three times to get the really stubborn stains completely out.

"Harry, lunch," he heard Jaana's voice call out from the entrance hall.

"Be right there," answered Harry as he walked across the bottom of the pool towards the ladder at the shallow end. As he walked around the edge, he surveyed how much he had cleaned up to that point and sighed. He had been working on it since breakfast and thought he would have been finished by lunchtime, but it was clear that he barely cleaned a quarter of the massive area.

Harry suddenly stopped in his tracks and his eyebrows knitted together as an idea came to him. He wasn't quite sure if he could do it, and even if he was able to, he wasn't sure it would work the way he thought it might.

_'Nothing ventured...'_ he thought to himself as he raised his wand and pointed it at the pool. His intention was to use a simple transfiguration to shrink the pool to a very small, manageable size, clean the relatively small area, then re-size the pool back to it's original dimensions.

"_Reducio!_"

Of course, what he had intended was somewhat removed from what had actually happened. To his credit, he did manage to shrink the area of the pool itself down to the approximate size of a large kitchen sink, but the cacophonous noise of cracking and breaking cement, along with the cloud of dust and the tremendous, bone-jarring vibration that accompanied the noise, immediately told him that he had made some sort of minor miscalculation.

The cloud of cement dust obscured most of his vision, but he could still make out the jagged edge of a gaping hole at his feet. He vainly tried to wave away the dust that was floating around him when a swirling breeze suddenly appeared and instantly cleared the air. Harry blinked the dust out of his eyes and saw the entirety of his error. Sitting in the center of a giant pool-sized hole in the floor was the pool itself, neatly shrunk to a few square feet of sink-shaped porcelain tile. He blinked a few more times before he noticed Jaana leaning against the archway entrance, slowly tapping the tip of her wand against her other palm with a serene kind of calmness that terrified him to his core.

"I didn't... I mean, I didn't mean to... I..." stammered Harry as he watched Jaana nudge off from the archway and begin walking slowly towards him.

"I'll fix it! I... I think I can fix it!" pleaded Harry as Jaana raised her wand and pointed it in his direction.

"Nooo!" cried Harry in despair as he turned and sprinted off towards the far end of the hole in the floor. Harry only made it a few steps before he felt a sharp sting on his behind.

"I'll teach you..." cackled Jaana in her best 'wicked witch' voice as she sent another mild jinx at his bottom. She then sent a tickling hex that hit Harry squarely in his back, causing him to immediately fall towards the floor in a fit of laughter. Thankfully, Jaana was quick enough to conjure a large pile of pillows for him to land on. A few moments later, he felt the hex that was tickling his sides lift, but the sensation was quickly replaced by Jaana's own squirming fingers.

Harry was having a rather difficult time breathing through his laughter as he heard Jaana ask, "Okay, do you know what you did wrong?"

"I... I didn't account... for the material... around the pool," said Harry between gasps.

"So what should you have done to get the desired effect?" asked Jaana as she picked herself up from on top of Harry, giving him a momentary reprieve form her tickling.

"Expanding the material of the pool's lining to constrict the empty space inside," answered Harry as he drew in great gasps of air.

"And that wouldn't have worked because...?" inquired Jaana with a shake of her head and a knowing look.

Surprised at the unexpected negative response and her subsequent question, Harry closed his eyes and thought, "Because..."

"Come on, Harry..." encouraged Jaana, "that's only second year theory."

It took a minute before Harry hit his palm to his forehead, saying, "The result would exceed Conroy's weight-to-area ratio."

"Good," beamed Jaana as she helped Harry up from the pile of cushions, "So I'll ask again, what should you have done to get the pool to shrink properly?"

"A compound spell," answered Harry in an unsure tone, "Dual transfiguration of the tiled surface and the surrounding cement support."

"Yes," smiled Jaana, "And how do we fix... this? She motioned to the tiny sink lying at the bottom of the gaping hole in the floor.

"I don't suppose _Engorgio_ would work, huh?"

Jaana just smiled and lazily pointed her wand at the pool, "_Finite_... _Reparo_."

Harry watched as the pool snapped back to its normal size and the broken area around the pool neatly sealed itself up, leaving the cement surface in pristine condition. "Sometimes, the simplest solution is the best." As a final touch, Jaana flourished her wand and intoned, "_Ren_," which instantly rendered the entire tiled interior of the pool sparkling clean.

"Ren?" asked Harry as he tried to mimic the wand movement, "I've never heard of that one... it's not in the household charms book I read."

"It's not a common spell," Jaana commented and then asked, "and the best advantage of that spell?"

"Only one syllable," answered Harry with a smile as they walked to the archway, "Fast and efficient... what year is that one?"

Harry saw Jaana's countenance falter for only an instant as she answered, "Well, they don't teach that one at Hogwarts, my, uh... my gram taught it to me... when I was little. It's sort of a cultural spell."

Harry nodded absently as he again attempted the spell's wand movement.

"Hey," said Jaana, getting Harry's attention, "Like this... tip down, or towards what you want cleaned, rectangular clockwise swipe with a finishing right-to-left flourish." She slowly demonstrated the correct wand motion as Harry followed along.

"Close," smiled Jaana as she demonstrated the spell again, this time at Harry's green-stained clothes. She then led Harry out of the pool area, through the entrance hall, and towards the breakfast nook off from the small family kitchen, "we can practice more after lunch."

Harry hadn't realized how much of an appetite he had worked up, seeing how fast he was making his way through the meal that Jaana had prepared. He was just sopping up the last of the gravy from his beef pie when a thought occurred to him.

"You said that you learned that spell when you were little..." asked Harry with a thoughtful expression, "How were you learning magic so young? Did you have a wand of your own then?"

Jaana slowly put her fork down and sighed. It was apparent that she was somewhat uncomfortable with the subject as she answered, "I'd come here each summer for a few weeks out of the year. In that time, my gram would secretly teach me a few spells... just a few basic spells that were particular to our Dutch roots. Most were spells that they don't teach at Hogwarts, but she'd also throw in some of the standard spells sometimes."

Jaana's unfocused eyes drifted across the room as she continued, "I'd use gram's wand while she was showing me how to do the spells. I think she did it because we had so many squib relatives... like she was just proud that I had any magical ability at all… like she had to somehow prove that fact to herself each time I'd visit," she gave a short laugh and said, "She never knew... or maybe she did and didn't care... but I'd sometimes hide in the library and use one of the old wands there to practice the spells, and had even taught myself some new spells from the books in there. One time I tried coloring my fingernails, but accidentally managed to turn my whole left arm a bright green. I had to wear long sleeves and gloves to hide it from her until it wore off. I thought I was so clever, but looking back now, I'm sure she knew exactly what I had done, but saved me the embarrassment of catching me doing magic without her supervising."

Harry hoped he wasn't being rude by asking, but his curiosity got the better of him, "You mentioned before that there's a lot of squibs in your family. Is that normal for magical families? Is it on your mum's or dad's side?"

Jaana smiled and said, "Well, almost every pureblood family has one or two somewhere down the line, but it seems there are a few families out there that seem to end up with more than their fair share. Given the stigma associated with having squibs in the family, it's rather difficult to find a marriage partner in an older pureblood family if you're associated with a family that has more than a few squibs."

Harry frowned in confusion as he asked, "So, if you're friends with someone in a pureblood family while growing up, they'll stop you from getting married if you eventually fall in love with them?"

"Friends?" laughed Jaana, "you could never be friends with a child from another old family."

Seeing his confusion, Jaana sighed and gave Harry an apologetic look, "I keep forgetting that you weren't raised in a magical family. The truth is, it's more common than not that old pureblood families hide their children away from the world until they show some accidental magic. If a child nears school age without any apparent ability, they're usually slipped off to live in secrecy with grandparents while they're set up in a muggle school. In some extremely uptight pureblood families those kids are sometimes even _obliviated_ and sent off to a muggle orphanage. To them, anything is better than having it known that they produced a squib."

Harry's face remained stonily calm, but the brief flash of outrage in his eyes betrayed his inner thoughts. In a barely controlled voice, he asked, "Magical families actually throw away their own children just because…"

"I said _'some'_ of the _'older'_ pureblood families did… or do… yes, I suppose," interrupted Jaana, frustration edging into her voice, "but it's very uncommon for those families to produce squibs… at least it used to be almost unheard of. Anyway, most magical families just educate them as best they can until they're old enough to survive in the muggle world."

Harry's voice held a barely perceptible edge as he said, "but if they're hidden away, there's really no way of knowing exactly how often it happens. Isn't that right?"

Jaana's eyes hardened slightly, "Don't get mad at me, Harry… that's just the way things are. It's something we simply have to live with. In my family alone, there are dozens of squibs! What would you have us do with them? They can't function in the magical world… they're treated little better than muggles, even by the most forward-thinking magicals, sometimes by their own families! Many are even treated like they're diseased… like lepers!"

Harry sighed and nodded, "I understand, but it's just the idea of erasing someone's life, then tossing them away like rubbish…"

"Harry, the vast majority of families aren't like that. You know about my mother. She makes a good living as a nurse in the school you used to go to. She sometimes sneaks in potions she buys in Knockturn Alley to help some of the poorer kids there who can't afford some needed muggle treatments. There's my father's sister, Aunt Arabella… she sells knitted crafts to muggle specialty stores. She's not rich, but does okay. My granduncle on my mother's side, Uncle Argus, works as a custodian and is paid rather well. Those people, and quite a few others in my family, are squibs, and they all know of the magical world. Just because they were raised in an environment that they, through no fault of their own, were unable to continue contributing to, doesn't make them any less my relatives, and I love them all."

Harry must have been wearing a very crestfallen look because after a quick glance at his face, Jaana's voice softened as she continued, "You must understand that there are families out there who hold blood purity to unrealistically high standards, and will do practically anything to portray their own family as nothing less than elite. I know that's wrong, and you know that's wrong… but there's very little that anyone can do about it."

Jaana was rubbing her temples as she said to him, "Maybe your future self was right in trying to send that damned book to you when you were older. Maybe what the magical world needs is a good civil war to wake up the pureblood supremacists… I don't know. What's done is done and what is, is, and all we can do right now is prepare you as best we can for whatever comes our way."

Harry shrugged and nodded as he rose from the table and carried his dinnerware into the kitchen. He heard Jaana cleaning up her own plates behind him as she said, "I'm going to be in the library for a few hours. Try not to wreck the house while I'm in there, will you?"

"I'll be going down to the water for a while," answered Harry, making a pointed effort not to look in her direction, "I need some swimming practice."

"Okay, but be careful," warned Jaana, "stay in the shallows within the pylons… and use sunscreen, the skin on your face hasn't finished healing from the burns… and bring a cloak, because the ocean breeze can get rather chilly… and…"

"Okay!" said Harry in an irritated huff, although he was wearing a smile at the same time, "I'll be careful."

Harry ran up to his room and grabbed a large carrier from atop the trunk at the foot of his bed. He had packed the bag with a towel, some clothing, and a few select items earlier that morning. He rushed back out of the room and down the stairs, noting that the old grandfather clock in the entrance hall read half-past noon. He made his way through the grand ballroom and out through the French double doors that led to the patio, gardens, and the beach beyond.

Once at the shoreline, he began pulling items out of his bag. He quickly rigged a makeshift dummy and placed it on a lounge chair facing towards the water and away from the house. He laid the folded towel next to the lounge and placed a few lotion bottles in the sand beside the towel. He smiled and nodded at his handiwork, and silently prayed that it would remain unnoticed until he returned. With one last look at the house in the distance, he closed his eyes and silently faded from view, reappearing a moment later in a copse of trees at the base of a tall, wooded hill.

It was just a week before that Harry found himself heading up this same hill, in just the opposite direction that he had originally intended to go. He supposed that saving a life on that day was much more important than ending one. At the time, he had it in his head that he would simply capture the hated rodent-man and turn him in, but since then he knew that he probably would have wrung the rat's neck as soon as he had his hands on it.

As he reached the crest of the tall hill and saw the odd looking tower that he had visited the week before, Harry suddenly felt an odd nervousness creep into his stomach. He saw that the wooden portion of the structure that had been engulfed in flames was now gone, leaving just the black stone of the tower rising out of the hill. As he neared, he saw that all of the debris from the wooden portion was also gone… no charred wood or scorched earth… as if that portion of the building had never existed.

As he opened the short, picket gate, he absently wondered if the girl would remember him, then immediately realized what a silly thought it was… of course she'd remember… but would she want to see him? Would she really want to be his friend? Would he mess up like he did the last time he tried to make a friend?

Harry stopped walking just short of the door as he remembered the conversation he had with Jaana just a little while before. He wasn't quite sure if this Luna girl was a pureblood or not. If she were, then maybe her parents wouldn't want him to be friends with her. A war of fear and doubt raged in his head before he closed his eyes, let out a forceful breath, and stepped purposefully towards the front door.

Harry hesitated for only a moment before he rapped on the large, oak door before him. Suddenly, a quite irrational urge to flee struck him, but before he could move, the door creaked open, revealing a thin, young girl with a soft, round face and a pair of silvery gray eyes that seemed to gaze at him with a strange kind of innocent wonder. Her very long, dark blonde hair was tucked behind her ears,

It took a moment before Harry realized that this was the very same girl he had rescued the week before, only without the layer of ash and soot that had hid most of her features at the time. His eyes traveled downward where he saw that she was wearing a bright orange button-down blouse that had very puffy, latticed sleeves that barely reached down to her elbows, a rather short, pale-pink princess skirt that was so sheer and fine it could have been made from loosely woven spider's silk, and what appeared to be a pair of skin tight spandex slacks with wide, horizontal stripes that alternated between an electric blue and a vivid yellow. Harry did his best to ignore the girl's peculiar outfit as he looked up, smiled, and was about to greet the girl, but before he could open his mouth, she spoke to him first.

"No… no, this won't do at all," said the girl in a calm, almost bored tone before she folded her arms and commanded, "Be a girl."

Harry stared at the girl with his mouth hanging open. He then blinked a few times, and asked in surprise, "Pardon?"

"Daddy would never let a boy visit…" stated Luna in a calm, matter-of-fact manner, "so be a girl. You are a Mandrogan Chameleon, aren't you? You can be anything you like, so you can be a girl."

"No, I'm not a Mandoogie Cam-whatever… I really am just a boy… I'm… I'm just…"

Harry sighed internally. He knew that she had seen him change from a girl to a boy and from young to old. He couldn't very well tell her he couldn't change, and if that was the only way he could be friends with her, well then, it was worth it.

Remembering Jaana's lessons about Apparating within other people's property, he asked Luna, "Alright, but you still have to keep it a secret. Now, I need to go home for a moment… can I come back right here? The climb up the hill is kinda tiring…"

Luna simply nodded. Harry missed the look of utter shock on Luna's face when he faded from view, but if truth be told, that look of 'utter shock' on her face was only a mildly surprised blink.

Harry appeared in the center of his room, quickly opened his trunk and rooted around inside for a few seconds before pulling out the brown paper bag that held the pouches of transforming goo. He opened the bag and looked inside, counting the remaining pieces of each formula.

He pulled out the one piece that would turn him female. He reached in another pouch and retrieved the final piece of the goo that would dispel the effect. He would have to start working on another batch as soon as he was able.

Harry opened the door and looked up and down the hallway before stepping out and entering the bedroom next to his. He had stocked the cupboard in this other room with various sets of clothing, some male, some female, and all of varying sizes to accommodate any possible need that might arise. After he picked out a suitable outfit that he hoped looked girly enough, he popped the first piece of goo into his mouth and started undressing.

Normally, the transformation itself wasn't extremely painful. His scalp stung as the hair quickly grew and thickened, there was a slight cramping sensation throughout his body as his frame became smaller, there was an uncomfortable clicking in his upper chest and shoulder blades as his shoulders thinned, and an odd sort of pressure in his lower abdomen as his hips widened and his boy-bits retracted into his body to become girl-bits. What hurt him with this particular transformation was the recently healed skin on his face and hands. The slight skin tightness turned into a feeling that his flesh was about to rip open. Thankfully, that sensation only lasted as long as the transformation itself.

As he dressed, he briefly looked into the mirror and noticed that there was very little change to his face. His hair was the biggest, most obvious change, but there were only slight differences in his appearance that would be hard to spot if you weren't familiar with it to begin with, like the marginally higher cheekbones and the slightly puffier lips. The book had stated that the changes in adults were much more dramatic than with pre-pubescent forms.

As a final touch, he took off his regular round glasses and put on a different pair that he had discovered amongst a pile of spares in the storage room beside the conservatory. This pair was rectangular and gold wire-rimmed, and very much out of style as muggle fashion goes, but he felt they would fit right in for a girl in the wizarding culture. As far as functionality went, they weren't a perfect match for his eyes, but they were a slightly better match than the round pair he was used to wearing.

He gave himself a final look in the mirror before he nodded and faded from the room, appearing a second later in the same spot in front of the large oaken door. Even though he had been gone for more than three minutes, Luna was still standing there, holding the door open and humming some non-descript tune to herself.

"That's much better, but I suppose I can't introduce you as 'Harry' to my father, now can I?" asked Luna as she looked at Harry expectantly.

Harry hadn't thought about that. He hadn't needed a girl's name before, although he probably should have thought one up before that point. He initially thought of 'Harriet,' but something about that variation of his name just sounded too out-of-date… but then again, the whole wizarding world seemed out of date compared to the more familiar muggle world. It was too close to his real name, anyway. He wracked his brain for some sort of suitable name, but he was drawing a complete blank.

Harry was roused from his thoughts when the door suddenly opened wider, and he found himself staring into a pair of ice blue eyes that seemed to be looking in slightly different directions, although one of the eyes did appear to be looking directly through him. The man appeared much older than he would have guessed Luna's father to be, as he sported a balding head surrounded by a long, wild mane of fluffy, snow-white hair that reminded him of cotton candy. He was wearing metallic brown robes that seemed about a foot too short for his height, considering that Harry could clearly see the man's bare feet and ankles below the hemline. Harry found that his attention was divided between the man's rather odd attire and Luna's decidedly strange outfit.

After a few uncomfortable seconds had passed, Luna's serene voice broke the silence, "Daddy, this is Holly. I met her about a week ago in the village and invited her for a visit. I hope you don't mind…"

Harry was shocked at the apparent ease in which Luna skirted the truth, but was also impressed that she could pull out a reasonably fitting name for him on the fly.

Luna's father bowed and held out his hand while saying, "Greetings to you, and welcome, Holly…?"

"Figg, sir," said Harry, blurting out the first surname that came to his mind.

He regretted using that name the moment he saw the instantaneous look of pity that flashed across the older man's face. The man's hand instinctively… nearly imperceptibly… flinched back a bit. Harry might not have perceived it if the earlier conversation with Jaana wasn't so fresh in his mind. The man's action was very short-lived, but it was still noticeable. Harry could almost hear the unasked question in the father's eyes, _'Have you shown any accidental magic yet?'_

Choosing to ignore the unintentional slight, Harry held out his hand towards Luna's father and politely said, "A pleasure to meet you, sir."

Harry inwardly cringed. He had forgotten how out of place his voice sounded as a girl, being about an octave higher than his normal voice.

The older man smiled jovially and opened the door wider to allow Harry entrance as he said, "I am Xenophilius, and welcome to Castle Lovegood, such as it is. We had an accident here last week, a bit of a fire, and we haven't really finished fixing the place up."

'Lovegood?' Harry exclaimed to himself, having read about that family in his book. Up to that point, he hadn't made the connection… even though 'Luna' was a very unusual name. He made a mental note to read up on this family later.

As Xenophilius started a short, impromptu tour of the home, Harry noticed that the inside of the tower was much like it was when he was last there, except that there was even more clutter throughout the room, presumably the excess items from the wooden portion of the structure that no longer existed. As he followed along, Harry found his eyes drawn to the set of glass enclosures that held the strange artifacts of bizarre creatures, including the moving photograph of what appeared to be Wynmae in her misty form.

"Ah, I see you're interested in some of the stranger creatures that inhabit our lands," said Xenophilius when he noticed Harry looking towards the glass enclosures, "Those cases hold the bits and fragments of some of the more fantastic creatures we've found… take this first case…"

The man moved from case to case, apparently taking great joy in describing the bits of the supposedly imaginary creatures residing in each, "This paw was sent to the offices about ten years ago, along with a letter stating that it belonged to a Burrowing Wineskipper, but after exhaustive research, it turned out to be from a simple Iberian Niffler… I suppose the person who sent it had never seen a continental Niffler before and confused it with a Wineskipper, which everyone knows are never seen outside of Italy… and this one over here…"

Harry had been graciously feigning interest, nodding and smiling at each display until they made it to the case with the photo of the ghostly beings. He leaned in closer to the case as Xenophilius pointed out the unusually clear picture of a group of misty vapors drifting along a frost covered landscape that appeared to be in the middle of a graveyard.

"This picture was taken in a cemetery in Cornwall," began Xenophilius, "the wizard who took the photo seemed to be under the impression that they were Moor Spectres, but I know what they really are… Ice Imps… really young ones, by the look of them."

"What do they do?" asked Harry, trying to get any information that he didn't already know, "They look harmless."

"Nasty little creatures," answered Xenophilius, "They don't like humans much, or any other creatures for that matter. I'm surprised that he was able to get close enough to take that photo. Skittish little buggers, they are… they don't like direct confrontations, preferring to strike from the cover of a morning fog or in the dark of night. They're only seen in late fall and winter… we haven't been able to figure out what happens to them during the summer. Perhaps they migrate to the north? It's just as well, you wouldn't want to be around one when it's angry or warm."

"So they're evil?" asked Harry, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. He had never witnessed Wynmae being particularly malicious, but she never seemed overly benevolent, either… he always had to ask her to heal him, or to do anything at all, really. Of course, there was the issue with the Longbottoms and Jaana's grandmother, but he wasn't sure if it was Wynmae's force of will driving him, or his will that had influenced her… or maybe it was a karma thing, the good balancing out the bad.

"No, not evil, per se, but not very nice, either… they're Imps, after all. They live for mischief. Most times, you see them just floating alone, minding their own business, but there's been a few reports of them ganging up on unsuspecting folks if they're disturbed, inflicting an unnatural, bitter coldness, or sometimes even freezing them solid if they hang round too long in the beasts territory. Others say that they can possess people, making them do strange things, but that's only when they're young… it's when they mature that you have to be extra careful around them."

"What happens when they mature?" asked Harry, very interested in the answer.

"They're imps," stated Xenophilius, as if that were the most obvious answer he could give. Noticing the puzzled look on Harry's face, he elaborated, "Imps go through a sort of metamorphosis when they mature. The way they transform depends on the type of imp… Wood Imps phase into the trunks of trees to become Dryads, Water Imps make their changes at the bottom of oceans, lakes, or rivers. In oceans, they become Nagas, in lakes they become Kappas, and in rivers they turn into Naiads. The two most dangerous ones are the Fire and Ice imps, with the Fire Imps maturing into Heliopaths, and the Ice Imps turning into Snow Hags."

"Really?" asked Harry, letting a bit of doubt colour his voice, "I've never read about either of those in any of my books. I mean, I know about Dryads and Kappas…"

"Everyone knows that the goblins use Heliopaths in their forges," stated Xenophilius in a confident tone, "It's the only thing that will get their silver hot enough to smith, not to mention that Minister Fudge seems to be gathering quite a few of them… for what reason, I don't know, but we're working to find out."

Xenophilius' expression turned darker as he continued, "The Snow Hags… well, just be glad they don't hang around below the Arctic Circle after they mature. Heliopaths can be controlled to some extent, but the Hags are another story altogether. Wild things, they are. If you get a bunch of them bothered, they could bring a blizzard down on half of England faster than you can blink. If you get just one really angry, they could freeze you solid in an instant and shatter you like a dropped crystal goblet, and from what I've heard, you don't have to try very hard to get one riled."

Xenophilius spent a few more minutes finishing up the tour where he pointed out a hanging pelt that he said was from a Gadding Hoodwolf and a large, curved horn that was mounted on the wall, supposedly from a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

Harry knew the tour had ended when both Luna and he were ushered out of the door with her father saying, "I don't wish to be rude, but I've got an article to finish, so off you go, don't go beyond the stream, and be back before dinner… oh, will you be staying for dinner, Holly dear?"

"No, sir," answered Harry politely, "I'm expected home for dinner, myself."

"Very well," smiled Xenoplilius as he began to close the door, but opened it again and called out, "Why don't you show Holly the stream pool and catch a few Gulping Plimpies while you're down there… we'll have Plimpie soup along with the roast mutton for dinner."

Harry followed Luna around behind the tower where she grabbed a small metal pail and then started down a path on the far side of the hill. As she led him through the thick woods, she chattered absently, "This area is warded so that no muggles can stumble across it. The stream we're going to isn't a tributary of the Otter River, but comes from a spring in the hills to the north. The water upstream is usually pretty cold, even in the summer, but there's a permanent warming charm that mother put on the pool ages ago, so it should be comfortable enough for us. The Plimpies like the water a little cooler, but they slow down when the water's warm, so they'll be easier to catch."

"How is your mother?" asked Harry. A portion of his reason for visiting was to find out if the woman survived.

"Luna bowed her head slightly, and at the same time flashed him a rare smile as she said, "She was burned pretty badly, and she hasn't woken up yet, but the healers say she'll be fine, in time. They said that if she hadn't been removed from the tower when she was, she would have died."

Luna suddenly stopped and turned around to face him. She then threw her arms around him in a tight hug and said, "I didn't have a chance to thank you properly the last time you were here, so… thank you for saving my mother."

She placed a feather-light kiss on Harry's cheek before releasing him from the vice-like hug. She spun around and continued to saunter down the hill, picking up her prattle where she left off. He absently touched his cheek where she had kissed him, feeling an unfamiliar burn work his way up his neck and over his face. After a moment he smiled shyly, shook his head, and jogged forward to catch up to the odd girl who was still chattering on without him.

When they reached the base of the hill, they came across a small brook meandering along through the trees. Further along the stream, the water cascaded down a steep, rocky slope in a kind of miniature waterfall and ended up in a wide pool in the middle of a pleasant, grassy clearing.

Tall, thick trees surrounded the area, whose high branches stretched out to form a nearly complete canopy over the clearing. A set of white wooden Adirondack-style chairs sat along the pool's edge, along with a red-stained picnic table and a wooden rack that held an assortment of towels and blankets. On the far side of the pool was a circle of rocks around a small fire pit, complete with a wrought iron cooking stand and a set of spits stacked neatly beside it.

Harry walked around the pool inspecting the little oasis in the forest. The water in the pool was so clear, he could see every rock and pebble on the bottom. He noticed a curtained off space between a pair of trees near the waterfall, which he found held a small wooden chair with an opening in the seat and was positioned over a hole dug into the ground in a makeshift toilet, complete with a roll of tissue hanging off a nearby branch.

"Wow, this place is fantastic!" exclaimed Harry as he turned back around to see Luna sitting on one of the chairs. She had just kicked off her shoes and pulled off her oddly coloured stockings, folding them carefully and stacking them neatly on the rest of her clothing that was sitting on the chair beside her.

Harry stared blankly at the very naked young girl who was walking towards the water with the metal pail in her hand. He blinked away his surprise and asked, "Why are you naked?"

Luna looked even more surprised than usual as she set the pail by the edge and stepped into the water. She answered him in a serious tone, "You can't catch Plimpies with your clothes on, silly… besides, they'll get wet."

Harry averted his eyes and nodded absently as he began removing his own clothes. He didn't know why, but he was feeling slightly embarrassed about being naked in front of this strange girl. He had been naked in front of Jaana and Wynmae a few times and thought nothing of it. He had even accidentally caught Jaana getting out of the shower at the Gables once, not to mention how Wynmae was naked every time she took a solid form, and he had never felt any embarrassment at all around them. Maybe it was the fact that he was now in a girl's body and was unfamiliar with the way it was.

Harry still felt the blush warming and colouring his skin, even after getting into the water. He began to relax after a few minutes of watching Luna randomly diving her hands into the water, apparently trying to catch something beneath the surface. Harry began looking around himself in the clear water, but could see nothing swimming below the surface.

"What do they look like?" asked Harry as he vainly scanned the water around him.

Luna looked up from what she was doing and answered in a most serious tone, "You can't see them. You have to wait until one brushes up against you, then grab where you feel it."

"Which is why you have to be naked?" asked Harry as he tried to stand very still.

"Of course," replied Luna, who was once again staring intently into the water, "and you have to really concentrate, because their touch is really light, almost like water flowing across your skin."

"So how do you tell the difference between the Plimpie and the water?"

"I just said, you have to con…" Luna interrupted herself by plunging both of her hands into the water beside her right leg. She let out a squeal as she lifted her clasped hands above her head where they began thrashing around, but it looked to him like there was nothing clasped in them at all. He was beginning to think she was having him on when she began walking towards the bucket beside the pool while struggling animatedly with what appeared to be nothing at all. It was when she let out a surprised squeak and pulled down her hands to her chest that he saw a distinct splash in the water just in front of her.

"What happened?" asked Harry as he waded up to her in the chest-deep water.

When Luna held up her hands, he saw that two of her fingers were bleeding rather badly. He helped her from the pool and wrapped her hand in one of the nearby towels.

"Just my luck," complained Luna with a sigh as she sat on one of the chairs, "I had to catch a male Plimpie. They're really rare, and the only ones that bite."

"I suppose that's it for the Plimpie hunt, huh?" said Harry as he looked longingly back at the water.

Luna didn't answer him immediately, she just shook her head and began humming a random tune. About a minute passed and Harry was getting more than a bit anxious. He was about to insist that she go back to the tower so her father could look at her wounded hand when she suddenly stopped humming and began unwrapping the bloody towel from around her hand. He watched in amazement as she flexed her fingers a few times. They were stained with blood, and he could see the set of red welts along her fingers, but she was no longer bleeding at all.

"Plimpie bites don't last very long," explained Luna as she bent down and rinsed the bloody towel out in the water, "They live in more than one dimension, so their teeth aren't really solid, but your body thinks they are so it bleeds until it figures out that it's not really hurt… they're more of a nuisance than anything."

Harry wasn't really sure if he believed that explanation or not.

The pair spent another hour hunting Plimpies, splashing each other, and generally having fun. Try as he might, Harry didn't catch any, but Luna managed to capture three, which were apparently enough to make a soup, or so she said. Even though he could see the rippling of the water in the pail, he couldn't see anything but the water itself, and seeing what had happened to Luna's hand, he wasn't about to stick his in to see what one felt like, or if he could actually feel one at all.

After a while, Harry found himself lying on a blanket in a patch of warm sunlight that was filtering down through the canopy of leaves. The branches seemed to move, automatically adjusting the opening to account for the movement of the sun, ensuring a constant patch of sunlight on his particular spot of earth. He rolled over onto his back and absently wondered what that interesting bit of charmwork entailed, but he was so relaxed that he didn't spend much time pondering it.

He was just entering that drifting frame of mind between wakefulness and sleep when he heard a distinct rustling of leaves and light footsteps coming from the direction of the path. He turned his head and cracked an eye open. He saw Luna sitting on the edge of the grass with her legs lazily kicking, making expanding waves in the water. He looked beyond her and saw what looked like a short, very skinny girl with bouncy, rust-red hair push her way through the foliage that surrounded the clearing. He couldn't see very well, as he didn't have his glasses on.

"Luna, are you down here?" the girl called out as she stepped from the path and out onto the grass, "Your dad said… oh…" She apparently noticed the stranger lying in the clearing.

"Hello, Ginerva," Luna airily greeted the new girl without looking up from the water. She waved her hand in Harry's general direction and said, "This is a friend of mine, Holly Figg… Holly, this is Ginerva Weasley. Come get comfortable, the water's at the perfect temperature for Plimpie hunting… even though we've caught enough for dinner, a few more wouldn't hurt."

Harry had already closed his eye and straightened his head when he heard Luna mention _that_ name. He remembered that name, not only from his book, but also from the birthday, Christmas, Saint Valentine's Day, Saint Patrick's Day, Easter, Saint George's Day, May Day, Saint Swithern's Day, and Halloween cards he's been receiving every holiday since he started getting his owl post regularly. He tried not to let any emotion show on his face, but he couldn't stop the slight frown from tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Hi," said the new girl with a sudden hint of discomfiture in her voice, "Call me Ginny." She must have noticed his frown.

"Hello," Harry replied, surprising himself at how icy his voice sounded.

He sat up and shook out his long hair, having been dried and puffed up by the sun and the warm breeze that always seemed to flow through the clearing. Thankfully, his hair had puffed up enough so that the scar on his forehead was completely obscured. He certainly didn't need his biggest fangirl noticing that particular, unique feature on him.

Curiosity got the best of him. He had to see what this Potter-crazy young witch really looked like. He picked up his glasses from the blanket beside him, slipped them onto his face, and glanced back over towards the redhead in time to, unfortunately, catch Ginny slipping out of the last of her clothes. He tried, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the girl's scrawny, stringy body. Her skin was pale… a ghostly kind of sallow white that made each and every one of the plethora of spots and freckles stand out, as if thousands of blackberry-engorged hummingbirds relieved themselves all over the poor girl's shoulders and face.

He was finally able to turn away as the now naked girl dipped her sticklike legs into the water. He knew that he, himself, had a thin, boyish body while in his female form, and even noticed that Luna, while nicely tanned - presumably from spending much of her summer in this marvelous, sunny sanctuary – also sported a mostly featureless body, but Ginny appeared to take that 'awkward phase' to it's natural limit.

Harry was feeling more than a little uncomfortable as he stood up from his blanket and walked towards his own clothing that was hung up on the towel rack. He had already decided to leave when he glanced at his watch and saw the time. He let out a strangled 'eep' and began to hurriedly pull on his clothes as he said to Luna, "I didn't realize how late it was! I've got to go!"

Harry had just pulled his shirt over his head and was wedging his feet into his shoes when Luna walked up to him. She waited patiently for him to finish before pulling him into another tight hug.

"Thank you for coming, Harry," she whispered into his ear, "and thank you again for saving my mother. I'll never forget it."

"You're welcome," he whispered back to her, "but I really have to go."

He pulled away from her and began jogging towards the path. He smiled and called back, "Bye, Luna, I'll see you again," and just before he disappeared up the path, he paused and looked at the gangly redhead bobbing in the water, "Bye, Ginerva, it was, umm… nice… meeting you… yeah."

He barely caught the wave of her bony-white arm before he turned and disappeared from their view. He dug the last piece of dispelling goo from his pocket, tore open the leaf wrapper, and stuffed it into his mouth. Once he felt the effects starting to change his body, he looked around one last time to ensure nobody was there to see him and closed his eyes. An instant later, he had silently faded from view, reappearing back on the Isle of Wight next to the beach house in one of the outdoor shower stalls.

Harry could still feel his hair retracting into his head and hear the odd clicks and pops his body was making as it resized itself. Once the change was complete, he removed the girly yellow shirt he was wearing and folded it into a towel that was hanging nearby. He then let a short spray of water from the shower hit his hair to dampen it and rubbed the excess water onto his chest and arms to make it look like he had just taken a rinse. He tucked the folded towel under his arm and, as confidently as he could, walked out of the showers and onto the beach.

He tentatively looked around and let out a relieved breath. He was alone on the beach. He casually strode over to the rigged lounge chair and gathered up all the things he placed there earlier and stuffed them in the carrier bag before he hefted it onto his shoulder and carried it back to the house.

Harry had just made it to the top of the stairs when he heard Jaana's shrill, angry voice coming from the end of the east wing hallway, "Harry! What did I tell you?"

Harry turned his head and saw Jaana racing down the hall towards him with a look on her face that suggested to him that she was less than pleased.

"I… I…" stammered Harry as he watched the fuming witch advancing on him. She just about reached him when he flinched and held up his arms protectively, which seemed to stop Jaana in her tracks.

"What's the matter?" asked Jaana worriedly when she saw him suddenly cower.

Harry wasn't sure what to say or do. She went from looking livid to looking worried in an instant. Did she know he had left the property? What was it that made her so angry? He made sure to avoid looking at her eyes and asked in a timid voice, "What did I do?"

"Well, look at you!" she said in a somewhat calmer voice, "You're red as a lobster! I told you to use sunblock! Now I have to reapply all of those healing charms so your face and hands don't scar up… Honestly, Harry, what were you thinking?"

Harry looked at his arms. Now that he was out of the direct sunlight, he saw that he was, indeed, very red. Now that he was thinking about it, he felt the clothes he was wearing, which now consisted of only his pants that were a tad too small for him, rubbing irritatingly on areas that should have been covered while he was in the sun. He suddenly looked very embarrassed.

Harry thought about answering… making some excuse… but he still had that problem of not being able to effectively lie to Jaana. Instead, he just sighed and said, "Sorry… If you get me the burn potion, I'll put it on myself and go right to bed… I'm kinda tired."

"To your room," commanded Jaana with a thrust of her finger towards his door, "I'll get it and do your back… you can do the rest yourself."

Harry nodded and turned towards his room. He hoped that Jaana wouldn't press the issue and try to apply the potion below his waistband… he wouldn't want to have to explain how he got sunburned _everywhere_…


End file.
