Chapter Text
Aunt Petunia’s terrified scream echoed throughout Privet Drive, but Harry wasn’t much paying attention to that. He was too busy running through possibilities in his head.
He could obliviate them. Make them forget what had happened. Maybe make them forget Dudley all together. At least then, they wouldn’t be sad. But that was far too horrible, even for a no-good murderer like him. Besides, he still had the trace on him. He couldn’t risk being expelled. No sense in losing Hogwarts — his real home — especially since Uncle Vernon would probably kick him out of this house anyway.
He could run away. Stay in the Leaky Cauldron again. If he could do it at thirteen, he can do it at fifteen. There were only a few weeks of summer left after all, and he had enough gold in his vault to last a decade, let alone that short amount of time. He could catch up on the homework that the Dursleys had confiscated at the beginning of summer. Yes. That’s a good plan, he decided. He just had to get his trunk from under the stairs.
“BOY!!!” Vernon bellowed “YOU FIX HIM THIS INSTANT!” Harry looked up, chest tight, and face strained. He was the cause of this. He hadn’t produced a Patronus in time, and now Dudley was… Harry couldn’t even do anything to fix it. There was nothing that could be done. Dudley was gone. There was no recovery once one’s soul was eaten. He looked up into Vernon’s purpling, doughy face and saw raw desperation, and pleading, and fear, but, most of all, he saw rage. Harry’s pulse quickened in his throat, and his head pounded. Vernon seemed to see that neither of them had any control of this situation, and decided to seize what little of it he could.
Vernon snapped his eyes shut and wildly threw his hand in the air, like the old ladies at church who’re simply overcome by the Holy Ghost… if they were shaking with fury and possibly going into cardiac arrest. The hand turned into a fist with a protruding index finger.
“YOU’VE GONE AND KILLED MY SON! WE NEVER SHOULD HAVE TAKEN YOU IN! YOU’VE ONLY CAUSED US TROUBLE!”
Turning away from what very well may soon become a crime scene, or perhaps already was, Harry made for his old cupboard. Adrenaline fueled, and practically vaulting over Dudley and Petunia on the floor, Harry made it to the little latch with the padlock on it.
It was locked of course, but that was hardly a problem for a wizard… right?
Come on, Harry.
Harry remembered all those times he committed the cardinal sin of Funny Business™. No, not the time he turned his teacher Miss Frizzle’s hair blue. He was thinking about the times he’d opened this padlock before. The times that warranted, in the Dursleys’ minds, the numerous locks on Dudley’s second bedroom. The times in the dead of night, when his little ten year old self had already been locked in his cupboard for days and, thinking the Dursleys asleep, had dared to venture out to the fridge. The times when he was, more often than not, caught before he could even open the Tupperware leftovers.
He yanked on the lock, willing it to open. But it didn’t. He cursed under his breath, remembering in the back of his mind the punishment he would get if he said the words any louder. He pulled, and he jiggled, and he tried to wandlessly transfigure a hair into a bobby pin. But nothing worked.
“YOU’VE DESTROYED THIS FAMILY! YOU’LL PAY FOR THIS, BOY!”
“Come on come on come on come on,” Harry pleaded with the lock, hoping against hope that muggle houses had some magical sentience to them, the way that Hogwarts did. But they don’t. Harry felt the pit in his stomach that had been steadily growing suddenly make its way into his throat, and he had to suppress a gag. If he got vomit on Petunia’s carpet runner, he’d get extra chores in addition to the increasingly likely beating he feared.
There was a pounding in Harry’s ears, and he almost managed to convince himself that it was his heart. But it wasn’t. It was Vernon’s thundering footsteps, getting nearer by the second. Time seemed to be moving slowly, inching along like a flobberworm — Perhaps it was. Maybe his magic was helping him in some way, albeit not the one he needed.
“A LIFE FOR A LIFE! IT’S ONLY FAIR!”
Aunt Petunia gasped from her spot crouching over Dudley’s body. “Vernon! Keep your voice down!” Harry could have laughed that that was what she was focussing on, if he wasn’t beginning to hyperventilate.
He almost dared a glance backwards, but decided against it. He told himself it was because he couldn’t lose his concentration on the lock, but, really, it was because he didn't want to see Uncle Vernon’s face. The face that would contort and tell him what was about to happen. The face that would wordlessly confirm for him, through various shades of red and purple, that he was about to be killed.
So. He didn’t look. He didn’t look, even as he felt the collar of his shirt get yanked back so fiercely that it tore the fraying fabric. He closed his eyes as his face was smashed into the ventilation grate that he used to watch Christmas through. He kept them closed as his glasses shattered, and shards lodged themselves in his eyelids and the bridge of his nose. He kept them closed as his head spun, and he was lifted by the scruff of his too-thin neck and dragged to the bottom of the staircase.
For a second, Harry dizzily thought, Is that it? Is he just bringing me to my room upstairs? To keep his balance in the jerky ascent, he grabbed hold of the stair banister — the one that Dudley stopped gleefully sliding down after they had added an acorn finial at the end of it — but then, his uncle’s grip adjusted, stopping him before the first step. The meaty hand moved from his neck to the right side of his head. Harry involuntarily brought his hands up to pry at the grip that was sure to be tearing his disheveled black hair from his scalp.
Vernon’s breath was hot against his face, as his voice suddenly quieted to a threatening whisper. Perhaps he remembered his own oft repeated demands for silence, lest the people at some agency or other found out about what went on inside the walls of Number 4 Privet Drive and decided to take both Harry and Dudley away. “Bet you wish you had died instead of your good-for-nothing parents now, eh Potter?”
When have I not?
Then, quick as a billywig, his left temple was brought down upon the point of the finial next to him. With a crack, his vision filled with lightning. Then… nothing.
. ݁ ₊ ⊹ . ݁⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁ .
Harry blinked blearily at his surroundings. Familiar stone walls greeted him, and he blinked some more. Why was he standing in the charms corridor? All alone too? Class must not have been in session. But then why weren’t Ron and Hermione with him?
He began the dazed journey up to Gryffindor tower, and the Fat Lady sputtered and seemed to pale — if that’s even possible for a portrait — when she saw him. He recited the password dutifully. She just blinked at him. “I don’t think you need a password anymore, deary; just go right in.” He shrugged indifferently and went through, expecting to see his fellow housemates. In Gryffindor, the common room was almost always bustling with occupants: kids playing gobstones, someone reading, a fed up OWLs student sleeping away from their snoring roommates. But, this time, the common room was completely empty. It was eerily quiet as he made his way up to the boys’ dorms and saw all five 4th year beds empty. He knocked on the other years’ doors, but received no answer, not even a grunt of annoyance by someone miffed at being woken from much needed rest. Exams were coming up soon, after all… weren’t they?
Harry had learned from experience not to try to trick the stairs leading up to the girls’ dorms, so, instead, he plopped down on the squashy sofa by the fire, and waited. Curfew would be coming up soon, if it hadn’t already passed, that is. He checked his watch—one of the only muggle technologies that worked with all the ambient magic around Hogwarts—It was 9:47 PM. Curfew was coming up soon. Then people would swarm through the portrait hole en masse, he would bet.
10 o’ clock rolled around, and no one came through the portrait hole. Eventually, Harry grew bored of waiting. There had to be something going on for nobody to be here. The problem was — Harry couldn’t seem to remember what. He didn’t even know what day of the week it was! Okay. This was freaky, but he could figure this out. Let’s see… There’s no quidditch this year ‘cause of the Triwizard Tournament, so there’s no way it’s just a game going way overtime… What else could it be? People were allowed to stay out late for the Yule ball. The events of the year slowly came back to him as he tried to put together a timeline in his head. Hmmm… There was also something to do with a maze, wasn’t there? What was tha— THE THIRD TASK. That was where everyone must’ve been! But that meant… Oh no, he was late!
He hurried his way through the familiar halls of the ancient castle and out onto the trail leading to the quidditch pitch, where the Task was set to take place. When he neared the pitch, he slowed. It didn’t look like there was anything going on there. He went the rest of the way, just in case it was further than he had thought. Nothing.
Harry, running out of options, began the trek back up the grassy lawn to the castle. He remembered it feeling a lot more arduous the previous times he’d walked it. Still would be nice to be able to apparate back though. Wish I was a house elf. THAT WAS IT! Harry determinedly marched his way down to the kitchens. There were ALWAYS house elves working in there. He strolled past the stacked barrels that he often saw Hufflepuffs hanging about near, and brought his hand up to tickle the pear.
“YES! FINALLY!” He must’ve looked insane, as the several house elves in the kitchen all turned their heads towards the sound of his triumphant yell.
“WAAAH HAH HAHHHH!” Well. At least he wasn’t the only one who looked insane. Dobby was on the floor, screaming and blubbering at the sight of Harry. Well, he’s certainly excited to see me. Dobby stood shakily and frantically scrambled over to Harry, where he screamed and blubbered some more.
“OHHHH, WHAT HAS BEEN HAPPENING TO THE GREAT HARRY POTTER?! OHHHH, SUCH A BAD THING, IT IS! HOW TERRIBLE! AFTER EVERYTHING DOBBY DID LAST YEAR, AND IT WASN’T ENOUGH! OHHHH DOBBY HAS FAILED HARRY POTTER!” He picked up the mallet another house elf had been using to tenderize some meat for dinner, and began to hit himself over the head with it. Harry gasped and reached to take the mallet from the house elf’s hand, “Dobby, STOP!” Dobby dropped the mallet with a sharp clank of metal hitting stone, but his sobbing persisted. He refused to look up at Harry, wringing his ears and shaking his head compulsively to soothe himself.
The house elves simply looked upon the scene with wide eyes and hands worrying their Hogwarts-crested togas. Harry supposed that was a reasonable reaction to your coworker punishing themself for no discernable reason. A more reasonable reaction yet, Harry thought with some bitterness, would be to stop your coworker from beating themself at all. But, he supposed, maybe this is normal for house elves?
“THE GREAT ALBUS DUMBLYDOOR MUST HEAR OF THIS! HARRY POTTER MUST TELL OF IT TO HEADMASTER DUMBLYDOOR!” The elf pleaded frantically, tears puddling at his socked feet, “DOBBY THINKS HE MUST NOT YET KNOW! THERE WOULD BE NEWS TO HAVE BEEN HEARD IF HARRY POTTER HAS ALREADY TOLD HIM!”
“Oh. That’s a great idea, Dobby. I hadn’t thought of that. I'm not really feeling quite myself today.” Dobby just whimpered in response and kept his eyes shut tight. “Ok. Ummm,” Harry offered what words of consolation he could think of for a house elf. “I’ll be down to visit you again soon, Dobby!” A gagging sound broke the silence of the surrounding house elves, and Harry turned in time to see one of them slap herself for her response, her face tinged more than a little green. Harry stared a moment longer before turning away from the confusing creatures and making his way up to the headmaster’s office.
Harry stopped in front of the griffin door, “Sherbet lemon!” he called out, hoping Dumbledore recycled old passwords. The griffin remained inanimate, but somehow managed to look unimpressed. He sighed. What’s a Dumbledore-esque password? “Gryffindor rules!” “Tom Riddle’s a twat!” “Child safety laws are overrated!” “Everlasting gobstopper!” That last one did the trick. Huh. Maybe that wonky guy was actually a wizard, Harry wondered. As the griffin stepped aside, Harry couldn’t help but notice that it seemed to do a double take at him. Harry shrugged and climbed the stairs to Dumbledore’s office.
Harry started to raise his hand to the brass knocker on the door, but the polished griffin beat him to it and knocked itself up. Harry’s brows rose in surprise, and the door swung open a second later.
Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk with an old, worn out book in his hands. There were drawings of rabbits and cauldrons with feet on its cover. I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that curse, Harry thought.
The headmaster was putting a phoenix feather in the book as a place holder when he looked up. His face fell, along with the book. Beside him, the recently reborn Fawkes cheeped as though to say, “As a featherless biped, I identify as a man!” Dumbledore didn’t react to his beloved companion. Instead, his eyes wandered over Harry. Harry shifted uncomfortably under his intense gaze. It seemed as though Dumbledore’s eyes lacked their usual twinkle, or, indeed, any twinkle at all.
“Oh, my boy,” he murmured faintly after a long moment, during which his face grew progressively more strained. His eyes glistened—not to be confused with “twinkled”. They’re VERY different. Just ask Rita Skeeter—with what seemed to be tears, but that made no sense. Why would Dumbledore be crying?
Suddenly uncomfortable with this show of emotion from his generally jolly headmaster, Harry backed up a pace. “Oh! I can— should I— do— do you want me to come back later? I’ll come back later.”
Harry was already halfway to the door when Dumbledore uttered, “No,” rather weakly, as though all the breath had left his lungs. Harry abruptly stopped in his flight and hesitantly turned around to see the headmaster pressing a hand to his chest, tears rolling down his cheeks from closed eyes. “Don’t go, Harry. I believe we have some things we need to discuss.”