Harry Potter and the Guardians of the Origin

Chapter 1: A New Life

"Where to?"

"Heathrow airport please," answered Harry Potter politely to the cab driver's question. At that moment, he knew there was no turning back. He shoved the daunting notion out of his head and stared out the window at an empty, dimly lit Privet Drive at one o'clock in the morning. Gazing at the seemingly unending identical houses passing by the window, he traveled in his head through the past two weeks and all of the thoughts and actions that had led him to this point.

He had returned to Privet Drive, in a word, broken. For the first few days he stayed in his room, trying not to think about anything, drifting in and out of sleep, hardly eating anything, and being left alone by the not-so-worried Dursleys. Sometimes he wrote a superficial "I'm alright" letter to Ron or Hermione or Remus. But when he couldn't hide in that empty blackness in his mind, when he couldn't distract himself from the facts of his existence, his mind drifted to the previous month of his life, to the Department of Mysteries, to that snakelike face that would kill or be killed by him, to Sirius. After a while, he ceased to cry. Not because he felt better; not because he forgave himself. The tears themselves ceased, like a river that ran out of water to fill it--it would flow if there was anything left, but there wasn't. But, the one thought, the single idea that brought him out of the darkness was his friends and loved ones. The memory of their support and love kept him human, kept him from surrendering to that black cloud that seemed to envelope him every moment of every day, pressing in on him, making him want nothing more than to stop caring.

No, he would not yield and become exactly what Voldemort desired and needed-- a Harry Potter that didn't care to live. But, brooding over his mistakes of the last year, thinking about what his future would hold, he couldn't imagine how to endanger his loved ones more than by staying with them. It was simply not an option. And so Harry found the perfect solution to all of his problems: he formulated and carried out a plan that kept him focused on protecting his friends and that kept him too busy to think about anything else.

The circumstance that made most of this plan possible was Dumbledore's persuading Fudge to drop the ban on underage magic so that the minors could practice and, if necessary, perform defensive magic. He could not travel with his trunk unless hr first learned certain transfiguration and shrinking charms. When Remus came to visit him about a week after he arrived at Privet Drive, Harry had already devised his plan, and told Remus that he wanted to go to Diagon Alley. The next day, escorted by Kingsley Shacklebolt, Harry was buying several spellbooks on Dueling, Defense, General Spells, and Transfiguration in Flourish and Blotts and converting a good amount of his gold into American dollars at Gringotts. He did well at hiding the muggle money from Shacklebolt and told him the spellbooks were for summer reading and self-teaching. The people checking up on him generally accepted anything he did, and saw this initiative as positive, not suspicious at all.

Hermione had once told Harry that New York City was so crowded that witches and wizards could practice magic discreetly without ever being noticed. In fact, she said, the American Magical Congress (their version of the Ministry) didn't even monitor the city for everyday, non-threatening spells. It was the perfect place to get lost, blend in, never be found. Harry would simply disappear-- if no one knew where he was, they wouldn't be in danger. It was not irresponsible, Harry argued the Hermione in his head. It was perfectly logical. What else could he do? And he wouldn't be gone forever. He would teach himself everything he could possibly learn to defeat Voldemort. Even if he couldn't duel with him, Harry knew he needed the abilities, the power that Voldemort and his Death Eaters had. Once he had acquired those abilities, he could come back, strong, ready to fight, and able to protect everyone he loved. No, he wasn't running away, just merely keeping himself and others out of danger until he could return and destroy that danger himself. It was a good plan, and Harry felt like it was the first decision of his in a long time that made sense.

A week after his visit to Diagon Alley, Harry sneaked out of Number Four at one o'clock in the morning, dressed in muggle clothes and wearing a backpack that fifteen minutes previously was his overstuffed trunk.

"Twenty pounds."

"Thank you." Harry handed the cab driver the fee and stepped out onto the curb of the airport terminal. Getting to New York would be easy. Harry ducked into a corner, threw his invisibility cloak on, walked into the building, bypassed customs, found the international terminal, and walked onto a flight bound for New York City, hid in the very back of the plane and finally sat in an empty row quietly once everyone got settled. He sat down, realizing that he was leaving the country that had witnessed the entire first fifteen years of his life.

Harry Potter was starting his new life--alone.

* * * * *

"Where to?" asked the New York cab driver to a non-invisible Harry Potter outside JFK airport eight hours later.

"Er." Harry wasn't as sure of his answer this time. He needed to find a cheap hotel, but didn't think the cab driver would take that as a destination. So he said the first actual destination that came to him: "Times Square, please."

He could hardly believe that he had made it all the way there. His plan had gone off without a hitch. Well, almost. A rather large passenger who could have been a forty-year old Dudley had tried to stuff himself into a single seat, and, seeing the empty row in which Harry was sitting, he decided to claim it for himself. Harry looked up, realized he was about to be sat on, panicked, jumped up, hit his head, and cried "Bloody hell!" The surrounding passengers seemed to look around confusedly, but then went back to their own business. The large man squinted in Harry's direction but shook his head and sat down. His heart pounding, Harry quietly moved to standing in an empty niche near the cockpit for the last two hours of the flight.

As depressing and serious his reasons were for coming to New York, Harry couldn't help but get a bit excited at the magnificent city and its bustling streets. He had never been anywhere except Privet Drive before Hogwarts, and he suddenly found himself in another entirely new world. For now, he had found the ultimate distracter from the direness of his life and he was glad to focus on something else.

He exited the cab in the heart of Manhattan and looked around. He saw news flashing across screens, a building with huge glass windows with the logo "MTV," and a myriad of advertisements and billboards in all shapes, sizes, and colors, including a huge steaming cup that read "Cup Noodles." Food. Harry realized that he hadn't eaten anything for over twelve hours, and his stomach grumbled at the thought. After walking down the street a ways, he found a deli where he could sit down and promptly ordered two sandwiches. He learned why the waitress looked at him so strangely when she brought him two plates holding about four pounds of meat stuffed in between slices of bread.

After eating his fill, he asked the waitress if she knew of any inexpensive hotels nearby. She replied, "This is Manhattan sweetie, you're not going to find anything inexpensive. The way you look, I doubt this is the city for you." Harry looked down at his oversized, faded t-shirt and tattered, too-small jeans and resolved to buy some proper muggle clothing as soon as possible. But the waitress found a map for him and pointed out a few areas that might have some cheaper places to stay.

He found one for about sixty dollars a night that was a ten-minute subway ride from Times Square. The area was a bit run down, but Harry thought it a good place to keep a low profile. He had brought about five thousand dollars with him, and figured he could afford to stay at the hotel for a week or so before he got his bearings and found a flat and a job.

Four days later, Harry had established a routine. He got up around eight, went to breakfast, went back to his hotel room and practiced magic (after using different charms to make sure no one walking by would hear or notice) until lunch, then went searching for a job, came back to his part of town frustrated and ate dinner, then read his books and studied until he fell asleep. Sometimes he watched television to get his mind off things, and he found a few programs he liked. He ate breakfast and dinner at the same little café down the street, now donned proper muggle clothing, and carried most of his money around in his newly purchased wallet, which along with his wand was one of the two things he constantly carried.

He walked into the Big Apple Café that night feeling worse than he had since he arrived in America. No one would hire a 15 year-old non-American with no identification or references. And to add to that, Harry had been walking back to his hotel, contemplating how much his plan was failing and how he was going to run out of money when he looked up and stopped dead in his tracks. It wasn't huge and it wasn't shaggy, but it was still a black dog standing right in front of Harry looking straight in to his eyes. Harry couldn't move. He was paralyzed as all he could see was Sirius falling into a thin cloth, disappearing forever. Then the dog simply kept walking, and Harry walked unconsciously back to his hotel and collapsed in a sobbing heap.

Walking to his usual two-chaired table in the corner of the restaurant, he sat down and stared into space for a while. "Okay, usually when you come in here you're just a bit broody and quiet. Today you're super-gloomy. Anything I can do?" Harry was startled out of his torpor when Anne, the waitress who usually served him, posed the question.

* * *

Buffy stared back at the nerdy yet cute British kid who had suddenly been coming so frequently to the café that she had been working at for a couple of weeks. She had wanted to disappear, to get lost where her past life could never find her, and she came to New York City to do it. She usually kept to herself, but this guy had also obviously run away, and at that moment something in his bright green, downcast eyes made her want to help him.

He had walked in to the café three days ago and she wouldn't have thought him different from any other customer except that his accent made her think of Giles. She was jarred a bit when he first spoke, thinking back to the last time she saw Giles, standing outside the gates of the school, making sure he and everyone else were fine before she left. "Excuse me, miss?" The boy's polite question brought her back from her reverie to New York City, where she was standing in front of a table, taking an order from a British teenage guy. She stared at him for a second more, noticing his green eyes and his seemingly overgrown and messy black hair that fell over his forehead and curled slightly in the back. "Sorry, what did you want again?" she regained her composure and continued on.

Today, it was his turn to stare back at her until he finally replied "Thank you, I'm alright, I'll just have..."

"A hamburger and fries? It's what you always have for dinner." She smiled at him as he looked up and said "Yeah, thanks."

* * *

Anne's kindness cheered Harry up a bit, and by the time he finished eating he had an idea that might solve quite a few of his problems. When Anne brought the check, he said, "I know I said I was fine earlier, but I think I could really use your help with something."

"Yeah, what's that?" She was a little bit guarded in her reply, as if she was afraid he was going to ask for money or something.

Harry shyly explained his situation to her. "Well, I've been looking for a job. And it seems that I don't have the identification papers or, er, permanent address to get hired." He didn't know quite what to reveal to her, but he knew he couldn't say, "I'm really a famous boy wizard who's run away to America to keep his friends safe from the evil wizard Voldemort, who according to a prophesy will either kill or be killed by me, and I need a job without having to produce ID, because I have none."

But she really surprised him when she said, "I understand."

* * *

As soon as Buffy said the words, their eyes locked for a second and something registered. Her acknowledgement and understanding of his situation seemed to have made them both realize they had something in common. In that moment, when each pair of green eyes stared back into the other, both recognized that they shared much more than just being runaways. Perhaps, it was their mutual sadness, or homesickness, or even their similar resentment of being chosen for a destiny they didn't want, but something inexplicable registered between them at that moment. Neither felt anything so specific, but an unclear, vague notion of familiarity arose between them. They smiled.

Buffy thought for a minute and said, "Well our manager here is John and he likes me a lot, so I could probably get him to hire you under-the-table as a busboy or dishwasher or something. I can even ask him right now if you like."

"Wow, that would be...," Harry was truly so grateful, after four days of failure, that he couldn't find the words.

"But," she said, "I will actually need something from you before I ask."

"Oh. Er, Right." Harry reached into his back pocket for some money but stopped short.

"Oh! No, no, no, I didn't mean that. I was going to ask for your name." She smiled again.

He smiled back again as he answered, "James Longbottom."

"Nice name. I'll be right back." Then she disappeared into the kitchen for a few minutes. When she returned, she was with an older, balding man whom introduced himself as the manager John.

"So you're lookin' for a job I hear," he said in a thick New York accent.

"Yes, sir."

"Well, if you can guarantee you'll show up whenever I schedule ya, and you aren't some criminal, I think we can cut a deal," he stated gruffly.

"I promise sir, and not at all a criminal," Harry nervously replied.

"Alright, show up here around three tomorrow and you can start."

"Thank you very much sir, I'll be here."

"Good." John turned and went back into the kitchen, leaving Harry and Buffy standing there.

"Thank you so much, Anne. I really don't know what to say," said Harry as he ran his hand through his hair in relief.

"Wow. Nice scar." Dammit, Harry thought. He had let his hair grow long and it conveniently hid his scar so that he wouldn't be easily recognized, but he must have pushed it out of the way when he ran his hand through it.

"Oh. Yeah. Long story."

Again there was that sense of familiarity and understanding between them as she said, "I get it. No questions from me, don't worry. And with the whole job thing--no problem. It was the least I could do."

He couldn't think of anything to say other than another sincere "Thank you" before he turned around, walked out the door and felt completely opposite of what he felt when he walked in the door.

Anne's catching sight of his scar made him think about it as he walked home that night. It seemed that Voldemort's failed possession of Harry seemed to have kicked him out of Harry's head for good. It still tingled from time to time, but the connection of shared images between Voldemort's mind and Harry's mind seemed to have been severed. Harry was grateful for it, but still felt like he lost a tool in getting a one-up on Voldemort. Then again, the bloody bastard had also learned how to use that tool against Harry, so maybe it was for the better. Harry had just come to this conclusion when he looked up and saw a hand come out of nowhere towards his face. Everything went black.

* * * * *

The next thing Harry knew, he was standing in the Department of Mysteries, in the great stone room that the veil occupied, on the dais. He looked around in confusion and wonder. No one else was there--he was alone. Turning towards the veil, he recalled his countless dreams in which he ran through that haunting black cloth after a newly disappeared Sirius only to shoot up in bed from sleep and find himself in a cold sweat in the dark.

He wondered what would happen now. The tattered veil hung before him, its dark contours shifting as if a soft breeze teased its length. He began to slowly walk towards it. As he moved closer, Harry started to feel that breeze against his face. It was cool and soft and soothing. And then, over the soft whisper of the breeze, other whispers arose. He continued to ever so slowly step towards the battered stone arch and the whispers became a multitude of hushed voices, the same ones he had heard when he first encountered the veil. They were soothing to his ears like the breeze was to his face.

He was right in front of the veil. As he stared into it through his glasses, it was as if all peripheral vision faded away and his eyes bore blindly into darkness; they might as well have been closed. One voice rose above the whispers. It was unintelligible, androgynous. If he only just slipped through, the voice would lose its muffled quality and he could see the speaker.

"Sirius?" he said quietly, curiously.

The voice remained indefinite. Harry watched his hand as it reached up and touched the fabric in front of his eyes. Gently, he ran his fingers down it. It was silkier than anything he'd ever felt before: its must have been sown with threads of air. The breeze swirled slightly around him, enveloping him and the arch. He closed his eyes and took a step. Suddenly he felt the sleek veil glide over his skin and fall into its suspended position behind him.

He was surprised that he didn't feel any different. Was he dead now? He kept his eyes closed to the darkness; the gentle breeze remained. And then the voice rose in volume and clarity. It was repeating something with a questioning tone. A name?

"Sirius!" Harry called out excitedly. "Sirius, I'm here!"

He kept his eyes shut tight, afraid that if he opened them he would be lying in bed alone again. Then the darkness beyond his closed eyelids brightened and the voice took on a distinctly feminine tone.

"James! James!" Her cries got louder as if she were coming closer and Harry shouted "Mom?"

Suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, shaking him. "James, are you alright?" she said. The light on the other side of his eyelids was almost blinding now and he jerked his eyes open. In his blurred vision he could see a pair of bright green eyes staring fearfully back at him.

"James?"

"Mom!" Harry reached out in elation to pull her into a hug but was stifled by pain shooting through his body and he inexplicably felt himself fall back onto the ground. He yelped and screwed his eyes shut as they watered uncontrollably.

"What's going on Mom?" he pleaded through his pain. "I went through the veil and I wanted to find Sirius. Where's Sirius? Is he here? Why are you looking for Dad? I'm Harry, Mom. Not Dad. Don't--don't you know me?"

But then, in a decidedly American accent, she said, "James, are you okay? I need you to wake up and open your eyes James. Please. Open you eyes."

Again he opened his eyes to the bright light, but this time her face was further away and he realized many things at once. It was daytime and the sky was quite blue; he was lying on the ground somewhere in between two rather tall buildings; and, worst of all, the person staring down at him was not Lily Potter.

* * *

"James, I'm Anne, don't you remember me?" asked Buffy. She saw a look of recognition in his eyes followed by one of incredible sadness, as if he had suddenly come to the realization that something he lost was gone all over again. He winced as he tried to sit up and then looked around blankly.

"Anne? Where...where am I?"

"Well, you're in a pretty sketchy alleyway off of 47^th street, and you're banged up pretty badly. If I had to say, I'd think you were mugged last night, and, uh, left for dead," Buffy answered. "But you're not," she added reassuringly.

She had checked for bite marks as soon as she reached his crumpled body a few minutes ago, and felt a guilty relief as she determined his injuries were most likely of a non-supernatural origin. He had a very blackened right eye, a swollen cut on his forehead caked with dried blood, and another bloody cut on his lip. She saw now as he sat up more dried blood on the back of his head mixed into a tangle of black hair.

"Mugged?" He suddenly looked panicked and his hand flew to the side of his pants near his hip. Buffy saw him momentarily sigh in relief, which she thought was odd, and then he reached for his wallet in his back pocket and found nothing.

"Bloody hell. My money." He seemed to tire a bit and collapsed back onto the asphalt, yelling out in pain.

"Alright, we need to get you to a hospital. Right now," declared Buffy.

* * *

"No, no. I'm quite fine," answered Harry falsely. He hadn't been in a muggle hospital in years. The last time was when a large vase somehow (Harry had a sneaking suspicion how) fell off its shelf and onto Dudley's large head as he held Harry's glasses above his head, taunting him. Dudley was knocked out and Aunt Petunia, amidst other shrieks and screams, ordered that they all go to the hospital. He had to wait there for four hours in the waiting room while Dudley was attended to by at least five doctors at the insistence of Petunia. Also, Harry wasn't sure if being magically treated for injuries in the last five years would show up in a muggle medical examination. He didn't particularly see their methods as effective anymore anyway.

Come on you ninny, this is nothing compared to a dose of Crucio, Harry thought to himself as he gritted his teeth and scrambled achingly to his feet. Mustering up his best not-in-pain face, he turned to Anne and stated, "I'm fine, really." He took a step and his torso smarted so badly he keeled over. Anne instantly caught his arm over her shoulder, preventing what would have been a painful fall to the ground.

"Fine huh? I'd really be afraid to find out what you consider 'bad'," she remarked, smirking.

Too true, thought Harry. "Yeah well, I just need a little help walking. Nice reflexes by the way. I was about to get friendly with the pavement again. Thanks."

"You're welcome. It looks like they beat you up pretty badly. My place is just around the corner. If it's closer than yours, we can go there to get you patched up."

"Yeah, my hotel is three blocks away. But I can make it. I don't want to bother you, I'm--,"

"In no way, shape, or form fine," she cut him off, "Now stop trying to be all brave for a minute and let me help you."

Her inflexible tone told him it was no use arguing, and he was quiet the rest of the time during their walk to her apartment, absorbed in thought about his veil hallucination. He cursed himself for believing it was real and especially for thinking Anne was his mum. Idiot. How could you have been so stupid, so willing to give in to childish hopes? He winced bitterly, unsure whether it was at his physical or emotional pain. He told Anne he could walk up the stairs to her floor by himself. Even though every step was like a fresh blow to his ribs he told himself it was a just punishment for being such a vulnerable git.

* * *

Buffy watched James hobble up the stairs ahead of her. She had had every reason to believe he was completely normal. That was, until she had glanced at his face for a moment while they were walking. He looked old, tired. His resigned expression seemed to indicate he was no stranger to injury and peril. Something aged him far beyond his years; Buffy recognized it as the very same thing she saw every time she looked in the mirror: a weariness of battle. Suddenly she understood the indistinct familiarity that had arisen between them. He wasn't just some broody drifter; he had run away from something. Though intrigued, she didn't say anything.

"Well, here we are," she announced as she opened the door. "Welcome to the Palace-O-Bu--er, Anne." She swept he eyes over the small kitchen and living room area and through the doorframe to the right into the cell of a bedroom. "A very compact, dingy palace, that is."

"No, it's very nice," Harry said politely, clutching his torso supportively.

"Alright, you are totally about to keel over again and I think the couch would be the best place to do it. Go lie down while I get some first aid stuff."

"Right. Thanks."

Buffy walked through the bedroom door and into the bathroom. Rustling through the drawers for bandages, she tried to be mechanical and detached but it was no use. It was too familiar--bringing the mysterious new guy into her home to patch up his injuries--and all at once memories of Angel flooded her mind, escaping the mental dam that she had built up ever since she killed him. She fought them back, wiped her eyes, and glanced in the mirror. "He's not Angel," she told her reflection.

* * *

Harry lay on the couch, thinking logically about his situation. About three thousand dollars was in that wallet--he had feared that the hotel janitor would sneak in and steal his money, so he had decided to keep the bulk of it on him. Cruel irony. That loss left him with about one thousand, five hundred dollars. At least his wand was fine. It was the first thing he checked for back in the alleyway and having it gave him the assurance that everything would be alright. Financially, he might be fine as long as he had a steady paycheck...Bugger! He thought. My Job!

"Anne?" he called out, panicked.

"Yeah? What's wrong?" she answered concernedly at his tone.

"What time is it? They took my watch and I've got to get to the café by three," rambled Harry.

"It's only nine-thirty, but I don't think you have it in you to lift a plate off a table right now."

Harry shook his head and stood up. "I'm not gonna mess this up. Especially when you helped me get it and after losing my wallet. You really don't want to know the amount of money I had in there. I'm going."

"Well, at least let me get the blood off of you. You have some time. Lie back down."

With that, she took a cloth dampened with peroxide and applied it to the cut on his forehead. He closed his eyes as he felt the cool sting above his right eyebrow. She patiently ran the cloth over his skin ever so gently so that it wouldn't hurt him. As he lay there letting her take care of him he realized no one had ever done such a thing for him before. Well, Hermione had made the murtlap essence for him, but it was nowhere near as personal, as tender as this. He felt his heart swell a little. He gazed at her and then into her eyes. They were watery and Harry could tell she was holding back tears.

He hardly knew her but he had the sudden urge to do something, anything to get her mind off whatever she was thinking. So he asked, "How did you find me anyway?'

She seemed startled out of a reverie and replied "Actually, a lot of luck. I was on my way to work and happened to look over into the alleyway. Imagine my surprise to see a heap of James Longbottom on the ground. Do you remember what happened?"

Harry pondered. "Well I was walking back from the café. Then there was a fist. And then blackness. Next thing I knew, you were shaking me awake." He paused a moment, then added spitefully, "Bloody muggers."

"Yeah. And you are very lucky to have the hallucination card. Because you called me 'Mom' and normally I would have to take offense that. But I knew you were bonkers because then you started talking about hail being serious. I'm not even gonna ask about that."

Harry felt himself tense up at the mention of his unconscious ramblings. It was too much to hope she wouldn't remember that. "Right. Sorry about that," he said tersely and kept quiet the rest of the time she dressed his wounds.

After she was finished, she said with determination, "I can see that I'm not going to dissuade you from going to work. So this is how its gonna be. You are going to give me your key, and on my way to or from work I will pick up some clothes from your place. You are going to rest here until I get back. And a shower would probably be in order too. Then you can try to go to work at three."

Harry opened his mouth to tell her he couldn't possibly let her do that for him and that she had already done so much for him, but Anne cut him off with, "Don't even try to tell me you can't let me do this for you and that I've already done so much and blah, blah, blah. It was nothing."

"But--"

"No buts!"

"It's just that--"

"James! Do you really want me to tie you up and keep you prisoner for your own good?"

Harry smirked and replied, "Tie me up huh? Sounds kinda kinky..." He was, after all, a nearly sixteen-year-old guy.

Her face turned red and she said, "Oh shut up! You know that's not what..." He had started to laugh at her frustration and she glared at him. But it was with a smile and soon she was laughing too.

He met her eyes, alight with amusement, and asked earnestly, "Why are you so nice to me?"

She looked back thoughtfully and replied with sincerity, "I don't know. I think... I think I want to trust you. Or you to trust me. Or something. I don't know."

"Well, for what it's worth, I think I do. Trust you."

They smiled at each other, and Buffy said, "Well that's good, because I'm gonna need your key to get into your hotel room. Do you still have it?"

"Yeah, its actually in my shoe," Harry said, a little embarrassed at his choice of storage.

"Interesting. Well thank God for weird impulses, I guess, cuz otherwise I'd be trying to convince the hotel clerk that I really was James Longbottom. Don't know how I'd pull that off."

Harry fleetingly thought of Polyjuice Potion and smiled as he said, "Yeah. Pretty impossible."

"Well, I better get going. Remember: rest and minimal walking until I get back. No exceptions!" declared Buffy in a mock authoritative tone.

"Right, right of course. You sound like the nurse at my school," Harry remarked.

"That so? I'm guessing you see a lot of her then."

"You have no idea."

"Well, hopefully you'll live until I get back. Bye!" With that, she turned and walked out the door.

Harry sighed, lay back on the couch, shut his eyes, and promptly fell asleep.