The Portkey Solution

CHAPTER 1 - The Letter from Gringotts

It was shaping up to be another boring day at the Dursleys'. Uncle Vernon had already left for work, glad to escape the house and Harry's presence in favour of his office at Grunnings. Aunt Petunia was on a cleaning tear, intent on bringing every inch of the downstairs to a shine bright enough to blind. Dudley had received permission to spend the day and night with Piers Polkiss; he spent the night there at least twice a week, since it got him out from under his mother's watchful eye and Piers' mother was as yet unaware of Dudley's diet restrictions. The year had seen Dudley lose a decent amount of weight, but he was still quite heavy. The Smeltings nurse's best efforts had yet to cure Dudley of his junk food cravings.

At least Aunt Petunia had given up on passing Dudley's clothes down to Harry. He had sprung up quite a few inches and was now nearly half a head above Dudley in height, too much for even Petunia's sewing skills to hide without access to matching cloth. She might have ignored the sight of Harry's forearms and shins sticking out from sleeves and trouser legs, but for a visit from a new neighbour on Privet Drive. Mrs. Angelmere, a sixtyish widow from Glasgow, was even more nosy and interfering than Petunia. The first time she spied Harry mowing the lawn in Dudley's too-short cast-offs, she had marched right up to the door of Number Four and pounded on it in a high temper.

"How dare ye dress the boy like that? It's no-never mind that he's your nephew and not your own boy, but if he's in your care ye be responsible for his well-being! If I don't see him in decent clothes before the week is out, I'm reporting ye to Child Welfare!"

Petunia had quaked in front of such a fierce Scottish onslaught and had taken Harry shopping that very day. Not that she wouldn't have been pleased to see Harry carted off to an orphanage normally, but she and Vernon both shuddered at the possibility of such scrutiny revealing Harry's wizarding nature. Harry had cooperated, choosing a minimum wardrobe and looking for discounted merchandise. He didn't much care what he wore as long as it fit, since it would all be hidden under robes at Hogwarts.

With no chores waiting--all the gardening for the week was done and he had finished painting the shutters yesterday--Harry was in his room lying on his bed. He could be doing his summer schoolwork. He could be writing to the Weasley twins, to whom he owed a letter. They were keeping him informed of their plans as they used his prize money from the Triwizard Tournament to start their mail-order joke shop. He could be outside soaking in the hot July sunshine.

Instead, as he so often did these days, Harry lay on his bed and let the morning drift by, replaying the events of the last year repeatedly in his memory. He blamed himself for the things he had missed, the decisions he had made. He had sent Hedwig with a message of condolence to the Diggorys, after Hermione had notified him of a memorial service for Cedric in the Hogsmeade town common. He had used the Dursleys' anti-magic attitude as a convenient excuse for not attending. He had nightmares at least three times a week, reliving Cedric's murder and the duel with Voldemort.

The time that wasn't spent in recriminations was spent worrying. What was Voldemort doing? What were his plans? Who were his targets, besides Harry? The Daily Prophet was no help at all and what little Muggle news Harry had been able to catch gave no indication of any attack by the Death Eaters. It didn't help that the two messages he'd gotten from Sirius had been brief and lacking in details as to what was being done by Dumbledore and his allies.

His thoughts were interrupted by a tapping on the window. Hedwig was there, carrying a parcel. Harry rose and let her in--he had promised Uncle Vernon not to contact anyone in the wizarding world and then simply answered what he received. So far Hedwig had been sensible enough to deliver messages while Vernon was at his office. The parcel was from Hermione again. Of all his friends, she had been in almost constant contact, sending copies of the mostly useless Daily Prophet and letters with a remarkable balance of attempts to cheer him up, sympathy for his feelings, and the occasional dose of snap-out-of-it advice.

This package contained a mix of some of his favourite sweets, Chocolate Frogs and Fizzing Whizbees, ordinary Muggle sourballs and a birthday card. Harry blinked, realizing how badly he had lost track of the time. His fifteenth birthday was indeed approaching, on Monday next as a matter of fact. He set the card up on an empty bookshelf and was about to read the accompanying note. In the distance he heard a car pull up and a door slam.

Uncle Vernon had returned home in the middle of the morning. Harry could hear him railing at Aunt Petunia downstairs, and her voice rise to match his. Then the bellowing became distinct as Vernon shouted up the stairs, "BOY! BOY!"

Harry came to the top of the stairs warily. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

His uncle was tomato-red, as furious as Harry could ever remember seeing him. He waved papers in his hand and yelled at the top of his lungs, "GET DOWN HERE AND EXPLAIN THIS AT ONCE!!"

Harry descended and took the paper being thrust at him. It was of high-quality stationery and showed a letterhead claiming to be from Gringotts Muggle Division in Hogsmeade:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,

As the nearest relatives and guardians of one Harry James Potter, we are writing to inform you that the fee to let bank vault 687 in our Diagon Alley branch is due at the end of August. The usual twenty-year lease may be renewed as before by simply authorizing the withdrawal of 44 Galleons 8 Sickles from the account. Please return the accompanying authorization to the address above or by owl.

The balance as it stands is below, including interest that has been compiled during the fourteen years since the deaths of James and Lily Potter. Thank you for attending to this matter in a timely fashion.

Sincerely,

Philpott, goblin

Head of Muggle Division

The considerable fortune in Harry's vault was helpfully listed in both Galleons and pounds. Harry felt the blood drain from his face.

"This came to my office by certified post this morning. While I am appalled that we were openly contacted by those...those...it pales compared to this! YOU HAD THIS MONEY ALL THIS TIME? AND YOU NEVER ONCE TOLD US?" Vernon had progressed from tomato red to beet-purple. "AFTER WHAT YOU COST US TO KEEP?"

"I didn't know..." Harry thought fast. "All I knew was that Ho-- my school applied to the bank for my expenses. I didn't know it was so much." That last was partly true; all Harry had known was that the large stacks of gold, silver, and bronze in his vault added up to an extremely comfortable sum. He had never made himself familiar with the exchange rates. He still felt in shock, seeing the numbers on the page before him.

Vernon was getting himself under control, but didn't look like he believed Harry. "You will go upstairs to your room and stay there while your aunt and I discuss what to do about this." Petunia was developing a gleam in her eye that Harry recognized from past quarter-days when Vernon was expecting a bonus. They were going to try to take his inheritance!

***

Upstairs, Harry scribbled a frantic note to Hermione, including the letter he had carried upstairs without thinking. He had never heard of Gringotts having a Muggle division and he had most certainly never heard of any wizarding business using the ordinary post to communicate. Hermione would be able to get to the resources needed to verify whether the letter was real. He was writing a second note to Sirius, his true guardian, when he heard Vernon's heavy tread coming up the stairs.

Harry shoved the note to Hermione into Hedwig's beak and scooped the owl up. "Go, Hedwig!" he hissed. "Hermione will know to get help!" She was out the window just in time and Harry closed it and turned to face the door.

Vernon opened it. He had regained his normal beefy colour but his hair still stood on end from where he must have pulled at it. He was trying to project a fatherly air and doing a bad job of it, given that greedy gleam in his eye that matched Petunia's. "Let me have the letter, please. I'll consult with our solicitor as how to proceed transferring the funds to our bank so we can better invest it for you."

Harry held out his empty hands after dusting a snow-white feather off on his backside. "I gave you back the letter, Uncle Vernon. It must be downstairs somewhere."

His uncle frowned, but did not immediately contradict him. He asked, "Where's that ruddy owl of yours?"

Harry shrugged. "Out. She brought me a birthday present from a friend and took off again this morning."

Vernon's eyes narrowed. He stepped across to the window and verified that it was closed and locked. "I want you to stay in here tonight. Your aunt will bring up some lunch and supper. We have a great deal of thinking to do."

Harry was instantly suspicious, but Vernon had made the request in such a reasonable tone that he couldn't think of a way to avoid it. "All right, uncle."

Vernon turned and left, closing the door behind him, and Harry knew he'd made a mistake. A key turned in the lock, the clicking sound echoing in his head as Harry realized that the Dursleys would do anything to get control of his money. He glanced at the door, tempted to violate the rules against Hogwarts students using magic, but drew a breath to calm himself and sat at the table to finish his note to Sirius. When Hedwig returned, he could alert anyone he chose about his situation.

***

Hedwig found Hermione in Diagon Alley, sitting in front of Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour with one open book propped against the stack from Flourish & Blotts and eating an ice cream sundae of vanilla and peppermint. She landed and dropped the letter on Hermione's hand, to convey a sense of urgency. Hermione opened the parchment and when the creamy white business letter fell out, read that first with curiosity.

Hermione's eyes widened as she digested the words, knowing full well that the Muggle Office of Gringotts worked out of a discreet location in the City in London, not Hogsmeade. She read the note from Harry, leapt to her feet, swept her new books into her bag, and took off for the stately marble building at the end of the street.

She made herself pause at the top of the stairs and catch her breath. The goblin on duty looked at her impassively as he did all Gringotts clients. The affairs of humans were not his concern, unless they were there to try and rob the bank.

Hermione entered and went to the desk where she and her parents usually changed Muggle money. The ugly little goblin greeted her politely. "Miss Granger, out of funds so soon? You were only here Tuesday."

"No, thank you, Locksnatch. My friend Harry Potter sent me this. It was delivered to his Muggle aunt and uncle by their post this morning. As you can see, the address in Hogsmeade is not correct..." she trailed off as the goblin read the letter, long ears twitching angrily as he finished. He beckoned her to follow and trotted toward a desk she knew to be the Head Goblin's. The goblins put their heads together and spoke rapidly in their own language for a few moments before the Head Goblin turned to Hermione.

"Miss Granger, we thank you for bringing this to our attention. While the paper itself in no way threatens the security of the bank, and is rather optimistically inaccurate as well, it nonetheless is a fraud and we will investigate it thoroughly. We will alert Mr. Potter by owl that no funds will be removed from his account other than the Hogwarts expenditures already in place." He solemnly reached up and shook her hand. "Thank you again."

Hermione, equally grave, shook and said, "You're welcome. I'm relieved that it can be handled so capably by your wonderful institution." While Hermione did think Gringotts was a well-run bank, she was laying it on a bit thick. Over the years of dealing with the goblins, she'd learned they responded strongly to courtesy and some well-placed flattery. The Head Goblin bowed over her hand and Locksnatch ushered her to the door himself.

Once out, Hermione returned to her table at Fortescue's, but Hedwig had already taken off again. This worried her, since Hedwig was more punctilious than most owls and usually waited for a reply. She thought for a moment and then went to the post office, fishing in her bag for several parchments, a quill, and a handful of Sickles on the way.

***

She had been watching the house itself for about a week when Vernon Dursley returned suddenly and in high temper well before lunch on a Thursday. From her perch in the tree, wrapped in her Invisibility Cloak, she turned up the volume on the Muggle-designed sound enhancer and pressed the earphones tightly to her head. Since it gave her access to all the conversation in the house, she was able to hear the Dursleys' alarming plan as they made it.

"...I tell you, Petunia, once we transfer that money into our account we'll be able to pay St. Brutus' or another facility to keep him locked up for the rest of his days! He's not supposed to do...that...outside of his school anyway, and if we give them the right story, they'll keep him on sedatives and unable to do...it...at all. We'll tell that blasted school of his that he was killed in an accident, drowned at the sea or something, and we'll finally be rid of him and his abnormality!"

Petunia's voice quavered uncertainly. "Do you think this stuff will work?" The sound of liquid being poured.

"Don't see why not. Marge uses it and she's out like that in a few minutes. We'll keep him in that room and sleeping until it's all arranged. I'll put new bars on the window tomorrow to keep that owl from coming back..."

She had heard enough. She turned off the enhancer and put it away, then carefully slid to the tree trunk and climbed down slowly as not to make noise or let the cloak be pulled away from her. Once on the ground she crossed three yards and came out on the street next to Privet Drive. In the shelter of a hedge she removed the cloak to reveal ordinary Muggle clothing of jeans and a loose T-shirt, stuffed the metallic material into a backpack, and walked to a pale green Citroën parked on the street. She got in, pulled out a cell phone, and punched a series of numbers.

"Will, Annie here. They've made their move. I've got to get Harry out of there as soon as possible; the Dursleys are going off the deep end for the Death Eater ruse. I need you in London ASAP. I'm driving over now and can meet you in about two hours allowing for traffic. Be sure to pack anything that will set off those devastating brown eyes."

She listened for a moment, then made a goodbye and disconnected. As she pulled away from the curb she passed the entrance to Privet Drive and braked for a moment. "Hang in there, Harry," she whispered. "Help is on the way."

CHAPTER 2 - The Rescue

Harry awoke to find Aunt Petunia standing over him with a mug in her hand. His vision, already blurry without his glasses, rocked and made his head swim. The last thing he remembered was eating the soup and bread she had brought him for lunch and feeling the overwhelming need for a nap.

It was dark outside. He'd apparently slept the afternoon away. He fumbled for his glasses, and knocked them to the floor. "Sorry, Aunt Petunia," he mumbled as he groped for them.

"Don't worry," she replied, retrieving his glasses for him and pressing the warm mug into his hand. "You slept through dinner and I thought you might need a cup of tea or something."

Harry took the mug and set it down. It seemed so hard to get his thoughts together through the cotton wool in his brain, but he managed the word, "Pyjamas."

Petunia had looked worried, almost frightened, but her face cleared. "I'll get them." She fetched and laid them on the bed. "Do drink the tea...I think you'll feel better for it." She backed out of the room, locking the door again.

Harry looked up from trying to unlace his trainers. His aunt was never this nice to him. He felt he ought to think about this some more, but he was losing the struggle with his shoes. He sat back up and took the mug. Some hot tea might refresh him enough to get changed and maybe try and pick the lock the way the Weasley twins had taught him. Then he could look in the kitchen for a bite to eat. He drained the mug and set it on the table. Stupid of him to have left Sirius' lock-picking pocket-knife in his trunk downstairs. If he just sat still a few minutes and gathered his strength...

Hedwig watched from windowsill, hooting softly and fretfully as Harry fell back on the bed, unconscious again. Then she took off into the night.

***

Hermione paced her bedroom, in front of a wide-open window. She had sent owls to Dumbledore, Sirius Black, and the Weasleys and was waiting impatiently for any return word. She hoped she had conveyed the misgivings she felt about the Gringotts letter without sounding too much like an overreacting teenager. Sirius, at least, ought to take her seriously, if he wasn't too far out of reach collecting old allies to Dumbledore's side.

It was after midnight when she finally spotted the fluttery shape of an owl against the moonlight. She ran to the window and watched as it flailed this way and that. The crooked path it took to her window told her it was Errol, the Weasleys' old and decrepit owl. She stood back to give Errol a clear landing on her bed and gently removed the parchment from his leg.

Dear Hermione,

Thank you so much for letting us know of Harry's predicament. We have also sent word to Professor Dumbledore and to Percy, who can inform the appropriate authorities in the Ministry. Arthur is currently away working with Charlie to improve security around the dragons in the protected habitats. We haven't heard from Sirius in ages, but an owl will surely find him.

If you hear anything more, please keep us informed and we'll do the same. I'm confident Professor Dumbledore will come up with something.

Take care,

Molly Weasley

While it wasn't the slew of information or heroic plan that Hermione had hoped for, she felt better for having an adult's backing with Dumbledore. She picked Errol up and carried him to her bathroom to water him. It wouldn't do to have the poor pile of feathers collapse in a crisis.

***

Petunia Dursley was not having a good morning. Vernon had called in sick to work and arranged to have Dudley spend an extra night with the Polkisses. On the phone, they had heard Dudley in the background demanding the syrup for his waffles, which meant he was breaking his diet. Then Vernon had left to meet with a solicitor, in a temper because he still hadn't found the letter, only the authorization form to deduct the hire of the vault.

Vernon had left her strict instructions to keep Harry sedated with Marge's sleeping draught. When she had brought the morning dose, Harry had refused it, trying to knock the glass of juice from her hand. She had forced it on him, holding him down and pinching his nose to make him drink, but she had been terrified the whole time that he would do...something, even in his dazed state.

Now she had to deal with the woman coming up the walk. Young, pretty enough, and very properly turned out, she carried a clipboard in one hand. Some poll or other. Petunia sighed and went to answer the door.

***

When the aunt opened the door at her knock, she felt the tension immediately. What little she'd dared listen to this morning suggested that the aunt might be having second thoughts about the uncle's scheme to pack Harry away for his money. She pasted on her best smile and began her spiel, careful to stay in an educated British accent.

"Good morning, I'm from the housing agents of Pryce and Bassington. We're looking to establish an office in Little Whinging and are asking for assistance of some of the residents to learn the area. May I have a few moments of your time? You look exactly like the kind of woman who knows her neighbours and can tell me something about them."

The aunt blossomed like a wilting flower given fresh water, and the probable rejection she had been preparing gave way to anticipating a wonderful chance to gossip. She invited the girl in and settled her in the lounge. Over cups of tea they traded tidbits both real and exaggerated about some of the neighbours. The aunt seemed especially interested in bad news about a widow, Mrs. Angelmere, and she obliged with a tragic end for Mr. Angelmere and trouble with getting the will settled. Every few moments she would check her watch carefully, waiting for 10:17.

Her watch turned over to 10:17. She set down her cup while the aunt prattled happily about a Mrs. Figg down the street and took out her wand. The aunt saw what was being pointed at her, but before she could scream the visitor intoned, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Petunia was frozen in place instantly. The woman leapt to her feet and ran upstairs. She found the locked door and opened it with a whispered "Alohamora".

Harry was on the bed, still sprawled in a drugged sleep. She stepped forward and looked at him, all gangly limbs and unruly dark hair. She knelt down and took the brooch out of her lapel. Quickly pricking her thumb, then his, she pressed them together for the blood to mix. Under her breath she uttered a long incantation and ended with a slightly louder, "Finit." The air around them shimmered for a moment. She stood and did a fast Healing Charm to erase any sign of the tiny wounds.

She flicked her wand with an "Expergisci!" and sprang forward to catch Harry as he bolted upright. His green eyes cleared from misty to alert instantly and he squinted at her in surprise.

She handed him his glasses. "I'm here to help! Sirius sent me. Quick, where's your stuff?" She spoke in an American accent.

Harry changed what he was going to say at the mention of Sirius. "My trunk's in the cupboard under the stairs. Everything else is in here." He started for the door but the girl stopped him.

"Appareo trunk!" Harry's trunk obediently popped into existence on the floor. "Alohamora!" The top flew open and she began tossing his clothes in.

Harry stared at her for a second, impressed by her speed and efficiency, then started shoving the bed aside to get at the floorboard and his spellbooks. "The Ministry--"

"Is distracted from monitoring the house for about eight more minutes, if we're lucky. Is that everything?" Harry nodded, tossing his pyjamas in and grabbing Hedwig's cage. She fixed a Weightless Charm on the trunk and began pulling it downstairs.

At the door she passed him the trunk and a set of car keys. "It's the Citroën in front of Number Six. I need to reset your aunt's memory."

Harry didn't ask questions. He ought to be suspicious of a strange witch barging in to rescue him, but so few people knew about Sirius...and there was something about her that seemed familiar, trustworthy. If he needed to, Harry decided, he could get away from her later and catch the Knight Bus to Diagon Alley. At the moment she was is ticket away from Privet Drive and the Dursleys.

He towed the trunk to the car and unlocked the boot. He put the trunk in the one space that seemed to have been left especially for it among other bags and cases. He climbed in and put Hedwig's cage in the back seat, next to a leather case that looked to hold a laptop computer. He recognized the purplish bundle underneath it--it looked very similar to his own Invisibility Cloak.

The girl came out of the house and slid into the driver's seat. She handed him a bag and a clipboard, admonished him to buckle up as she did the same, then started the car and pulled out of Privet Drive. Something trilled. She pulled a mobile phone from her coat pocket and answered it.

"It's Annie, talk to me...yes, we're away. Mrs. Dursley will tell her husband she went shopping for more of the sleeping draught and when she came back, Harry was simply gone. I don't think he'll take it out on her--I poured the last of the bottle they had down the drain and left the new bottle in a bag in the kitchen with a receipt. ...You are a doll and a dear and my hero. You'd better get back before anyone misses you. I'll drop you an e-mail once we're there. Bye." She hung up and dropped the phone in Harry's lap. This was followed by a bottle of water from the rear floorboard. "Perfectly safe, and you probably need it badly." As they sped toward the A3, Harry gulped water and looked his rescuer over.

She had brown hair, brown eyes and a slightly olive complexion. She was nattily dressed in a coat and skirt of navy, with her hair pulled back from her face in a comb. A brooch with some kind of family crest was her only jewellery. Now that she was paying attention to the road, the clothes didn't seem to suit her. She ought to be in jeans and a sloppy jumper with a university insignia on it.

Harry waited patiently for her to either introduce herself or possibly call Sirius, since she had mentioned being sent by him (though he wasn't sure Sirius knew how to work any telephone, much less a slim and shiny mobile like this one). When minutes passed and she did neither, he cleared his throat. She passed a lorry, then glanced at him with a mischievous smile. "Wondering who I am and where we're going, I bet." She opened the glove box to reveal a selection of biscuits and dried fruit. "Eat something. You're probably ravenous."

He nodded. She took a business card from the glove box and handed it to him. It read "Patterson Transport and Courier. Can deliver anywhere." The addresses listed were Washington, DC, London, Hong Kong and Buenos Aires, along with strings of letters he recognized as a website and email address.

"I don't understand." He looked again as he was about to replace the card and noticed a small arrow fading in on the lower right corner. He turned the card over and blinked in surprise. More letters were coming to the surface of the card, as if they had been buried in snow and the wind was exposing them.

"Anastacia Patterson. United States Agency of International Magic."

Harry waited to see if more useful revelations were coming, then put the card on the dash. He reached for a pack of peanut butter biscuits. "How is it that you know Sirius?"

"I haven't for a long time, actually. Albus--Professor Dumbledore--told us where you were staying and explained the situation with Voldemort." Harry was surprised, but cautiously pleased that someone else was brave enough to say the evil wizard's name. "I was keeping tabs on you--I know they have protections in place against dark wizards, but I was afraid the Dursleys might be manipulated into doing something foolish. And I was right."

"Then that letter was a fake!"

Anastacia nodded. "Of course. Gringotts' only inter-world communication departments are in London, New York, and Sydney. They would have applied to you directly anyway. Once a wizard is past thirteen, Gringotts deals directly with the account holder first." She paused as she cut between a tour bus and a sedan. Harry realized they were heading south, not north to London.

"I figure some Death Eater with a decent knowledge of ordinary affairs came up with that letter. It worked like a charm, to use a bad pun. Your uncle put a sedative in your meal yesterday and was prepared to keep you drugged until he'd bribed a mental hospital to hide you away for the rest of your life."

Harry's jaw dropped. While it was no secret that his aunt and uncle detested him and all he represented, he had no idea that Vernon Dursley would have been capable of such a thing. After a few seconds, he got his voice working again. "I'm not going back there, ever! I don't care what Dumbledore says, I can protect myself without being there. I never want to see them again!"

Anastacia smiled. "You don't have to."