Realizations

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Chapter 33: A Little Knowledge is a Dangerous Thing

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July 26, 1995

"There's been some trouble regarding Harry."

Percy Weasley made an irritated sound and punched his pillows, wondering if it was finally time to get up. His sleep had been plagued with half remembered dreams and the nagging of his guilty conscience. He patted around for his horn-rimmed glasses, then held them in front of his face so he could glance at the clock.

Too Early To Be Awake. Lovely.

Heaving a great sigh, Percy re-folded his glasses and tried to settle in again. His conscience didn't get the hint though, and continued to prod at him, speaking in his father's voice.

"Professor Dumbledore has reason to believe Harry's Archive folder is malfunctioning."

"The evidence suggests his guardians have been negligent."

"His folder was supposed to alarm if anything unusual happened, and it hasn't."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Percy recalled the day before when he'd been sent to fetch Harry Potter's folder from the Census Library and Archive. In retrospect, he'd been the junior person on the premises and the most logical choice for the task, but at the time he'd been a little miffed over the whole affair. The minister didn't usually treat him like a common errand boy.

Still, he'd been willing to follow the minister's lead and keep up appearances. Alienating Dumbledore served no purpose, after all. He was still the Hogwarts Headmaster, and a great favorite in the Wizarding Community. It was a pity the old chap seemed to be slipping, but there was no cure for growing old. It happened to everyone eventually.

Keeping that sentiment firmly in mind, Percy had decided rather magnanimously that there was no real harm in humoring his former headmaster. He'd fetch the folder. The minister might even agree to open it, just to put Dumbledore's fears to rest. By the time he'd returned, folder in hand, he'd been so wrapped up in his own hubris he hadn't known how to react when Professor Flitwick discovered a Silencing Charm on the thing.

A Silencing Charm!

"His folder was supposed to alarm if anything unusual happened, and it hasn't..."

And the noise the folder had made when the charm was removed! Percy ran a weary hand through his sleep-tousled hair. Thank heavens Professor Flitwick had erected a barrier before removing the spell. If he hadn't, the sonic blast that issued forth might have deafened the lot of them. As it was, the folder's alarm was enough to make everyone's ears ring in spite of Flitwick's Muffling Charm.

Heaving a great sigh, Percy finally gave up and reached for his glasses again. Ignoring the "Go Back To Sleep, Stupid!" admonition on his clock's face, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and searched for his slippers and dressing gown.

Dumbledore was wrong about one thing, though, he mused, padding toward the kitchen of his new flat. Even if he'd given in to his father's original request it would have been for naught. Clearly, more than one member of the Wizengamot was needed to open the folder. When Minister Fudge and Professor Dumbledore had attempted it, they had failed. Percy had eventually returned the folder to its place in the library, Cornelius Fudge's demands for an investigation still ringing in his ears.

"Maybe his folder hasn't alerted because nothing's wrong."

"That's the assumption people have been working under for the past several years. Actually I think the folder has been silent so long everyone had practically forgotten it."

That was it. The heart of the matter. After Minister Fudge had told him about the exquisite magical protection surrounding Harry Potter, Percy had almost convinced himself that he must have been mistaken about the degree of danger Harry had been in during his school years. Clearly Harry couldn't have been in any real danger, and of course the idea that his Muggle relatives mistreated him was pure rubbish.

Wasn't it?

"What if Dumbledore's right, Perce? What if the folder is malfunctioning and Harry's relatives are not taking proper care of him? You may not care, but I will not tolerate Harry or any child being mistreated."

Shut up.

Percy winced, trying to ignore the hot guilty feeling the memory engendered. Potter wasn't mistreated. He wasn't! he insisted, pressing his lips together and resolutely putting the kettle on the stove.

---

Madam Pomfrey paused on a rise between Hogwarts and the village of Hogsmeade. The grounds were always particularly lovely this time of year, and the scene below made a very pretty picture. Hogwarts castle rose majestically before her, framed by the green, flower-dotted landscape and the sparkling blue water of Hogwarts Lake, but she was too troubled to fully appreciate it.

Adjusting her grip on her medical bag, she sighed and continued down the path, heading for the castle gates. Normally she found the walk between the village and the castle soothing. Indeed, that had been the primary reason she'd Apparated to the outskirts of Hogsmeade instead of using a shorter, more direct approach to return to the hospital wing. She'd hoped a brisk walk would help her get her thoughts in order, but today even the morning sun dancing playfully on the lake's surface wasn't enough to successfully distract her.

As she walked, Poppy found herself recalling the speech Albus made at the end of term--about what is right and what is easy. She knew what the headmaster was getting at of course, she'd lived through You Know Who's first rise to power, but that didn't mean she was looking forward to what was coming once she got back to the castle. Albus and Pomona were probably quite cross with her for disappearing the way she had. The fact that she'd gotten caught up in events beyond her control might be her only saving grace.

It was almost funny, since the evening had actually been rather ordinary up to that point. She and Pomona Sprout had been summoned to watch the hospital wing...had it only been last evening? Poppy shook her head as she continued. With all the excitement, it seemed like more time had passed. At any rate, the two of them had made quick work of getting the hospital wing in order, caught up on each others' news, then settled in to wait. One watched the ward while the other napped--standard operating procedure.

Things had stayed quiet until well after midnight, when the alarm signaling an Order portkey being activated sounded twice, and their first group of casualties arrived. Of the lot, Minerva McGonagall had been the only one still clinging to consciousness. Her whispered warning about the invisible trap waiting in the Burrow soon had Poppy scurrying to contact the other Order defenders before anyone else blundered into it. That accomplished, she had just been going to help Professor Sprout when the alarm went off again. Changing direction, she'd hurried over to the spot where new patients portkeyed in, but this time a snowy owl appeared!

Some post owls were accustomed to Portkey or Floo travel, but this one clearly was not. Poppy had quickly picked up the corners of her apron and rushed forward to catch the disoriented creature. Odd. The Order portkey system was set up so even an ill or injured member could make use of it. Why had the owner sent an owl with a note?

And why did the owl seem so familiar? There weren't many snowys around...

Poppy had puzzled that over as the owl righted itself and settled on her shoulder. Still trying to place the bird, she'd taken the letter from its beak, fingers flying to her mouth when she thought of a possible answer. Potter! Potter has a snowy owl! The bird's brilliant white plumage made it stick out in a crowd, and she'd admired it many times when post was delivered in the Great Hall.

That had put things in a whole new light.

Poppy smiled a little when she recalled her own reaction to that little brainstorm. She'd been nearly beside herself with concern, thinking that Potter must be very bad off indeed if he was actually asking for help! It had taken her a second or two to catch on to the obvious--namely Potter hadn't written the note himself.

Dear Sir or Madam:

I apologize in advance if this letter seems unusual, but I find myself in a rather unusual situation...

Unusual. Poppy almost laughed aloud at the blatant understatement. "Unusual" didn't even begin to cover it.

Still, she hadn't been overly concerned, at least not at first. Aside from the thin, Muggle paper it had been written on, the letter itself had been rather unremarkable in spite of its dramatic arrival. It was nothing more than a request for a house call, really. From the symptoms described, it sounded like Potter had a combination of gastroenteritis and pharyngitis. Nasty, but certainly fixable. The writer--Janet Wright--had also mentioned prolonged unresponsiveness, but Poppy had taken that in stride. She'd tended Potter many times in the last four years and was well aware of the boy's tendency to sleep long and deeply when recovering from an injury. It was quite likely he reacted the same way to illness. If so, she couldn't blame the woman for being concerned. She'd found Potter's healing process a bit discomfiting herself the first time she'd observed it.

Discomfiting! Poppy shook her head again, tutting at her own arrogance. The address Janet provided was in the general vicinity of the Leaky Cauldron, so after warning Pomona she'd be out for a bit, she'd opted to Floo there and Apparate to Potter's location. Her plan had been simple: Check on Potter, stabilize him if necessary, and bring him back to the hospital wing. The whole errand should have taken thirty minutes. An hour at most.

Should have. "Should" being the key word there.

Naturally, it didn't.

Oh, no, the situation she found when she arrived at the Wright residence was a far cry from the simple little exam and treatment she'd been expecting.

Pausing again at the castle entrance, Poppy hesitated with her hand on the door then squared her shoulders and marched through. When one had a nasty dose of medicine coming, it was always best to take it quickly.

She was about halfway to the infirmary when a voice caught her attention. "Poppy! Where on Earth have you been, dear?"

Turning, Madam Pomfrey saw Professor Flitwick hurrying toward her with at least a dozen breakfast trays trailing in his wake. Instantly alert, she asked, "Did something else happen?" There was more food than necessary for Arthur Weasley's family. Anticipating a disaster, Poppy unconsciously quickened her step, making the little Charms professor trot to keep up with her.

"How bad is it?" she asked, stopping dead in her tracks for a moment. "Oh, Pomona!" she groaned, hurrying even more.

"Now, now calm down, dear," Flitwick puffed, trying to avoid spilling the trays as they clanked and rattled behind him. "It's not as bad as all that. There were a few minor injuries, but I stayed around to help. Most everyone was treated and released. The patients still in the hospital wing are simply sleeping off one soporific agent or another. Pomona thinks they'll be waking soon."

Relieved beyond speech, Poppy slowed her pace, then stopped, leaning gratefully against the wall and allowing him to fill her in on the night's activities. Now that the adrenaline surge she'd just had was fading, her own fatigue was beginning to creep in. A small dose of Pepper-Up might be in order once they reached the hospital wing. She simply couldn't shake off these all night emergencies the way she used to.

Flitwick noticed, of course, and asked after her as they continued on their way. "Are you quite all right dear? Where ever have you been?"

Poppy sighed. "I'm fine, Filius, just tired. I've been in London...tending Mr. Potter," she admitted, wincing when his mouth fell open and the breakfast trays wavered dangerously before he got them under control again.

They walked in silence for a few paces, the trays trailing behind them like a line of baby ducks, before the little Charms professor spoke again.

"Is the boy all right?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Yes. He's resting comfortably."

"But he's still in London?"

"Yes."

Flitwick's face twisted into a mask of confusion. "May I ask why?"

Poppy sighed. "I'd rather wait to answer that until all concerned parties are assembled."

Filius chuckled. "I think you'll find lots of 'concerned parties' behind that door," he said dryly, pointing to the wooden slab that separated the hospital wing from the rest of the castle.

Poppy sighed as she straightened her hat and smoothed her apron. As soon as she stepped though that door she was going to be the absolute center of attention. "Very well. I suppose we'd better get on with it," she said, reaching for the latch.

"Wait," Flitwick said, catching her wrist. "Let me go first. The house elves sent some lovely sticky buns. You might have an easier time of it if their teeth are stuck together."

---

This is the height of idiocy! Percy grumbled to himself as he headed to one of the Ministry's more out of the way Floo connections. Honestly! It isn't as though I don't have anything else to do!

Stopping in the hall, he considered abandoning the errand, then shook his head and pressed on. The Silencing Charm they'd found yesterday had shaken his confidence, and just now when he'd pulled the access instructions for the Boy Who Lived, it was obvious no one had even touched them since early 1982.

Besides, all he really had to do was check in with the custodian. Harry didn't even have to know he'd been there. Feeling much better, Percy drew the instructions out of his robe pocket as he knelt in front of the little-used grate. "Arabella Figg," he called, throwing a pinch of Floo Powder in the fireplace.

Within seconds he was staring into a rather Muggle looking lounge. Percy frowned a bit, wondering if he had the right grate, then recalled the caretaker had to masquerade as a Muggle. It had all been there in the instructions, along with explicit instructions to Floo, not apparate.

The procedure had also cautioned against drawing attention to oneself, and waiting until Mrs. Figg acknowledged the call before proceeding.

So where on Earth was she?

Percy shifted a bit as his knees began to protest his kneeling on the hard floor. "Mrs. Figg? Mrs. Figg, are you there?" he called, remembering belatedly that it was rather early still, and it was possible she wasn't up and about yet.

"Who's there?" a sleepy voice finally asked from the couch. Percy frowned, unsure whether to be concerned or annoyed when he caught sight of the exhausted-looking witch. The rumpled state of her hair and Muggle clothing seemed to suggest she'd slept on the sofa all night.

"My name is Percy Weasley--I'm with the Ministry of Magic," Percy said, watching as she got up and walked over.

"Percy? Good Lord! I haven't seen you since before you started Hogwarts! I don't expect you remember me, though," Mrs. Figg said, showing a great deal more animation. "Come in, dear, please! It'll just take a second to heat up the kettle."

"Don't go to any trouble on my account," Percy said, lurching forward out of the hearth as his body joined his head in the witch's lounge.

"No trouble," Mrs. Figg assured him from the kitchen. "I could do with a cuppa myself after last night. How is your family this morning, dear? All fine I hope?"

Percy had no idea, but assumed he'd have been notified if any calamity occurred. "They're fine so far as I know," he hedged. "Thank you for asking."

"Good," Mrs. Figg said, relief obvious on her face as she came bustling back with two steaming mugs and a plate of pastries on a tray. "I've been so worried, especially with all that You Know Who unpleasantness."

Oh, smashing, Percy groaned, taking a sip of tea and making a noncommittal noise around it. Dad's been spreading that You Know Who rubbish again. He waited for her to demand answers, the Ministry's pat answer on the tip of his tongue, but she surprised him by delicately letting the matter drop.

"That's better," she remarked, after they'd sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes. "Now, what can I do for you, dear?"

"I'm here on Ministry business, Mrs. Figg," Percy began, after swallowing a bite of pastry.

"Ah, you'll be wanting to see Vernon's house, I suppose," Mrs. Figg said with a sigh before he could elaborate.

"Vernon?"

"Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle."

In spite of everything, Percy didn't want this impromptu visit noised about. Not yet, at any rate. "I don't want to disturb anyone," he backpedaled. "I just wanted to check up on the, erm, current state of affairs."

Mrs. Figg shrugged, taking out her wand and weaving a complex series of charms around Percy. "It's early enough, I doubt anyone will notice you. If they do, just tell them you're interested in the house."

"The Muggles won't mind?" Percy asked, finding that rather hard to believe, especially given his father's stories about Harry's aunt and uncle.

"Why should they mind? That's what it's there for, after all. Actually, I think I'll go with you," she decided, ushering him out the door. "I need to remove some Muggle Aversion Charms, and now's as good a time as any."

Muggle Aversion charms? Percy frowned in confusion. That certainly didn't tally. "I thought Harry's Muggle relatives didn't like magic," he commented as they made their way up the street.

Mrs Figg's expression grew unexpectedly grim. "They don't," she said, further bewildering Percy when she lowered her eyes as though ashamed. "That poor child. That poor sweet child," she said with a sigh. When she looked up he was astonished to actually see tears in her eyes. What on Earth was going on? She clearly thought he knew what she was talking about. How could he ask without sounding like a fool? What had upset her so? And on that subject, why the uncommonly keen interest in his family's welfare?

They walked a few more paces in silence, moving like ghosts through the damp, gray morning. Mrs. Figg shook herself out of her reverie after a few moments, but her choice of topic only added more questions to Percy's already racing brain.

"The wards surrounding the property are fairly standard. An extra set was added to track Harry if he ventured too far from the house--he was just a toddler you know--and I think others were installed to detect magical activity in the house. Anti-Apparation wards extend about twenty-five meters from the house in all directions. There's also a series of wards across most of the neighborhood at allows me to know if a magical person is about," Mrs. Figg explained as they made their way along. Percy nodded politely, but didn't really see why she was telling him all this, unless it was merely a point of interest. He might not agree with all the decisions Harry had made over the years, but that didn't mean he wanted the younger boy here without protection. The way she was carrying on, one would think preparations were being made to dismantle the wards!

"Here we are," Mrs. Figg announced, breaking his train of thought. "Number four," she said, pointing.

Percy squinted through his glasses. "There must be some mistake. That house is for sale...and completely vacant!" he exclaimed after walking up to the house and peering in a window.

"There's been some trouble regarding Harry..."

"There's always trouble regarding Harry. What's he done this time?"

"He hasn't done anything. Professor Dumbledore has reason to believe Harry's Archive folder is malfunctioning."

Mrs. Figg looked up from removing her Muggle Aversion Charms. "Did Arthur forget to tell you? The family's gone. Moved out of the country."

"So what does this have to do with me?"

"Harry's folder is sealed. We need approval from the Wizengamot and the Minister's Office to access it."

"No! Absolutely not! The headmaster can make an appointment and go through proper channels just like everyone else!"

"Well, normally he would, Perce, but this is a bit of an emergency."

"No, Dad. An emergency would be you and I both getting sacked for doing something so stupidly irresponsible..."

"...no longer necessary, I reckoned the Minister would send a team of Aurors out to remove the wards, were you not here to gather specifications?"

"Oh, no. I mean yes! Where is my mind?" Percy replied, buying a little time to regroup by reaching inside his robe for the quill and parchment he always carried and scribbling down what she'd already said. When he was caught up, she carried on, describing the ward structure and telling him the best times to send people in without their being noticed. Percy took it all down but was no longer really listening. As soon as he could manage it, he was back at the Ministry, hurrying toward the Census Library as fast as his long legs could carry him.

---

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Bloody hell! Ron thought, eyeing the statue-like form of Sirius Black while trying to move his own frozen limbs. Madam Pomfrey had a reputation for being someone a bloke shouldn't cross, but before now he'd always taken the warnings in stride.

As the furious matron stalked across his line of vision he began to see her in a whole new light. Definitely not someone to trifle with! Who'd have thought her capable of immobilizing six wizards with a single wave of her wand?

A tentative hand on his shoulder drew his attention, then Hermione stepped out where he could see her. Ron smiled inwardly, warmed by the concerned little frown on her face. It didn't last long, though. Once she decided he was probably all right, she crossed her arms, gave him her most withering look, and mouthed, I told you so!

Yeah, yeah, he returned, with a mental eye-roll, pausing nervously as Madam Pomfrey glared at him, before moving on to Sirius, Professor Lupin, Fred, George, and his father. He caught sight of her again as she stepped out of the center of them and rounded on Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, and Dumbledore.

"Do you have anything to say?" she demanded, her wand still clenched in her fist.

In hindsight, Ron reckoned they probably shouldn't have rushed her like that, but still! This was Harry, for Heaven's sake! Judging from what she'd said before they'd descended on her, Harry was very ill and in the care of Muggles yet! How could she just leave him there?

Professor Dumbledore won't stand for this! Ron mused confidently, waiting for his headmaster to disarm Madam Pomfrey and put in her place. He'll put a stop to this nonsense and order her to tell him everything!

Naturally, Dumbledore did the unexpected.

Instead of becoming angry, or at the very least releasing Ron and the others from the petrifying spell, the headmaster lifted his hands in a pacifying manner, and answered the question posed to him.

"I have nothing to say at the present time, Poppy, but I do have questions. Perhaps if you begin at the beginning, we can better understand your decision to leave Mr. Potter behind."

"That's exactly what I was doing before this gang of hoodlums interrupted," the Mediwitch snapped, indicating Ron and the others with a jab or her wand.

Dumbledore hummed in agreement, an amused twinkle in his eye. "I daresay they won't do it again, dear lady," he pointed out, enjoying the situation entirely too much for Ron's taste. If Dumbledore wasn't going to reprimand Madam Pomfrey that was his business of course, but couldn't he at least perform the counterspell? It was dead awkward being stuck this way, and his nose was beginning to itch.

Clearly still miffed about the whole affair, Madam Pomfrey didn't reply immediately. Instead she glared at the group of petrified wizards, giving Sirius a particularly nasty look before relenting and putting her wand back in her pocket.

Without bothering to remove her spell, of course.

Ron sighed inwardly. Naturally. That would be too bloody convenient.

Unable to do much else, he listened as Madam Pomfrey described how Harry's owl Hedwig insisted on coming along, even though that meant a ride through the Floo Network. Once they arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, they'd made their way to the address specified in the letter.

"It was the home of a Muggle family Mr. Potter befriended this summer," Madam Pomfrey explained, "or perhaps mixed family would be more accurate. The father is a Muggle; the mother and their two daughters are untrained witches."

Hermione took immediate notice of that, looking up, then frowning in a way that meant she was trying to recall something. "Daughters..." she murmured, pursing her lips in concentration. Ron had just enough time to wonder what she was on about before she gasped and thrust her hand into the air. "Madam Pomfrey?"

For a second Ron thought Madam Pomfrey might remind his friend that classes weren't currently in session.

For a second.

In the end she chose the path of least resistence. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

Hermione was now wearing her "I'm Thinking As Hard As I Can" face. "If you please, Madam Pomfrey, is Harry with an American family?"

"What??"

Oh...of course! Ron thought, snickering inwardly when Madam Pomfrey crossed his line of vision again. The gobsmacked look on her face was almost worth being petrified. Things got even better when Professor McGonagall blinked as though recalling something and spoke up.

"An American family, Poppy? Would their name be 'Wright' by any chance?"

"Why yes! But how on Earth did you know?" the Mediwitch demanded, glancing between Hermione and Professor McGonagall.

"Abigail Penstone, head registrar at the Salem Witches' Institute, contacted me about a week ago. It seems the family of one Katrina Wright relocated to England earlier this summer," Professor McGonagall replied. "She requested permission to offer Hogwarts as an option when she sent the girl her acceptance letter."

The Head of Gryffindor paused, then peered suspiciously at Hermione through her square framed glasses. "And you, Miss Granger? What exactly is your part in this?"

"I was thinking of the family Ron, Mr. Weasley and I saw at the Leaky Cauldron, Professor. They appeared to have three children...two little girls, and an older boy who reminded us all of Harry. Now that I think of it, the older girl might have been the right size for a First Year," she said, growing excited. "Maybe it was Harry, then!"

"Perhaps," Professor Dumbledore cautioned, "but recall, Arthur said Amos Diggory spotted a boy who resembles Mr. Potter at Flourish & Blotts. According to the staff, the boy has dark eyes and his name is Jim Patterson."

That brought Hermione up short. "I forgot that part," she admitted with a sigh, "but he looks so much like Harry! Professor, I still think this Jim Patterson person is worth speaking to!"

"As do we, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore assured her. "In fact..." the headmaster pulled absently on his beard and turned to his deputy. "Minerva, were you able to catch up to our mysterious Mr. Patterson?"

McGonagall shook her head. "I've only seen him through the Leaky Cauldron windows. I haven't been able to approach him out of doors."

"Jim Patterson...interesting," Madam Pomfrey mused. "I didn't really consider the significance last night, but I think Miss Granger may have the right of it. Now understand, the boy I tended last night was Harry Potter--green eyes and all--but now that you mention it, the family did act like they were accustomed to calling him by another name. The parents were making an effort to call him 'Harry', but they were clearly more accustomed to addressing him as 'Sparky', 'Jim', or 'Jimmy'."

Sparky? Ron laughed inwardly wondering how Harry had gotten stuck with that one. Maybe it had something to do with that lightning-shaped scar of his.

"Well that certainly strengthens the theory that Harry Potter and Jim Patterson are the same person," Professor McGonagall admitted, "The eyecolor could be a Glamour I suppose...but didn't Arthur say a member of the Flourish & Blotts staff cast Finite Incantatem on him?"

Dumbldore shrugged. "All that proves is he didn't use a spell. There are many methods for changing one's appearance."

"Appearance yes, but eyecolor? "

Dumbledore held up a hand. "I know it seems odd, Minerva, but we could be overlooking something. For now let's agree that Jim Patterson could be Harry Potter in disguise and get back to the business at hand." He waited for her nod then turned back to the hospital matron. "Poppy?"

Madam Pomfrey paused a moment, gathering her thoughts. "The father answered the door when I arrived," she continued. "He seemed tense--worried--and if I'm not mistaken, he actually looked to Potter's owl before allowing me in. I probably should have taken a little time to reassure him, but I was anxious to be on my way. Since there were already casualties at Hogwarts, I'd planned to collect Mr. Potter and take him back to the hospital wing. Unfortunately circumstances made that quite impossible."

"What circumstances were those, Poppy?" Professor McGonagall asked.

"Well, the mother for one thing," Madam Pomfrey admitted with a rueful shake of her head. "She went so far as to ask the owl if I was the one she'd gone after, and flatly refused when I offered to take Mr. Potter away."

That surprised Ron, particularly since Harry's Muggle relatives practically shoved him out the door at every given opportunity. Hermione seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"What? But why?" she asked, impatient anger beginning to creep into her voice. "Why would she send for help only to refuse it?"

"She didn't refuse my help, Miss Granger. She refused to let me take Mr. Potter away without his knowledge and consent. There is a difference."

"But--"

"Understand, Miss Granger, the Wrights were in a rather difficult situation. They were quite nice, and rather apologetic about the whole thing, but my boundaries were clear. I was there on Mr. Potter's owl's recommendation so they trusted me to a point, but only so far. The only two wizards they were acquainted with were Mr. Potter, and Tom from the Leaky Cauldron. Mr. Potter was laying senseless in their house, and his owl flatly refused to let them go to ask Tom for advice."

"What? But that's rubbish! Hedwig would never refuse to get help for Harry!"

"You're quite right, Miss Granger. That's why she fetched me."

"But--" Hermione tried again before Madam Pomfrey cut her off.

"You're trying to villianize these people for no reason, child. Consider, Mr. Potter had just told them about You Know Who. The family had already been threatened, and if I'm not mistaken, attacked." She turned to Dumbledore. "I found traces of what must have been a botched memory charm on the mother," she informed him gravely before returning her attention to Hermione. "They were grateful for my assistance, but they were taking no chances. Mr. Potter was not to be moved from their house until he was lucid enough to speak for himself." Pausing, Madam Pomfrey gave the garden of frozen wizards a pointed look, and reached into her robe pocket. "I trust you gentlemen will be able to control yourselves now," she said, with a negligent flick of her wand.

Suddenly released from stasis, Ron and the others completed interrupted running steps and flailed for balance before everyone was firmly on their feet again. Sirius in particular was not amused. "What were you thinking? How could you just leave Harry there?" he roared. "You should have brought him back here or taken him to St. Mungos immediately, regardless of what the Muggle wanted! She couldn't have stopped you!"

Ron swore the temperature in the hospital wing dropped a few degrees when Madam Pomfrey turned to face Harry's godfather, wand at the ready. "Unless you've completed your Mediwizard certification, do not presume to question me or tell me what's right for my patients, Sirius Black," she stated, frost coating every syllable. "If you're suggesting I left Mr. Potter behind lightly or against his will, you're gravely mistaken. When I first arrived Mr. Potter couldn't be moved."

"Well, what about later then? Surely you stabilized him before leaving?"

"I did."

"And?"

"I have no legal claim on him," Madam Pomfrey said with exaggerated patience. "Are you saying I should have kidnaped him?"

Sirius' eyes narrowed. "If that's what it takes. If legal claim is what you want, tell me where he is and I'll go get him."

"You can try I suppose, but I wish you luck."

"Wait..." Professor Lupin said, reaching out and almost absently and hauling Sirius back. "Are you're saying Harry doesn't want to come back to us?" he asked, sounding slightly hurt.

"I haven't been able to say much of anything, now have I?" Madam Pomfrey countered, putting one hand on her hip. "If you lot will stop interrupting and let me explain, I think most of your questions will be answered. I'm only telling you this much because Mr. Potter said I could. He reckoned you'd be worried, but keep in mind this is privileged information." After a few seconds of silence, she nodded and went on.

"As I said, the bird's instincts were good. Moving Mr. Potter at that point could have been disastrous. We're quite lucky Mrs. Wright had sense enough to realize or at least suspect a Muggle hospital couldn't have dealt with the boy's symptoms. That brings us to the heart of the matter. I couldn't move Mr. Potter at that point because he had completely left his body."

That got Ron's attention. "What?" he gasped, earning an irritated look from the Mediwitch.

"You're taking Divination, are you not, Mr. Weasley? Surely Professor Trelawney has mentioned Astral travel."

Ron shared an incredulous look with Hermione. "Well, yes," he finally admitted, "but we--Harry and I..." He paused, trying to get his mind around the concept. "We thought it was all rubbish."

"Not completely, Mr. Weasley," Madam Pomfrey corrected, after sharing an ironic look with Professor McGonagall. "Astral travel is possible. Dangerous and not terribly common perhaps, but possible."

"Yes," Arthur Weasley put in, making Ron look up in surprise. He watched as his father moved to his mother's bedside and gently took her hand. "Harry came to us at Arabella Figg's house, and told us the Burrow was under attack. You Know Who had a plan no one expected. I'm sorry to say it took him a little time to convince us his warning was valid."

Ron squirmed uncomfortably as horrid might-have-beens teased his imagination. Professor Sprout had explained his mum and Ginny had been lower in the house and had simply gotten a stronger dose of the Death Eaters' gas, but it was still odd to see them so still and quiet.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. "How long did it take?" she asked, providing a welcome distraction. Following her gaze, Ron saw she was looking very intently at his father.

Arthur Weasley frowned in concentration. "Lord, I don't know, Poppy," he said, spreading his hands. "Ten minutes, perhaps? Certainly no more than twenty."

Madam Pomfrey hummed, tapping her lips with her forefinger. "That wouldn't be it, then. Too short. The point is, Mr. Potter stayed out longer than was strictly wise. His Astral Link became dangerously overextended, and the stress on his body was significant. At one point his temperature rose to such a degree I had to transfigure his bed into a bath so we could try to cool him off.

"That must have been when he got all quiet at Arabella's, after Arthur, Remus, and Mad-Eye left," Sirius speculated, glancing at Dumbledore who nodded his agreement.

Madam Pomfrey was not impressed. "Am I to understand that Mr. Potter stayed extended after delivering his warning?" she demanded. When Sirius nodded, she shook her head in exasperation. "Of all the thoughtless, irresponsible--you should have sent him back immediately!" she cried, unconsciously throwing his own accusation back in his teeth.

"That wasn't exactly my choice to make!" Sirius flared, looking mortally offended. "Harry wanted to make sure everyone got out of the Burrow all right! Fawkes held him in place until we got Shacklebolt's firecall!"

"I believe Harry said Fawkes agreed to hold him in the Physical Realm as long as possible," Dumbledore clarified, holding up a cautioning finger. "The fact that he was able to hear the firecall--or most of it--is mere coincidence."

"Well, I must say he's a bird of his word," Madam Pomfrey replied, shaking her head. "I didn't want to alarm Mrs. Wright, she was already frightened enough as it was, but another few seconds and...well, I'm really not sure what would have happened. Most of my patients have the sense to keep their spirits inside their bodies where they belong."

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "In Harry's defense, what happened last night was unusual even for an Astral Projection. Furthermore, I'm not certain this 'ability' of his is entirely voluntary. In any case, it seems some instruction would be prudent. I'll discuss it with him once he recovers."

"Yes, that would probably be best," Madam Pomfrey agreed, "for my sake if not his own. Mr. Potter may thrive on these sorts of adventures, but my heart's not what it once was."

"Is Harry all right, Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked quietly.

"He's on the mend, Miss Granger," the Mediwitch replied to Ron's great relief. "He's still ill of course. Weak, disoriented, and dreadfully sore, but I don't think he suffered any permanent damage."

"Thank the Lord for that," Ron's father said wholeheartedly.

"Indeed," Professor Dumbledore seconded, before turning back to the Mediwitch. "Poppy, did Mr. Potter happen to mention why he's so reluctant to return to us?" Ron noted the headmaster was suddenly very serious with no trace of his trademark humor. He was actually acting like someone about to be told something they desperately don't want to hear.

Madam Pomfrey hesitated, then sighed. "Mr. Potter fears you intend to send him back to his Muggle relatives," she said regretfully. Ron was shocked, but Professor Dumbledore didn't seem to be.

"I suspected as much. I fear I haven't listened to the boy enough in the past."

"You aren't alone in that, Albus," Madam Pomfrey said, giving him a sympathetic look before addressing the room at large. "He's also convinced the lot of you are irrevocably cross with him, and no amount of talking on my part could convince him otherwise," she stated, touching off another uproar.

"Then you definitely should have brought him back!" Sirius shouted over a chorus of general agreement. "We could have sorted the mess once he arrived!"

"No, no, NO!" Madam Pomfrey thundered, punctuating the last with a flash and a BANG from the end of her wand. That's where you're all wrong," she said into the resulting silence. "This may come as a surprise to all of you, but Harry Potter isn't made of stone. He's a flesh and blood wizard, and he has limits just like anyone else. I know his fears are probably groundless, but they're very real to him and his well being has to take precedence. The Wrights have cared for him like one of their own, and there's no reason to believe they won't continue to do so. I wanted to calm him, not add to his stress, so I backed down. Good thing, too, it seems," she continued turning to Dumbledore. "If I hadn't I might have found myself forcibly ejected from the premises."

Ron glanced at Hermione and his father, unsurprised at the small smiles tugging on their lips. Professor Sprout, who was not privy to the joke seemed shocked. "Surely they didn't threaten you, Poppy!"

"Not directly," Madam Pomfrey clarified, "perhaps not even intentionally, but something very strange happened. When I was trying to calm Mr. Potter, I felt the air tighten around me--like the sensation one feels before Apparating. I thought it might be accidental magic from Mr. Potter at first, but now I think it might have been Mrs. Wright. She was appalled at Mr. Potter's state, and wanted me away from him immediately. It was written all over her face. When I changed tactics with Mr. Potter and assured him he didn't have to go immediately if he didn't wish it, the pressure eased."

"You should have Stupefied her--or are you suddenly frightened of Muggles and untrained Half Bloods?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Black," Madam Pomfrey scoffed. "If fact, you have that same untrained Half Blood to thank for Mr. Potter's eventual cooperation."

"Wait...cooperation?"

"That's right. Mrs. Wright convinced Mr. Potter to meet Professor Dumbledore at the Leaky Cauldron. The date is a little tentative--it depends on how long it takes the children to recover. The potions I gave Mr. Potter and the Wright girls should have them back on their feet in a few days. I told Mrs. Wright to send Professor Dumbledore a message with Mr. Potter's owl, or leave word with Tom when they were ready to come."

Dumbledore inclined his head gravely. "Thank you, Poppy. I'm sure we'll get everything sorted then."

"Have a care that you don't frighten them," she warned. "I'll be very cross if Mr. Potter or the Wright girls suffers a relapse, or I have to reassemble you from being splinched."

"I shall be the very soul of courtesy, dear lady."

Madam Pomfrey wasn't impressed. "See that you are," she said, lifting an imperious eyebrow. "In the meantime, since Mr. Potter wasn't able to join you immediately, Mrs. Wright was kind enough to send these along," she continued, reaching into a robe pocket and producing a stack of photos. "I'm sure they'll calm your fears better than my words ever could.

"This is Harry," Fred stated decisively a few minutes later when the photos had made their way around to them. "Look here," he said, pointing to a photo of the boy in question sitting in the floor with the younger of the two girls, "Harry does that all the time."

"No glasses, though. Not in any of them," Hermione noted flipping quickly through the stack of photos. "Oh, look Ron!" she exclaimed, stopping at one. "It's the flute Hagrid made, remember? I didn't even know Harry still had it."

"He still has it," Ron affirmed, studying the photo. By the looks on the girls' faces, Harry was playing the little flute for them. Wow. He hadn't even realized Harry bothered with it.

"Ah!" said George, holding up a photo of Harry holding a doll in one hand, and a dress for it in the other. Fred took in the picture with a glance, before giving his brother a sly wink.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Blackmail."

"Definitely."

"Excellent!"

"Oh, you two," Hermione scolded, snatching the picture away. Grinning, she considered the rather wild-eyed boy staring up at her from the photo.

Mrs. Granger chuckled as she peered over her daughter's shoulder. "Oh my, that's a good one. Whoever took it caught it just at the right time."

Hermione shook her head. "It's just hard to believe Harry's getting along so well without his glasses."

"Perhaps he's wearing his contacts--" her mother suggested before interrupting herself. "Contacts!" she repeated, beginning to smile.

"Of course!" Hermione said, slapping her forehead. "We're so used to Harry having glasses it just doesn't occur to us..."

"What are you talking about?" Ron finally asked.

"I think I know how Harry changed his eyecolor!"

"How?"

"Look at the pictures. Harry isn't wearing his glasses in any of them, and we know Harry doesn't see well without his glasses."

"Yeah?" Ron prompted, wishing she'd get on with it already.

"Three words, Ron. Color contact lenses. They're Muggle things so they wouldn't react to magic!"

---

Closed.

Of course.

The Ministry doesn't open for business for another hour or more, you great dunce!

Percy hesitated, drumming his fingers on the doorframe, then slowly withdrew the master key he carried as a member of the Minister's staff. He looked both ways down the deserted hallway, feeling very much like a naughty boy with his hand in the cookie jar, before slipping the key into the lock. He'd fetch the folder and take it up to the Minister's office. There had to be some kind of misunderstanding...some mistake!

Shaking his head at his father and Professor Dumbledore for their unnecessary theatrics, Percy headed over to the cabinet where the "P" folders were housed. Once the Minister knew what was going on, they could discuss the available options and decide what to do in a calm, rational fashion. Harry would probably be made a ward of the Ministry, at least in the short term. His father had mentioned taking him in...

Paris...Park...Peabody... Plumtree...Porch...Posternock... Pottberg...Poundstone...Prewitt...

Bother, the librarian must have mis-filed the bloody thing... Percy groused, starting over at "Owens" and searching each tab individually. It had to be in here, he'd chatted with the librarians a few moments after he'd returned it, and watched while the folder was re-filed.

Powers...Pratt...Prizzi... Puffenberger...Purtee...Pyles...Qadri...Qaiyumi...

Percy blinked, re-read the tabs, and blinked again as the enormity of the situation hit him. "It's not here! It's gone!" he blurted in dismay, running a scanning eye over the "O" and "Q" files just for good measure.

He stood there a moment, mind blank with shock, before drawing his wand. "Accio Harry Potter's folder!" he said, growing more agitated than ever when nothing came zooming into his hand. The folder wasn't misfiled, it was gone! But where was it?

Or who had it? Heart beginning to pound, Percy shoved his wand back in his pocket, stopping dead in his tracks when the only possible answer occurred to him. Dumbledore! Dumbledore must have come back for it! he gibbered, heading back to the door.

That's it. This has gone entirely too far, he decided, stepping out into the hall and locking the door behind him. Even if it means answering awkward questions, I have to tell Minister Fudge what's going on straightaway!

---