Harry
Harry swung his legs out of bed, stretching as he slid his feet into the slippers sitting in front of the bed. Rubbing his eyes, he padded across the floor and opened his bedroom door, stepping into the hall. He walked across the hall and went to turn the doorknob. But the door opened for him, and he almost ran right into his sister as she strode past him down the hall to her bedroom.
"Morning, bro! You're never up this early?" Molly asked, a surprised expression on her face.
"Dad's coming back home today. Of course, I want to be done with all my chores so I can see him!" he responded, going into the bathroom.
"Oh, that's right! I completely forgot!" Molly said, clapping her hands with delight. "Let me go get changed so we can start our chores!"
Harry closed the door, went to the bathroom, and washed his face. He opened the door and walked back to his room.
His room was a corner room, with a large full-sized bed against the wall to the left of the doorway. The floor was carpeted, and a closet was direct across from the bed. There was also a window seat overlooking a great oak in the backyard which, nestled in its branches, was a small tree house, which had been lovingly crafted by his dad a few years ago for them, a surprise gift for his birthday. There was a desk in the corner of the room, with a bookshelf right beside it. There was also a mini bookshelf cut into the wood under the window seat, filled with yet more books.
He kicked off his slippers and walked to the closet, and slid open the doors. He pulled on an old t-shirt that said Failure Is Not An Option written in big bold letters across the front. It was stained and had a few holes ripped into the bottom of it. It was a shirt he only kept around for days like these when he had a lot of chores to do around and outside the house. Closing the closet, he went to his dresser on the left wall of the room and pulled out the rest of his clothes, frayed jeans to complete the look and old sneakers that had seen better days. He gazed at the collection of school awards and framed photos covering the top of the dresser. The rewards were from various school competitions, some for track and another one was even a first place for the school science award in 4th grade. He smiled as he remembered how proud he had felt when he won that award. Of course, his Dad had helped with the carpentry, but didn't all parents help their children with such things? He had made sure to thank his Dad very profusely for it, though he had not accepted the trophy, saying that Harry had more right to it, as it had been his idea of the working dollhouse with little moving people inside, all carved from wood.
Turning and closing the drawers, he changed out of his pajamas and laid his clothes in a neat square at the bottom of his bed, pulling the sheets so that they were all nice and flat. He then walked out of the room, making sure to turn off the light and leave the door open for AC.
He made his way down the hallway and quietly made his way down the stairs. He heard voices coming from the kitchen, so he excitedly ran in there to see if his father was home yet. As he skidded to a stop in the doorway of the kitchen he saw, to his disappointment, that his father was not home. It was just his mother sitting in a seat at the kitchen table, spoon-feeding little Daniel. Or at least she was attempting to. Daniel seemed to have other ideas, as evidenced by the fact that there was applesauce all over himself, the tray, and, as Harry stood in the doorway, some dripped down from the ceiling, splattering onto Charity's head with a wet plop.
Despite himself, he couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous scene, leaning against the doorway to steady himself. Daniel turned his head and caught sight of Harry, he smiled his gap-toothed smile and outstretched his arms.
"Hawwy!" he chortled happily, making grabby hands at Harry, who walked over and picked up his little brother happily.
"You're giving Mom a run for her money this morning, aren't you? Looks like you made quite a mess here," he said as he held the baby, who was happily pulling Harry's hair and smearing applesauce on his shirt. His mom got up and began to wipe down the tray and floor while complaining about how much of a headache he was. She then motioned for Harry to put the baby back in the high chair and then wiped his hands on the rag his mom had used to clean up.
"Good morning, Harry. Thanks for helping with your brother. I swear you and your sister were not that much of a headache when you were babies! It must be from Michael's side. Lord give me strength," Charity said as she bustled along in the kitchen, pulling out two plates of steaming pancakes from the microwave and setting them on the table. "Now eat up. And if your sister ever gets down here the other pancakes are for her," she turned towards the stairs and bellowed. "Get your butt down here! Food is ready and there are chores to do before your father comes home, young woman!"
From upstairs came a long-suffering groan. "Ughhhhh. I'm coming, Mom!"
Harry smiled to himself as he sat down and began to shovel the pancakes into his mouth, pouring generous amounts of syrup on top of it. The hot, delicious taste of the fluffy pancakes was heaven to him, especially coupled with the sugary sweet syrup. He had finished the first one and was working on the second when his sister finally came down the stairs. She sat down at the table with a bounce, and also began eating her pancakes. She reached for the syrup, to find that Harry had accidentally used the last of it. Pouting, she threw the empty bottle at Harry, who managed to just barely duck as it flew past him and clattered to the floor loudly. Charity spun around quickly from the sink and sent a sharp look at Molly.
"Margaret Katherine Amanda Carpenter! You pick that bottle up right this instant! Honestly, throwing bottles around! Were you raised in a barn?" she clucked in disapproval as Molly sullenly got up to retrieve it.
"But Mom! Harry used up all the syrup and didn't leave any for me! How is this fair?" she complained as she threw the bottle in the recycling.
Charity turned her glare on Harry. "Is this true, Harry?"
"Well yes, but I didn't know there was so little, I swear!" Harry replied indignantly, through a mouthful of pancake.
"You go down to the basement and get your sister a new bottle right now then," said Charity, turning back towards the sink, happy to have resolved the incident without any more yelling.
Harry went down the stairs and retrieved the bottle, shivering from the damp chill in the basement as he closed the door. He hated going down there, where it was either muggy and humid during the summer or bitterly cold during the winter. And always so dark, despite the overhead light bulbs that did their best to give out light.
After getting the bottle and giving it to his sister, who took it with a self-satisfied sniff, he quickly finished the meal and put his plate in the dishwasher, and went back up the stairs to brush his teeth.
Standing in the bathroom, he peered at himself in the mirror. His own dark green eyes peered back at him, underneath a shock of black, slightly curled hair. Pushing the hair off his forehead, he stared at the dark brown scar about the size of a quarter on the right side of his forehead. Thumbing it, he thought about his birth parents, as he often did when looking at the scar. He loved his parents. Michael and Charity Carpenter had taken him in as a baby and had been raised beside who he now considered his twin, Molly Carpenter. But that didn't mean he didn't wonder about his birth parents. It was only natural, and he was sure any kid who knew he was adopted felt like he did as well. He didn't know much about them, only what Mom and Dad had known, which also was not much. All they had to go on was a letter that had been found with him, that had mentioned his parents had died sacrificing themselves so that he would live. His mother had used blood and her dying breath to lay protection on him, making her last act on Earth to help her only surviving child. The people whose doorstep he had been left at had been found dead of no apparent cause in their home the next month. The authorities, according to his Dad, had concluded it was carbon monoxide asphyxiation that had killed them. By all accounts, these relatives of his had not been nice human beings. But he still felt partial guilt in their deaths. Maybe if he had been left with them, they wouldn't have died…
No. Stop it, Harry, he thought firmly to himself, ending that line of thought and dropping his hand so the hair recovered the scar. Wondering about what might have been was all well and good, but he shouldn't beat himself up about it. At least, that's what he tried to convince himself. He wasn't always successful. Sighing, he finished brushing his teeth and went down the stairs.
***
Deputy Headmaster of Ilvermorny Joe Reginald sat at his desk, sighing as he went through the mundane duty of signing every acceptance letter and cross-checking the muggle records to see if the old addresses with current addresses to make sure they all got to the right house. The address that the pen was writing out was in Wrigleyville, Chicago. As it wrote the letters, it seemed to stumble and quiver.
Joe instantly became alert, looking in confusion at the self-writing quill. It never had a problem before, where it quit writing. Frowning, he looked at the parchment it had just written. The first page was the standard letter, for a girl named Margaret Carpenter. He pulled the second sheet out from under it and it had the same address. The pen hadn't even gone through the heading before it had quivered and stopped, turning the rest of the line into just a messy scrawl.
He looked at the line, the confusion in him slowly building as he read it. The line said, Dear Harry, and then seemed to try and write Carpenter but also a second name on top of it, one starting with the letters Pott. It seemed like the pen had two conflicting sources of information, and couldn't decide what it should write, as evidenced by it now just hovering above the desk, just shaking silently. A sneaking suspicion began to fill him as he pulled up the records for Chicago and Wrigleyville. He found the records he was searching for quickly enough. Michael Carpenter, age 38, and Charity Carpenter, age 36. They had two biological children, Margaret Carpenter, age 11 (birthday May 23rd), and Daniel, age 2. It also seemed there was a third child they had adopted under mysterious circumstances. Harry James Carpenter is to turn 11 in 8 days.
Harry James… His hands shook as he picked up the rotary phone and dialed a number. Joe Reginald was normally a very calm and collected man. You didn't get to be Deputy Headmaster by being overly excitable. And it also wasn't his age that made his hands shake, even though he was 82 years old. Physically he had the body of a 50-year-old man, a bit weathered but still fit and strong. But this…This excited him. If he managed to be right, it would be one of the most important discoveries in the last decade at least. Excitement and trepidation pulsed in his heart as the phone was finally picked up.
"Hello," answered a bored-sounding female voice. "This is the Idaho Department of Public Health. How may I help you today?"
"Hello, yes. I was wondering if you can transfer me to Bruno Noona in the Records department. This is his father, I need to get in contact with him. Something came up in the family," Joe said, adding a shaking quality to his voice, making him sound grief-stricken and also older at the same time.
The voice lost its boring quality, and it snapped to attention, reacting to the urgency in his voice. That, at least, he didn't need to fake. "Yes, of course, Mr. Noona! Right away," she replied, and soft hold music drifted from the phone and into his ear. Instead of relaxing him, it only made him tenser.
After what felt like an eternity, but could have only been 2 minutes, the music cut off and a man's voice took its place. "Is everything okay, Dad? What happened? I didn't even think you guys owned a phone that worked!" The words all came out in a rush, falling over each other in the effort to get it out quickly, nervousness clearly in his voice.
"Calm down, son. Your parents are fine. It's Deputy Headmaster Joe Reginald," he said, his voice cutting through the nervous speech and causing the man on the other side of the phone to let out a strangled gasp. Bruno Noona was a wizard of negligible power, one step above being a Squib. He had gone to Hogwarts, but after graduating he had decided to go into the Muggle world, not seeing any value in being a wizard with how hard magic came to him. Joe now kept his name in a long list of Squibs/wizards who had gone to the Muggle world in case he ever needed information. "I need you to pull up some sealed records for me, as covertly as possible."
"S-sure thing, Deputy Headmaster. What do you need from me?" replied Bruno, his voice still sounding shocked.
"I need you to pull up the files on the adoption of a Harry James Carpenter, in Chicago."
"Sure thing," Bruno replied. Joe heard the click-clacking of what he assumed were those fancy new machines called computers, where all the files were now kept digitally. After a minute, Bruno picked up the phone again. "I got the information you wanted. Why do you want this?"
"There was a mix-up of names for Ilvermorny letters. Do you have the information?" asked Joe, not wanting to give away his suspicions in case he turned out to be wrong and started an unnecessary panic.
"Yes, I do. Right here," said Bruno, suspicion going from his voice. "It says Harry James Carpenter was adopted by Michael and Charity Carpenter in November of 1981. It says here he was discovered on their doorstep one night, and the child was to become a state-ward, but they decided to adopt him instead, seeing as they had a child around the same age. Said it was a "sign from God". No prior records of his birth could be found. The only thing they found was a name tag attached to the blanket he was swaddled in. It was Harry James…Potter." Bruno's voice trailed off as realization slowly came into his voice, and it rose in volume swiftly. "Wait! As in THE Har-?"
Joe quickly cut him off. "Thank you for this information. I appreciate it greatly." Before Bruno could say anything else, he slammed the rotary phone down and hurriedly pushed back his chair, standing up in a rush. He grabbed his wand and picked up the self-writing quill, twisting the tip so it would shut off, leaving it laying on top of the papers.
He tapped the top drawer on his desk, whispering "Alohomora" and pulling out the drawer. The unlocking spell was keyed specifically to his wand so that unless someone got a hold of his wand, only he could open it. After taking out a small drawstring pouch, he closed the drawer once again and relocked it by whispering "Colloportus."
He padded over the plush carpet on his office floor, and said, "Vinsly! Come here please."
With a pop, a female house-elf apparated into the room. She smiled up at him, dressed in a sweater of Ilvermorny's school colors, and said, "What can I do for Master?"
"I have to go out for a few hours. Please inform the Headmaster and tell him that the letters were not finished. I will complete them tomorrow. Complications have arisen." he said, stepping near the large, roaring fireplace.
"Yes, of course, Master. Vinsly shall get the message to the Headmaster immediately. Would you like Vinsly to prepare a meal for you when you return?"
He smiled down at his house elf, who was also so bright and eager. "Yes, Vinsly. That would be splendid. Thank you."
She beamed, happy to have anticipated his wants. "Safe travels, Master!" she said, embracing his leg, as she always did before he left.
He patted her on the head affectionately and then she disappeared with another pop, leaving him alone in his office once more. He stepped up to the fireplace and opened the small pouch pulling out a pinch of Floo powder. Covering his mouth, he threw the Floo powder into the fire, instantly making it turn a brilliant green-yellow. He exclaimed his destination into the fire from behind his robe to make sure none got in his mouth and nose, squeezed his eyes shut, and stepped into the fire.
***
He stepped forward and knocked hesitantly on the door. There was no response, but the door swung open of its own accord, revealing a large open chamber. Dominating the middle of the room was a large desk on top of a raised dais. To either side of the desk was a large, sweeping staircase that led into an observatory. He walked forward and made sure to carefully step around all the tables and cabinets set up with little knickknacks, a swirling and chiming bunch, many unidentifiable, even to him. He was overwhelmed by all the noise and movement, so he only caught concrete glimpses of a few items. By the desk sat the Sorting Hat, who looked up briefly before going back into his slumber. Right under it sat a red cloak, in a glass case, floating of its own accord, seeming to rustle in some unseen breeze. On the shelf to his right, there was a golden compass that lay open, spinning softly as he walked by it. Moving forward, he saw even more knickknacks shoved on the bookshelves. There was a bottle sitting on two props, and as he looked he saw there was a tiny ship inside it, with black sails. He could have even sworn he saw the water in it bobbing the ship up and down, which must have accounted for why he almost thought he saw a tiny pinprick of something moving inside the bottle, among the masts. He shook his head and chided himself. Of course, nothing was moving in there, that would be impossible. But his eyes continued to trick him because the very next object was a large orb, often used for Divination. But instead of a pearly white or swirling Grey, this one had dark black clouds swirling in it. And he could have sworn he saw, for the briefest of moments, a red-orange eye flaming in the center of the ball. But then it was gone, and he almost tripped over himself in his shock. He would need to see about getting glasses, with how untrustworthy his eyes were. The other items seemed normal, however. A golden lasso, a large light blue bowl with white fluffy clouds swirling on it, and even what looked like a bronze fountain pen. Confused, he stepped forward to try and discern why there would possibly be a normal pen sitting among highly magical objects. The pen was the size of a normal one and seemed a dull color, nothing exciting. The only thing he noticed was a tiny trident engraved on the side of the pen, near the tip. Shrugging, he continued. He saw a necklace with a green and a yellow ring together, an old-fashioned lamp, two wicked-looking jagged hatchets with balls on the backside, and yet another ring, this one also green but with an hourglass symbol on it, glowing with an otherworldly light. The very last thing he saw was two objects, one blue that spun slowly, tiny pyramids on each corner, and concentric circles inside a diamond. Its counterpart was a red pyramid, with a language he couldn't read on it, also floating but not spinning. Tearing his eyes from the interesting displays, he forced himself to walk forward to complete the task that he came here to do.
Many of the portraits were slumbering, but a few were awake and greeted him enthusiastically, recognizing him. Finally, he made his way to the desk and sat down at one of the plush armchairs on the other side of the desk.
The old man on the other side of the desk looked up from the papers he was reviewing and smiled kindly at him. The smile crinkled up his wizened old face, and he put the pen down softly. "Ah, Deputy Headmaster Reginald. This is indeed a surprise visit. I was informed you have urgent news for me?"
"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting something important, sir, but, yes, I indeed have important news to share," Joe replied, feeling self-conscious as he sat next to such a famous and well-known wizard.
The old man waved him off as if batting away a gnat. "Please, call me Albus. And may I call you Joseph? And you interrupted nothing important, I was just signing the Hogwarts acceptance letters. I prefer doing it by hand. Now, what is this you have to tell me?"
In response, Joe pulled out the 2 sheets of now crumpled paper from his robes and handed them to Dumbledore. "Take a look at these sir."
Dumbledore took the papers and read the top one, about Molly Carpenter first, muttering softly to himself as he did so. He looked up, confused, and Joe motioned him to continue reading the next paper. He put down the first one and began to read the second one, which only had one line written on it. He looked up sharply as he finished reading it, eyes wide. He looked up so sharply his long white beard caught in the ink jar, but he did not seem to notice. He took off his half-moon spectacles and rubbed his eyes, rereading the paper. His voice, when he did speak, came out in a hushed whisper. "Is this…Is this what I think it is?"
Joe nodded, confirming the old man's suspicions. "I called the Illinois Department of Public Health and had a contact there pull up the adoption files. It seems that a young boy was found on the doorstep of a couple in Chicago in November 1981. Birth name Harry James P-"
"Potter. Oh my. After all this time…He's been found. The Boy Who Lived." Dumbledore sat back in his chair heavily, the shock evident on his face. Fawkes, who had been sleeping, launched up from his perch with a squawk and landed on the back of the chair, rustling his wings and settling down. Dumbledore seemed to draw strength from it and slowly sat up. "Thank you very much, Joseph, for bringing me this information. I've been searching for him for the last 11 years. I thought he had been dead, ever since I heard that his guardians had been murdered. How he ever got to Chicago… is beyond me." his voice trailed off, and Joe could see the gears spinning in his head, thought lines forming. But Dumbledore shook his head and refocused once again. "I know he lives in America, but he is a legacy student of Hogwarts. His mother and father and his father's father came here to study. I'm sure you understand?"
Joe nodded. He had been expecting this. "Yes, I understand, Albus. I thought you would say as much. You will have to settle this with the parents, but I don't think the Headmaster will have any problem with this."
"Thank you, Joseph. Would you like some candy? I have the most delicious Sherbert Lemon-"
Joseph was already shaking his head, standing up. "No, thank you. I have already been gone for quite long enough." He had spent several hours waiting for an appointment, and it was now close to midnight. "Thank you, Albus, sir." He extended his hand and shook Dumbledore's outstretched one, as Dumbledore stood and came around the desk.
He put an arm on Joe's shoulder and walked with him to the door. "I cannot thank you enough, dear boy. Truly. This is the best news I have received in a long, long time."
And then Joe was out the door, and Dumbledore gave him one last smile before he closed the door behind him, and the staircase started to descend. As he stepped off to the ground floor, he wondered just what, exactly, had just transpired here.