Chapter 10
Remus feels bleary and off-kilter, wearing yesterday’s robes (transfigured and then untransfigured, leaving an uncomfortable scratchiness in the fabric despite Minerva’s expertise), operating on no sleep and more tea than might be strictly advised through sheer force of will.
He belatedly brushes the remnants of Floo powder off his shoulder as Minerva glares at the gargoyle guarding the stairs to the headmaster’s office.
“Liquorice wands,” she says.
Remus grimaces.
The gargoyle huffs and steps aside.
Minerva leads the charge up the stairs, Remus trailing behind. He feels vaguely ill and desperately tired. For her part, Minerva hasn’t expressed an inch of hesitance or doubt since the early hours of the morning, when she stuck her head through Remus’ Floo, giving him the courtesy of not asking if he slept.
Dumbledore looks bright-eyed and well-rested, dressed in horrifically orange robes with embroidered dragons that fly around the bottom hem. Remus finds his eyes fixated on them, stuck on the absurdity of it all.
Maybe that’s anger, burning in his chest. Maybe it’s the hastily made tea.
“Minerva, Remus,” Dumbledore greets pleasantly. “Good morning to you both. This is quite the early visit!”
“It isn’t a social call, Albus. We’ve come to discuss Potter and his relatives.”
Remus can practically feel the Headmaster’s eyes drift towards him, but he keeps his own trained on those dragons. Sometimes they open their mouths and spit bejewelled fire, charmed to actually smoulder.
“Ah,” Dumbledore sighs. “In that case, please sit. One should never have so serious a meeting so early in the morning without at least refreshments.”
He waves his wand, conjuring up three squashy armchairs with ugly red patterns. A small table pops up in the middle of them all, and within seconds, a tea tray laden with tea, juice, and scones covers it. There’s the jam Minerva favours, and the honey Dumbledore adds generously to his tea.
Minerva wrinkles her nose—at the display or at the patterns of the chairs, Remus doesn’t know—and sits stiffly, ignoring the tray. Remus takes the seat to her left. Dumbledore settles easily into the chair across from them, carefully selecting a scone.
“Now, Remus, I believe we discussed this before,” Dumbledore says, gently disapproving. “We agreed we would discuss the matter with Harry before any rash decisions were made.”
Remus twitches.
“Yes,” Minerva says frostily. “And have you asked the boy about his family, Albus? Have you even spoken to him?”
There are crumbs in the Headmaster’s beard. He makes an idle attempt to brush them away and misses. Remus finds himself staring at them instead of the dragons.
“I did. We had a wonderful discussion on the merits of wizarding sweets, and how they compare to their muggle counterparts. Harry made a rather strong case for something called Tom Trot, and has quite convinced me to seek out some sherbet straws.”
Dumbledore sounds perfectly pleasant, as if Harry is merely a grandchild he politely engages with every now and then.
“You’ve visited him once, in all the time he’s been at Hogwarts,” Minerva says.
“I’m afraid I have, regrettably, been rather too busy to visit him. Surely, you understand, Minerva?”
Remus really has to give it to him; there is absolutely nothing accusing in his tone. Nothing to suggest he means anything more than he says. Even still, Minerva draws back, stung, though she hides it well. Her mouth pinches and her eyes glitter, but Dumbledore’s got her caught.
Remus clears his throat.
“You may not have had the chance to ask Harry about his relatives, Headmaster, but I have,” he says, forcing the words out. He thinks he sounds remarkably even, all things considered. Not at all like he’s scrambling to keep hold of his rapidly fraying composure.
Dumbledore shifts his attention to him, blue eyes searing. Remus focuses on his left ear. He sees Petunia and Dudley Dursley in that blue, and he’s too conflicted to face them right now.
“I told you Harry’s aunt told him nothing of our world. They didn’t tell him about his heritage, about the school, about the war. Nothing about his parents. They told him magic wasn’t real.” Remus’ nerves settle more with every word, like bleeding poison from a wound. His head starts to clear, just a little, just enough to let him keep going.
“Perhaps they thought him better off without the concerns of what awaited him in our world. Petunia requested complete separation for a reason, to raise the boy in peace…”
“They told him he was a freak,” Remus interrupts, quite calmly. “They told him he was unnatural, that he and his parents were worthless.” Among other things, he thinks privately. The words Vernon Dursley hurled at his back will be sticking with him for a very long time.
Dumbledore’s grey brow crinkles, crumbs gone from his beard. He’s listening.
Minerva leans forward. “They punished him for his accidental magic, Albus. You know how dangerous that can be.”
Dumbledore’s eyes darken. “How did they punish him?” he asks.
“Harry wouldn’t say. He was rather reluctant to answer questions about it. But we have our suspicions. Minerva and I went to visit the Dursleys—”
“When was this?” Dumbledore interrupts, mild. Remus is not fooled.
“Yesterday,” Minerva says impatiently. “Yes, I know, you told me to leave them be, but we had to know what that house is like for Potter. We couldn’t possibly let you send him back without going to see them first.”
“—About that,” Remus says quickly. “Dudley Dursley, Harry’s cousin, was still injured from the full moon. His parents said they’ve been taking him to muggle doctors all this time, trying to heal him. Why weren’t they offered silver and dittany right away, when you took Harry to Hogwarts?
Dumbledore blinks at him, looking surprised. Remus thinks it might even be genuine.
“I was rather concerned with keeping Harry contained and transporting him safely,” the Headmaster says carefully. “I did cast some rudimentary healing spells on both boys, as I didn’t have the potion on hand, but I admit that I didn’t stop to assess the cousin’s injuries. I assumed…”
Remus glances quickly at Minerva, seeing the subtle mix of pity and disgust in the way she looks at Dumbledore.
He doesn’t know if he believes Dumbledore. It sounds like a reasonable enough excuse, albeit a dangerous one. If Dudley had been more severely injured, if Harry had done fatal harm, if he’d bitten the muggle child—
But he hadn’t, thank Merlin. And Remus hadn’t been there that night. He can’t speak for how hectic it must have been, how frantic and confusing. Even the best wizards can make mistakes in those situations, though Albus Dumbledore has fewer excuses than most.
“You assumed wrong,” Minerva says flintily. “In any case, the child is healed now. Luckily, Remus had some of the potion with him, which he gave to Petunia to help the lad. He’ll carry the reminder of that night for the rest of his life, but he’ll have a life to live out.”
Dumbledore bows his head. “And for that, we must be grateful.”
“This has, of course, made the Dursleys that much more unwilling to accept Harry back into their home,” Remus tells him, which is maybe the greatest understatement he’s made in the last decade. “Even if I were willing to let him go back there, which I am not.”
The Headmaster looks at him with terribly sad, pitying eyes. “Remus,” he says delicately. “I understand your concern, but regardless of the Dursleys’ current attitudes towards Harry, I’m afraid you still do not have a legal say in his custody.”
“No, Albus, I don’t think you do understand,” Minerva says, annoyed. “They abused the boy. They made him fear his bouts of accidental magic for worry of what they would do to him in retaliation. They held him to unreasonable standards in completing household chores. They regularly withheld food from him, sometimes for days on end. They’ve made him sleep in a broom cupboard for the past nine years, despite the two empty bedrooms upstairs.”
This suitably shocks him, Remus thinks. Good. Maybe Dumbledore needed something to really knock him off course, make him think. Make him listen and understand.
Something more than Harry being bitten by a werewolf? a tiny voice whispers in the back of his mind. He shoves it away firmly, to revisit later when he can appreciate the horror the thought stirs in him.
“Perhaps Harry exaggerates. I’m sure that to a child, any discipline seems unfair—”
“You’re not listening,” Remus bursts. “Harry told me some, yes, but his relatives confirmed it themselves! They were proud of themselves, of how they managed to beat a magical child into submission, as if we should praise them for it. You know what can happen when a magical child is abused that way!”
Dumbledore looks old in a way he rarely does. The lines of his face seem deeper, the years settling heavily on his shoulders. Remus might feel sympathy for the man, except he’s being willfully stubborn, willfully blind, and Remus will not forgive him if he insists that Harry must return to an abusive household.
Remus knows firsthand what can happen to wizards from that kind of background, even ones that don’t teach them to repress their magic. He thought for a long time that Sirius was a true Gryffindor, was his friend, was a good man despite his upbringing, but now—
He doesn’t know if he could have possibly made a difference if only he’d intervened in Sirius’ life sooner. If the Potters had adopted him way back in first year, if Remus had paid closer attention, if he’d stopped him from betraying them. Maybe nothing he could have done would have been enough. Maybe Sirius was already too rotten by the time he arrived at Hogwarts, ruined by his family and already beyond saving.
What Remus does know is that he will not allow the same to happen to Harry. Not now that he’s met the boy, been reintroduced to his life. Not now that he finally feels like he’s waking up and seeing the world for the first time in ten years. He has many regrets, has made so many mistakes, and he wants desperately to stop making them with Harry.
“If what you’re saying is true,” Dumbledore says, sounding tired. “Then I fear I have much to atone for with Harry. I will speak with him myself and beg his forgiveness if I must. However, the fact remains that his relatives’ is the safest place for him.”
Astonished, Minerva nearly knocks over the tea tray. “Albus!” she exclaims.
He raises a hand to forestall their outrage.
“Clearly, their treatment of him cannot continue. I will speak to Petunia and remind her of Lily’s devotion, of her love for both her sister and her son. They will not continue to mistreat Harry.” His voice is firm, and the glitter of his eye tells them that he means it, that he will do all that he can to ensure it, but it isn’t enough. Not for Remus.
“Tell me why,” Remus says. Begs. “Give me one good reason.”
Dumbledore sighs. “The night that the Potters were attacked,” he says gravely, “Lily Potter sacrificed her life for that of her son’s. The power of her magic and her love helped to establish protections for Harry, to shelter him. They were anchored in blood, that of Lily’s line. Thus, Harry must stay with his aunt and his cousin for the protection to remain in place. It is the only way to keep him safe.”
It’s a punch to the gut, hearing those words. Remus breathes through his mouth and swallows the roiling in his chest, setting it aside.
“That doesn’t make sense,” he says. “Lily—Lily didn’t care about blood. She made her own family, made her own legacy. She always thought blood politics were archaic, distasteful. And she hadn’t been on close terms with Petunia for years before she—before they died. Why would she cast protections on her son that were based on something she thought meaningless? You cannot tell me that Lily ever intended Harry to go to Petunia.”
“Where else would he go?” Dumbledore asks, gentle as a lamb and as pointed as a dagger. “His godfather out of the question, his godmother incapacitated. No grandparents to speak of, no other immediate family. Where better than his mother’s beloved sister?”
“But Lily didn’t know that Alice and—and Black wouldn’t be options,” Minerva protests, stumbling only slightly. “Remus is right, she never would have based her protections on the goodwill of Petunia.”
“Nonetheless,” Dumbledore says, frustratingly persistent, “that is how the protections are anchored. They keep Harry undetectable by those that mean him harm, such as Death Eaters eager to exact vengeance for their vanquished master. They are invaluable.”
“No, they’re not,” Remus says tightly. “Not if they allow him to be harmed inside the house.”
Remus will never know what Lily’s true intentions were with these supposed blood protections. He believes easily that she could have cast such a thing, because she was undeniably bright and relentlessly fierce, and she loved Harry so very deeply. If she had known of a way to protect him beyond her death, she would have done it in a heartbeat.
Brave, clever Lily. She never would have anticipated for her gift to be misused and misconstrued in this way. Remus does not doubt that she would be horrified if she could see them now. Furious, and rightfully so.
“I agree,” Minerva says. “Any protections offered by Lily’s sacrifice are not worth Harry’s mistreatment inside the home. Besides, these blood protections did nothing to stop the boy from being bitten by a rogue werewolf.”
Remus blinks. This hadn’t occurred to him yet.
“Yes,” Dumbledore concedes reluctantly. “That is true. I suppose it’s possible that, since Lily’s protection was based on a loving sacrifice, a home that lacked love may have weakened it…” He trails off, looking troubled.
“So, there,” Remus says roughly. “That proves it, doesn’t it? Harry was not treated well in that house. They treated him so badly that the blood protections became obsolete. There’s no reason to send him back.”
Dumbledore shakes his head as if dislodging cobwebs or flies. “That still leaves us with the pressing problem of where he could go. Any change in custody risks alerting the Ministry, and we’d soon have every wizarding family in Britain in a bidding war for Harry Potter. We cannot ensure that a family who supports Voldemort will not lay a claim.”
Minerva bristles unhappily. “You placed the boy with his aunt and uncle in the first place without any input from anyone, certainly not the Ministry,” she snaps. “Surely you can do so again.”
“For a time, perhaps,” Dumbledore says. “But as soon as the boy attends Hogwarts, all will be wondering where he has been since that night. All it would take is for one curious student to write home to the wrong parent, and suddenly there would be an investigation. The truth would come to light, not only putting Harry in a precarious situation, but also whomever he was living with.”
“There must be a family willing to take that risk, one who would be able to weather it,” Remus insists. “The Boneses, or the Fenwicks. Families from the Order.”
Dumbledore frowns thoughtfully. “Maybe. But there is also the matter of Harry being a werewolf. It will complicate things.”
“Whoever takes him in, I’ll stick around to help with the full moons,” Remus pleads. “I’ll take him away for the nights leading up to it. I’ll help him through it, heal him every month. As long as it’s a family that won’t… won’t treat him badly for it, I’ll be happy to help.”
Both Minerva and Dumbledore study him closely. He tries not to shrink under their scrutiny. He doesn’t know whether to be offended or ashamed by their obvious doubt. Or is it simply surprise? Neither is flattering.
“You would be willing to play such a role?” Dumbledore murmurs, as if they haven’t already had this conversation. As if he didn’t believe him, the other day. As if he expected Remus to change his mind. “You would be willing to stay such a consistent presence in his life from here forward?”
Remus’ chest aches. He has so, so many regrets.
“Yes,” he chokes. “Yes.”
Minerva settles back, seemingly satisfied with his answer. He remembers her sharp disappointment, unspoken but tangible when she first delivered the news of Harry’s condition and found his response lacking. He’s far from his schoolboy days, now, but it appears the approval of his former Head of House still affects him.
“Very well,” Dumbledore says, peering over the rim of his spectacles. He is harder to read. “I shall write some letters and leave you to discuss the matter with Harry himself.”
Remus’ heart sinks to his shoes so fast it leaves him dizzy. Oh, Harry.
*
“You’re sure? You were ill, maybe Pomfrey spelled you asleep and you—”
“Me, not notice being charmed? Honestly. I know what I heard.”
“I don’t know, Pippa. What are the chances it was really him?”
“How many other ‘Potters’ do you know of that are still around?”
“It doesn’t make sense! Why would Harry Potter be at Hogwarts? He’s the same age as my brother; he won’t be starting until next year. And even if he was here, why would he be in the hospital wing, instead of—I dunno, visiting the Headmaster or something?”
“Who knows what he’s been up to since defeating You-Know-Who? They’ve probably been training him to duel since he was old enough to hold a wand. Maybe he got injured and needed Pomfrey to treat him. Imagine taking Harry Potter to St Mungo’s!”
“I don’t know… If you really think it was him—”
“It must have been, I told you, I heard Pomfrey call him Mr Potter—”
“—Then I’ll think I’ll write to my dad. Maybe don’t go spreading this around, yeah? If it isn’t him, the others will think you’re mad. If it is him, you might mess with whatever plans landed him here in the first place.”
“I’m not an idiot. Write your stupid letter, I won’t breathe a word. Come on, we’ve got to get to class before McGonagall has our heads for being late. Did you notice she wasn’t at breakfast this morning…”