The Hidden Hero

In the months following Voldemort’s defeat at the hands of Harry Potter, the wizarding world buried and mourned its dead. Voldemort’s rise to power had taken a terrible toll. Almost everyone had lost a friend or family member.

The anger against followers of Voldemort intensified as the fear dissipated. The Ministry had to put extra guards at Azkaban to prevent vigilantes from trying to kill Peter Pettigrew, Bellatrix Lestrange and other captured Death Eaters. Suspected Death Eaters were treated harshly and sentenced to long prison terms. Only Dumbledore’s vouching for him kept Snape from Azkaban.

Although the Malfoys were known Death Eaters, they escaped prison and confiscation of their property because of Draco’s last minute rejection of the Dark Lord. Many families still viewed the Malfoys with suspicion and dislike but it was the general consensus that they had landed on their feet, once again.

Underlying all of the activity in rebuilding their world was the constant refrain of “Where was Harry Potter?” In the past, when they had been looking for Harry, it was with the intention of making sure that a child was being treated well. Only Dumbledore had been aware of the prophecy. Others had simply been grateful that the infant Harry had defeated the evil wizard and had wanted to make sure that he had a good life. When they had learned that his childhood had been miserable, people had wanted to make sure that his teenage years were safe and happy.

But, now, the desire to find Harry had taken on a different edge. There was a burning need for forgiveness and the need to express the gratitude in their hearts. Knowing that Harry had been living among them for the last five years, and had been treated as poorly by the wizarding world as he had been treated by his muggle relatives, left a foul taste of guilt in most people’s mouths.

Dumbledore had a more compelling reason for wanting to find Harry. He explained his concern during a meeting in his office in which Scrimgeour, Snape, McGonagall, and Arthur Weasley were present. Arthur had approached Scrimgeour at work, asking for information about Harry. Given his family’s past personal friendship with “Mark Twist”, he had argued that he had a particular interest in the situation. Scrimgeour had requested a meeting with Dumbledore, and invited Arthur to come with him. The headmaster had asked to include both Snape and McGonagall in the meeting as well.

“It’s as if he disappeared into thin air,” sighed Scrimgeour. “We know that he’s good at hiding. He was able to avoid discovery for the last five years after all. We’ve searched all the places that Mark Twist had been, including where he lived of course, but he is clever enough not to return to his old haunts.”

Professor McGonagall offered, tentatively, “Maybe we should leave him alone. After all, he seems able to take care of himself. He lived on his own each summer since he was eleven. While we don’t want to admit it, maybe he’s better off away from us.”

Dumbledore looked grave. “Minerva, I’m afraid it’s more serious than just whether or not we want to find Harry to tell him that we are sorry for the way he was treated, and to thank him for his tremendous service to us all in defeating Voldemort. The boy has gone through so much. Abuse as a child. Isolation as a teenager. Azkaban. Living inside Voldemort’s mind. Such a history is likely to leave scars. It would be astonishing if it didn’t. Harry will need help, medical help I believe, to deal with what he’s gone through.”

Snape had a look of disdain on his face. “Maybe you’re just coddling the boy,” he sneered. “He seemed sure of himself when he confronted the Dark Lord.”

Arthur Weasley objected. “Fine? He said he wished he were dead!”

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Harry needs to come to terms with his anger and loss and go on from there. Running away from our world, and changing where he lives, is unlikely to bring him the peace he’s seeking. And, what will happen when he can’t find that peace? That’s what has me very worried.”

There was a momentary silence as everyone pondered this ominous picture.

Dumbledore continued, in a heavy voice. “I should have tried to prevent him from leaving the night he killed Voldemort. It’s just that everything happened so quickly. I wasn’t sure if I should interfere. However, the more I’ve thought about it since, the more I regret not having stopped Harry. I’m sure he needs our help.”

“What can we do?” asked Arthur.

“We’ve already exhausted all possible leads,” said Scrimgeour, in frustration.

“If only he performed some magic,” bemoaned McGonagall. “You’d be able to track him through the use of underage magic.”

Scrimgeour nodded gloomily. “He seems to be holding to his promise to walk away from magic entirely.”

Dumbledore said, “I think it’s likely that he’ll remain in England. He may want some change, but I think England is still home to him. He made his living during the summers as a busboy in a muggle restaurant. I think he may well try to get a similar job at another restaurant.”

“Do you know how many muggle restaurants there are? I don’t think muggles ever eat at home! There are too many to check,” said Scrimgeour.

“And what if he’s hiding his identity again?” asked McGonagall.

“I don’t think he’ll do that,” said Dumbledore slowly. “I think that he’ll be done with hiding who he is.”

“What about sending an owl?” asked Arthur. “If he’s not hiding his identity any longer, won’t an owl be able to find him? Is there some way we can put a trace on it?”

“We have sent owls to him. I think that they may have found him, but he won’t take the letters they hold. Unless he touches the letter, any tracking device wouldn’t work, since any such device would have to be embedded in a letter – it’s impossible to put a trace on an owl itself,” explained Scrimgeour.

“I just don’t see how we’re going to be able to find him if he doesn’t wish to be found,” said McGonagall.

“I fear you are right,” agreed Scrimgeour. “I just hope that he’s willing to seek our help before it’s too late.”

“You’re just worried that the public will hold the Ministry to blame if something else were to happen to Harry Potter,” said Snape cynically.

Dumbledore frowned at Snape but Scrimgeour didn’t take offense. The Minister just nodded morosely. “Yes, I don’t think the wizarding world will forgive us if we fail that boy yet again.”

Arthur said bracingly, “Well, the only thing we can do is keep looking.”

*

The first year students entered the History of Magic class expecting to be as bored as usual. It was hard to be interested when Professor Binns droned on and on about the Goblin Rebellions. Who cared about what had happened so long ago?

They perked up with interest when they noticed a different teacher standing at the front of the room. Who was this? Was Professor Binns absent? How could that be? A ghost didn’t get sick.

“Hello, class,” said the teacher, a tall, middle aged man, with dark hair and a kindly face. “I am Professor Peterson. I will be your History of Magic teacher for the rest of the term. Professor Binns has, unexpectedly, moved on to the other side.”

Excited murmurs burst out throughout the class. The teacher waited patiently until the class settled down again. After all, it wasn’t every day that students learned that their teacher was dead. Professor Binns had been dead a long time. But, now, it seemed, he was really…well, dead.

The teacher continued. “I know that many people think that History of Magic is not the most exciting subject.” He smiled at the rolling of the eyes and sniggers from the students. “I hope I can change your mind. History can be thrilling. Stories of scandal, betrayal, death, love, sacrifice…” The students were sitting up straighter in their chairs and leaning forward eagerly.

“I know we have to cover the curriculum, and we’ll finish up with the Goblin rebellions in a few weeks. It seems to me that we should first cover one of the most important moments in wizarding history…a turning point that we have been a part of these last few years. Those of you who are muggleborn may not be familiar with our recent war, and even those born of wizard families may not fully understand the implications of the historic battle for the soul of our world that was just fought.”

The teacher paused for effect. He was pleased that he had captured the attention of the students. They were hanging on his every word. “Voldemort!” he said. A number of the students jumped or sucked in their breath. “That is the name of the wizard who tried to take over the wizarding world. His very name was feared and he is generally referred to as You Know Who or He Who Must Not Be Named. Called the Dark Lord by his followers, the Death Eaters. He believed that magic should be kept within all-wizard families and was against educating muggleborns.”

At this, a number of muggleborns frowned fiercely and their eyes glowed with anger. The teacher nodded, “Yes. He was in favor of killing all muggleborns and having wizards rule over the muggle world. You Know Who came close to accomplishing his goal. He was on the brink of taking over when he was stopped just six months ago. Stopped by one boy who was not even 16 years old.”

“Harry Potter!” breathed a number of the students.

“Harry Potter,” the teacher nodded. “Harry Potter’s story is one of the most unbelievable stories you’ll ever hear. But, what makes it more thrilling than any legend you’ll ever read is that this story is completely true. And it started before Harry was born, with a prophecy…”

When the bell rang, the students reluctantly rose from their seats. The teacher had only just begun to tell them about Harry’s childhood. While the students born of wizarding families were generally familiar with the story of Harry Potter, there was a lot they did not know. So much of Harry’s past had occurred when they were children themselves and their parents had been careful how much to share with them. For the muggleborns, the story was almost entirely unknown and vastly exciting. Sure, they had heard small pieces of the tale when they overheard older students discussing the recent war, but no one had put it all together for them.

Over the next few days, History of Magic was a favorite class as the students eagerly listened as the story of Harry Potter and his epic battle with Voldemort unfolded. They were entranced by Lily’s sacrifice, shocked at how badly Harry had been abused by his relatives, appalled at his treatment by the wizarding world when he had cleverly hidden his identity, and distraught at how he had been framed and thrown into Azkaban. Finally, they felt the glow of satisfaction and pride at Harry’s ultimate defeat of the Dark Lord.

“…and he disapparated from the Great Hall, never to be seen again,” finished the teacher.

The class was quiet as they absorbed the ending of the story.

“So, Harry is out there somewhere?” asked one of the students.

The teacher nodded. “Yes. The Ministry has been looking for him, of course. But, no one has been able to find him. He did what he promised to do. He killed You Know Who. After that, he was free to leave and that’s what he did.”

“But that’s terrible!” said one of the girls in the class. “He doesn’t belong with muggles. He’s a wizard!”

One of the muggleborn students took offense at her tone. Without raising his hand, he said, “It’s not like he was treated well by wizards. I can understand why he wanted to leave.”

A number of the other students nodded. The teacher tried to diffuse any battles. “I think we can all understand why Harry wanted to leave. But, we also wish that he would have stayed. Stayed so that we could have shown him that there are people here that care about him. That he has a home here. That he is loved by many.

“If ever Harry were to return, we hope to show him that the wizarding world is capable of tolerance and understanding. As I said a few days ago, the battle between the Dark Lord and Harry Potter was a battle for the very soul of our world. When Harry defeated You Know Who, he condemned us for our prejudice against muggles and muggleborns. He was right – that prejudice and discrimination were like a cancer in our society. It led to You Know Who’s rise to power and it was a large part of the reason ‘Mark Twist’ found himself in Azkaban.

“Since Harry left, the Wizengamot has strengthened the Muggle Protection Act. The new laws are known as the Lily Potter Amendments, in honor of Harry’s muggleborn mother. Among other actions, the Ministry created a new Muggle Liaison Office. It also is sponsoring seminars and conferences to educate wizards about muggles, to teach about some of the common misperceptions and areas where there are cultural differences. The hope is that, with greater understanding, comes greater acceptance.

“Hogwarts is trying to do its part too. You all know that Muggle Studies is a required course for non-muggleborns.” The students nodded. “What you may not realize is that this policy was instituted for the first time this year.

“These aren’t the only changes. After Voldemort was defeated, Dementors sought to return to their role guarding Azkaban. By unanimous vote, the Winzengamot refused to permit this. The Wizengamot also appointed a representative from the legal aid society to provide greater oversight on the treatment of anyone accused of a crime. The Ministry will no longer be able to circumvent the court and send prisoners to Azkaban without trial.”

The class was silent for a moment, taking in these sweeping reforms. “Professor,” said one of the boys after a moment. “You’ve shown us the Daily Prophet articles that had pictures of Mark Twist. But, what does Harry Potter look like?”

“Unfortunately, there are no pictures of Harry,” said the teacher. “The only time that he showed his real identity was in the final battle, and no one was snapping pictures then, of course. However, everyone who saw him then say that he’s the image of his father, James Potter, but with his mother’s green eyes. I think I have a picture of James somewhere around here.”

The teacher shuffled through some textbooks and papers on his desk. After a while, he was able to pull out a book written after the rise and fall of Voldemort during his first reign. The book had a chapter devoted to how the baby Harry had defeated the Dark Lord. In that chapter, there was a picture of Lily and James holding a newborn. The couple smiled happily at the camera. The teacher passed the book around the classroom so that each student could look at the picture.

A few of the girls started crying when they saw the happy couple, knowing that the Potters were destined to be killed shortly after that picture was taken. The book made its rounds through the classroom, ultimately passing to a muggleborn boy named Gavin Calt. Gavin took a look at the picture and frowned. He studied the picture intently and then looked up at the teacher. He opened his mouth to say something then closed it and looked at the picture again even more closely. Finally, slowly, he said, “Professor…”

Something in the boy’s tone made the teacher look at him in concern. “Yes?”

“Professor. I think I’ve seen this man…I mean, I guess James Potter is dead, so I didn’t see him. If Harry looks like him that means I must have seen Harry. Harry Potter. I think I’ve seen him.”

The class gasped and Gavin was peppered with questions. “Class!” called the teacher, sharply. They subsided and the teacher walked over to Gavin’s desk. He jabbed a finger at the picture in the book lying on the table. “Are you saying that you’ve seen a boy who looks like this man?” Gavin nodded. “Where? When?”

“This summer, sir. Near where I live.”

“Come with me, Mr. Calt. We’re going to see the headmaster. Class dismissed.”

The teacher ushered the boy out of the room, leaving behind a class chattering excitedly behind them.

*

Harry was tired. It was hard to remember a time when he hadn’t felt tired. Carrying a plastic tray, he traveled slowly from table to table, clearing away dirty dishes left by diners who had already eaten. He didn’t have the strength to carry a heavy load, so he made multiple trips back into the kitchen, unloading the tray into the sink where he would wash them later on.

He had been working at the diner for the last number of months. He knew that he was lucky that he had been hired before he started to look so sickly. He was sure that no one would be willing to hire him now. Sometimes, he caught the boss looking at him with concern and he worried that he would be fired. After all, people didn’t like working with anyone who looked ill. Cynically, Harry thought, people always turned on anyone who was different. He had certainly learned that lesson often enough during his childhood.

If he lost this job, he didn’t know what he’d do. It brought in enough money to keep him off the streets at least. He was able to afford a small room to himself at a cheap men’s hotel. If he couldn’t pay for the room, he’d be out on the street.

He knew that it was his own fault that he was losing weight and energy. It was just that he couldn’t sleep or eat. He dreaded seeing the accusing faces of the people he had been unable to save during Voldemort’s reign of terror. Many nights, Harry refused to sleep at all. On those nights when he could no longer avoid falling asleep, he would fall into an exhausted stupor. The instant he closed his eyes, memories flooded to the surface. He relived the horrors of the months he had lived inside Voldemort’s mind, remembering the terror of the victims and pleas for mercy. Even when he awoke, their screams lingered in his ears.

Suffering from exhaustion, he found eating a chore. It was a constant battle to force himself to eat at all. When he did manage to choke down some food, his stomach churned uncomfortably and he often found it difficult to keep it down.

He had dark circles under his eyes and his skin held a sickly pallor. He was too thin and his green eyes were dull.

Many times throughout the day he would wish that he had been able to follow his parents into the light. It was so hard to get through each hour. He felt as if the world around him were tinged with gray and he wondered where all the color had gone. There were periods throughout the day that it was hard to draw breath and he felt a weight pressing on his heart. At such times, he would stand still and listen to his body, wondering whether it had decided it was time for him to join his parents after all. But, after a few minutes, to his disappointment, the weight would lift and his breathing would ease.

He had hoped to start anew in the muggle world but he couldn’t leave his past behind him. It was haunting him. Harry had thought that killing Voldemort would enable him to start a new life. But, he wasn’t free. He had realized for some time now that he would never be free. Voldemort had found a way to torture him from beyond the grave, Harry thought bitterly. He may have killed the Dark Lord, but Voldemort was having his revenge by killing Harry too. Slowly and painfully.

Harry noticed without interest that the diner was busier than usual. There seemed to be quite a number of tables filled with either one or two people. It was sort of odd that there weren’t more children, since the diner was cheap enough to attract families. He wondered, fleetingly, whether there had been some event that had just ended because a number of the diners seemed to arrive within minutes of each other and most hadn’t ordered very much. Most seemed to have requested just a coffee or tea. He was often aware of such details because he knew that he’d have to clear the tables after the diners had left. He knew that the boss would be disappointed that the diners were not big spenders but he was relieved that he wouldn’t have as much to clear.

He was just clearing a table in the middle of the room when he realized that one of the men had gotten up and stood in front of the door. It was strange how he seemed to be blocking the exit. Harry stopped what he was doing and turned to watch him, puzzled. He heard the click of the door locking although he hadn’t seen anyone touch the door. The noise level in the diner dipped noticeably as a number of the diners stood up simultaneously.

Harry froze. Something was going on. Was it a robbery? Without speaking to each other, a few of the people who stood approached those few tables where the diners had remained seated. The people who had been eating and chatting looked up, as puzzled as Harry felt. The people who were standing took wands out of their sleeves and pointed them at the other diners and said, “Stupefy!” The diners slumped in their seats.

Harry felt his tray slip from his hands and land onto the table with a clatter. He stumbled backward, his breath catching. They had found him! He looked around the room and realized that he was surrounded. There were easily twenty men and women positioned around the diner, each holding out a wand.

“Harry, please don’t be alarmed.” Harry whirled to face the voice. It was Arthur Weasley. He had obviously been under a glamour charm when he had entered the diner.

“Leave me alone!” shouted Harry. He had meant to sound forceful and was annoyed that his voice sounded frightened, even to his own ears.

“We’re not here to harm you, Harry. We want to help you.” Arthur approached the boy slowly, arms outspread to show that he was not dangerous.

Harry didn’t listen. He had no intention of staying here. Luckily, he didn’t need a wand to apparate. He twisted and imagined himself back at his room, but he was unable to apparate out of the diner.

Becoming more frightened, Harry backed up a few more steps, but he couldn’t go further as he was all too aware that there wizards behind him. “Let me go!”

His attempt to apparate out of the diner had not gone unnoticed. “Harry, please calm down. We’re not here to hurt you. As you’ve just learned, we’ve put up anti-apparition wards around the diner. The time for running away is over. We’ve come to bring you back where you belong. We’re here to help you.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed in anger. “I don’t need help. I want to be left alone. Go away!”

Keeping his voice calm, Arthur continued. “We think you do need help, Harry. It’s clear you’re ill. You need to see a healer.”

Another voice joined the conversation. “You’re underage. You have no choice. You have to do as we tell you.” It was another wizard who Harry didn’t recognize.

Arthur shook his head at the other wizard, knowing that this was the wrong approach. And, indeed, the wizard’s comment inflamed the teen. “Oh, yeah?! And what are you going to do if I don’t? Put me in Azkaban? Oops. Forgot. You already did that!” Harry glared at the wizard. “You have some nerve! I’m not going with you!”

Without warning, the boy held out his hand and shouted, “Accio wands!” However, the wizards had been prepared for this move, as a number of them had been present during Harry’s battle with Voldemort. They had each been careful to cast protective shields around themselves.

Harry lowered his hand. He turned paler and stared accusingly at Arthur. “Leave me alone!” It was closer to a plea than a demand now.

Slowly, Arthur shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry. We can’t do that. We care about you. You are very important to us. We are here to help you.”

Bitterly, Harry said, “Unless you are here to kill me, you can’t help me. No one can help me.”

A shocked silence met this outburst. Arthur breathed heavily. His voice shook as he said, “You are wrong, Harry. We can help. Please let us.”

Harry shook his head. “Go away!”

Arthur’s voice steadied and he said calmly, but firmly. “We’ll be taking you to St. Mungo’s. Dedalus,” he indicated another wizard, “and I will apparate with you to a room there. The wards are being lowered so that we can transport you directly. There will be healers there waiting. Everyone is so happy we’ve found you and eager to help. Please, Harry.”

Harry looked around the diner. He was trapped. He was in the clutches of the wizarding world again. Arthur might be telling him that they wanted to help but how could he trust them? How could he ever trust anyone? His skin felt clammy and his breath came in short gasps. His blood ran cold and there was a hard knot in his stomach. He knew the signs of the panic attack all too well. It’s how he felt almost every night waking up from one of his haunted dreams. Damn! The last few months had left him too weak to fight.

As if from far away, he heard Arthur say urgently, “Are you okay, Harry?” In a moment, Arthur had reached his side and gripped his shoulder tightly. Harry tried to pull away, but he couldn’t escape. He felt another hand grasp his left arm. The two wizards flanked him as Harry heard someone mutter the incantation in the background lowering the anti-apparition wards.

Behind him, he heard a wizard saying to someone else in the background, “Don’t forget to obliviate the muggles before leaving.”

“I won’t,” said another unfamiliar voice.

“And don’t forget to find the owner of this establishment. He’s to believe that his worker decided to find another job. He shouldn’t be alarmed that Harry doesn’t show up at work again.”

Another voice answered. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that.”

The voice giving directions continued, “Arthur, Dedalus, do you have him securely?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“The wards are lowered. Take him now.”

“No,” Harry protested. But, even as he said it, he felt the men holding him twist and he was forced along, feeling the pull of apparition squeezing at him.

In seconds, he had left the diner behind and staggered when they arrived in a brightly lit room at St. Mungos. A number of wizards who had clearly been waiting for them rushed to approach the trio. Dimly, Harry heard someone mutter some protective spells as anti-apparition charms were re-established in the room, sealing him inside the hospital. Arthur and Dedalus stepped away from him and Harry swayed unsteadily. Immediately, Harry was surrounded by healers and nurses.

He gave an alarmed cry as various hands pulled at him, pushing him until he lay down on a bed in the room. He was vaguely aware that people kept telling him not to worry but their voices mingled into one riot of sound. He tried to get up off the bed but hands kept pushing him down. When some straps snaked around the bed and held his legs and arms down, he cried out louder.

Someone held a potion to his mouth but Harry twisted his head, refusing to drink. A bit spilled before someone firmly held his head in place by grabbing the hair at the back of head firmly. While he couldn’t turn his head any longer, Harry clenched his teeth, refusing to swallow. He ignored the voices telling him that it was just a calming drink and that he had nothing to fear. Nothing to fear! When he was surrounded by people who were imprisoning him!

A firm hand put pressure on his jaw, forcing his mouth open. The potion was poured in his mouth. He tried to spit it out but the healer was obviously experienced and used to dealing with difficult patients. His mouth was forced shut and his throat stroked until he had no choice but to swallow. He continued to struggle weakly until the potion took effect. His struggles slowed and, finally, the boy was quiet as, exhausted, he slipped into an oblivion that was closer to unconsciousness than sleep.