HYSSOP.

TW . . . Abuse, more to be added need be.
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“ We have to get that boy out of there, that house is less than suitable for a child much less a young wizard,” McGonagall insisted, her tone stern as she spoke with Dumbledore, normally one to keep a more level head she realised the seriousness of the situation at hand. Dumbledore sat in silence, the office cold and no noise was heard but that of the occasional passersby.

Dumbledore appeared to be lost in thought, McGonagall held strong waiting for her response with a tight worried look. “ I understand your concern Minerva, really, however there is nothing to be done. The Dursley's home is the safest place for Young Potter as it stands, “ McGonagall looked at the man in disbelief, “ Their home will get him used to the troubles of the world, which is preferable in this stance. Life will never once be easy for the young boy I assure, he’ll be prepared to be the boy-who-lived, “ Dumbledore hummed, cocky as ever his voice seemed to read.

“ Do you hear yourself speak Albus? Because what you’re saying frankly makes zero to no sense. That boy is being beaten before your very eyes and you choose to do nothing about it? Dare I say, I didn’t take you for a coward, with, all do respect, “ McGonagall snapped harshly, worry in her tone matched with an equal amount of venom. Dumbldore peered at the professor harshly, “ Now, let’s not say something we’ll regret Minerva. You know as well as I, I would only do the best for the boy, he will save us.”

McGonagall faltered somewhat at his words, “ Do you only care about the prophecy? You seem to forget Harry is still a living young boy, not some pawn for the wizarding world. He needs help. And even more an actual parental figure, do you wish for another Tom Riddle, “ McGonagall continued on, watching Dumbledore’s face with every word.

“ I know what I am doing. You have no need to question me, “ His reply seemed to be somewhat dripped in irritation and impatience, however delivery was calm and poised as it normally was. McGonagall glared at the man, a firm frown on her face. “ Doesn’t he have anyone else to stay with? Merlin why not just Hogwarts itself, hm? I’m certain many powerful wizards that work in this school would jump at the chance of taking care of the boy-who-lived, did you even think of us as options, Albus?” Dumbledore sighed after McGonagall’s ramble, finding himself silent.

“ I assure you I did, but that’s exactly where Tom Riddle would expect the boy, the wards of the school are not enough to fight him and if he brings enough Death Eaters along. Harry is far too inexperienced to fight Riddle if he ever happened to have to encounter him at this time before any magical training. “ Dumbledore reasoned, “ Harry will only be here in what, two more years? He’s been in that “home”, if you wished to call it that, for nine years alrealdy it’s about time the boy is given help. Albus the world is cold and cruel as we both well enough know, but we can help where we can. As a light lord you should know this, Harry is nine right now, nine, the boy has suffered enough to make up many of the older wizards who walk our world. He needs time in a normal home, to be able to live a good life before he has to give it all away for a prophecy. Merlin just listen to me for a moment, Albus!”

Dumbledore was silent, he looked at his desk for a few moments before shaking his head. “ Minvera, let's finish another time, shall we? “ Dumbledore looked up at McGonagall, eyes glimmering with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. She stayed silent a moment more before standing up to take her leave, “ I suppose we shall, Albus, “ She glared at Dumbledore, then nodding her head once. Walking out the door which she had walked in only an hour or two before, shoes making a soft click as she pranced away in her elegant and poised manner.

———

Harry sorted the books along the walls of Uncle Vernon’s empty office, alphabetical this time. Taking glances inside the ones that seemed to pique his interest, careful to avoid the gaze of his aunt. He’d be truthful he didn’t fully understand all of the contents of the books — and he’d never pretend to. However they still interested him, as well as learning new words, he wished he could use the fancy words he liked in the stories more often, but he was scared his aunt and uncle would find it was him just trying to seem smarter than them. Which was far from the truth. No, Harry was sure they were much smarter than he was, Dudley included.

Harry sighed and kept on doting on the books, parts of him aching and begging him to lay down. But he knew that would only make the pain worse, after he was most likely caught. Nothing much he could do about that. Sleep could wait, that is if the end he ended up deserving it. That wasn’t his decision to make either. He could stay silent however, keep to himself, do what he was told, then he’d have his answer.

———

The cat visited him again that night, as he ended up sleeping outside again. Not that he minded, he had the company of a friend, that’s all he needed. Ms Kitty curled up next to him, bringing him a small bit of warmth as she had done before. He drifted off to sleep and was disappointed to find the cat not beside him as she was when he closed his eyes. But, as much as he could wish for things. He had no control over anything, he knew that well enough, everything was in ownership of someone else, and he had to live with that.

However, curiously, Ms Kitty did return. A bag in her mouth as she wondered towards the boy, still undisturbed by his relatives. Who Harry assumed had gone to church or something of the sort, and left the boy without instruction for the morning. Days like these were uncommon, but all still enjoyable.

The bag between her teeth seemed to be dragging behind her, older Harry would most certainly question how the small cat managed to get the bag that far without interference, but younger Harry saw no mystery behind it and took it how it is. Ms Kitty as Harry still lovingly called her gestured the bag towards Harry, he lightly grasped the bag pulling it towards himself. Curious, Harry opened the bag after a beat, which he had spent looking questioningly at Ms Kitty.

Inside the bag was a book, it was black and made of thick leather. No writing or special detailing on the cover — or back, softly, Harry opened the book finding the parchment inside rough and dry yet somewhat soothing, familiar in its own strange way. Flipping a few pages he took in the sight of the words. Carefully, on the first page he started to read, he was met with new phrases he had never seen before and concepts he’d never heard of. He was so focused on understanding what the book itself he had, almost, completely forgotten it was a cat which had given it to him.

The words spoke of witchcraft which the Dursleys had told him was against The Lord, however, they never told Harry much about who ’The Lord’ was, Harry took it as a very important person — from what he HAD heard of course. On the other hand, Uncle Vernon had also made it very clear magic was not normal, but most who preach they can do it are lying, and therefore should be locked up because they certainly aren't normal. Uncle Vernon never made much sense, but Harry knew better than to question the man.

As much on that basis of prior knowledge, you’d quite easily assume Harry would put the book down and denounce it as nothing but fiction. Harry almost did just that, however, something about the book seemed to not let him put it down — it pulled Harry to it. He seemed infatuated with it and kept reading.

The book told tales of wizards and witches, light lords and dark lords, the many important lineages within the wizarding world. Later, Harry would recognize this as a beginner book on the history of some of the wizarding world. Currently? As much as it seems just like fairy tales and bedtime stories he’d hear Aunt Petunia tell Dudley every night, it felt real to him.

Harry doesn't remember how long he read for, and he doesn't remember Ms Kitty going on her very way. He feels as though it must have been a while, and, well, when the Dursleys found he had not done morning chores (that they had not assigned him), Uncle Vernon promptly took the opportunity to throw the book away, much to Harry’s distress.

But that night when he climbed into his little place underneath the stairs, the light overhead still out as ever, body aching from bruising and injuries, there the book sat. Harry felt happy for a brief second, he read it all that night and hid it away from the Dursleys’ dirty paws in the morning.