Chapter 3
For the longest time, Harry had dreamed of his parents one day coming to find him. They would rescue him from the Dursleys and they would be a proper family. And they would love him and dote on him and Harry wouldn’t have to feel sorry about being a burden because he was their son, and parents loved their children no matter what. It was the reason Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were always buying Dudley gifts and letting him get away with everything. It was also the reason they hated Harry, because he was still living in their house and eating their food and taking up space even though he wasn’t their son. If Harry could have a mum and dad too, everything would be better.
It was a stupid dream, he realized one day, when he made the mistake of sharing this bit of information with the garden snakes on the playground at school. Dudley’s best friend Piers had overheard him talking, and it wasn’t long before Dudley and his whole gang were ridiculing stupid Harry Potter’s stupid fantasies. Nothing about what they said was wrong. It really was foolish to hope for the impossible. Harry’s parents were dead.
And then, exactly one month after his tenth birthday, someone comes knocking on the Dursleys’ front door. Harry keeps quiet where he is in his cupboard, because he is supposed to pretend he doesn’t exist whenever guests visit. As the door is only a few steps away from where he is, he can easily make out the shocked gasp of Aunt Petunia, followed by a man’s stammering. There is a back and forth between them, with Aunt Petunia talking down to the man, until at one point, the man’s voice cuts off abruptly.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Aunt Petunia speaks sharply. “Having the nerve to step into my house uninvited? This is breaking and entering! Wait! No, don’t go there, don’t-”
Harry scrambles backwards at the cupboard door being thrown open. He can only see the bottom half of the man’s trousers. Harry doesn’t dare look up to see the man’s face. After all, Uncle Vernon always takes any sort of direct eye contact from Harry to be a sign of defiance, and the consequences of that are never good.
“I want custody of him,” comes the man’s raspy voice. “I want him out of this house, now.”
“Good riddance, then! Take the freak!” Aunt Petunia snaps, and Harry’s eyes widen. No, no, no, he’s been good these past few weeks, hasn’t he? The incident with the broken egg wasn’t due to his freakishness this time, that was just an accident! Why are they sending him away? All the outside dangers Aunt Petunia warned him of to cite reasons of why he should be grateful to them flashes before his eyes. Uncle Vernon threatened to toss Harry out onto the streets once- Well, more than once- And Aunt Petunia chimed in with terrible stories about what bad men did to little boys who had no homes to turn to.
“I’ll be good, I swear, don’t send me away,” Harry cries, flying out of his cupboard to interrupt the conversation going on between his Aunt and Uncle and the unfamiliar man. “I’ll be better, I’ll work harder, I want to stay, I want to stay, I want to-”
The man kneels down beside him so suddenly that Harry is left with no choice but to meet his eyes, at least for a split second. And that split second is all it takes for Harry to register the untameable black hair, the thin-rimmed glasses, the rounded chin, and before Harry knows it, Harry is whispering the question he swore never to ask again after the humiliating silence that followed the last eight times his six year-old self asked it to strangers with his likeness on the streets. “Are you my dad?”
“I am,” the man says, causing Harry’s entire perspective on the world to fall apart into a million pieces. Then comes the words that Harry has dreamed of hearing all his life. “Would you like to come with me?”
They were wrong. Dudley, Piers, Aunt Petunia, and Uncle Vernon- They were all wrong. Harry wasn’t stupid for clinging onto those dreams.
Out on the front porch, Harry feels tears pricking at his eyes. He doesn’t understand why he’s crying, because he’s happy, isn’t he? Whatever the reason, he fights to keep his tears in, because he wants so desperately to make a good first impression, and bursting into tears within the first five minutes of their meeting would hardly count as that.
“You alright, Harry? How come you’re crying?”
And his voice is so gentle, so caring, it’s exactly like what Harry always imagined it would be, and he can’t rein in all the little sobs that escapes him. “I… I’m just… So happy,” Harry hiccups. “I… I never thought… Always hoped…”
His dad hugs him. A real one, like the ones Dudley always gets from Aunt Petunia, the ones she always gives even though he insists he’s outgrown them, the ones Harry once asked her for and got a slap to the face in return. But that doesn’t matter anymore, because Harry has a dad now. And his dad is holding him like he’s the most precious thing in the whole world.
Apparition feels absolutely horrible. Harry is sure he would have passed out on the spot were it not for the adrenaline at the thought of magic pumping through his system. Magic is real, his dad tells him. Harry isn’t a freak, after all. Turns out, he’s just like his dad. “So was your mum,” his dad says, and Harry is soon being told all about Lily Potter, the sister of Aunt Petunia’s who, at Aunt Petunia’s insistence, was never mentioned in the Dursley household.
“Lily giving me a chance is what eventually led us to you,” his dad is saying wistfully. “You should know that she loved you very much, Harry. From what they tell me, she died saving you.”
All the warmth that Harry was feeling evaporates on the spot, giving way to a massive torrent of shame. It’s because of him that his mum died. His dad lost the woman that makes his eyes light up like stars, all because of Harry. “Oh,” is all Harry can think to say. It’s a wonder his dad came back for him at all. Turns out, Harry had already ruined everything before he’d even learned to properly walk.
The house is massive, standing four stories tall, fit with a grand garden and a hillside pond. It’s easily the most majestic building Harry has ever seen. Once they’re inside, his dad offers him a room. A real room. Harry thinks his dad must be the best dad in the world to be giving him a place here, especially considering all the heartbreak and misery Harry must have caused him.
“He… He was my best friend,” his dad says, as though reading Harry’s mind. “My brother. He died that night, too. We decided to stand our ground, me and him, so that Lily could run and keep you safe. He… He took the worst of it for me, and…”
So not only is Harry the reason his mum is dead, but he is the reason his dad’s best friend died, too. Tears prick at the back of his eyes. Why does he have to be such a disaster all the time? Why can’t he just be normal? Why is it that he can never seem to help himself from being a freak?
And Harry is selfish, too. Because he’s only thinking of himself when he shuffles away quietly to one of the empty rooms. His dad has lapsed into silence, probably realizing at last what a terrible idea it was to bring the mess that is Harry into his life. Harry doesn’t know how bad the consequences following this realization will be, but he would prefer not to be right there in front of his dad when it happens.
He crawls into the plain bed and buries himself in the impossibly soft sheets. The mattress is very fluffy, nothing at all like the worn-down cot of his cupboard. Harry falls asleep easily, only to be woken by the sound of the door creaking open. He stays rigidly frozen in place. Harry knows his dad has every right to be angry with him, but the latest bruises from Uncle Vernon’s fists are still fresh on his skin and so, even though it’s wrong to want to avoid the consequences he deserves, Harry desperately hopes that pretending to be asleep will deter his dad, at least for the night.
It works. There is the sound of receding footsteps. Harry strains his ears to hear what is happening downstairs. Multiple cabinet doors are being thrown open, he thinks, and then the footsteps become louder, much louder than before. Harry flinches heavily upon hearing the door to the next room getting thrown open. His dad is muttering bad words under his breath, the kind that Uncle Vernon uses when he’s had an especially rotten day at work.
Eventually, his dad heads downstairs again. There’s a sudden crack that sounds like a gunshot. Harry jumps out of his sheets and hides beneath the bed, and it’s several minutes later that he feels safe enough to crawl out. Something- He doesn’t know what it is, but something- Tells him the house is empty. Carefully, quietly, Harry tiptoes out of the room he was in and pokes his head into the room his dad was in earlier. It belonged to his best friend, he said. His brother.
There is a framed photo on the bedside table, starring an awfully elegant looking boy, a lankier, more awkward one with scars down his face, a chubby boy with dirty blond hair, and finally, a teenager that can only be the younger version of his dad. Harry very nearly drops the photograph onto the ground, frame and all, when he realizes the people in the picture are moving. The elegant boy playfully shoves aside his two friends so that Harry’s dad might bring in a fifth person to the picture. It’s a girl, with thick, dark red hair and oval-shaped eyes that are the exact shade of Harry’s own. For the first time in his life, Harry is looking upon the picture of his mum.
He stays there for goodness knows how long, entranced by the undying smile his mother wears, and the bewildered beam his dad sports, like he’s in disbelief over his good fortune. Harry is still tracing out the faces of his parents with his finger when he hears the same crack from before. His dad is back in the house, and based on the smell that wafts up a few minutes later, he has returned with dinner.
Harry’s stomach grumbles in protest, but while he does look over the railing of the stairs to look at his dad, he doesn’t dare go up to him and ask for some of the food. Harry isn’t allowed dinner when he’s been bad.
The photograph is still clutched in his hand when he returns to the room he was sleeping in. He doesn’t want to put it back in its place. Harry feels a sickening pang of guilt as he removes the back of the frame and takes the photograph for his own. His dad has been so nice to him, and here he is, stealing from him. But the need to keep this photo is greater than his conscience, it would seem, because while the frame has been returned to its original place, it has been positioned face-down, and the photo that was inside now lies tucked safely in the pocket of Harry’s shirt.
His dad knows, is what Harry thinks the next morning, when he shuffles down the stairs, to the sight of his dad clearing away breakfast just as he is coming down. Harry should have known better than to expect to be allowed breakfast. What he did isn’t something as trivial as having gotten better grades than Dudley on a test. He got his mum and his dad’s best friend killed, for crying out loud. Obviously it’s going to take a lot more time for his dad to ever stop hating him for that.
Harry tries not to be too hopeless about it. His dad wouldn’t have gotten him away from the Dursleys in the first place if he’d been planning on staying mad at Harry forever, right? Though it probably wouldn’t hurt not to steal from now on, Harry thinks guiltily, feeling the photo in the pocket of the wizarding clothes he is wearing, the very set he found laid out for him earlier. They’re very flowy, these magic clothes, sort of like what you’d get if you mixed a formal suit and one of Aunt Petunia’s summer dresses together. Eventually, Harry works up the nerve to ask his dad if they’re going somewhere, to which his dad unexpectedly responds with a bright smile.
Gringotts bank has a massive underground tunnel system that takes them so deep into the ground that when they finally reach the Potter vaults, Harry is almost certain they’re only a step or two away from the center of the earth. It is a dragon, the goblin banker informs him, that is the source of the blistering heat- An actual dragon! Then the impossible is achieved, in which Harry’s mind is blown to further lengths than it already has, because it turns out his dad is loaded with money, money that would have Uncle Vernon’s face turning his signature purple color if he knew.
“Cake?” Harry stares up at his dad. It’s all he can do not to gape openly.
“Come on, you must have a favorite flavor,” his dad smiles at him encouragingly.
Once Harry has gotten over the initial shock of the split-personality his dad seems to possess, he starts running through the list of ways to answer his dad’s bewildering question. He must have taken too long to answer though, because his dad’s face falls into a mix of devastation and contained anger before he asks, “Harry… Have you never had cake before?”
Harry barely manages to talk his dad out of buying him every flavor of cake the dessert shop has in stock. Fortunately, magic offers a solution in the form of a flavor-changing slice. Harry stares with wide eyes at the three whole slices of sugary delights before him. The first bite is indescribable. The second bite has him grinning ear to ear. It’s at the point where he’s halfway through his first slice that Harry realizes the cake is too good, too sweet, and his stomach is churning uncomfortably at the fancy food. He’s not about to be so ungrateful as to stop eating, though. So he continues shoveling food in his mouth, feeling like a bad person for having complaints about the food his dad purchased specifically for him.
He throws up. Harry has thrown up many times before, he knows there’s a trick to not crying the second it happens. But then his dad is shaking him by the shoulders, demanding, “What’s wrong with you?” And so of course Harry is crying now, because this was supposed to be the perfect outing, something straight out of his most treasured dreams- Him and his parents, enjoying a delicious meal, together, like a real family- And he’s gone and ruined it for himself. The Dursleys were right. Harry really is a freak.
His dad must think so too, because it’s not two hours later that his dad is dropping him off at a house that looks bizarre in a way Harry would think was very cool if he weren’t so distracted by his misery at the moment. “I don’t want to pose a burden on you,” his dad tells the plump woman with the kind brown eyes, and Harry builds a sob building in his throat, because just like the Dursleys, his dad thinks of him as a burden, which must mean the Dursleys were never being mean to him just for the sake of it. They were only ever telling him the truth.
Harry manages to rein in the tears until after his dad has bid him goodbye. “It’ll only be a short while, Harry, I swear it. I just need to become a father you can be proud of, someone who can provide you with the love you deserve.” It’s a stupid excuse that doesn’t even make any sense. What does he mean, he needs to become someone Harry can be proud of? Shouldn’t it be the other way around? And anyways, if his dad really wants to- Despite all reasons not to- Provide Harry with love, he would let Harry stay with him rather than dump him in a stranger’s home.
The crying starts the moment his dad has Apparated away, and it doesn’t stop. Mrs Weasley fusses over him in a way a mother might, but the warmth that Harry feels from this is nothing against the coldness he feels at abandonment. With a sympathetic sigh, Mrs Weasley leaves him be, curled up on the couch, with a hot cup of tea in front of him if he needs it.
“Are you really Harry Potter?”
Harry jumps at the sight of a red-haired boy staring at him from the staircase. Judging from his shortness of breath, he ran all the way down here. Harry gives a tentative nod in response to his question.
“I thought it might be one of Fred and George’s jokes,” the boy says, not once blinking in the time it takes for him to reach the armchair opposite Harry. “How come you’re crying?”
“I…” Harry struggles for the right words. “I didn’t want my dad to leave me.”
“Well, it’s not like he’s gone forever,” the boy shrugs, then winces. “Sorry. That was stupid. You know, considering the whole world really did think he was gone forever until-”
“Yeah, I got it, thanks,” Harry says, a bit of his usual sass from when he argues with Dudley returning. Harry tries his best not to mouth off to Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia, but Dudley and his friends are a different matter. Harry knows he owes them nothing, and so he has always snapped back at them fiercely in ways he would never imagine doing to the adults who provide him with food and shelter.
“Sorry,” the boy says again. “But… Look, you can just think of it as a sort of summer holiday. I mean, not that this place can measure up to any kind of summer resort… Actually, compared to your house, the Burrow must seem like a real pigsty…”
“I think it’s brilliant,” Harry frowns, upset with the way the boy seems ashamed, if not a bit sad.
“You do?” His face lights up with pure wonder, and it’s in that moment that Harry decides he could spend all his life trying to make this boy beam at him like this again. “I’m Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley.” He extended a hand to shake, and Harry clasps it gratefully. “Come on, then. Mum says you’ll be sharing rooms with me. The summer will be over before you know it, and you’ll be back with your dad in no time!”
By the time the week is up, Ron has taught Harry all there is for a ten year-old to know about the magical community. By which Harry means he has been excessively trained in the field of all things Quidditch and not much else. Harry trails after Ron wherever he goes, like a lost puppy of sorts, knowing Ron will probably get sick of him at one point but unable to stop clinging onto his every word anyway.
It’s not that the other Weasleys aren’t kind to him, too. They’re all very nice people. But Ginny is always squeaking in alarm whenever she sees him, Fred and George are much too boisterous for Harry’s comfort, Percy is always studying, and Charlie, who is in his final year at the magic school that is the one other topic Ron enjoys discussing, is much too busy traveling all over the country in preparation for his prospective apprenticeship with dragons.
Ron, though- Ron is perfect. He talks a lot, and only ever about the things he likes, but he takes care to include Harry in every one of the discussions. Then there are these little comments he’ll drop from time to time, things that probably mean nothing to him but are such comforting messages to Harry. Ron’s take on life is very straightforward: Problems can’t become problems until you make them problems. Harry tries adapting this carefree attitude for a day or so, and finds it greatly liberating. It’s not in vain either, because as it turns out, Ron was right when he said that Harry’s dad leaving him wouldn’t be the end of the world. Harry’s dad writes to him almost daily, including everything from anecdotes about his past to telling him how excited he is to have Harry live with him. Eventually, Harry manages to convince himself that the sudden mood changes his dad went through had less to do with him and more to do with his dad having had a bad day. Harry is happy and content, with everything he could have ever wished for.
Which, honestly, is all the proof that Harry needs to know something is bound to go terribly wrong. He just doesn’t know how drastic the scales in which these wrongs will occur. A single life saved… And a hundred lives lost. By the time the world finds out the consequences for the changes that have been wrought, it will be far too late to turn anything back.