The Potter Conspiracy
A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the first chapter. Hope you enjoy this one.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter. JKR and her partners do.
Chapter Two – For the Greater Good
July 26th, 1995 – Hogwarts Castle, Headmaster’s Office
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts; Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards; and Champion Ten-Pin Bowler, stood at his window looking thoughtfully down on the Hogwarts grounds.
For the past four weeks he had been the busiest wizard in Britain. With the return of Voldemort and Cornelius Fudge’s bullheaded insistence that such a thing simply wasn’t possible, Dumbledore had been forced to put his plans into motion with utmost secrecy. He had been preparing for the Dark Lord’s return for many years, but the current state of affairs had still caught him off guard.
He had expected Voldemort to return this year, but he had also expected Harry Potter to finally die at his hands.
Harry Potter. Dumbledore shook his head in bemusement at the boy. Was it impossible to kill the child? Every year he faced greater dangers and every year he was unprepared for them. And yet here he still was, seemingly indestructible. Harry’s account of the duel with Voldemort had shocked him, and, if he were honest with himself, he didn’t really understand what had happened after their wands locked.
The aged headmaster wondered for the thousandth time whether his current plans were truly for the greater good, but also for the thousandth time he found no other acceptable alternatives.
Dumbledore looked at the cracked ruby ring in his hands and sighed. In truth, he had no malice in his heart toward young Harry. He was even fond of the boy in his own way, despite the terrible things he had done to manipulate his life. There were certain things that simply had to be done, and it wasn’t Dumbledore’s fault that fate had singled out Harry for a life of suffering and sacrifice.
In Dumbledore’s eyes, that was precisely what fate had done. Harry Potter had been doomed from the moment Sybill Trelawney opened her mouth to speak. The rest had simply followed logically from the seer’s terrible proclamation against him.
For Dumbledore had not viewed the prophecy as welcome news: it had indicated that the wizard with the power to defeat the Dark Lord hadn’t even been born yet.
That horrifying thought had shaken Dumbledore to his core. Did that mean the wizarding world would be condemned to many more years more of suffering and terror? Did that mean that he himself couldn’t take down Voldemort?
When he first heard the prophecy in the autumn of 1979, Voldemort’s reign of terror was at its zenith. Though strange disappearances had begun as early as 1970, only in the previous four years had the Dark Lord truly begun terrorizing the wizarding world. Dumbledore believed he could finally put an end to the madness if only the right opportunity presented itself.
The thought that he might be prevented from defeating Voldemort because of a prophecy from Sybill Trelawney had frustrated him to no end. At first he had disregarded it, as Trelawney had a reputation as a charlatan. But month after month of humbling losses to the Death Eaters forced him to take the prophecy seriously. He knew he simply could not allow the entire world to suffer for the next twenty years while Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom were trained up as warriors.
The only solution was to make sure the prophecy was fulfilled as soon as possible.
If one of the boys “must” die at the monster’s hand, then so be it. Thereafter the prophecy would become invalid and he could take steps to take down the Dark Lord.
And so Dumbledore had put his plans in motion, his many months of plotting finally culminating on that Halloween night in 1981. But, of course, little Harry had surprised him for the first of many times.
Dumbledore had sent Hagrid to the Potter home expecting him to report the deaths of the entire family. Instead the half-giant had returned with a bawling, bleeding Harry Potter. He had found an enraged Sirius Black at the cottage and Black had told him to take Harry to Dumbledore while he went “hunting for rats.” Bewildered by the boy’s survival, Dumbledore had scanned the infant’s unshielded mind with legilimency to discover what had happened.
What he discovered had sealed Harry’s fate: he was destined to be both a hero and a sacrifice.
Dumbledore had watched the child’s memory of the events with morbid fascination. He heard rather than saw the death of James Potter. He saw Lily Potter brutally cut down while trying to shield her baby boy. And he watched with dawning horror as he saw the Dark Lord prepare Harry for a ritual with only one purpose.
He had done enough research into dark magic to recognize the runes that Voldemort was using to mark the boy’s forehead and chest. He watched the man place Harry in the center of a pentagram surrounded by black candles emitting a sinister light. He heard a guttural chant in a long dead language. This was Dumbledore’s greatest fear become reality: Voldemort knew how to create a horcrux. And he was going to use Harry Potter’s death to create one.
Dumbledore had watched the ritual in such dread that he forgot to breathe. He saw the Dark Lord complete his chant and level his wand at the baby’s forehead. The killing curse was spat with such venom that Dumbledore shuddered.
And then the miracle. The curse reflected off the child’s forehead, striking down the Dark Lord! Was this the fulfillment of the prophecy? Dumbledore had been ecstatic.
Retreating from the infant’s mind, Dumbledore had examined Harry’s scar closely, and he could feel the dark soul magic surrounding it. Sighing, he knew that this awful drama was not yet over. The boy was apparently a horcrux. He had somehow killed the darkest Dark Lord in recent history, but in doing so he had anchored that Dark Lord’s soul to this world.
Now more than ever it meant that Harry Potter had to die for Voldemort to be finally defeated.
Dumbledore had the unsettling feeling that the Dark Lord had created several of these abominations. He now had a monumental task before him. He would have to locate and destroy all of Voldemort’s horcruxes before he could be eliminated once and for all.
And then there was the enigma of Harry Potter. How was the child still alive? Dumbledore had no idea why that killing curse had been deflected; perhaps the ritual had been botched? Perhaps Lily had cast some sort of protective spell long ago? Perhaps fate herself had intervened?
He didn’t know, but he did understand that the prophecy was still valid. Harry had somehow survived a killing curse, and Voldemort’s soul was still bound to this world. Neither had yet died at the hand of the other.
But how long would it take for this prophesied conflict to begin again? Would Voldemort be disembodied for weeks? Months? Years? Yet another thing that Dumbledore didn’t know. He did know, though, that the monster was temporarily gone, and the wizarding world could breathe a sigh of relief and regroup. Meanwhile he would have to scour the earth for some of the darkest artifacts in existence.
The 24 hours following the death of the Potters and the defeat of the Dark Lord had been the busiest of Albus Dumbledore’s life. He spent hours thinking through every implication of the events that had just transpired. He would not go public with any information about the Dark Lord’s demise until he was absolutely certain he controlled all the pieces on the chessboard.
He had finally concluded that his plan to sacrifice the child of prophecy to Voldemort was still the best course of action. When Voldemort eventually returned, it was best for the prophecy to be taken out of play as soon as possible. That meant he would have to make sure Harry Potter remained vulnerable, and, if the boy lived long enough to attend Hogwarts, untrained and ignorant.
The problem had been how to accomplish such a thing. There were no other Potters left, so he would likely be raised by his godfather. The boy’s godfather was Sirius Black, and Dumbledore knew that Black would never allow the boy to grow up untrained and vulnerable. Even if he had no idea that the Dark Lord would someday return, Black would keep the boy safe and teach him how to fight.
He knew that Lily Evans had a muggle sister who lived somewhere in England, but he knew nothing else about her. Perhaps Minerva could locate her and convince her to make a claim for Harry as his last-remaining blood relative?
The solution to Dumbledore’s dilemmas, both what to do with Harry and what to tell the wizarding world, had presented itself the next morning like manna from heaven. He had breathed a ragged sigh of relief at Black’s reckless attempt at revenge against Peter Pettigrew. He couldn’t have asked for a better gift from the man. Black had removed Pettigrew from the board permanently, something Dumbledore wanted in any event, and he had placed himself under the Chief Warlock’s authority. Perfect.
Dumbledore had immediately taken custody of Sirius Black before any serious questioning could be done. Then he had spread far and wide the news of the Dark Lord’s demise at the hands of Harry Potter.
The legend of The-Boy-Who-Lived was born.
Dumbledore then spoke to Minister Bagnold and Barty Crouch, Sr., Director of the DMLE, convincing them that Black had betrayed the Potters on top of murdering Pettigrew and a dozen muggles. The bloodthirsty Crouch had been more than happy to toss the traitor in Azkaban without a trial and leave him there to rot forever.
By the next morning the entire wizarding world was celebrating young Harry Potter and cursing the name of Sirius Black. Black had never known what hit him. Dumbledore regretted having to take this action against the likeable Sirius, but felt he had no real choice in the matter. Too much was at stake.
Two days later Dumbledore had been declared the magical guardian of young Harry, a move approved by the Wizengamot to ensure that the boy was protected. Of course, Dumbledore hadn’t told them that he planned to foist the boy off on his muggle relatives, but they didn’t need to know that yet, did they?
Minerva had located Petunia Dursley in Surrey, and Dumbledore had dropped the boy off on her doorstep the very night he gained magical custody of Harry.
And so Harry had grown up at 4 Privet Drive, protected from rogue Death Eaters by blood wards, while Dumbledore had gone about the grueling business of tracking down the Dark Lord’s horcruxes. Every year he expected the Dark Lord to return, and every year he grew more mystified by the man’s disappearance.
Now he was finally back, and the opening salvo of the war had really favored neither side. Dumbledore was back to square one, trying to think of ways to force the confrontation between Harry and Voldemort before a true war could take shape. Once the prophecy was out of the picture, he would be able to finally end it.
Dumbledore was pulled out of his reverie by the voice of one of Hogwarts’ former Headmasters.
“Albus, Alastor Moody is approaching the gargoyle.”
“Ah. Thank you, Headmaster Dippet. I have been expecting him.”
Dumbledore seated himself expectantly in his throne-like chair as Moody ascended the steps to his office.
“Albus,” declared Moody gruffly as he stomped into the room and seated himself.
“Alastor; thank you for coming. May I offer you some refreshment? A lemon drop, perhaps?”
“No thank you,” he responded, his magical eye whizzing crazily as it inspected the contents of the room. He was haggard-looking and thin, still recovering from his ordeal as a prisoner of Barty Crouch, Jr.
“Hagrid has sent word that he and Maxime arrived in Germany safely and are continuing their journey in the morning,” Moody began, ignoring small talk altogether.
“Good, good. Hopefully their gifts to the gurg will be well-received. I have yet to talk Remus into making contact with the werewolves, but hopefully he will see reason soon.”
“Hmph. I wouldn’t bet on it, Albus. That man doesn’t want anything to do with real fighting. If I didn’t know better I’d say he got bit by a puffskein instead of a werewolf.”
Dumbledore smiled benignly. “Well, not everyone has your taste for combat, Alastor. Have you had any more luck in the Auror corps?”
“Aye. Tonks is working on Hestia Jones, and Shacklebolt is recruiting some kid named Stadler. We’re putting out feelers, but it’s hard to avoid Bones’ attention.”
“Well, please heed your own motto, Alastor. We absolutely cannot have Amelia asking questions. The Ministry can’t get involved until after we have defeated Voldemort.”
“Aye; constant vigilance it is. What’s the new plan for taking the monster out, then? Tell me it doesn’t involve me sleeping in a box for months,” he grimaced.
Dumbledore chuckled. Moody wasn’t aware of it, but he and Snape had discovered the identity of Barty Crouch, Jr., mere days into his tenure as Defense Professor. They had questioned Crouch under veritaserum and then obliviated the man, ultimately deciding that they needed to play along with Voldemort’s ludicrous plan.
Not knowing any details about the resurrection ceremony, Dumbledore had not understood why they didn’t just kidnap Harry immediately. Why wait so long? Did they really think that Crouch could remain undetected in Hogwarts for an entire year? They had decided it was too risky to let Snape reveal himself to Crouch, as the Dark Lord’s reaction would be unpredictable. So Alastor Moody had been left in his magical trunk until the Third Task rolled around and Voldemort finally made a move.
“I think I can safely say that our plan will not involve magical trunks, my friend,” Dumbledore smiled. “And I am sorry that we could not discover you sooner. I would have endeavored to put Harry in the Dark Lord’s hands long before the end of the tournament.”
“As to your question,” Dumbledore continued, “I’m afraid that any new plans for Harry will have to wait until Severus returns from Eastern Europe. The Dark Lord has sent him to gather restricted potions supplies for some foolish ritual or other. I am hopeful that he will return soon and that we may set a trap for Voldemort.”
Moody’s lip curled at the mention of Snape. “I hope you know what you’re doing with that sneaky bastard, Albus. Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, I say.”
Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I am well aware of your opinion of Severus, Alastor; trust me when I say that he is working for the Dark Lord’s downfall. He is just as appalled as I am with Voldemort’s behavior since his return.”
Moody snorted. “What’s he doing then? Making skin suits out of muggles?”
Dumbledore winced at Moody’s bluntness. “Thankfully, nothing so extreme yet. But his new appearance is nothing at all like his previous one. And apparently he is very fond of using the cruciatus curse on his followers; he rants about revenge constantly and is very unstable.”
“Well, thank Merlin for small blessings. Maybe the wanker will take out his own forces and we won’t have to fight them.”
“I can only pray that we are so lucky, Alastor. It is growing imperative that we stop the Dark Lord before he can make himself known. I fear that he will try to destroy the magical world rather than rule it.”
“Just tell me when and where, Albus, and I’ll be there. Better keep a closer eye on your bird, this time, no?” he replied, his magical eye focusing on Fawkes’ sleeping form.
Dumbledore nodded. “I shall endeavor to do so, Alastor. Sometimes Fawkes has a mind of his own.”
Moody grunted in acknowledgement as he rose from his seat. “I need to be off; Dung has guard duty tonight at Potter’s and he’s probably dead drunk in a pub. Are we going to be watching the place all summer?”
“It looks likely. Molly Weasley is complaining about the danger to her family if he goes there, and I obviously don’t want the boy here,” Dumbledore sighed. “I’m starting to wish those blood wards weren’t so powerful.”
Moody smirked a little on his way out. “Well, we’ll make sure the lad stays put until the time is right.”
“Thank you, Alastor, and remember that only Severus and Kingsley know the truth about Mr. Potter’s ultimate role.”
“Aye,” replied Moody. “I’ll keep it under wraps.”
Dumbledore smiled wanly at Moody’s departure, and then turned to stroke the scarlet feathers of his sleeping familiar.
“What am I going to do with you, Fawkes?” Dumbledore whispered.
Fawkes snuffled softly, cocked a single eye at Dumbledore’s voice, and then went back to sleep.
Fawkes was in many ways still an enigma to Dumbledore, and he wasn’t certain that “familiar” was the best word for him. Phoenixes were very mysterious creatures, and no one really knew why they bonded with certain wizards or where they went when not serving their ‘masters.’ Even their immortality was a subject of speculation rather than fact.
Fawkes had flashed into his life one morning in 1977 and just stayed. He had just finished a meeting with his Head Boy and Head Girl, James Potter and Lily Evans, when Fawkes made his unexpected entrance. The fire bird had landed on Dumbledore’s desk, cocked his head at the man, and then flown to a perch that Dumbledore kept in his office for visiting owls.
From that moment on, Fawkes had been a reassuring constant in Dumbledore’s life. The phoenix’s presence made others hold Dumbledore in even greater reverence, as phoenixes supposedly bonded only with great light wizards. Though Dumbledore couldn’t truly communicate with the bird, it seemed to understand what he wanted and usually did what he wanted. Usually.
The phoenix seemed to have taken a liking to Harry Potter that made Dumbledore very uneasy. In Harry’s second year, Fawkes had rescued Harry from the basilisk without being ordered to do so. Most recently, he had removed Harry from mortal danger after the Dark Lord’s resurrection, his timely intervention preventing the fulfillment of the prophecy.
Dumbledore had been beyond irritated by the bird’s most recent interference, but did nothing more than chide him for “sticking his beak where it didn’t belong.”
In truth he was a little afraid of what might happen if he antagonized Fawkes too greatly; he wasn’t sure just what the bird was capable of. Fawkes seemed to disapprove of his plans for Harry, yet he remained here in this office, doing the other things Dumbledore asked of him without hesitation.
Dumbledore wondered idly if Fawkes would have intervened on Harry’s behalf against Quirrell if Harry had not produced his inexplicable miracle. They were lucky that the bird had not taken it upon himself to introduce Harry to Sirius Black before the boy’s godfather could be Kissed.
So far all of his plans to force a confrontation between Harry and Voldemort had been ruined by strange magic from Harry or by Fawkes’ intervention. Had Dumbledore been a gambling man, he might have wondered if he were playing a rigged game. Whatever the case, he knew he would have to take measures to ensure that Fawkes did not intervene again. There was simply too much at stake.
Dumbledore moved away from Fawkes and groaned tiredly as he sat down in his ornate desk chair. He looked despairingly at the topmost parchment of a huge pile. There was still so much work to do, and he was only one man. And an old one, at that.
His current situation was complicated because he could not publicly announce the return of the Dark Lord. If he did so now, his reputation would suffer just as badly as Harry’s currently was. That would have to wait until the prophecy was safely out of the picture. For now he had to make his moves slowly, discreetly, and in complete secrecy.
Then there was the increasing headache of Molly Weasley. Dumbledore was starting to regret getting her involved in this. She had never demanded money before, but now she wanted a piece of the Potter vaults to reward the risks she had taken with the safety of her family.
So he had reluctantly agreed with her plan to dose Harry with a mild love potion. If Harry were in a serious relationship with Ginny, it would lend credibility to the huge bequest that Harry would bestow on the Weasleys when he died. But the infernal woman had refused to allow Harry to come to the Burrow, citing the increased risk of attacks.
Dumbledore agreed with her about the risk to the Burrow, despite its strong wards, but he wasn’t sure what else to do with Harry. The boy had already written him three times this summer, and the last letter had practically demanded that Dumbledore get him out of Surrey immediately and then hand over his vault key. Well, the latter was not going to happen any time soon, but he would have to move Harry in the near future. He didn’t want to alienate the boy any more than he had to.
Though it would raise some eyebrows, it wasn’t out of the question to bring Harry to Hogwarts. The trouble was that he just didn’t want Harry around all the time; he knew the boy was going to demand advanced training this year, and it was imperative that he didn’t receive it. He had, of course, taken measures to insure that no amount of training would matter anyway, but better safe than sorry. He would have to think more on the matter.
Dumbledore sighed and looked over the top parchment on his desk a final time. He opened a locked desk drawer and pulled out a small vial of blood that he kept on hand for just such occasions. Dipping his quill into the blood, he carefully signed the parchment and blew on it to dry it. Sealing it in a large envelope, he set it aside and made a mental note to visit the Owlery later.
He could ask Fawkes to make the delivery, but Dumbledore wasn’t sure the blasted bird wouldn’t intentionally flame this particular package.
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July 26th, 1995 – Little Whinging; Surrey
Harry Potter walked slowly down Magnolia Crescent toward Privet Drive. He had just finished his early evening run and was now cooling down before heading back to his room. It had been over two weeks since he began his physical fitness program, and he was starting to see results. He could see the nascent muscles developing on his upper body, and his cardiovascular fitness had improved dramatically. Harry had been pushing his body very hard, and could now complete his daily four mile course in 28 minutes without exhausting himself. Dobby had been feeding him well, so Harry was feeling stronger and healthier than he ever had.
He hadn’t solved the problem of being able to do magic, but Dobby had once again come through for him. He had hesitantly suggested to Harry that he practice with a stick from the yard; that way he would perform no actual magic, but could memorize the spell movements and incantations.
“A stick,” Harry had repeated dumbly.
The simple brilliance of this solution made him smile. He wondered why he had not thought of such an obvious thing and thanked whatever deities there were for Dobby. He now had a small muggle notebook full of potentially useful (and deadly) spells to practice, and he was using his stick to “cast” them for hours out of every day. Dobby, now able to read most book titles, was keeping him supplied with fresh books whenever he wanted them.
Harry’s thoughts turned to Dumbledore and his friends as he slowly ambled home. There was no word from Hermione so Harry assumed she was still in France. He would try to contact her around his birthday; she would probably owl him a small present.
Ron had not written again, just as he had said, but Harry had been receiving almost daily packages of sweets from Mrs. Weasley. He wondered why it was permissible to send him packages of food but not to send him letters. He thought all this cloak-and-dagger business about intercepted owls was a bit much, but he shrugged it off. At least he was eating well.
He had written several times to Dumbledore, begging to be released from his prison, but the old man had just written back to be patient. He had also inquired, a bit pointedly, as to why Dumbledore was in possession of his vault key. Dumbledore had informed him that it was safest with him, and that regardless it was too dangerous for Harry to visit Diagon Alley this year. Someone else would be picking up all of his school supplies.
Harry’s frustration with Dumbledore’s restrictions was growing daily.
Harry’s thoughts turned to the youngest Weasley. He had been thinking about little Ginny quite often for the past two weeks, and now realized how foolish he had been to ignore her during the school year. She had rarely spoken to him, and always seemed to hang back in the shadows, making it easy for her to escape attention.
I wonder why she’s so shy, Harry thought. She was cute—perhaps even beautiful—now that Harry thought about it. The way her freckles make little patterns on her nose and cheeks is adorable, he mused. Thinking of her long red hair made Harry unconsciously run his fingers through his own hair. Is this what it feels like to fancy someone? he wondered. Do I fancy Ginny Weasley? Should I maybe write to her? What on earth would I say?
But then Harry’s thoughts darkened, turning yet again to the mortal danger he was in. He had no time to fancy someone. He couldn’t afford to lose focus. He couldn’t afford to put anyone else in danger, especially if it was someone he cared for.
Looking back on his life, Harry realized that being his friend carried great risks. Ron and Hermione had put themselves in peril several times, and now the stakes were even higher. Nothing, Harry thought, absolutely nothing is going to distract me from being ready to stop that monster. And in his mind Harry was indeed strong enough to stop Voldemort. When their wands locked in the graveyard he had felt it. He had known it. And next time he would be prepared.
Harry was pulled out of his musings as he approached the front door of 4 Privet Drive. He had finished cooling down and it was time to get back to work. As he reached for the door handle, the sound of raised voices within the house gave him pause. He had been keeping a very low profile within the Dursley household, and he had no desire to walk in on whatever quarrel was happening behind that door.
He had told his aunt not to bother feeding him anymore, as he had made “other arrangements.” Harry was certain that his aunt was puzzled by this, but evidently she was too frightened of magic to inquire what those arrangements involved. Shrugging to himself, he decided to let himself in quietly and try to evade detection long enough to slink to his room.
Harry quietly opened the door and eased himself through it. The raised voices belonged to Dudley and Aunt Petunia, and they were coming from the hallway that led to the kitchen. No one had noticed his entrance, and Harry knew it was probably best for him to just move quickly up the stairs to his room.
But Harry was wondering just what could cause a row between Petunia and her precious Dudders. Curiosity defeated his desire to be invisible, so Harry poked his head around the corner to see what the commotion was all about. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.
There in the middle of the hallway was the most ridiculous sight Harry had ever seen.
Dudley Dursley was standing in front of the long hallway mirror while his mother tried to wrap a tape measure around his massive midsection. This was amusing enough in itself, but it was what Dudley was wearing that nearly stopped Harry’s heart.
Dudley’s 300+ pounds of blubber was outfitted tightly in a pair of bright orange knickerbockers that reached just past his knees. A white frilly dress shirt was accented by an enormous maroon tailcoat. The whole ensemble was capped off by a flat, straw boater’s hat that sat on top of Dudley’s sweaty head like an oversized bottle cap.
Harry couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing.
Though Harry didn’t know it, this was Dudley’s regular school uniform at Smeltings; he had just never seen Dudley in it. Big D had actually lost a little weight this summer, and his mother was taking measurements so that his uniform could be altered.
Dudley’s face flushed violently and his piggy eyes narrowed at his laughing cousin. His parents had told him to ignore Harry this summer, but this was a humiliation that Dudley refused to endure. He picked up his patented Smeltings Stick from the floor and lumbered heavily toward Harry, intent on bashing the freak’s skull in. Petunia simply watched.
Harry saw the look in his cousin’s eyes and fled up the stairs to his room, laughing like a hyena the entire way. He had just made it into his room and shut the door when it was flung open by a lividly purple Dudley Dursley. He truly looked capable of murder. He raised his stick above his head and stalked toward the now retreating Harry, who was contemplating whether or not to curse his cousin between giggles.
“Shut your bloody face you worthless freak! I’m going to…”
But that was as far as Dudley got.
Dobby popped into existence between Harry and the fat human threatening him, throwing up both hands toward Dudley.
“You shall not harm Harry Potter Sir!”
Harry was never sure whether Dobby had banished Dudley or the elf’s sudden appearance had simply surprised him, but in either case Dudley lost his balance and fell heavily on his arse, ripping out the seat of his bright orange knickerbockers. He stared open-mouthed at Dobby for a few seconds, his brain trying to process what his eyes were seeing, and then backed as quickly as he could out of Harry’s room, all thoughts of violence forgotten.
Harry heard him thundering down the stairs screaming to his mum that Harry had a “green monster” in his room.
Dobby turned and grinned sheepishly at Harry and he lost it all over again. Great guffaws of laughter escaped Harry until tears were literally running down his face. This was evidently a release that Harry had needed, because he simply could not stop laughing.
Indeed, he had the giggles for the rest of the evening, even though he was busy taking notes on a very nasty book of curses from Hogwarts’ restricted section. Anyone witnessing Harry’s mirth while reading such a dark book would have been horrified. But whenever Harry read about a new curse, he visualized students in orange knickerbockers and maroon tailcoats, casting spells nonchalantly at each other with one hand while they leaned on a walking stick with the other. Harry would gladly pay a fortune for just one picture of Draco Malfoy in a Smeltings uniform. That was a mental image powerful enough to defeat any boggart in existence.
Sometimes life at Privet Drive was entertaining after all.
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A/N: Remember that Dumbledore’s reflections on horcruxes and prophecies are strictly from his point of view. He may not be as smart as he thinks he is. More on his motives and manipulations will be revealed gradually. Snape didn’t overhear the prophecy in this universe, but he knows about its existence.
Harry will be powerful but not superhuman in this story. He’ll have to work for his victories. Next chapter, there’s some action and Harry leaves Privet Drive for good.
For those of you waiting on some Harry/Parvati interaction, be patient. It will start to happen soon enough once everyone returns to Hogwarts. Oh, and believe it or not, the description of Dudley’s ludicrous Smeltings uniform was canon!