Headmaster Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, (Order of Merlin, First Class; Grand Sorcerer; Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot; and Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards), looked up from his desk and smiled slightly. He waved his hand gently. The door to his office at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry opened just as his Deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, reached the landing outside it.
“What can I do for you this wonderful morning, Minerva?” he asked congenially, leaning back in his chair.
“The same thing you do every year at this time, Albus,” she replied in her usual no-nonsense tone. “Tell me how Harry Potter is doing.” She sighed as she sat in the chair opposite his desk. “This is his tenth birthday. Only one more year before he comes to Hogwarts.”
Smiling, the old wizard looked at the bookshelf against the wall of his office and behind his Transfigurations professor. To anyone else, he looked as if he was simply looking up and thinking. Instead he was examining three certain silver devices hidden among the several dozen residing on the bookcase’s top shelf. “Let’s see,” he said thoughtfully. He studied them as if he didn’t check them every day, after waking and before bed.
One looked like a metronome, its black wand moving slightly back and forth instead of standing straight up or pointing to either side. Its triangular backing and round base were both a neutral silver-grey in colour, although the backing had thirteen horizontal black lines that divided it into fourteen equally tall sections.
He closed his eyes momentarily and said, “Harry is doing well, but he is neither happy nor sad.”
“I would expect him to be excited on his birthday,” she said frowning severely.
“Perhaps he is still asleep,” the Headmaster gently countered, his eyes twinkling. “Sleeping-in on such occasions is not unusual.”
“Still, it is rather odd that every time I ask, you give the same response. I find it troubling that Harry never seems to be happy,” she shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
Dumbledore shrugged delicately. “The burdens of being brought up by your aunt and uncle instead of your mother and father, I expect,” he said.
He looked to his next instrument, a squat, round tube lying on its side and sealed at both ends. A long thin smokestack, almost as tall as a textbook and taller than the cylinder was long, stuck up from the nearest end. Eleven black lines divided the cylinder into twelve sections, and all were a dull silver-grey. It was sending up small puffs of white smoke from its chimney. Its square base was a bright silver platform.
Again, he closed his eyes, then said, “He is in good health, and has been for the last year, as usual. No injuries of any kind, not even a minor scrape.”
McGonagall shook her head. “Now that is unusual. His grandmother told me his father never made it through a week without some kind of cut or scrape, even if it was just tripping on the front steps and barking his shin.”
“His mother, on the other hand,” the old wizard said, “rarely had such problems, I recall you telling me.”
Professor McGonagall reluctantly nodded.
The Headmaster looked at the third device on the shelf. A simple vertical wheel spinning and shimmering with all the colours of the rainbow. Its base was oblong. And the support was a half-circle. It was actually a bit hypnotic, and he sometimes found himself watching it when he was stressed.
He smiled. “His mother’s protection on the Dursley home is still as active as ever,” he said happily. “Showing that he is getting the love he needs from his aunt. It certainly isn’t as great as his mother’s. But it is there. Just as it has been for the last nine years. And, no one has attempted to breach the protective charm since I placed it.” He looked back at his Deputy in mild reproof.
She nodded.
“So, Minerva,” he said softly, “Have I managed to lay to rest your concerns for the coming year?”
“I still think you should visit Harry instead of relying solely on monitoring charms. Even the muggle social workers visit their charges on occasion to evaluate what is really happening instead of relying on second-hand information.”
He shrugged, “A visit might inadvertently disclose his location to wizards we would rather not have that knowledge. A skilled practitioner could follow even me without being detected were I to chance it. Which is the reason why I’ve requested you and Hagrid to not visit the child, and all the others to not look for him.
“And can you imagine what the Daily Prophet would print if they knew he was living with muggles? And how to find him? And what the Wizengamot would do in reaction? Or the Death Eaters that managed to escape capture ten years ago?”
She shuddered, “Yes.” She fixed him with a steady gaze. “But monitoring charms can only tell you so much. Visiting Harry, if only for a few minutes, would tell you more.”
Again he shrugged. “My charms are rather thorough. I have complete faith in them in relaying to me all the relevant information I need.”
He smiled at her, “Besides, Mrs. Figg checks up on him regularly.”
Minerva rolled her eyes. “A squib who sees the boy once every few months when the Dursleys ask her to watch him is not the same as going into their home and seeing his living conditions, Albus. And if the Dursleys don’t call her, she can tell us nothing. She doesn't even live on the same street, so she can't tell us if she happens to see him outside in the summer. And didn’t you tell me that last year they only called her four times, including just once since January?”
Half-heartedly, the Headmaster nodded. “Yes. And as he gets older I imagine they will rely on her even less. However, if he were to come over to her house and showed signs of being treated badly, she would have told us. And she can’t very well sneak over there and peek in their windows, now can she?”
Reluctantly, she said, “No. Well, I guess this will just have to do, won’t it?” She sighed. “I still think placing him with those muggles was a mistake.”
He sighed, in turn. “We’ve been over this before, Minerva. I had no real choice. Black was in Azkaban, Amelia had lost almost her entire family and was in no shape to take on a toddler. Mary, Emmeline, Hestia, and Dorcas were all single. And Remus’ monthly problem would have made it impossible to keep his location a secret. And the Death Eaters were carefully checking all the Grey and Light families looking for the child in the days after the attack, and before the Longbottoms were targeted. So my choices were either the Dursleys or sending him overseas.” He looked her levelly in the eyes. “I stand by my choice.”
“I know,” she muttered softly. “I just wish it could have been different.”
She stood. “I’ll see you at lunch, then.” She left his office, the door silently closing behind her.
Dumbledore sighed and looked at his fourth monitoring device, a simple vertical stick on a small round disk, with three lights in a small vertical rectangular box on top. A muggle would immediately recognize its traffic-pole shape. As it always was, the red and yellow lights remained unlit while the green one glowed dimly.
He hadn’t told anyone of the existence of the last two of the five devices on the shelf designed to monitor the boy at all times.
While the wizards couldn’t find Harry at home, that didn’t prevent a clever Death Eater from hiring or charming an unknowing muggle into doing their dirty work for them. It might take years for such a strategy to work, but Death Eaters were known to be patient when necessary. Thus, the fourth device monitored his very special muggle-repelling charm on Harry. Any muggle with the intent to kill Harry, remove him from his relatives, or trying to interfere in the family, would be subtly redirected and made to forget what they had intended to do. It reinforced anything his aunt and uncle told others, to help distract attention from Harry. If they told someone to leave the boy alone, that person would do just that.
The old wizard was pleased to see that the all-black device hadn’t the least bit of colour anywhere except the green light. That meant no one had approached the boy or interfered in his relationship with the Dursleys for at least a year. The same as all the previous times he had checked. Like the other devices, it tracked Harry for the last twelve months, or fourteen days for the happiness monitor. He hadn’t bothered to make the devices track things any longer, not seeing the necessity.
Albus next looked at the crystal globe filled entirely with white smoke, last of the five devices monitoring Harry. It was on a simple silver base. He smiled to himself. That had been a stroke of genius, although devilishly hard to cast correctly. It watched Dumbledore’s special version of the fidelius charm that redirected any wizard’s or witch’s attention away from the one who had vanquished Lord Voldemort.
Harry Potter, for the wizards and witches, was forever linked to the missing Dark Lord. They could not think of one without thinking of the other. Hence, any wizard or witch searching for him would be blocked by the charm. Muggles, on the other hand, would only know of Harry Potter, not his wizarding history, and have no such impediment.
And should a wizard see him, well, while they would recognize him, they would never be able to remember where or when it had happened. And if a quick-thinking wizard were to see him and place a tracking or monitoring charm of any kind on the boy, Dumbledore’s special variation of the fidelius would block it from reporting anything useful. The charm would appear to work, but report nothing of consequence. And that would keep the boy safe from all harm.
۸-~-۸
“Where is our little pumpkin?” asked Petunia, as she walked into the sitting-room, “The roast is almost done!” The aroma of the evening dinner drifted through the house — roast beef with caramelized onions in gravy, roast potatoes with cinnamon butter, carrots and peas, and Yorkshire pudding. A delicious blend of scents that set her husband’s mouth to drooling.
“You know how he likes your dinners. I’m sure the little rascal will be home any moment,” said Vernon jovially as he watched News and Sport on BBC Two.
“I certainly hope so,” she replied, glancing back into the kitchen. “He has been spending a lot more time with his friends lately.”
The obese man glanced up at her, then scowled. “Well, now that that freak is out of our lives, our son has more free time. And he’s out of that boy’s disrupting influence.” He fell silent for a moment.
She sighed, eyeing the cupboard door which they hadn’t opened in days, “He’s only been missing for two weeks. He might show up again.”
“I feel that our luck has finally changed, my love. He’s gone, and gone for good.”
“One can only hope,” she said. She frowned. “I wonder what set him off?”
Her husband grunted. “Who cares? He probably found a mug that he could leech off of. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. If we never see him again, it’ll be too soon!”
۸-ꞈ-۸
Dear Princess Celestia,
It’s probably good that we haven’t found that portal to Harry Potter’s home-world yet. The more I learn about those beasts he calls relatives, the more I find myself wanting to hurt them. I’m trying not to be a bad pony, but the details he’s mentioned (see enclosed notes) make it so difficult sometimes.
The things he’s told me about his home-world, though, are simply astounding. If we do find the portal, or it reopens, the things we could learn will revolutionize magic and science as we know it (see the enclosed notes on the things he’s told me about)!
Harry seems to have made friends with Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, and Scootaloo (the Cutie Mark Crusaders, in case you don’t remember). I’ve written to you of their escapades in the past. I’m hoping this both helps him integrate better into our world and to slow them down. He seems to be more cautious than they are, so there’s hope on that subject. (see my enclosed notes on the Trebuchet they built, and its current use at Ponyville Lake). It’s truly amazing how many of their Cutie Mark attempts end up with them covered in tree sap — even those that have nothing to do with the forest or trees.
He’s fitting well into school, Cheerilee tells me. He’s very quiet and polite, and studies hard. I told you about his innovation on using his fetlock to hold a quill, and how we fashioned a quill-holder for his hoof (see enclosed and improved diagram). His letters are already about as good as the average pegasus! Cheerilee has said several earth colts are showing interest in his method of writing. It certainly seems like something we should consider teaching instead of mouth writing — much more convenient and easier to use.
I’ve been running tests on his magic and he appears to have a magic well that is quite wide and deep for a colt his age. He will be quite a power-pony when he gets older. His scar, though, concerns me. It is definitely a fragment of something and not simply a remnant of a spell gone wrong. Its reactions to my diagnostic spells remind me strongly of the fragment of Sombra’s horn we found (see enclosed charts and records).
How he could have acquired it is also troubling. He says he’s had it as long as he can remember, which means that whatever happened to him, it was when he was a tiny foal. Somepony was casting highly dangerous spells either around him or at him, resulting in this scar. How could his parents have allowed this? And if not them, then his relatives! (See enclosed notes on what he can remember about the scar.)
And, most importantly, should we tell him about it (see enclosed notes on the pros and cons of such a decision)?
And then there is that protective magic field surrounding him. The only thing it responds to is that scar. Nothing else I’ve thrown at it gets any sort of reaction — it’s as if the magic field’s only purpose is to keep whatever is in the scar at bay. How the field was established and how it maintains itself leave me frustrated! All my attempts to create a similar field have ended in abysmal failure as they either drain magic from the subject or dissipate after only a few hours. And my field reacts to every spell I cast at it. Whomever created this field was an exceptionally knowledgeable, talented, and powerful magic user (see enclosed notes on the recordings and my tentative conclusions).
This is at odds with his firm statements that magic is unknown in his world. No matter how I look at it, my conclusions are disturbing in their implications (see enclosed notes).
Any suggestions you might have would be greatly appreciated.
Your Faithful Student,
Twilight Sparkle.
.
P.S. I have run into a small problem with Harry. How do I punish him when he does something wrong? I don’t want to do anything that might remind him of his relatives and cause a panic attack or cause him lose his trust in us, yet the normal punishments, grounding him and making him stay inside, don’t seem to work. That is, when I grounded him after the Trebuchet incident at Sweet Apple Acres — he has to stay inside and can’t go play with his friends — he spent the entire time reading books. He acted like he was being rewarded! He even thanked me!
۸-_-۸
Princess Celestia hoofed the letter from her faithful student to her sister, Luna. “Have you been able to learn anything helpful about Harry Potter from his dreams?” she asked.
Luna sighed as she read the letter. “No, Tia. His dreams art extremely chaotic compared to most ponies. If it weren’t for his obvious calm acceptance of the events taking place, We would’st thinketh that he were reliving one of Discord’s more extreme pranks from a millennium ago when that villainous creature ruled Equestria.” She stopped for a moment to think. “His dreams segue from one disquieting fantastical setting to another in chaotic — and what should be traumatizing — manners. At times, sections or entire dreams rapidly repeat over and over with minor variations in details and outcomes that should leave him an emotional wreck in the morning.
“One moment he is a pony, another he is in his bipedal form, and in still another ’tis an odd combination of both. He notices not the changes, and doesn’t seem to care one way or another, accepting all with equal tranquillity.”
She shook her head tiredly. “We can’st not say what is of his world, what is of ours, and what is fantasy. We tried to stop one such misadventure the very first time We entered his dreamscape, to direct it and receive answers. All We accomplished was to reset the dream to a different beginning, and it dragged Us with it willy-nilly. Every time We interfere, the dreams just change their theme and remain thoroughly as chaotic and confusing.”
She sighed and laid her head on the table. “And he dost see'th nothing wrong with what is happening. He participates and reacts, but nothing seems to matter. His moods range from mildly worried to mildly pleased, even when what he dost hath no bearing on what happens.”
She looked over at her sister. “If it tweren’t for Twilight’s reports on his interactions with other ponies, We would think him quite insane.”
“Hmm,” Celestia hummed softly.
“Although, We must admit amusement at seeing that thy faithful student dost complaineth that restricting him to the library as punishment dost not work. We don’t think We hath ever heard of such a state of affairs.” She glanced up at her sister with a slight smile.
“Yes,” said the white alicorn, “That is a rather ironic complaint from Twilight.”
“Mayhaps, denying him the books wouldest work?”
Celestia sighed. “That was what I had to do with Twilight.”
They both studied their tea cups for several minutes.
“You should head for bed, Lulu,” Celestia suggested. “You’re about to fall asleep on your hooves. And you’re speaking in the royal ‘We’ again.” She gave her sister a loving look. “There certainly doesn’t appear to be any urgency in this matter, at least not enough to require you to skimp on your slumber.”
“Forsooth, We, I, thinketh thou mayhaps be correct.”
Princess Luna pushed herself to her hooves and slowly walked to the door.
“Good morning, Tia.”
“Good morning, Lulu.”
۸-~-۸