//------------------------------//
// 46 — You Had Only One Job . . . 
// Story: If Wishes were Ponies . . . . 
// by tkepner 
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Scootaloo was a bit confused at first when Professor McGonagall called out, “Aloo, Scoot.” But her going into Gryffindor wasn’t a surprise to Harry, and was a quick decision by the hat. As she told them later, the hat had said she had no real ambitions, so not Slytherin; studying was a chore, so not Ravenclaw; and while she was fiercely loyal, she was like Rainbow in wanting to nap a lot, so Hufflepuff was out. Her boundless enthusiasm for charging into Cutie Mark Crusading, while completely ignoring any possible dangers, or at least downplaying them, pretty much marked her as Gryffindor material. Naturally, her fellow Cutie Mark Crusaders, Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom, followed her into the red and gold House.  Harry assumed that was because of the Cutie Mark Crusaders’ attitude of charging ahead without a thought.

The hat’s reaction to seeing the monsters they had encountered had been an astounded, “Bloody hell! How are you all still alive?” He had been equally impressed with their origins, and assured her that he would never tell anyone what he learned when sorting students. Although he did say he had never sorted any students from another world like Equus.

That Hermione, with her intense focus on books went to Gryffindor as well, was surprising. But given her admiration for Dumbledore, who was watching over everything from his throne-like chair, and wanting to be in his House, maybe not so unexpected. And having so many of her friends in it already probably was a factor, too.

Harry didn’t know enough about Neville to make a prediction. Neville, however, seemed over-joyed at getting into Gryffindor. On the train, he had predicted he would probably be shuffled into Hufflepuff, which he termed as the House for those that didn’t fit in the others. And that that would greatly disappoint his Gran and Uncle Alfie. Based on the stories the boy had told them on the train, Harry was sure that ‘Uncle Alfie’ would have gotten along just fine with Uncle Vernon. And he had the feeling that he should be able to change a jinx so that it would transfer from a letter to a person without them noticing — such as one that made him confess bad deeds to the wrong people.

Harry Potter’s name brought a profound silence to the hall for a moment, then a burst of loud whispering. Even those who hadn’t paid any attention to the sorting at all were suddenly watching closely. Some even went so far as to stand on their benches to get a better look.

“Well, well, well,” said the hat, a disembodied voice in his head as he sat on the stool. “This is quite the mind you have here. It’s all in here, you know. Your hopes, your ambitions, your potentials. Loyalty to your friends in spades; that would make you a very good Hufflepuff. Wanting to learn all you can about magic; that would be a fine fit for Ravenclaw. And bravery! Oh, my, more than willing to charge ahead of your friends to protect them. That’s a Gryffindor trait, for sure. Your ambition is rather subdued right now, but it is there, so Slytherin is definitely a choice. Yes, Slytherin could help make you great. That House could help you develop to your full potential.”

Harry frowned. “I go with my friends to Gryffindor,” he thought firmly. “I wouldn’t be here without them. They saved my life in more ways than one and I’ll not abandon them.”

“Yes, yes, you do make quite the team, don’t you? I’ve seen their minds — they won’t forsake you simply because you’re in a different House. It might be difficult to adapt, at first, but you and they would flourish. Yes, Slytherin would be exceptionally useful to you.”

Harry and the girls had listened all month to Ron and the twins raging against the Slytherins and all things snake-like. And while the twins spoke of the other houses, it wasn’t always in the kindest words. The stereotypes were very deeply planted in the wizarding society, Harry had discovered while listening at the lunch table as the Quidditch team talked of the other houses. He would not allow himself to be separated from his filly friends. A herd stayed together.

“Gryffindor,” Harry stated firmly. “Gryffindor or I leave.”

“Well, if that’s what it will take, then it better be . . .

“Gryffindor!” shouted the hat out loud.

Later, at the Gryffindor table and surrounded by both his friends and the Quidditch team, for the first time Harry actually felt welcome somewhere. These people accepted him for what he was.

In Equestria, he had friends, but they were different. Or, rather, he was different. Not that most of them knew that. But he did. He knew he didn’t belong. He knew he was a transformed human and not a pony. And those that did know his secret always took a bit of time before they accepted him.

Here, though, they were all just the same as he was, people who could do magic. And having his three filly friends here just made it all that much better! Maybe, just maybe, going to school here instead of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns was a good idea.

The food, when it appeared, caught the fillies by surprise. Not the quantity, or that it had so many meat products. What surprised them were the large amounts of pastries and sweets. Scootaloo dug right into the fish dishes, of course, with great gusto. She almost rivalled Ron at the rate she was putting it away.

Sweetie Belle and Apple Bloom had already heard the arguments for becoming meat eaters, but they weren’t convinced yet. Harry hadn’t tried any meat dishes at their house in Little Whinging, not wanting to upset his vegetarian friends.

“Humans are omnivores,” Twilight had explained. “And their bodies require certain nutrients, proteins, and minerals that are contained in meat dishes. While you are in human form, you need to eat those things to stay healthy. And the animals here are not anywhere close to sapient.” She had taken a big bite of the bacon Harry had cooked that morning. “Besides, your taste buds have changed and this stuff tastes great!”

Still, it was one thing to know something was good for you intellectually and another to actually enjoy eating it.

The two fillies carefully picked and nibbled at the meat dishes while piling up the pastries and sweets. And commandeering all the vegetables and fruits at their end of the table.


۸- ̬ -۸


Even though they were all tired, and it was quite late by the time they reached the Gryffindor dormitories, Harry and Neville managed to complete the letter to Ollivander. It was after their curfew so heading to the owlery was definitely out of the question. However, Harry went to their dorm window and opened it as the others watched curiously. He leaned out and bellowed, “HEDWYG!”

Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan all looked at each other, shrugged, and looked back at Harry. Ron just grinned.

Harry ducked back into the room as a Snowy White owl glided into the room.

“ ’Cor,” said Dean admiringly, “that one’s a beauty.” The others agreed.

“Here, Hedwyg,” Harry said, tying the shrunken stick and letter to his owl’s leg. “Would you please take this to Ollivander the Wand-maker in London? It’s about a new wand for Neville.”

Hedwyg hooted affirmative, and took off out the window with a stately grace.

They spent a few more minutes talking before they all collapsed into their beds and fell asleep.


۸- ̬ -۸


For Dumbledore, Sunday had been hectic, as it always was. The students had been on their way and the castle had to be ready. The house-elves had been in a frenzy, cleaning anything that didn’t move, and quite a few things that did. One of them popped into his office almost every half-hour to tell him that this or that was now ready for the students and to ask if he had thought of anything else they should be doing. He had even seen one house-elf polishing the stones in the gravel drive up from the gates.

Meanwhile, the professors had been going over their schedules, checking their supplies for any last-minute corrections, and preparing themselves for the onslaught that was to start in the evening. 

But now, the students had arrived. He had always looked forward to that moment, and today was no exception. It was his favourite part of arrival day, seeing the looks of wonder on the new students as they followed Professor McGonagall inside the Great Hall. And this year Harry Potter was finally at the school. James and Lilly Potter’s son had finally made it here. Safe and happy.

That he was accompanied by three foreign students, students apparently from Atlantis, was merely icing on Dumbledore’s cake. The girls were clearly powerful, as he had seen when they all mastered the animagus transformation. If the school made a good impression on them, then maybe he could expect more students from that recluse country in attendance.

He had been trying for ten years to rebuild the wizarding society devastated by Voldemort. Trying to instil in his students the concept that they needed to live in peace, both in the wizarding world and with the muggles. Pure-blood sentiments had no place and would severely damage the English wizarding society if they were pursued to their natural conclusion. Giving the pure-bloods special privileges in order to placate them while still being open and welcoming to the half-bloods and muggle-born was the only feasible solution.

Having pure-blood foreigners of great power marrying into English society would put paid to those desperate pure-blood aspirations — these foreigners clearly had no interest in discriminating against anyone based solely on their blood status. All they considered, it seemed, was how people treated each other! They simply didn’t understand what the pure-blood ideologues were trying to establish. Thankfully.

Watching as the girls were sorted into Gryffindor was a bit of a surprise. He had expected them to be separated, with Miss Belle going into Ravenclaw and Miss Bloom going into Hufflepuff. He hadn’t been able to get a proper read on Miss Aloo, she had spent most of her time flying — either as her animagus or on a broom. She probably wasn’t either Slytherin or Ravenclaw, based on what Arthur had told him.

As he had hoped, Harry went into Gryffindor, not that Dumbledore expected anything else after his girl friends had gone into it. Professor McGonagall was especially happy at seeing that, although she did a credible job of hiding that fact from the watching students.

After delivering his normal end-of-Welcoming-Feast speech, with the required additions, he headed back to his chambers. His night was not yet done. 

He apparated to end of the Privet Drive and walked leisurely to number Four, using his Put-Outer to remain hidden in the shadows. No one was home. He shrugged, they were probably out for the evening. He didn’t notice the two women in those shadows, watching him intently.

It took only a moment to remove his fidelius charm from the house. Now that the boy was at Hogwarts, it wasn’t needed to hide him. And it would cause problems for the boy at school if he left it intact, as others would ignore the boy or forget he was there moments after he left a class. His mother’s protection on the house would suffice. 

He turned, retraced his steps, and apparated back to his office in Hogwarts. 

And was jolted by the noise — a piercing whistle, a ringing bell, and a hooting horn. He started in disbelief.

His Harry Potter monitors were going crazy, and what they were showing defied imagination. Harry Potter was here — and quite happy to be here, he knew — and yet the metronome was solid black instead of neutral grey, with the indicator wand as far to the left as it could get. It was actually stopped from being horizontal only because the knick-knack beside, a knight on a charger with white cotton-like smoke coming from its nose, prevented it. According to the monitor, Harry was miserable to the point of considering suicide.

The second monitor, the smoker, blew a steady column of thick black smoke that almost reached the ceiling and its boiler and chimney were a solid black. Harry was in perfect health, yet the trinket showed the boy to be in poor health, at near starvation levels, and suffering from broken bones and injured organs.

The worst, though, was the spinner, the one that monitored the protection provided to the Dursley home by Lily’s love, and fostered by her sister. That one was stopped dead and completely black. The protective charm had failed entirely.

Almost as an afterthought, he looked at the last two. The stop-light was still green, showing that no one was trying to separate Harry from the Dursleys, but there was one tiny thin band of black from several weeks ago. The globe monitoring the fidelius charm on Harry was clear, as it should be, because he had just cancelled the charm, himself.

This was a catastrophe — his mother’s protection on the Dursley home had collapsed. How could that have happened?

Well, at least the boy was safe here at Hogwarts . . . the Headmaster stiffened. “Skiffy!” he called.

“Skiffy is here, Master Dumbledore,” came the almost immediate response from his Hogwarts’ personal house-elf. 

Dumbledore turned to him. “Is Harry Potter in bed?”

“Skiffy will check,” said the little creature before disappearing with a POP. Almost immediately, he returned. The old wizard paused only long enough to hear the house-elf say, “Yes, Master Dumbledore . . . ,” before disapparating away, back to the Dursleys. He missed the rest of the Skiffy’s response, “. . . Master Potter be in his bed.”

The boy was safe, so he needed to see what had happened at the Dursleys. He would decipher why the other monitoring spells were malfunctioning when he returned.

Minutes later, wand in hand, he was walking briskly up Privet Drive, his robes billowing in his wake. He would have used his Put-Outer to douse the street lights, but he was in too much of a hurry to bother. He was soo intent on getting to the Dursley house at the other end of the street that he again failed to notice that two women watched him just as intently, one on each side of the street.

Dumbledore was in such a hurry that he cut across several lawns to shorten the distance instead of following the pavement. He peered at the house closely. It gave off the air of a house unlived-in for a number of weeks. The grass was taller than the neighbours and the bushes in front looked a bit neglected. Which it should, if the Dursleys had been gone for over a month. Now that he thought about it, the Dursleys should be at home this late at night. Tomorrow was, after all, a normal school day and their child needed his rest.

He rang the doorbell and waited. He rang it again. Nothing stirred in the house. He knocked, loudly. Still nothing stirred. He looked around and didn’t see anyone watching from the surrounding houses. He pointed his wand at the door and whispered, homenum revelio. He frowned as the spell revealed that no one was in the house. Surely the Dursleys would have returned from their vacation by now, if only to ensure that their son was in school on time. He quickly unlocked the door with a spell and stepped inside, pulling the door closed behind himself.

The watchers, one now across the street from number Four and the other maintaining her post, exchanged frustrated looks. The one across the street ran up to the front windows and peeked inside.

The old wizard looked around the entry, then cast another spell. This one blacked the windows so no one could observe him. A quick lumos let him see clearly the mound of clothes thrown on the sitting-room floor and the open door of the cupboard under the stairs. Puzzled, he walked over and looked inside.

“Oh, my,” was all he could say as he took in the childish scrawl that said “Harry’s Room” on the wall, the papers tacked around it, the marks and stains on the wall clearly defining where a cot had been placed, and the dirty stained floor that hadn’t been cleaned in a decade. He straightened and leaned against the door frame. “How could you? He’s your nephew!” he said softly, looking around the spotless sitting-room with its pictures that showed a very fat child, a very overweight man, and a skinny woman with a face that reminded him of a horse. Nowhere in sight was there a picture that showed Harry. And the fat child would never have been able to fit inside that tiny cupboard.

With heavy steps, the wizard slowly made his way up the stairs. He looked in the first bedroom, a messy child’s room filled with the normal detritus of discarded clothes and toys. The sign on its door, in a fancy script on a bronze plaque, said Dudley’s Room. The second, smaller, room was filled entirely with what could only be broken toys and equipment, all looking quite expensive-looking. There was a sign on its door, like the first, that said, Dudley’s Room. The third bedroom, larger than the second one, was even more pristine than the sitting-room. It had a neat bed, bedside table, dresser, and armchair. All were tastefully arranged and colour-coordinated with the walls and framed pictures. It looked more like a furniture showroom than a room someone lived in. Obviously, this was a guest room. There was no sign on its door.

The final door led to a much larger room, the parents’ bedroom, he surmised, based on the pictures of both Dursleys when they were much younger that were displayed on the two bedside tables. He slowly walked down the stairs shaking his head, “Do you not realize what you have done?” he asked the absent family.

He stared into the sitting-room, again. A typical middle-class home. The furnishings were fairly new, the rug and curtains in decent shape. Nothing looked either worn or seriously used. A well-cared-for home, a model of what one might expect a normal muggle family to have and live in. A family of three, with a father, mother, and child. No one would ever suspect that another child lived there, as well.

Only the cupboard under the stairs was evidence otherwise. That was the only suggestion that things were not as they appeared on the surface. That maybe this perfect home wasn’t nearly as perfect as the owners wanted it to appear. And what it suggested about Harry’s relationship with his relatives was ugly, indeed.

He needed to know. He had to know what had happened here. He thought a moment, then cast the point-me spell. They were quite some distance away, he discovered. He frowned, thinking.

Arabella and Minerva had mentioned that the Dursley’s were away since the beginning of August, staying at one of a chain of places called the Queen’s Resort. That had explained why Harry was staying with the Atlanteans.

He remembered Arabella  mentioning something about the Dursleys being in Woking. He had never been there. He sighed, and disapparated back to Hogwarts for a broom.


۸-ꞈ-۸


Dawn was still hours away when he landed his broom on the outskirts of the town. He cast a notice-me-not on himself, recast the point-me spell, then started walking. Half-an-hour later he was standing in front of the local constabulary building, a two-story, sturdy, brick building separated from the pavement by an iron railing and a brick-paved empty-space wider than the pavement. He shook his head ruefully, a Queen’s Resort, indeed! Muggles certainly had a dry wit at times. He slowly made his way inside to an officer at a desk inside.

“Excuse me,” he said, eyes twinkling, “can you tell me if you have a Mr. or Mrs. Dursley here?” With the help of a small spell, the officer was more than willing to direct him to the cell in which they held Mrs. Dursley. The wizard sent the man back to his desk with a quiet command and an obliviate. He would ignore all sounds and flashes of light he might see from the holding area for the next half-hour.

“Petunia,” Dumbledore said softly, after opening the door and sending a gentle rennervate. There was no reason, yet, to be stern. There still might be a reasonable explanation.

She stirred, blinked, and looked over at him blearily. She ran a hand through her hair as she sat up and stared at him crossly. “Well, it’s about time you got here! Straighten out this mess. Get us out of here!”

He shook his head regretfully as he stepped closer. She stood up to face him, her defiance on the border of turning into fear.

He stared into her eyes. For a brief moment, he was glad he hadn’t managed to put through that law making it illegal to legilimens a muggle.

He sighed disappointedly. 

It was all there. 

How they had treated Harry. Or, rather, mistreated the boy. It had started with resentment, the sister Petunia had resented, the one who had gotten all the attention, all the praise, once she had left for Hogwarts. The sister that had had the audacity to die and burden her child onto Petunia’s already struggling family. Dudley had been a difficult child, Harry had added to her problems.

He shook his head sadly. He hadn’t considered the strain an additional child might have on the new family. He should have arranged for a stipend to ease their burden.

So she had started to ignore him in favour of her own child. Taking her frustrations out on the boy when he did anything she didn’t like. Her husband had already disliked both Lily and her husband, and it took very little for him to transfer that dislike to Harry. Everything had started to slide downhill for the boy as his relatives took out their frustrations with Dudley, and Vernon’s office, on Harry. 

Year after year, Harry’s treatment had gotten worse. Gradually, her son had picked up on his parents’ attitude, and things escalated as he discovered he could do anything he wanted to Harry without fear of retribution. The punishments increased in scale and length as the boy’s magical accidents, either real or imagined — attacks as the Dursleys characterized them — had manifested.

He noted with some surprise that the boy had disappeared from their home well over a year ago. He briefly wondered how the Atlanteans had found him — perhaps, instead of a communications mirror, there had been an emergency port-key and he had accidentally triggered it. 

In any case, clearly, Harry had run away, hence none of the spells had warned him the boy was no longer at the Dursleys — he had left voluntarily and not been forced by a wizard or muggle. Harry could have returned at any time, apparently. He had simply never wanted to.

Not that Dumbledore could blame him for that. He, himself, would have fled a family that treated him so shabbily. Dumbledore understood that parents had to be strict with their children, and punishments should vary with the seriousness of the misdeeds that prompted them. 

Albus’ own father had never been one to “spare the rod” when the occasion demanded he apply it. But what they had subjected Harry to was far from merely being strict, and crossed over into out-right cruelty. Yes, he, too, would have fled.

The only reason the spells hadn’t collapsed years ago was that Petunia had accepted the boy into her house. That she hadn’t tossed him out, or completely turned her back on him. And that the boy had kept trying to earn her love and acceptance.

Dumbledore had never thought the boy would simply run away. And, thus, he hadn’t bothered to put a charm on Harry to either advise him that Harry had left or to prevent Harry from doing that. Or a charm to prevent the Petunia from simply abandoning the boy, which, he now knew, she had contemplated several times.

“Really, Petunia. You only had to do one thing, just one job: take care of the boy for your sister,” he said shaking his head in resignation. “Your sister! Your own flesh-and-blood!” He sighed. Getting angry now would solve nothing. The Dursleys had planted the seeds of their own destruction, now they would reap the results.

That explained the failure of the protection charm around their house. Without Harry there to provide the impetus, what little love she had for her sister’s son had fallen away. Neglected and forgotten in her eagerness and desire to care only for her husband and son, without any distractions. It had taken this long for the residual magic to fade away. Or, perhaps, when he had removed the fidelius it had exhausted what little magic that had remained at the home. It could even be that the protective charm on the house had collapsed months, or years, ago and the fidelius, for whatever reason, had prevented him from detecting its collapse.

He shook his head wearily. Not even Mrs. Figg had been able to spot anything wrong — but she was there simply to keep a watch out for wizards and witches who might be looking for Harry. Watching over Harry at times had been merely a happy happenstance. After all, who would think an aunt and uncle would treat their nephew so terribly? It was a failing of his, to expect people to be better than they really were.

The Dursleys only allowed her to see what they wanted her to see. They always made sure Harry was in good condition when they sent him over to her while they took their out-of-town trips and vacations. Months would pass without her seeing the boy, especially in the winter when children tended to stay inside. Plus, they had certainly threatened the boy enough to keep him from saying anything that might reveal the conditions he suffered under at their house when he did meet with Arabella.

And ever since last summer they had ignored Arabella. She had called them several times, since them. Her excuse had been to wonder if everything was alright — she did, after all, really like the little boy. She had pretended to want to know if they had somehow found someone else willing to babysit the boy for the ridiculously low rate she charged. They had put her off saying they had taken the boy with them, instead, now that he was older. When she mentioned not seeing him around the neighbourhood, they had simply said he was lazy and preferred to loaf around in his room, unlike their dear Dudley, a vigorous child who enjoyed the outdoors. Or that he had misbehaved and they were keeping him in his room as punishment. There was no way she could have suspected they were lying through their teeth, and that Harry had run away.

He really should have checked up on the boy as Minerva had insisted all these years. If he had, he might have been able to ameliorate their dislike for Harry into tolerance. At the very least he could have ensured the boy got regular healthy meals, proper clothes, and that their whale of a son didn’t use him for a punching bag. He shook his head sadly. There was nothing more to say or do here.


۸-ꞈ-۸