The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Chapter Two
Harry turned toward the stairs intending to escape to his room. A meaty hand landed on his shoulder and stopped him.
"Where do you think you're going, boy?" Uncle Vernon demanded in a whisper. The Social Services people had arrived and Harry's escape was thwarted. He felt uncomfortably that he was trapped even though Dudley was the one they'd come to see. The two agents were dressed in business suits even though it was Saturday and they examined Harry as thoroughly as if he were their assignment instead of Dudley. He was quite certain they must disapprove of his unruly hair and ill-fitting clothing just as much as Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia. The woman agent was rather plump and had stiff blond hair that was shaped to her head like a helmet.
"And who have we here?" she asked looking at Harry suspiciously. Harry had a wild desire to answer we haven't anyone here, but he had enough sense to keep his mouth shut and try to look harmless.
"Just my nephew here for the summer holidays," Aunt Petunia said stiffly.
"Ah," the agent sniffed and her helmeted head shook in one piece.
"So, Dudley," the man said, "have we been a good boy lately?" The man was rather thin and had bulging brown eyes and a balding head. Harry thought he looked like a human version of those stupid little pop-eyed dogs on the taco commercials. Dudley seemed to know the drill, though.
"I've been studying for my A Levels," he said very earnestly and virtuously. Also falsely, as Harry happened to know Dudley had been playing games on his Nintendo and the only A Level Dudley was likely to pass would be the one in mastery of Mega Mutilation.
"A Levels!" the woman said. "Very good. And do you have a university picked out? Have you begun the application process?" Squinting at the fine type on whatever form it was she had to fill out, she began scribbling furiously and muttering "progress...college preparations...new motivation."
"Erm," Dudley said, "Well, I'm hoping to get into a college that has a good boxing team. I might be able to...erm...get a scholarship then."
The thin man frowned and said, "Yes, boxing," but he didn't sound too happy.
The woman however said, "Intramural sports, hopes for shcolarship, good...good."
Harry didn't think anything to do with boxing and Dudley could possibly be good. Come to think of it, anything that made Dudley even more of a threat than he already was could never be good.
"And when you finish university, then what?" the thin man asked Dudley.
Dudley started to reply, but Uncle Vernon cut him off, "He'll be working with me. At Grunnings." Uncle Vernon glared at the social worker. He was clearly offended at the thought that Dudley might, just might, have any other plans. Particularly plans that might be...well, not respectable.
"What's Grunnings?" the blond woman said. Her helmeted hair stayed absolutely in one piece as she swung her head to stare at Uncle Vernon. It was a good thing, Harry reflected, that Tonks couldn't see the woman. The Ministry auror would almost certainly turn her own hair into that style just to see if it worked, only the helmet of hair would likely be some shocking shade of pink or green.
"What's Grunnings?" Uncle Vernon echoed. His face was turning a deeper shade of fuschia than Tonks had ever had her hair. "What's Grunnings? Grunnings is the finest maker of drills in the country, that's what."
"So...Dudley is going to make drills?" the thin man asked. His eyes popped out of his head even farther as he nailed Uncle Vernon with the questioned.
"Make drills? Dudley?" Uncle Vernon sputtered some more. "Of course, he isn't going to make them. Dudley will be director of the business and take over from me some day."
Uncle Vernon stared at Dudley, and Dudley nodded wide-eyed. "Sure," Dudley agreed. But his tone was as false as when he'd said he'd been studying for his A Levels, and Harry had to wonder what Dudley really meant to do.
"That's a whole lot better than what Harry's going to do," Dudley said.
The piggy blue eyes were full of sneaky mischief, but his face was as innocent as any of those fat cupids on the sappy sort of Valentine's Day cards Harry hated the most.
Four pairs of eyes now locked on him. Harry felt the heat rise in his face as they all stared accusingly at him. Suddenly, he was the subject and he didn't like it one bit.
"And you?" the woman asked. "You live here, too?" She didn't allow him time to answer.
Instead she said, "Hmm, yes. Cousin lives with the subject, Dudley Dursley. Hmm...has a reputation as something of a delinquent." She looked at Harry suspiciously. Her gaze lingered on his untidy hair. He kept his face calm despite the rising annoyance and resisted the impulse to flatten his fringe over his scar.
"So," she said accusingly, "So. Are you studying for A Levels, too?"
Harry could see Dudley laughing and Aunt Petunia looking panicked. "I've end of year exams to study for, too," he replied. It was true, too. The thought of NEWTs -Nastily Exhausting Wizard Tests--reminded him unpleasantly both of his present separation from the wizard world and of the certain difficulty of his last year at Hogwarts. If NEWTs were anything like OWLs had been, this was not going to be an easy year. And more uneasily, the question of what he would do after lingered. He wanted to be an auror, but the Ministry didn't take just anybody. And he needed to pass his NEWTs in all of his subjects, even Potions, if he wanted to be considered for a position as an auror.
Uncle Vernon looked like he wanted to say, "rubbish," again. But he had to keep quiet, as the Social Service people were the last ones he'd want knowing that his nephew was a wizard.
"So you're hoping to go to university, too?" the thin man asked.
He noted something down and nodded approvingly. Uncle Vernon stared at Harry, perhaps on the verge of saying, not on my money, but Harry cut him off. "No," he answered quietly. "At least, not right away."
"No?" the woman asked. Her helmeted hair shovered, as if the mere thought that Harry might just give up school made him fall right into the ranks of the delinquent. Her eyes noted every defect in his dress. The holes in his trainers, the too short legs on his jeans, the ill-fitting shirt.
The thin man coughed and said, "Then? What do you expect to do once you're done with school, then?"
The urge to do something outrageous had to be quelled. He wondered what they would do if he said, "Oh, I'm a wizard and wizards don't have universities." But something about Aunt Petunia's terrified face caught him. He remembered that being a wizard had nearly got her killed ony a few weeks ago. He remembered that she had given him shelter and was still giving him shelter, no matter how paltry her care might have been at times. And that shelter gave him protection from Voldemort, who would certainly kill him otherwise. So he tried to think of something that was as close to being truthful as was possible.
"I'm going to be a policeman," Harry blurted out after a moment. "I don't think you need to go to university for that."
"A policeman," the thin man said wonderingly. "We don't get many wanting to do that these days."
"Why a policeman?" the blond woman asked.
"Why not?" Harry asked back. He was getting more than bit narked at the questions. He wasn't the one who'd been arrested and cited for Anti-Social behavior.
"Well," the woman said staring at him suspiciously, "You don't look the type." Harry stared back at her.
"What type is there?"
"That's not the point," the thin man cut in. "Policemen are very needed these days. No," he said, "the point is, what makes you think you'd want to be a policeman?"
Harry shrugged. Why did he want to be an auror, anyway? It sounded cool? It was the only thing he'd considered? He shrugged again and said, more seriously than he'd intended, "I'm going to catch the murderers, like the one who killed my Mum and Dad. I'm going to see him stopped, that's what I'm going to do."
They were all gawking at him and he thought he'd been too vehement. He shrugged again. After all, they couldn't arrest you for wanting to be a policeman. Nobody said anything, and their stares got on his nerves so he added, "Nothing wrong with that, is there?"
"No...no," said the blond woman. But Harry thought she probably sympathized more with the rum lot that she was supposedly socializing than with the poor policeman who had to stop them from beating up the neighborhood kids.
The blond woman sniffed and said, "Well, Mr. Dursley," (and it was a full second before Harry realized she was addressing Dudley), "you seem to be on your way to better things. Much better," she said with a sideways glance at Harry.
Interestingly, the thin man looked far more pessimistic, though he said nothing. His pop eyes fixed on Harry and seemed to ask, "How soon before you arrest him?", but the question was silent, a thought, an understanding. Harry looked at Dudley and shook his head. He wondered how long it would be before Dudley was back with his old crowd. If he wasn't already. One thing was for sure, Harry could not imagine Dudley running Uncle Vernon's business, no matter how much Uncle Vernon coached him.
Aunt Petunia pasted her fake smile on and ushered them out the door. She waved at them and waited until their car had sped off down the street before rounding on Harry.
"Whatever possessed you? Saying a think like that? To them, of all people?"
"Saying a thing like what?" Harry asked. His patience had worn thin. He found he had no more liking for Muggle inquisitions than for wizard ones.
"Like that, about...about catching murderers...HIM," she clarified. She looked like a startled horse ready to shy at any moment. Her bony face was tight with fear and her pale eyes darted about as if Voldemort might appear at any moment. Uncle Vernon's beady eyes narrowed and he seemed ready to roar.
"I dunno," Harry answered. He was suddenly exhausted as if he had run for miles. "I had to say something."
"Yeah," Dudley said, "You could hardly tell them you're going to be a freak. A wizard." He looked like he was trying to laugh, but no laugh emerged. Instead, he looked nearly as terrified as his mother. Uncle Vernon looked merely baffled.
"But why a policeman, boy? Why tell them that? And what do you think you're going to do when you're done with this...school of yours? Eh? Tell me that. What are you going to do?"
Harry sighed. "I told you what I'm going to do. I'm going to be an auror--that's a wizard policeman, a dark wizard catcher."
"Not from my house," Aunt Petunia said.
Harry frowned at her and said,"That's after I graduate. I expect I'll move out then and get my own place then."
Uncle Vernon smiled at that. It was the closest thing to a real smile Harry had ever seen. "You mean that?" he asked. "No more giants, no more blowing things up. No more floating cakes?"
It should have made Harry laugh to see how happy his uncle was at the thought of Harry leaving. Oddly, it made him sad. He felt as if he'd somehow lost something. Or perhaps, he'd never had it in the first place.
"But what about now?" Aunt Petunia persisted. "What are they doing about HIM now? What if he comes after you again?"
"I dunno," Harry said again. Uncle Vernon stared at him, his beady eyes going colder than ever.
"Should have tossed him out two years ago," he said. "After that business with the dementoid things. It's you, boy," he said. "You're the cause of all our trouble." Aunt Petunia nodded and for a moment Harry thought she was going to send him packing.
Then she said slowly in a very strange, shrill whisper, "No. He has to stay. What if this Voldemort show up here? How will we defend ourselves? What if..."
Harry's heart sank. What if Voldemort did try again? He swallowed and thought and said, "So long as you allow me to stay here, he can't come here. That’s what Dumbledore said."
"Did he?" Petunia asked. She seemed relieved. It wasn't until later that Harry realized how odd it was that Aunt Petunia should be reassured by something Dumbledore had said.
"Then what about after you leave?" Uncle Vernon demanded.
”He won't be interested in you if I'm not here," Harry said quickly. He hoped that was true, too.
Harry spent the remainder of the day in his room searching through the last edition of the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler and the Sunday Times looking for any mention of a story that might involve Voldemort. The Daily Prophet was rehashing the story of the attack at Kings Cross for the umpteenth time. It was not admitting that the attack was carried out by Voldemort. That was a rumor that had to be quashed according to Minister Fudge. After all, he was quoted as saying, a hundred eyewitnesses had seen Harry Potter defeat You Know Who. A hundred eyewitnesses had seen him die.
The story went on to speculate that angry Death Eaters had attacked the Boy Who Lived for revenge. There was also an editorial suggesting that the Death Eaters would simply fade back away now that their leader was gone for good.
The Quibbler was a different matter. The Quibbler had a long story complete with various sightings of Voldemort, all of which Harry thought must be false. Not one had a description of him that came close. Not to the way Voldemort looked presently. Nor to the way he had appeared before his latest "rebirth." Not one description noted the red color of his eyes, or the slit shape of the pupils that made him look like a human serpent.
The Quibbler also had an article attributing wildfires in America to rampaging Heliopaths, spirits of fire that caused devastation wherever they went. The article failed to explain why Heliopaths would be burning down forests in California or how they could possibly be stopped, or even what they really were. Harry couldn't help snorting. Next there would be Crumple-horned Snorkacks invading Covent Garden.
Harry was grateful that Mr. Lovegood, Luna's father, had published his story the year before telling the truth about Voldemort's return. But he had to admit, the magazine was really pretty much of a ragsheet. Ragsheet was too good, Harry reflected, for the tabloid paper Aunt Petunia had got that told the story of the incident at Kings Cross in lurid and innacurate detail. Harry had only discovered the paper yesterday when he had been rooting through a kitchen drawer looking for a can opener to open the can of soup he was sneaking for a late night snack.
The paper featured a large color picture of Annie O'Hara with her arms wrapped around somebody and a headline that screamed "TV Star Hugs New Boyfriend In Front of Groom-Director." Harry realized that the other person in the picture was himself. He thought, hoped, that the picture wasn't recognizable as Annie's wavy brown hair was covering much of his face. He felt his face burn with embarrassment even though he knew there was nothing true about the story.
There was a second large picture of Platform Ten. A fire blazed and inside the circle stood a small man with his hand clutched around something and his face contorted in agony. The headline for that one read "Director's New Film or Police Cover-up of New Terrorist Threat?" Harry stared at that story, which read:
Police cover up new terrorist threat. On July 1, we can exclusively reveal, a terrible scene of carnage occurred at the Kings Cross station in London. Terrorists unveiled a new weapon, a laser-fire gun that melts concrete instantly and for which no known defense exists. Two groups of terrorists battled it out at the station. The target: an unknown treasure, perhaps another and even more dangerous weapon still unknown. Our reporters are investigating even now to find out what the weapon was that caused the sudden death of the man pictured. (See photo.)
Detectives from Scotland Yard on the scene refused to identify the victim and insisted the entire incident was a rehearsal for a scene in a new movie by the famous Director-husband of telly star Annie O'Hara.
Our photographer on the scene can verify that the famous couple were, in fact, just returning from their honeymoon and no film crews were on the scene.
What is the government covering up? What danger is there that the public should know? Who are the terrorists and what do they want?
Harry flipped through the tabloid feverishly looking for more details. There were none. He looked through the sedate pages of Uncle Vernon's regular paper, but there was no mention of anything that sounded like Voldemort. And since he had returned, there had been none. There hadn't even been a mention of the incident at kings Cross, except for a tiny squib in the arts section that mentioned Annie's husband was to direct a new action adventure movie and rumors abounded as to who was to be the hero starring opposite Miss O'Hara.
Harry thought and wondered whether he should write to Dumbledore about the tabloid story. Was there even enough truth in it to make it worth worrying about? He read it again and thought, probably not. There was no mention of wizards or magic and even the picture of Annie hugging him didn't show his face clearly. He heaved a sigh of relief and stared out his window at the moonless night.
Sleep eluded him. Harry tossed and turned and stared uneasily at the shadows on the wall. He tried his Occlumency exercises to empty his mind, but nothing seemed to work. He kept hearing in his mind the ultimate question, what was he going to do with his life? He wondered whether the Ministry would even consider him even if he were to pass all the NEWTs he needed.
It had occurred to him that Fudge and maybe many others at the Ministry would think him too controversial for a position there. Perhaps some of them still believed the lies that had been spread about him in his fifth year- that he was an attention-seeking liar.
And then there was the problem of Voldemort. He knew, was certain, that Voldemort would not give up trying to kill him. How could he even defend against the evil wizard now? How could you survive someone who couldn't really be killed? Was there a way to defeat Voldemort? And what about the prophecy? It had been true and yet it had been false. Voldemort had died at Harry's hand, but he hadn't really died at all. So what did that mean?
His mind shrank, too, from the remembrance of his fight with the evil wizard. Sometimes, he dreamed over and over of plunging the Sword into Voldemort's heart and felt each time the fiery pain of his enemy's sword burning through him as he stepped into it to defeat the monster. He felt that he deserved that pain. He had learned that he was capable of killing. In that respect the prophecy had been true. Had Voldemort been an ordinary wizard, he would have died at Harry's hand.
He curled up on his side and hugged himself trying to blot out the dark thoughts, and the stain of death that he felt enveloped him.
The shadows on the ceiling were dragons. One dragon was black, with heavy-lidded eyes, and it guarded an empty nest. The other was a golden dragon and the nest it guarded had one half-grown dragon in it and one newly laid egg. The black dragon reared as if to attack the golden one. Its furious dark eyes changed and were the eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.
"I will have him," she hissed at the other dragon who was now Narcissa Malfoy.
"Will you?" the blond beauty replied. "What of Rabastan, your husband?"
"Rabastan will not mind. He is as devoted to our Master as I am," Bellatrix retorted.
"It matters little," Narcissa answered. "You, Bella, are barren. All the potions in the world couldn't help you, and thirteen years in Azkaban have sealed you, scarred you. The Master has need of more...productive help than you can give."
"And Lucius?" Bellatrix asked triumphantly. "He is proud of his name. Too proud for this."
Someone was laughing. A cold laugh. The women turned fearfully, excitedly as the voice answered, "Lucius is my faithful servant in all things. This house is mine now, and all that is in it." The amusement grew and the handsome face of the Dark Lord surveyed his worhsippers with pleasure as he said, "But you mistake me. The Dark Lord is generous to those that serve him well. To all who serve him."
The dream changed again and the dragon's egg was cracking, a wing emerged and a head whose eyes were red with pupils that were slits like a snakes. Above it, the young golden dragon watched and its pale eyes were full of jealousy and hate.
Harry woke the next morning to the tapping on his window of the Daily Prophet's delivery owl. He jumped to open the window and Hedwig clucked at the brown owl that fluttered in with its foot outstretched to take his payment. He hurriedly found a sickle to give the owl and opened the paper looking for anything that might tell him what was happening. There was nothing. The only thing remotely interesting was a small headline down on the lower right hand side of the page that read "Fudge and Gringotts Manager Dispute Bank's Charter." Harry snorted. The Daily Prophet, he thought, was getting to be almost as bad as the Quibbler. Hedwigclucked at him again and he jumped.
"You don't have to startle me like that," he said grouchily. She hung her head and the amber eyes looked sorrowfully at Harry. Immediately, he felt awful and said, "Sorry, Hedwig. I'm not fit company for anyone these days." He dumped some fresh owl treats in her bowl and decded her cage needed cleaing. He wished he could use magic for this task. It would be so much simpler to wave his wand and say "Scourgify" than to take the cage and physically clean. But he wasn't actually sure how well he could do the spell and he had no intention of getting another warning for doing underage magic when he had only a little more than a week until his seventeenth birthday.
Harry washed quickly and decided he didn't need to shave again so soon. He'd rather listen to Aunt Petunia yell a bit than have another fight with the shaving cream and razor. He reminded himself to ask Ron in his next letter what the spell was for shaving. There just had to be one. And if there wasn't, he'd get Hermione to figure out one. He checked his face out again and thought he really didn't want a beard, but he might have to grow one if the only alternative was using a razor.
Unfortunately, Uncle Vernon was already ensconced at the kitchen table when Harry arrived for breakfast.
"Help your Aunt with the breakfast, boy," Vernon said. "And get me my coffee." Harry rolled his eyes. If there was one constant in his life, it was Uncle Vernon's assumption that Harry was his waiter. Nevertheless, he went and poured a cup of coffee for his uncle before filling one up for himself. He stood up to drink it because the table surface was too crowded for him to lay another plate. Uncle Vernon's paper was spread out over half of it and Dudley had snagged the Sports section and had taken up the other half. He appeared to be deeply immersed in an article about Beckham's latest high scoring game.
Harry sipped his coffee and thought, this is how normal people live. Or really, did most wizard families look like this, too? Did the wizard dad sit with his copy of the Daily Prophet reading the front page about Fudge's latest blunders while the kids snagged the page that related the latest triumph for the Tornadoes or the Cannons? It occurred to him to wonder then whether the Dursleys were really a true picture of what was normal in the Muggle world. He had never known anything different and with their dedication to the appearance of respectability, Harry had always assumed that they were, in fact, normal. Aside from their desperation to hide Harry and his "abnormality." Uncle Vernon's beady eyes were watching him over the top of his paper. Harry felt the hair lift on his neck as he stared back at him.
"You need a haircut," Uncle Vernon said. "The boy needs a haircut, Petunia," he said. Aunt Petunia didn't look away from the morning show she was watching. Her eyes stayed fixed on the latest celebrity scandal as she answered, "The barber can give him a proper shave, too."
"He doesn't need a shave," Uncle Vernon said, "Just a haircut."
Harry put his coffee cup down with a thud. He'd had enough. Everyone jumped and stared at him. Enjoying their sudden alarm, he said calmly,
"I don't need a haircut and and I don't need a shave."
He opened the kitchen door and turned as Uncle Vernon demanded, "Where do you think you're going?" to reply simply, "Out."
