Harry Potter and the Witch Queen

by TimeLoopedPowerGamer

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Summary: Harry Potter never actually beat Voldemort, but rather fought him to a standstill while Europe burned around them. Finding himself an unwilling part of a dark ritual to send him back in time twenty years, he is surprised to see how Dumbledore reacts to proof of obvious child abuse (Harry's), how eleven-year-old super genius and Witch Queen in training Hermione reacts to actually having a socially competent friend (Harry), and how much easier it is to shrug off the insults of munchkins when you're a grizzled war veteran.

But there is one huge problem: being sent back blew out his magic entirely. Just waving his wand knocked him out the first time he tried it. Can Hermione help him though his classes even with his magic almost unusable? Will Harry be able to find the secrets to actually killing the Dark Lord and saving his friends from a horrible future without blowing his cover, or even getting mistaken for the Dark Lord himself? Will Neville Longbottom get better grades than him?

On Content: Canon-Harry lives in a dark world. This one is darker, with evil turned up to 11 and actual adult situations: everyone is more magical and dangerous, witches and wizards are preternaturally attractive and seductive, people are meaner, magical creatures are horrifying and have back stories, Harry has worse mental issues, teenagers are hornier, villains actually torture and kill people before the last book, etc. Rated M for Maliciousness.

Last updated 2014/09/19.

Chapter One

Harry Potter woke suddenly, coughing up his own blood, his scar burning like an iron brand on his forehead. This wasn't unusual for him; he'd lost count of how many times this specifically had happened, usually while sleeping on the floor of a burned out building or in the cold mud in a ditch in some field. What was unusual was finding himself chained to a large stone block, his wrists and ankles bound to the floor, the chains stretching him naked across the top of the rough granite surface. Yeah, that was it. He almost never woke up naked.

"Good evening, Harry," three soft female voices whispered in his ear at the same time, in slightly different pitches but in tune, a chord in his head. Harry recognized her "voice" immediately: Ginevra Granger was here. With her merely in the same room, he was in mortal danger. Maybe worse. Tied down like this, he was as good as done for already.

Ignoring his bonds, he immediately concentrated for a moment, doing all his Ds for the zillionth time. The jarring sensation made him wince and feel sick to his stomach; of course he was under an Anti-Disapparition Jinx, but he had to check. He heard a flute, a little girl, and an old crone softly chuckle directly in his face.

"Ah, Ginny. All right?" he replied, grimacing and hoping to at least string things out until he could make some kind of plan. Not that anyone was coming to rescue him this time. The Thorn Witch of the Fae Court responded.

"Harry, Harry, I'm always good now. You know why," the West Wind in human voice growled seductively from two feet behind him, which was technically solid rock but whatever, the Voice of the Mouthpiece of the Faeries didn't need to follow physical laws, just burrow directly into the auditory processing centers of his brain.

"Despite everything, it is good to see you again my dear friend Harry. I only wish it wasn't like this," a dozen shocked cats hissed through his feet emotionally, sounding like they genuinely did regret it.

"That makes two of us, Ginny. Is she...?" he hesitated to ask.

"She is fine, thank you," snipped his nightmares in human form from somewhere over and behind his head – this time not a Fae trick of sound but a normal human voice, just one he dreaded hearing even more than Ginevra's strange Voice. A fine layer of perspiration started to gather on Harry's forehead, his palms felt cold and clammy as he flexed his fingers nervously. His worst foe had him, captured and bound.

No, not Voldemort or even Ginny. Old Tommy Boy had savaged the mundane world like a mad dog but couldn't really touch Harry and though Ginny had sold her everything and her all to the Fae Courts for dread powers beyond mortal keen, she was still a mortal-sized threat in person. This was worse. Way worse.

It was She-of-the-Darkness, Witch Queen of the Isles, Dark Enchantress of the Seven Paths (speak not her name). Well, most smart people didn't speak it, not since she reverse-engineered and mastered the Taboo Curse that Voldemort had used during his first war, casting it on all of England and western Europe, keyed for her name. Say it and her minions showed up to ask you why you dared invoke it. You might survive that.

Say it three times real fast and she showed up. She didn't seem to like doing that, but the results of such attempts, as reported by long-range scrying spells or the rare surviving eye-witnesses, were at least educational to the remaining magical community. High-energy magical events were rare enough to make every one a learning experience for those left alive.

It had taken her three weeks originally, and she was reported to have been "disappointed" in how long it took her to work out such a "simple" nation-wide spell effect. Harry had never bent to that rule with Voldemort but she was a different story. But since there was no longer reason to care now with her here already – well why not.

"Hermione Granger, old friend. How long has it been? A year?" he said as firmly and casually as he could, hoping his voice wasn't sounding as nervous as he actually was. He tried his chains carefully, hoping against hope that Voldemort would show up soon or something else unlikely but more fortuitous would happen, anything really. He tried craning his head to look around and precisely locate his captors.

The rest of the large room in front of him was dark and unevenly lit, with candles placed directly around the stone altar he was on, but nothing was clearly visible outside that area. There seemed to be something hanging in the corner on the left side of the room, but he couldn't see anything else, no doors, no windows. Damn. The Thorn Witch and She had him firmly trapped.

"Almost two now, Harry. Be more precise," Hermione said, stepping into view on his right side.

She had on the same black formal robes she always seemed to wear now. Her metal-soled boots tapped firmly on the stone floor and echoed off the bare walls of the chamber. The silver circlet, sign of her hard-won Fae knowledge and undisputed magical rule of all of the British Isles, sat on her brow and flashed in the candlelight where it held down the wild brown hair that hung almost to her waist. Her hips were wrapped around with a silver chain belt that dangled down in front just past her knees. And her eyes. Her eyes were as they had been since the bargain, black pits that seemed to devour light, no longer the cool brown he knew as a child.

Unlike Voldemort, her Dark powers left her rosy-cheeked and fresh looking, seeming even a little tanned though she never saw the sun unless perhaps it was shining into a secret library somewhere in Europe. She had her hands clasped loosely in front of her robes and a soft smile on her relaxed face. The pits of darkest night bored into his eyes, but she didn't even try his Occlumency barriers, which were as weak as always and wouldn't have held for long against her anyway.

That worried him. She wasn't after any secrets he had. Not trying to control his mind or buy his soul. She merely looked down at him while standing beside the stone altar, just at his right hand. It came to him slowly that she was simply going to kill him, no other explanation fit.

The Thorn Witch joined them at that point, red hair flashing, walking completely silently to Hermione's side and wrapping her arms around the young Dark witch's waist. She was wearing her usual (nothing but a glamour) but appeared to mortal eyes to have on a short green plaid skirt and a white button-down shirt with a sloppily arranged crimson tie bearing a Gryffindor lion, loosely knotted at the top. No shoes for some reason, maybe she didn't really care – her mortal form no longer needed them, after all, it being capable of bouncing bullets now. But she also had a large, traditional-looking pointed witch's hat on her head for some damn reason.

Snuggling closer, Ginny finally turned to Harry and grinned a toothy grin. She hadn't actually opened her mouth to speak like a human yet but it was her face that made him look away; as pretty as it still was, Harry could never deal with those eyes – all yellow and slit like a cat's and too much like Voldemort's. It still shook him to see his former friend that way.

"Dearest, shall we move this along?" Hermione said, glancing at Ginny.

"Yes, mistress. I'll get it started now," Ginny said to his left ear, broadcasting her Fae Voice to both Harry and Hermione as a polite gesture to the captive young man. Ginny then bowed to her wife Hermione with arms still wrapped around the Dark witch (not an easy feat but still graceful), cat-eyes downcast and submissive.

It was some kind of act, he know; even now, Ginny was as much like Bellatrix as she was like a pudding, but the similarity of their positions in serving as right-hand to a Dark and powerful person was obviously something Ginny was playing on. She was still grinning as she bowed and ignored Hermione glares at her odd teasing. Ginny then quickly disengaged and skipped over to the base of the altar while glancing at the left-hand corner of the room. Something still lurked in the dark there and it bothered Harry. Hermione rolled her eyes at Ginny (or at least shook her head and smirked – one can't roll Stygian pits of darkest night very effectively) and returned her focus to Harry.

"This next part will hurt more than the rest, Harry," she said. "I hope you understand why I've chosen this path once we're done. Let me know if you have any specific questions. Otherwise, we'll just move things along and complete this project as quickly as possible."

The more she talked, the more worried Harry got. He tried the chain again, not caring if they clanked or if he was obvious about it, trying a few silent summoning charms with his slightly more hidden left hand under the cover of his struggling.

"Accio wand!" he thought silently, screwing up his face, attempting the wandless, wordless casting. He knew he could do it, normally, but nothing this time – surprise surprise. "Accio blade! Accio gun!" he continued, with no results. "Accio key!" he tried, on the off chance someone had been really, criminally stupid securing his chains. Either nothing named was outside anti-summoning charms or the altar or chains were somehow blocking his magic.

Hermione watched him struggle, still smiling quietly and not at all distracted from what he was really trying to do. She could of course tell he was trying to cast but apparently just didn't care.

Ginny was grabbing some candles from the base of the altar, lighting them wandlessly and floating them around her head. Noticing his gaze, Hermione commented, talking to Harry in her best lecture voice, "Yes, physical candles not summoned lights. There will be some heavy magical backlash here and we don't want them being dispelled in the middle of everything."

Now wearing a wreath of lights around her head, Ginny pointed at the darkest corner and all of the candles followed her wandless directions, taking up positions on the ground illuminating the area. Harry's heart seemed to stop.

"Luna Potter, wakey wakey," Ginny chortled like a cold mountain stream from the ceiling, again broadcasting. She poked Luna with a finger, casting a wandless, wordless revival spell at the bound woman.

Harry's wife Luna was hanging upside down from an inverted cross, feet tied to the main post and hands tied to both sides of the bottom crossbar. Her robes were tied along with her limbs, making it look a little neater and saving some of her dignity. Luna's long blond hair was also tied up and pinned to the back of her robe to keep it out of the large basin directly under her head. This was, for Harry, the worst thing he'd ever had to witness, worse even than seeing Voldemort resurrected in front of him, especially considering Hermione's specialty of Fae blood magic.

He lunged forward, rattling his chains and trying to break free with sheer brute force. He was screaming something unintelligible, something even he couldn't understand, but he didn't care.

"Yes, Harry," Hermione replied to what he assume was an unspoken question, "she was hiding in Norway but I found her eventually. The Fidelius Charm doesn't fully work against elves, house or otherwise. Not sure if you knew that."

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry growled, still straining at the chains.

"It is really quite a simple ritual. Almost all the parts were already set up by Voldemort. A soul link, a connection across time and space, a magical core directly associated to the soul link at both ends. And," she finished, still horribly calm, "the blood of a True Seer, taken at her self-prophesied death. True time travel. At least for one target soul."

"No!" he screamed. "You can't do this!"

"I really can. Everything is ready and it is the only way to get them back, you know. All of them."

Hermione gently placed her hand on Harry's, which was still straining against the bindings.

"True, it might only send you into an alternate time-line or a parallel world working on slower relative time that syncs up to ours twenty years ago or some such temporal nonsense, but the chance that it will be our time-line, that it will correct our mistakes...it is too good a chance not to at least try."

"And in any case, Harry," she stated, leaning toward him, "it will still give you another chance, even if we are left with nothing but corpses and questions, even if for me and my beloved nothing changes. You'll have a chance to be free and happy again. Of this I am sure. And Luna will die today you know – she is the real thing and has foretold it. This is your only chance to save her, however convoluted a situation you end up in. More like a second chance for both of you, really, than...what was it Dumbledore called it? The next great adventure?"

The insanely powerful witch (emphasis on insane) patted his hand one more time before calmly drawing a knife from her sleeve. Slumping to the cold stone again, Harry stared at her in disbelief.

"No, wait, Hermione, we went over that years ago – it doesn't work, time travel is impossible. We searched everywhere, even the Darkest archives at Durmstrang said it was impossible. You sacrificed a dozen people during that one attempt with the super-sized time turners, and it still didn't work!"

"Minor setbacks," she said, dismissing his argument casually.

"Look, they're gone. You have to focus on what's in front of us: Voldemort and his Death Eaters. You can't bring back Ne-" Harry bit his tongue and avoided the only truly unspeakable name, "you can't bring our classmates back. The Weasleys, your parents, Dumbledore: they're gone. God, I'd do anything to get them back but killing the two of us won't help!"

The Darkest witch since Morgan (possible Darker) sadly shook her head at him. "No, I've done the calculations and worked out all the underlying techniques. I even sent the soul of a rat back with a drop of blood from a lesser seer, still alive of course. I know the system worked, but I couldn't come up with a paradox-free test. I'm sure it doesn't form closed causal systems, though, so you, lying there right now, were definitely not sent back in time and are not looping right now. No need to get into the Arithmancy, but it is impossible for the magic to work that way in this universe. It was strange, making all those tiny twin-wands and scarring the souls of rats into other rats." She paused, briefly pondering her demented experiments.

"Wonder if that's how Voldemort feels all the time about you? Just a rat from a failed experiment? Anyway," the madwoman said, somehow regaining focus, "it will take all of your core's power and a great deal of mine and Ginny's, but it will work. You'll end up in your body back when you were eleven years old, the first time you ever touched your Phoenix wand, the one paired with Voldemort's." Dark robes swirling, Hermione turned and walked toward where Luna hung. "You'll be able to stop everything, save everyone. I know you will, even if you don't approve of my methods you'll still do it Harry."

He was shaking his head, unable to think clearly about the extent of the wrongness of what was happening. "Please don't do this, this is wrong, it won't work," he babbled, trying to figure out how to convince her not to kill his wife for this insane scheme.

Ginny was standing in front of where Luna hung, waiting for Hermione to continue the ritual. His wife seemed to be coming around finally. "Oh, hello Ginny, Hermione. How are you? Funny meeting you here," Luna said, somehow still looking distant and dreamy even upside down and about to be sacrificed.

"You see, Harry," his good-old mad, bushy-haired friend said, "she already knows what's going to happen. She foretold it a month ago. I found her after she gave her Prophecy in front of a group of confused Norwegian miners in a bar in a lonely town high in the mountains. My name was mentioned and I was able to track down one of the mundanes and read his mind. Quite a bombshell of a tale but death-tellings usually are. I think one of the men was actually driven insane just from hearing it. Well done, Luna."

"Thank you, 'mione, you know exactly how much that means to me," she replied calmly, looking intently at Hermione's left forelock for some reason.

"The best part," the darkest witch continued, "is she predicted my success too, not just her death. Didn't say which flavor of time travel for the result, but that is why Divination isn't a science, just a strange mutation of magical ability and a bit of skilled interpretation. When done well, that is, not like that disastrous bitch at Hogwarts."

Hermione took the last few steps up to Luna. Her brown hair shook as she glanced over her shoulder at him, griping the silver knife with more purpose. Ginny looked on with a grin, watching her wife and Dark mistress wield the sacrificial blade attentively but with no apparent emotional reaction, just her happiness to be there with Hermione that she always had now and would for all eternity. She patted Luna's upside-down leg with one hand then drew both her and Harry's wands from thin air, holding them casually at her side.

"Almost done now babe," Ginny echoed, the sound of a soothing night breeze broadcasting inside Harry's skull, the message for Luna this time but still shared with the room.

"Might want to close your eyes for this part, dearest Harry," Hermione said quietly, looking into his eyes with the midnight holes in her face, "Don't worry, there will be no pain for her. Luna's all numbed-up, like for a medical procedure. Mundane drugs don't interfere with the magic. The least I can do for a couple of my last and oldest friends. This will take only a few minutes."

As the Dark witch turned, Luna finally seemed to start paying attention. Staring into Hermione's face where her eyes once were, locking her gaze to the madwoman's, Luna seemed relaxed but more focused than Harry had ever seen her. Neither woman looked away as the knife came up.

"See you in a bit, Harry," his love, the greatest Seer of a Century, promised in a soft whisper, still not looking away from the black pits that were now her friend's eyes.

An infinite darkness cleared in a thousandth of a heartbeat, returning Harry to pain and light.

The wand burned his hand, a red-hot fire that scorched his flesh to the bone. He screamed a strange high-pitched screech and dropped it, collapsing to the ground and curling his entire body around what surely must be the smoking remains of his hand. He heard something drop to the floor and rushing footsteps, then someone bent over him.

"Goodness! Young man, are you quite all right?" said a curious old voice above him.

Slowly unclenching his everything, Harry opened his eyes and saw Ollivander staring down at him. Looking around, he realized he was in the man's wand shop, lying on the ground, cradling his entirely unhurt right hand. And he was tiny. Like, little boy tiny. His hands were impossibly small. He scrambled and got himself slightly more upright, still favoring his unwounded right hand, turning it over and over, still expecting to see charred bone instead of unmarked pale pink flesh.

His wand was still rolling slowly across the floor toward the counter. Ollivander poked it carefully with his finger before picking it up.

"Well well, you seem fine and so is the wand. Such a reaction, I must say, most unusual," the old man said to no one specifically.

Harry was helped shakily to his feet by the old shopkeeper, leaning on him more than he'd like to admit. He wondered for one delirious moment where his sexy, battle-hardened body had gone. Back propped against the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, it hit him: she had been right. It had worked. He was back.

"Let me see, let me see. Here is your wand, lad," Ollivander said, handing it to Harry who, for some reason, grabbed it without thinking.

"Go ahead, try that again. Shouldn't happen like that, no, shouldn't happen at all. Need to make sure, though," the old man said, almost to himself.

Harry winced and held the wand gingerly between two fingers and gave it only the slightest wave. The lights dimmed and a glow seemed to come from the wand again, followed by a rush of magic and some sparks – maybe a little less than he'd remembered from his first time twenty years ago which was somehow also today, but still it was obviously his wand.

"Hmm, no, yes, I was right the first time. Strange, the wand chooses the Wizard and tha-" the old man started, then Harry threw up all over his shop floor.

Stomach burning, Harry doubled over and continued to heave up his pathetic breakfast of dry toast and water all over the stone floor, his wand still gripped in his hand and kept there through long-honed battle reflexes from wars apparently yet to come.

Ollivander simply looked at him in shock. The door to the shop banged open and a huge man stared down at Harry open-mouthed, the birdcage and snowy white owl in his hand momentarily forgotten.

"Hagrid," Harry managed to groan out, before falling into the spreading pool of his own vomit, sinking into darkness once again.

One of these days, Harry thought, he'd wake up well rested, only a little sore in just the right way, in his own bed, beside a hot blond (first, best, and really only choice: Luna), who was crazy in the sack last night (Luna was a little crazy anywhere, but especially there).

Today was not that day. Taking a gasping breath, he had an instant sense of déjà vu. This was the way he always woke up in the hospital wing of Hogwarts. It even smelled like the Hogwarts hospital wing.

He had a strange and intense burning sensation in an odd part of his body (his stomach, this time). And the bed...yes, the bed was just that special lumpy kind only Hogwarts seemed to use for their injured students (maybe to prevent slacking-off), check. Sheets like sandpaper, check. Harry opened an eye.

Ugly curtains, check. And Madam Pomfrey, just coming around to have a look at him, check. It was strangely good to be back. And for Pomfrey to be alive again. He almost wept, but he had tears in his eyes already from the pain and an exam to look forward to from his least-favorite doctor in the world (except for all the others).

"Mr. Potter, this is not the way I like to meet new students," she said, looking sternly at him. He scrambled for his glasses at their usual place on the bedside table.

"Sorry Mada-, err ma'am," he stammered, almost slipping up and naming someone ickle baby Harry couldn't possibly know. Bollocks, this was going to get hard really fast. He started to think about how much he wished Hermione was here, for the millionth time, but nipped that line of thought in the bud as usual. No time, live for the now, now. He wished Hogwarts had had an acting program – his mundane school certainly hadn't, even if he would have been allowed. His mind was strangely drifty right now.

"Never mind that," she said, "tell me what happened. Hagrid and Ollivander already told me what they saw. Did you have an upset stomach this morning?"

"Well, err ma'am," he started again, trying desperately for a name so he wouldn't slip up later.

"I am Madam Pomfrey, I run the hospital wing here at Hogwarts," she interrupted sternly.

"Oh, uh, what? Umm, Madam Pomfrey, why am I already at Hogwarts? I thought I wasn't to leave for another month?" he asked, hoping that would make sense for him to wonder about.

He screamed silently inside his head, unable to remember anything about how he felt or thought when he was eleven.

"Well Mr. Potter, Hagrid was worried about you, thought it might be something magical wrong with you. You were shopping for a wand at the time."

"Oh. I see. Well," Harry started, trying to figure out what to say.

He wondered if she was going to find out what happened. Did he want her to? What was the penalty for time traveling without Ministry approval, instant wand snapping? His thoughts raced and burbled out of control.

Well, maybe she somehow won't notice anything magically strange about a boy who's now eleven years old instead of thirty-one, was just the focus of an impossibly powerful and Dark ritual in the future, and also, unfortunately, afflicted with a chronic and terminal case of being Harry Potter.

Nothing to do about it. He silently but valiantly hoped that she wouldn't actually end up throwing him in St. Mungo's for the rest of his life for excessive magical naughtiness and being a horrible patient.

"Err," he began, "I was holding this wand and suddenly I didn't feel very good. I dropped it and fell down on the floor. After a bit I started feeling better so I got up again but then I felt even sicker and...uhh...threw up in the shop. I guess I fainted, too."

He hung his head a bit and said more quietly, trusting his non-existent acting skills to pull him through, "I hope Mr. Ollivander isn't mad about that. Maybe he won't sell me a wand now."

That...was horrible, Harry thought, his inner-critic aghast at his performance.

"Oh, there there, don't worry," she said, actually buying it, the sap. "Hagrid picked up your new wand for you, all bought and paid for. I've got it stored in that end table right there."

She pointed at the low drawer next to his bed. He looked at it hopefully.

"But!" she said sharply, grabbing his attention with a firm wag of her finger and almost making him pee himself in surprise, "You aren't to try waving it around or anything! Wait until classes start next month. It isn't legal for little kids to do magic outside of school, you know."

She looked even more sternly at him, like it was all his fault and one big prank, him getting blasted through time, vomiting all over an ancient magic shop, and ending up in one of her hospital beds – and something he was likely to try again the moment she turned her back on him.

"Well, it seems like you just had a touch of a stomach bug," she said kindly, worryingly changing demeanor on him.

"Yes, umm, nothing to worry about. Drink this," she said, shoving a vile smelling potion into his hands, "and we'll get you right...back home...uh, immediately."

Poppy seemed a little distant and distracted for some reason. With practiced speed he gulped down the smelly and strangely powerful healing brew (why one of the big, smelly ones – he hadn't been run through with a sword or anything, this time). Harry handed the empty back to Poppy, which she immediately replaced with another, different, equally vile one. Repeating that process three times, she finally gathered everything up and made to leave.

"Ma'am, how long was I asleep?" he said, "I don't want my...relatives to worry."

She blanched at that, face twitching in an unrecognizable emotion. "Nothing to fear, child," she said strangely softly, "it was less than an hour and a half. Hagrid is just out in the hall talking to the Headmaster and he'll, he'll take you straight back home now that you've got everything worked out. You just stay there for a few more minutes until Hagrid returns."

She started away from Harry's bed, then suddenly stopped and turned, smiling at Harry, "Oh, and I think he's got a gift for you, so be on your best behavior now."

Harry was a little worried. This was all very, very different from the first time. And there was something wrong with Pomfrey. She didn't smile like that at you unless something was really wrong and she was trying to reassure you that you weren't going to be like that forever. Not right for just a stomach bug.

Gathering his things, including his wand, he put his shirt back on quickly. He'd forgotten how skinny and cold he was all the time at this age. Idiot Dursleys were hardly feeding him but at least the extra fabric on his hand-me-downs kept him moderately warm. Didn't feel right being in Hogwarts without a robe, though.

He spent some time just looking around at the large room he had, err, would, err, will, shit whatever; the room he'd experienced far, far too much time in, in whatever temporal direction. Almost a home away from home at Hogwarts, really. Maybe he'd lead with his face less this time around. His middle still burned strangely and it took a lot for him not to wince at it, but he'd have to pretend everything was fine or they'd surely keep him overnight, at least. Hopefully he wasn't going to explode or keel over and die or anything, but he couldn't risk Pomfrey finding something magically strange about him.

He was spacing out so bad that he actually jumped when the recovery room door quietly swung open and Albus Fucking Dumbledore himself strode in. Harry's brain went into Instant Panic Mode.

Did Harry know who Dumbledore was at this point? If not, when? Wait, no, Hagrid had mentioned his name, right? So, could eleven year old Harry have assumed? But he didn't know what he looked like until the moving trading card...but no wait FUCK Dumbledore could read minds, right? Was he? Oh god, Harry was staring right into his twinkling eyes! What was Harry's Occlumency like right now? Shit he hadn't even checked his barriers!

Oh thank god there, right there, they were still in place and unmolested. Maybe tone them down a bit, though, in case he checked. Just make it look like a very good amateur or a natural talent. Suspicious magical incidents and links to a not-so-dead Dark Lord's not-really-death aside, Albus wasn't going to try and mindrape him right here in the hospital, now was he?

Was he?

Thoughts naturally cleared as Harry smiled a nervous little smile on the outside and set yellow-alert inside his head (Star Trek reruns with Hermione and Ron instantly came to mind and were shut down just as quickly). The headmaster gave him a casually reassuring smile in return and walked over to Harry's bed with Hagrid in tow.

He'd forgotten just how quietly powerful Dumbledore was, the magic that poured off of him. Even thinking that anything bad could happen with him watching seemed silly. How messed up must he have been the first time around not to see it? The man practically had a magical aura around him. Hell, maybe he did. Harry had been so inexperienced when Albus had died, never had a chance to ask him how real wizards, powerful ones, organized their abilities, how they spent their days. Maybe he'd have that chance now.

But something was wrong. Hagrid was looking unhappy, fiddling with the cuffs on his giant coat nervously. And Albus looked a little off, tense somehow. Then it hit Harry: Albus was seriously, burningly, building-levelingly, reality-breakingly mad. Harry's heart missed a beat. No, wait, not at him. Holyshit, Albus wasn't mad at him thank god. Someone or something else, god help them or it.

What could it be, Harry wondered. Did he interrupt something important, get someone hurt? Was a member of the Order killed today? He didn't remember any problems at this point that would make him so mad.

Conjuring a chair with a simple but abrupt wave of his wand, the Headmaster sat down next to Harry where he was still perched on the hospital bed (not daring to move until Pomfrey said he could). Hagrid strangely seemed to stall partway to Harry, fidgeting at the foot of his bed and not making eye contact with anyone, not at all the bubbling man he'd met this morning, twenty years ago.

"Hello Harry Potter," the wise, kindly old man said, "I am Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster here at Hogwarts. You may call me Professor Dumbledore or just Professor. If you don't care for any of those, there are some who call me...Tim."

There was a brief moment of quiet in his head, then Harry entirely lost his mind. Did Dumbledore just make a mundane joke? What the hell was that? He'd never said that before! Had he broken the greatest wizard in the world, traveling through time like that?

Harry quietly gibbered in a corner of his brain safely not controlling his face or speech. Not showing any fear or reaction was key, yes. Maybe look a little worried, but not scared. Dumbledore had to be trying to reassure him.

"Uh, nice to meet you, Headmaster. Sorry about all the trouble," Harry said, almost automatically, his mind a shattered shell.

Albus twinkled at him most strangely, still not testing his mental shields other than oratorically. "No problem at all, Mr. Potter. We were all just a little worried you might have had some reaction to the magic in Mr. Ollivander's shop. Madam Pomfrey has reassured me that didn't happen. Now, did you have any questions before we...escort you back home?"

Harry thought at lightning speed but ended up just shaking his head.

"Well then, I will be joining you and Hagrid on your return trip. I just need to let your...guardians know what happened and see if they have any questions about the upcoming school year."

To Harry's horror, Dumbledore stood up (the chair disappearing) and gestured for Harry to follow him. Hagrid silently shuffled along behind them. Was he changing things this much already? Illumination escaped him for now, so he had to be satisfied merely escaping from the hospital wing with what seemed like minor damage to the Supreme Mugwump's temporal health and mental well-being.

Dumbledore lead them to what Harry suddenly realized was the DADA professor's office (currently unoccupied by Quirrell, thank god). Grabbing a bowl of what Harry now knew was Floo powder, he turned to him and said, "Mr. Potter, we need to get you back to your Aunt and Uncle's house as quickly as is reasonably possible. To that end, we will use the Floo Network, a series of connections between authorized fireplaces in the wizarding world which quickly transport users from one point to another with the use of a target location phrase. Please note, Harry, that such connections are not always allowed at Hogwarts and transportation is usually turned off in the castle for safety reasons."

Harry acted naturally for an eleven year old by staring dumbly at that explanation.

"Now," Dumbledore continued, "this time, we will be traveling to Diagon Alley, note the pronunciation carefully, and from there Apparating to...your house. Apparating from Hogwarts is not possible and is blocked by very strong wards, again for security reasons. There is a purpose for this route, also related to security and secrecy."

He stood there, looking into Harry's eyes. Trying to find something, maybe, Harry didn't know what, but not searching behind his mental shields.

Harry wondered why Dumbledore was explaining all this. It was like Dumbledore wanted him to feel safe about the process, or maybe about him for some reason. Not doing anything he didn't explain ahead of time: it was like how a doctor might act around a scared kid. Harry considered this, increasingly confused by the whole situation.

"First step now, Harry. Take some powder and say 'Diagon Alley' clearly, then step into the green flames. I will demonstrate."

After disappearing in a puff of flames, Hagrid finally spoke up, "Doncha worry 'arry, 'ets really easy. Jus'...jus' say 'et real clear an loud, like the Headmaster did. Yer'll be fine."

He seemed a little shaky for some reason, his mouth working behind his huge beard. This was something disconcerting from such a large man, but he held out the bowl to Harry and quietly waited, so Harry again just kept moving forward.

Determined not to screw up his first Floo trip this time, Harry concentrated more than he had in years on the simple act. Maybe that would help his cover, maybe everyone was that bad the first time; he just didn't want to screw it up and get eaten by a grue in Knockturn Alley. He went flying out of the (correct) destination fireplace like he'd been shot out of a gun. Five out of five for destination, zero out of five for style.

Harry was caught on the other end by Dumbledore, who quickly got him out of the way before Hagrid followed. Harry barely got a look around the Leaky Cauldron before they left again. This time Hagrid disappeared first, touching what Harry recognized as a Portkey, and then the Headmaster side-alonged with Harry in tow. They appeared in a dark corner just down the block from their destination, which they quickly approached. It was late afternoon now and they were very, very conspicuous, giant and robed wizard. Harry wasn't much better, but mostly because he was wobbling more than usual and wearing clothes obvious too large for him. He still didn't feel well.

Seeing his, no, the Dursleys' house after so long made him feel ill in a different way than his burning stomach. He hated this place so much more now than even when he was eleven. He was just a kid back then, didn't know anything else. Didn't know how wrong his situation had been. If he wasn't careful, he'd burn it down with accidental magic the second he set foot inside. He wasn't feeling very careful at the moment.

As if sensing his thoughts (nope, mental shields still up), Dumbledore gently placed his hand on Harry's shoulder and started him towards the much-cursed house. Glancing over at Dumbledore, he now appeared to be wearing a floral hat, sandals with (ugh) socks, tan pants, and...a Hawaiian-print sport coat? Hagrid was already wearing his coat, so he at least sort of looked like a mundane.

Before they even reached it, the door jerked open suddenly, Vernon glaring out at them. Harry could see a table in the entryway had a very pissed-off looking Hedwig (no wait, he hadn't named her yet, details!), still in her cage, and his trunk was sitting in a corner. Vernon was livid, almost stomping in place with anger.

"Where the bloody hell have you been, boy!" his uncle started in, "Keeping all kinds of odd hours, unnatural people coming and going with all kinds of wildlife! We left the hotel hours ago and just got back, now get in here and help Dudley unpack! We just left your old stuff at the lost and found, so don't bother looking for it."

"You lot can just get lost now, move along," he said in the general direction of the wizards in front of him, trying to grab Harry and hustle him inside before there was even more of a scene.

Harry didn't much care if he never saw those second-hand clothes again, but this was way over the top, much worse than last time. At least Dumbledore was with him now. Maybe the beatings wouldn't start until the wizards were long gone and Harry had a chance to work out whether he could get away with gutting the fat, abusive asshole with a fish boning knife.

Just then, the Headmaster spoke up. "Mr. Dursley, there are some...school matters we need to discuss first. I am afraid I can not leave until we do so, school health and safety requires it."

The fat idiot suddenly let go of Harry like he was a diseased rat, looking frightened and disgusted at the same time. The Headmaster took the chance to push Harry gently through the door to clear the way, leaving Hagrid behind them on the stoop.

Vernon started spluttering but Dumbledore ignored it, directing Harry to the stairs. "I hope you feel better soon, Harry. I will talk with your Uncle about what happened today, but you should go up to your room now and get some rest," he said, eyes sparkling kindly at the boy.

Harry's trunk, apparently delivered earlier by Hagrid, was rapidly levitated up the stairs and stowed in his room, care of Dumbledore's wand. Harry soon followed and was surprised when the door to the upstairs room was magically shut behind him and some other spell (not a locking one, silencing?) was cast on it.

Not sure what was going on, Harry simply started sorting through his trunk, looking at books he'd long forgotten about, trying to mentally catch his breath and work out what the hell was going on, why Dumbledore was at his house, and what the fuck he was going to do now.

Albus turned to Hagrid, who was still awkwardly standing outside the small Muggle house door, looking down at his hands. The groundskeeper was gripping his hands together so hard his knuckles were turning white.

"Hagrid, thank you for escorting me here today and for your earlier delivery of Mr. Potter's school supplies," Albus said. "You may return to Hogwarts now if you wish. I'll be speaking with the Dursleys about Harry for a while – wouldn't want them to misunderstand what happened today, so I'll tell them everything they need to know."

He waited, looking significantly at Hagrid over his glasses. The gigantic man pursed his lips and nodded once, jerkily. "Yes, Headmaster. I understand," he said sadly, turning to leave.

Looking at the fat, awful man in front of him and the weak chinned woman hiding just around the kitchen door, Albus despaired. Seeming to reach an internal decision at last, he straightened his shoulders. Harry was upstairs, safely away from what must be done, his room silenced. Albus suddenly closed their front door without touching it, the loud bang interrupting the red-faced man's impending rant.

"Mr. Dursley, we need to speak in your sitting room. Now," he told the wretched man.

"I'll do no such thing you fre-" Vernon started before Albus' hand made a tiny little wave at the odious blob, casting a spell that left him fluttering his lips silently like a fish.

"Mr. Dursley, Vernon: may I call you Vernon?" Albus started, not waiting for an answer, "Vernon, your chairs in the sitting room, now, or I'll create my own right here. Magically," he emphasized carefully, a wand suddenly appearing in his hand. The lights in the hall dimmed and the twisted wood of the arcane instrument shimmered with barely constrained power.

Following the scampering fat man into his spotless sitting room, Albus took the nicest chair (most likely Vernon's), his wand held casually in his hand and not quite pointing at the whale of a man, and waited for the oaf to stop gulping and find his own seat. A wave removed the silencing spell from Vernon.

"Petunia, you might as well join us," he said to the door, opening it with a wave. The woman, caught eavesdropping behind the door, walked slowly over to the couch were Vernon was sitting and seemed to fold in half like a broken doll, collapsing into the seat.

"Here is the situation as it stands," Albus started before Vernon got his mental balance back. "I know what has happened to young Harry. I have personally seen the evidence, talked to a medical professional about it, and heard her conclusions. This reality is not open to discussion. If these facts were to be published in my people's newspapers, your house would not be standing tomorrow." The pathetic Muggles were now pale like ghosts.

"I thought that was something you should know," Albus said, twinkles entirely absent from his eyes. "Also, I now have a way to watch Harry's health and well being twenty-four hours a day, down to the least little hunger pang or the smallest bruise. I will be using it, every hour of every day, for however long he is in your house."

He took a large, old fashioned pocket watch from his robe, popping it open to display the complicated face and briefly presented it to the Dursleys.

"This shows me Harry's location and state of health," he said. "If it reads anything but 'Perfect' and 'At the Dursley House' for the next month before school, you will receive a visit from one of my staff. They will interview Harry and ascertain why it reads otherwise, then they will take whatever measures are required to ensure it doesn't happen again."

Albus then leaned forward and repeated, clear and loud so they wouldn't miss it, "Whatever measures are required."

"In addition," Albus said, leaning back again, apparently relaxed, "you will follow all of these health and dietary care instructions from his doctor at Hogwarts to the letter. That includes limitations on chores he is allowed to do and meal plans."

A piece of parchment magically appeared in his hand, which he placed on the extremely normal looking coffee table in from of him.

"The same warnings apply, and I will be personally investigating if he does not appear to have been cared for correctly on his prompt arrival at Hogwarts as specified here," he said, as another parchment appeared from nowhere and was added the other on the table. "The Hogwarts train timetable is clearly listed, as are the instructions for how to get onto platform 9 ¾. No excuses will be heard."

Sitting back and looking at his watch, he declared, "The device currently shows 'Stomach Ache'. That requires some explanation. Today while shopping, Harry came down with a bad stomach ache and passed out briefly. We took him to a doctor at my school who gave him some potions to fix him up, but he was not seriously ill. To treat this, you will give him some soup and, if required, Muggle medicine. If he gets worse, take him to one of your Muggle doctors and get him looked at. I will know if and when this happens. If he isn't better by the end of the week, you will receive a visit from me."

"I-I don't understand, we've given the brat everything he needs, even when it meant less for our little Dudders! The little turd has been nothing but disrespectful to us – so ungrateful!" Petunia finally spoke up.

"You will remember our agreement," Albus said in a monotone. Both of the Dursleys jerked, then sat completely still, wide eyed in shock. Continuing as if nothing had happened, Albus said, "If I have to remove Harry from this house, I will be very disappointed and you will have broken your word. That would not go well for your family. Enemies of the Potters still hunt for him, and you, as Muggles, would be immediate targets."

Sighing, Dumbledore put away the watch and stared sadly at the last, rotten remnants of Harry Potter's family. "Know that I can not protect you from them without the boy being present under this roof," he said quietly, "but also, I can not protect you from the boy himself. You would do well to remember that."

Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Albus silently padded over to the doorway to the hall, surprising the rotund Dudley who had been standing there also eavesdropping.

"That goes for you as well," Albus said, spearing the boy with his now baleful twinkling eyes.

"Even the weakest wizards hold great power at their command. But mark my words," he said as he turned to the still stunned Dursleys on the couch, "Harry Potter will grow to be a powerful wizard indeed. Some of the strange events you've seen around him are proof of this. Those were incidents of what we call accidental magic, power that sometimes bursts forth from a young witch or wizard. It is poorly directly and ill formed – most of the time. But even this unfocused magic can reduce a full-grown Muggle to a mindless state or a building to a pile of ash on the ground.

"Know that, in our world, there is no punishment dealt out for such inadvertent use of magic by a minor, merely an attempt to clean up afterword; also, the use of magic in self defense is virtually always upheld as justified, even – no, especially, against Muggles. Now imagine, if you will, what a full-grown wizard could do if he hated you and wanted you to suffer as Harry has. Be glad the young man as of yet holds no serious animosity towards you. The moment hate truly touches his heart, all your lives are in danger. For your sake and the sake of this world, I hope that day never comes."

Raising his fell wand, the old wizard pointed it directly at Dudley, who promptly wet himself where he stood. The woman on the couch let out a muffled cry as a the ancient wizard made a small wave of his wand and removed the boy's pigtail, cleaning up once again after one of his grounds keeper's minor mistakes. Not sparing another glace at them, Albus Dumbledore left the trembling Muggles behind as he moved into the hall. Gently picking up the birdcage holding Hagrid's present for Harry he quietly mounted the stairs, towards where his watch was saying Harry's room was located.

Harry was sitting quietly by himself reading, perched on the bed he remembered from so long ago. He remembered how his Uncle had panicked when it appeared the letters were being sent to his cupboard (what would the neighbors think) and had given him Dudley's second bedroom, the one full of broken toys and a closet full of the fat boy's old clothes. That hadn't changed, it seemed.

One of the possibilities in that horrible last lecture of Hermione's (punctuated by blood, dripping, dripping) was that Harry would end up somewhere with a radically different past, a parallel world with possibly a different history and rules and even people. Checking a history book first thing was one of her preternaturally calm suggestions as she waited for Harry's wife to slowly bleed to death in front of them. That sort of thing focuses the mind, Harry found, really helps you remember the course material.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry closed the book, having just finished skimming "History of Magic" for major changes. He'd still have to read it again in-depth to make sure (he'd basically skimmed the index at this point) and get a copy of "Hogwarts, A History" (Hermione always wanted him to read that, might as well this time), but history wasn't really his best topic so he might only notice if there was now a Dumbledore House at Hogwarts or maybe if Slughorn had been Minister of Magic for the last twenty years or something. His mom and dad were still dead, obviously, so the most important change (one he'd secretly hoped for before the end, her still-warm blood smeared on his naked body) wasn't present.

Opening up History of Magic again, he started reading from back (most recent) to front, taking note of even minor events and reading more carefully this time. He was still reading when there was a knock at his door. He almost didn't recognize it, as no one ever knocked when he'd lived with the Dursleys.

Come in," he said in his new, tiny-little-boy voice. Wow, that really was going take some getting used to.

In walked Dumbledore, greatest wizard of this and quite a few other ages, who still looked sort of pissed. He was carrying a birdcage, which he seemed to make a conscious effort to put down carefully on a nearby table. Hedwig (it really was the same owl, he noticed) seemed a little put-out, but wasn't making much of a fuss yet. Thinking about his old friend (his first friend, really) started opening up old wounds that Harry didn't have the time to think about, so he brutally shut down those feelings and prepared for the worst from his old teacher.

Harry had seldom seen the old man so wound-up. The Headmaster sat on a chair that popped into existence the moment he started to sit down. The ancient wizard didn't seem to notice. He seemed a lot more tired than Harry remembered, at least before that last year when he'd been dying from that curse. It really worried Harry to see him like this.

"Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, "I've spoken to your Uncle and Aunt. Some things will be changing for you. Madam Pomfrey, the, ah, doctor you saw earlier, believes you need to follow some specific care guidelines to regain your health and strength, guidelines which your guardians have been given with exact instructions on how to follow. This is a copy of those guidelines, along with instructions on how to get to Hogwarts next month. Some of this information was included in your letter, a copy of which is also here. Your guardians will take care of both your doctor's orders and your travel to the train station next month. Do you have any questions, Harry?"

He handed Harry a small stack of parchment. Harry took it with hands that seemed numb. This was. Totally. New. Harry wondered, yet again, what the hell had happened. His too-small hands were beginning to shake. For a hundred galleons, Harry couldn't have come up with a response to this. He stared at the papers in his hands and slowly shook his head no.

Visibly pulling himself together and (as Harry knew from long Dumbledore-exposure in the future) forcing a gentle smile onto his face, the old man gestured to the birdcage which Harry was just now consciously registering again. "This lovely owl is a Birthday present from Hagrid and is one of the pets you are allowed at Hogwarts. Take good care of her; the instructions for such are in the packet taped to the cage."

Thinking Dumbledore would think him rude as well as stupid and mute, a horrible first impression this time around, Harry scrambled for something to say. Looking down at the books on his bed and then up to one of his first friends, one of those he'd lost so long ago, he realized a pattern, something to bring control back to this already-messed up situation.

"S-she's lovely, sir," Harry managed to babble, searching for the right words. "I-I was reading some of this history book here and I, I think I'll call her Hedwig. I liked the sound of that name, I think. C-could you thank Hagrid for me, please? I'll likely not get a chance to see him for another month."

There, he thought, that sounded more like an intelligent eleven year old, or at least maybe Goyle.

The old wizard seemed to relax a bit, a genuine if small smile seeming to return to his face. "I certainly will, Mr. Potter," he said. "And if you like, you can ask Hedwig to send him a letter, thanking him personally. There should be a quill and parchment in your school supplies and, as long as you don't over do it, you shouldn't run out of parchment writing a few letters. Just follow the instructions in that packet and Hedwig will take it straight to him. We are looking forward to seeing you next month at Hogwarts. Happy Birthday, Mr. Potter."

Giving an almost inaudible sigh, Dumbledore stood up again (chair disappearing) and headed for the door. Just as he was about to open it and leave, he turned back and said, "Mr. Potter, if for whatever reason you wish to write to me, any reason at all, send me a message by owl addressed to Headmaster Dumbledore at Hogwarts. I would like to think that all of my students can come to me with any problems they might have, anything that worries them, any time the world seems too large to handle alone."

Sighing again, he opened the door and walked out. "Goodnight, Mr. Potter. Be well," he said, closing the door, his wand already starting the complicated series of gestures to ward the door to Harry's room, this set specifically against Muggle violence and intrusion.

Albus Dumbledore couldn't sit and think in his office; it was too dangerous, too many breakable objects. He was too angry. Instead, he stood on top of the Hogwarts tower where Astronomy was taught, the delicate scopes put away and nothing fragile nearby, just the open sky and some rocky architecture. The clear and starry dome filled his senses, the wind bracing but not cold. It had been decades since he'd had an accidental magic incident but today might be the one to break that streak of self control, hence his self-imposed exile from breakable and ancient artifacts.

Three times, he thought as he seethed internally, three times before had he been that out of control, that enraged. In his long, long life Albus had lost many friends, most of his family, all of his childhood. He would eternally damn himself before allowing Harry Potter to suffer the same way he had. Goodness knows Harry was already fated to suffer enough. Stones nearby groaned from the magical disturbance as Albus paced back and forth.

And these, these people Harry lived with were what Minerva had called "the worst kind of Muggles." Albus hadn't believed it at the time – Minerva had a...history with wizarding children and Muggle parents, it being a regular conflict that fell to the Deputy Headmistress to solve. It was a constant conflict, sometimes bringing joy but more often heartbreak. Muggle parents who were not accepting of magic or seemed likely to threaten their magical children were often charmed to forget anything about magic and to ignore any accidental magic in their presence, being left with the belief that their dear children were attending a prestigious boarding school (which Hogwarts was) where they would be groomed for the best colleges in the country (which they weren't, exactly).

Sometimes, they would simply be Obliviated and have the children taken from them, to be placed with other, magical families. That hadn't happened since Albus had become Headmaster, but it had been a close thing a few times, requiring exacting charms work to minimize the mental trauma to the Muggles. Either solution was sad and morally questionable, but Albus still preferred his. Children should be with their families.

Stopping his pacing and briefly placing his hands on the cool stones, he didn't notice that he left visibly glowing spots on the rocks in the shape of his palms, the granite glowing from the magical discharge. He resumed pacing. In any case, he hadn't believed one of the brightest witches he knew and Harry had paid the price, paid it for ten long, long years.

After a panicked Hagrid had Flooed into Hogwarts carrying an unconscious Harry Potter, everyone present had rushed around like chickens with their heads cut off. Madam Pomfrey had quickly found that the boy had simply fainted, most likely from the excitement or, judging by his visible ribs, possibly hunger and exhaustion. The reasons for that and deeper probing had brought horrors to light. After a more detailed physical exam, she gave the boy a light sleeping potion to let him get some more rest. His stomach issues were worrying and might also be related to the day's excitement or just an upset stomach, as children often had. What was more worrying to her were the older injuries.

Madam Pomfrey had described, in detail, the wounds the boy had suffered: multiple incidents of a broken nose, now healed, broken bones, recent contusions, even an old skull fracture and scars from beatings with belts and harder objects. In other words, signs of long, severe, and ongoing abuse. Most wizard children were very, very resistant to injury. Hells, the worst school Quidditch accidents would be fatal to a normal child and were shrugged off in hours by a magical child with the assistance of healing potions. To have sustained this much lasting damage was unimaginable for a normal magical child and could very well have killed or permanently maimed a Muggle child.

The wind whipped unnaturally around Albus as he stomped back and forth across the stones, his footsteps sounding like thunder. He didn't notice.

Madam Pomfrey had wanted the boy moved immediately from the abusive home and into St. Mungo's, but under detailed questioning had told him that at this point, another month (one free of beatings) wouldn't do any more damage if certain care instructions were followed. So Albus had told her to expect Harry the day after school opened for another exam and health review and had promised to resolve the issues in the boy's home immediately and permanently. That had seemed to mollify Madam Pomfrey, or maybe it was the grim look on his face.

Privately, Albus worried whether this abuse had affected Harry's body, his mind, or even his magical core itself but there was no way to get him to either a mind healer or in for a more detailed exam until school started. Looking that closely at someone's magical core was slightly invasive and usually done overnight under the care of a skilled healer and most mind healers worked out of major medical centers. Neither were safe for Harry right now, so Albus had come down on the Dursleys harder than he ever thought possible for him. It was Albus' own history that angered him so, made him less than dispassionate about this specific case, but that was no excuse. Death Eaters weren't as frightening as he had been in that house, in front of those people. But Harry wouldn't suffer them any more, even if Albus had to hex those idiots into a gray smear on the floor.

He had to consciously relax his hands where his nails were digging into his palms. He stopped and stared up at the twinkling sky, trying to calm his thoughts.

After what had happened to his sister when she was six, nothing could make Albus as mad as an abused child. His father had gone to Azkaban for what he'd done, the horrific magical injuries inflicted on those boys who'd attacked her. But Ariana had never been the same since, her magic broken along with her spirit and her mind. She had been a shade of her former self until the day of that horrible accident. Damn Gellert to hell.

After his father was sent away forever for his moment of vengeance, Albus had sworn he'd be smarter than his dad and set out to learn everything about magic, specifically protecting others with it. He had eventually become a master of strategy, plots, and wards, and focused on proactive defensive and political measures to keep students at Hogwarts from harm.

Even though the dark rages still came to him, to strike out like his dad had against those who intentionally hurt others, Albus resisted. So, as much as he wanted to jinx the Dursleys into unrecognizable heaps on the floor, he'd take the patient route and try to see the good in them. Make himself see them as worthy of even continuing to live. He'd have to trust they'd do the right thing, given a second chance. But as a Russian friend of his (long dead now) had said during the long, hard fight against Grindelwald: "Trust, but verify."

He'd made a pocket watch and modeled it after the one the Weasley's had in their house, the old enchantments of which tracked their family members locations and their safety. Arthur had worked long hours a few summers ago to figure out how the family heirloom worked, sharing the details with Albus on how it protected them when they were out of the warm embrace of their house. Now Albus would turn that knowledge around to protect Harry from his...defective family inside their grimly well-ordered Muggle house.

It had required reusing some of the magical links in the Weasley's device, linking them to the watch and adding Harry Potter to the clock face; from now on, all the Weasley's would know where Harry Potter was and (to the limited extent that device listed it) how he was doing. The Headmaster had keyed his pocket watch to that link and to Harry, using the tracking charms already on the old clock but also weaving in an even stronger welfare charm, piggybacking it on the ancient magical heirloom to detail any health issues including exhaustion, hunger, and thirst. If those idiots abused Harry or even made him skip a meal, Dumbledore would know and investigate.

It was a good plan and he had taken the time Harry was undergoing final medical examination and treatment to prepare it, working as fast as he ever had and even pulling Mr. Weasley out of the Ministry to help. Finally standing in that horrible house had almost made him abandon the plan, had made him want to whisk Harry away from there, let him stay at Hogwarts for the rest of his childhood. But the boy would be instantly dragged into the politics of the wizarding world, targeted by dozens of plots, possibly even killed.

With the wards linked to the Dursley's house (via Petunia), nothing Voldemort ever planned could touch Harry. Fate linked them both to that night Harry's mother Lily died protecting him and her last, greatest spell protected him still: no plot, no magic, nothing Voldemort tried would work. Spells would miss, Death Eaters would be intercepted by Aurors, giant monsters would be defeated with improbable defenses and counterattacks or avoided with unlikely coincidences. Anything Voldemort tried to do to hurt Harry would fail, but Harry would have to stay with these horrible people to make it effective. So Albus would arm himself to prevent them from hurting Harry ever again.

Where he'd failed with Tom, letting the lad roam free and hoping he'd see the joy that was magic while blinding himself to the Dark and growing menace of the abused young orphan, Albus swore to succeed with Harry. He shook his head in amazement; he'd been ready to go and do the same damn thing again, letting Harry just wander into the Magical world without any guide, hoping he'd just fit in and be happy. Not that there was much chance of that actually happening, with Voldemort most likely still ghosting around somewhere, but Albus could hope. Now that he looked at it, a hands-on approach would help young Harry immensely, showing him adults could be trusted and would care for him. Something that had likely never occurred to him before.

It was preferential treatment and sweet old Minnie would throw a hissy fit about that, but it wasn't bad to treat someone with special needs with extra care. He'd have to tell all the teachers about Harry's...situation, at least the Muggle part and the damage associated with that. They'd all have to look after him and it would help to explain anything that might come up so they wouldn't take it the wrong way. Albus knew some of the teachers could be very strict sometimes, but he personally hadn't had any problems with that. Perhaps he didn't truly know how children would feel in that situation, having been a prodigy from an early age and not likely to draw anything but gushing praise from any teacher.

He knew, however, that some children had problems with teachers and authority, and sometimes need help fitting into a new learning environment. Albus didn't know how well Harry would take to school at Hogwarts, especially given what he must have gone through with the Dursleys. He'd have a look at the Muggle school transcripts of Harry's – something he knew about from Muggle parent-teacher meetings but didn't usually bother with, as most Muggle-born attending Hogwarts had loving parents who kept up with their child's education.

Albus couldn't really hope for that much with the Dursleys, given what he'd found out today, but looking back again at some of the Muggle orphanage documents from Tom Riddle made his blood run cold. Reports of animal abuse, school bullying, theft, unexplained acts of violence, lists of warning signs just went on and on. It would have been obvious if only he had cared to look into the Muggle side of things. He'd not make that mistake again.

Time to call together the heads of House. He'd run it past them first and see if there were any suggestions. Which meant...gods, he'd have to tell Severus everything. How would the lad react to this new, horrible revelation about his best friend's son?

Shutting down his private little pity-party, Albus swept the rubble from where his accidental magic had cracked parapets, waving them back into shape, casting the repair spells quickly and easily. Another swipe removed the scorch marks from the stone roof as he left down the trap door and hurried to the Potion Master's office. He'd have to tell the lad about this privately. Given his own past with Muggles, he might take it hard. Very hard indeed.