FicWad

Harry Potter and The Mind

Rated R for language and violence. People get killed in this story, and real-life teenagers cuss (or curse, for our british friends).

This is an A/U fic, and deviates from canon whenever the spirit moves me. Let's be honest; since the last book is out, at this point no matter what fanfic gets written it's going to be somewhat A/U. Right?

The names of non-canon characters that I made up follow the tradition of british music halls, the golden age of british radio, and indeed british culture itself. Think the names I made up are too off-beat? Take a leisurely look through a London phone directory some time. If JKR can have a "Xenophilius Lovegood"... well, you get the picture.

"No sane man will dance."
-- Marcus Tullius Cicero



Chapter 2 - You can't keep a good dog down

The morning of Harry's third day back at Privet Drive, he sat with his back against the wall, where he had managed to drag himself. Objectively, he was feeling quite numb, and was able to move. He knew this wasn't a good sign at all, but didn't much mind. A sly grin came over his face, and he called out, "Dobby!"

A nice, polite "pop" later, and the world's only known free house elf was standing before him. "Yes, Master Har... Master Harry Potter, sir!" exclaimed Dobby, as soon as his large round eyes took in the shambles that was the room, and the shambles that was Harry. "You is hurt, Master Harry Potter, sir! Oh, Dobby will get Madame P--"

"Dobby!" Harry had to interject quite forcefully to get the elf to stop nattering and pay attention. "Listen to me, this is important. This is something we must discuss before we do anything else. Are you listening?"

Dobby clearly wasn't happy about it, but he nodded so forcefully and repeatedly that Harry worried about the state of the elf's neck.

"Dobby, would you like to come and work for me full time, to be my elf? For pay?"

"Master Harry Potter sir wants Dobby to be his... to..." the poor creature stuttered, as if hardly believing his fortune. "Dobby is to be house elf to the great and powerful wizard Master Harry Potter? Truly?"

For once, Harry had no trouble at all hiding his grin, because he simply didn't have one. He hurt too much, and there was too much to do. "Yes, Dobby," he said. "Right now, you are the only one I trust to do what is good for me, and not for themselves. I know I can trust you, and I like you. Will you work for me, or not?"

"Dobby is most proud elf in the whole world! Wait until the other elves find out--"

"Wait!" snapped Harry. Dobby stopped dead in his tracks, fearful that he had done something wrong. "If you work for me, then you will have to keep my secrets. Can you do that?"

"Oh, Master Harry Potter sir, Dobby is most excellent at keeping secrets." The little elf stood straight and proud. "Dobby is a good elf!"

"Good. We'll work out your wages in a little bit. But first, here's what I want you to do..."

***

Twenty minutes later, Harry was lying in a clean, warm bed in a small bed and breakfast in Dunny On The Wold -- a little wizarding farm town over a hundred miles southwest from Little Whinging -- while being clucked over by a very old Healer with the unbelievable name of Dorsey Goosecreature. His belongings had been brought in, Hedwig had found a perch, and he had finally drunk his fill of fresh water. All arranged by Dobby, whom Harry had to admit was taking his duties seriously as a first-rate elf.

He watched with interest as the healer traced his injuries with his wand. Especially since the glow at the tip of that wand precisely matched the part of Harry's aura it was tracing.

"Mr. Potter," began the healer. "I'm afraid all I can really do here is first aid. For full treatment, we're going to have to get you to a--"

"No," Harry interrupted.

"But you don't underst--"

"I don't care," stated Harry flatly. "I have had my fill of the so-called'care' those people have given me for the last five years, Mr. Goosecreature. The injuries you are seeing right now are the direct result of that 'care'."

"I can fix your ribs right as rain, me lad; but that knee needs a specialist."

Very calmly, Harry told him, "Then whatever you can't fix will stay broken until I find a specialist I can trust. Mr. Goosecreature, you are a skilled and experienced healer, and you know what you're doing." The healer grinned a little at that. "You will just have to accept that I am the number one expert on the way the world shits on Harry Potter."

The calm matter-of-fact way that he spoke carried much more bitterness to the older man than any teenage histrionics ever would. Tapping his front teeth with the end of his wand, he gave in. "Very well, who is going to stay here and take care of you?"

"Dobby will care for Master Harry Potter sir!" answered Harry's new companion, before he could offer any suggestion himself.

Healer Goosecreature set out a few potions, left alist of some more to get, and gave Harry and Dobby written instructions on what was to be taken when. As he was about to go, Harry said, "Remember, sir; no one is to know I am here, and don't forget to bill me."

"Very well, young man," said the personable old man. "Something tells me I'm going to be hearing much more about you this year than we have before. Could you at least try to make it good news?"

With a wry grin, Harry said, "I shall certainly try my best. Good day to you, sir."

"And a better day to you, Mr. Potter."

After Goosecreature was gone, Harry finally began to be able to relax a little. "Dobby, there are some things I need you to do for me."

"Yes, Master Harry Potter sir!"

"First, I would really be happy if you could find something shorter to call me. We have been friends for some time now. Do you think you could just say 'Harry' instead of all the rest of that?"

"Yes, Master Harry Pot... yes, Master Harry is akind and great wizard to call Dobby 'friend'."

"Hmm. Master Harry? Okay, good enough for now. Now, I want you to get me some parchment and ink so I can..." That was as far as Harry got before Dobby popped out, and popped right back in carrying the requested items. He took the proffered supplies and wrote a note to the goblins.

My dear Goblin friends,

Please be kind enough to allow my house elf, Dobby, access to my vault. He will show you my key. I will be asking him to do my banking for a while, as I find myself unable to attend to it personally.

Please list my address for any correspondence as:

General Delivery
Box 27
Dunny On The Wold
Hampshire

Yours in good business,

Harry Potter

Just to be sure it could be identified, he put alittle of his blood below his name. "Dobby, I want you to go to my vault in Gringott's. Can you do that for me?"

"If Master Harry will give me his key, Dobby will do it."

"Alright, Dobby, but please listen until I am finished. Give this note to the most senior goblin you can find, and then bring me five hundred galleons from my vault and come right back. Okay?" The elf nodded. "Okay, you may go."

Harry hoped that the short note he had written would be enough to get Dobby in. He was really in no shape to get to Diagon Alley on his own, to straighten out any paperwork. He was dozing off when Dobby popped back into the room, setting a sack of galleons on top of Harry's trunk.

"Did you have any trouble, Dobby?"

"No trouble, Master Harry. Goblin Ragnok say get well soon, and come visit sometimes. Goblin Ragnok was most senior goblin Dobby could find."

Harry laughed, having forgotten how literally Dobby would take things. "Went straight to the head of the bank, eh? Well done, Dobby. I think I'd better sleep now."

And he did.

***

After two wonderful days of lying on his back, unable and -- frankly -- unwilling to move for anything more exciting than the loo, Harry was struck by an idea. A real eye-opener. For the first time, his life was his own.

For every waking moment he could remember, and a great many of the sleeping moments as well, there had been someone with an expectation for him -- from him. Demanding his time, his efforts, his attention, his participation, even his money. This was the first time in his life he could think of that his life belonged to him. Just him. Not the Dursleys, not Dumbledore, not Voldemort, not even the Weasleys.

He liked that feeling very much.

For two days now, he'd had a chance to consider his place in the world, and his plight. He realized that his ability to detach himself, to stand apart from his own misfortune and injuries, was probably the only thing that kept him alive. Having spent quite a bit of time in the Hogwarts Infirmary, Harry knew exactly how important it was to keep patients calm and relaxed; preferably asleep, if possible. Madame Pomfrey had explained that it gave one's magic a much better chance to work at healing, which is why wizards healed and recovered so much faster than muggles.

Harry had spent much of his childhood in just such astate. Just do it and keep your head down, he would say to himself, slogging through the interminable chores and abuses. Worrying isn't going to change it. Think about something else. But he had just thought about something else; not actually thought about thinking about something else.

He had seldom spent much time in analytical thinking. That sudden realization was embarrassing to him, and he was very glad he was thinking this through on his own instead of being lectured by someone else. I've just been woolgathering, and dealing with things as they come, he thought. He didn't like that stark realization very much at all.

The troll, the sorcerer's stone, Sirius' escape on Buckbeak, the Tournament... those things just happened to me, and I had no time to figure out a way to deal with them. He was rather pleased with his ability to deal -- quite spectacularly, in some cases -- but he had to admit it to himself: he was just some kid to whom things kept happening.

He was turning sixteen years old in a few days. Although he knew that the wizarding world didn't consider one "of age" until seventeen, he also realized that turning seventeen didn't make one an adult.

"Dobby," he called quietly.

"I'm here, Master Harry," he heard. There was no tell-tale pop, which meant that the elf had already been in the room.

"Do you have time to have a chat with me?" he asked, looking at the huge round dark eyes.

"Master Harry is a great and powerful wizard! Tell Dobby, and Dobby will do it!"

Harry thought carefully about his next words. "That's not what I meant, Dobby. You're my friend, right?"

Dobby's reply came in an emotion-choked whisper."Dobby will always be most loyal friend to Master Harry Potter."

"Good," Harry answered. It was a start, anyway. "And friends trust each other, right?" The elf nodded vigorously. "And trust each other with secrets and advice, right?" The nod came slower this time, as if reluctant.

"Well Dobby, I would like to have a chat with you, as my friend. I will tell you some things, and I will ask you some things, and you will tell me some things. Hopefully, we'll both gain something from it. I know I will. Are you willing?"

"Dobby will try."

"Okay, have a seat. Up here, please," he said as he pointed to the bed, stopping Dobby from sitting on the floor.

"Something is troubling me, my friend, and I want to know what you think. What do you think it means to be an adult?"

Dobby's round eyes opened to look even more round. "Wizards and witches comes of age when they is seventeen years old." He nodded, very solemn, as if to say that was all there was to it.

"That's not what I meant. You have been around families with children, so I'm sure you have heard at least one of them told to 'grow up'." Dobby nodded. "Now nobody who says that really thinks it will make someone taller. So what do you think it really means?"

"Dobby thinks they want that someone to act like a 'grown-up'," said Dobby. "To... to stop acting like small child."

"Excellent answer, Dobby," said Harry, causing Dobby to smile and look down. He wondered if elves blushed, and how one could tell. "That's exactly correct, as far as it goes. Now I need you to help me to understand something. We agree that'grow up' means to act more like a 'grown-up'." Dobby was still nodding. "So, what does that mean? How, exactly, do grown-ups act? Precisely what kind of behavior is acting 'grown up'?"

That was the stumper. The great, steaming, grand bull-moose question of the day.

Harry had spent fifteen of his sixteen years exposed to the Dursleys, and he'd never seen anyone in that family act like he thought an adult should act.

For the last five years, he'd been at a school where the four-hundred-plus population carried on as if there were no such thing as society. From cowering and hiding, to banding together in gangs of bullies, to snooty elitism... it seemed as if everyone there had developed some reason for looking down on at least one other person. Harry was pretty sure that wasn't adult behavior.

The staff at the school like Dumbledore, Snape, and McGonagall... well, overlooking their obvious personality differences, they all seemed more interested in ordering people about and their silly punishment system than in actually being any kind of role model. Harry was one hundred percent sure that wasn't adult behavior.

As the evening wore on, Dobby and Harry continued to talk about this, trying to work out how to be grown-up. Without any examples worth looking for, without any experts, without any input of any kind other than their own moral character and ability to think. When dinner time came, Dobby prepared food while they talked. Afterwards, Harry put a magical fire in the fireplace, and the two friends continued.

It never occurred to Harry that starting the magical fire without his wand was anything out of the ordinary. And it never occurred to Dobby to question it; to him, Harry was the greatest wizard in the world.