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Chapter 4 - Home is where the bathtub is

Life was turning out to be quite nice under the hill for Harry and his elf. The goblins had warded his house so well that, when he let Hedwig out for hunting, she couldn't find her way back in. She was rather put out about that, but Harry was happy to go out into the cave entrance to get her when his ward gong announced her arrival.

The permanent charms had been inspected by the Gringott's team, and had only required minor tweaking. The quality of the spell-work was already top-notch, and had obviously cost a fair number of galleons. There were ventilation charms, replacing the fresh air. Climate control charms, awhole battalion of enchanted kitchen gadgets, and even the Wizarding Wireless.

Since Harry had spent most of his life so far either being ignored or being told to shut up, he was quite used to keeping his own company. He was content to wait to see what, if any, the wizarding world's reaction to his disappearance was. He slept a lot, and took his potions, and healed as much as he could.

Eventually, he got bored and went to browse the library. Not nearly as large as the one at Grimmauld, it was still certainly plenty to keep him involved. Standing in the middle of the library, he viewed the groaning bookshelves. Why are wizarding books all the same color? Why does every book I ever had to buy look like an old muggle family bible? Then one book caught his eye.

One book. Standing out from all the others. Rather than clad in decaying old leather, it was white -- so white, it may have been bleached. His interest piqued at seeing the one non-conformist tome, he walked to pick it up. Embossed on the front cover was The Strength of The Mind, by Wisteria Plotz.

Wisteria Plotz? Another tradition that's going to have to change, thought Harry. Why was the wizarding world so insistent on saddling their poor children with these wacky names? Being a kid and trying to grow up is hard enough without putting a thousand-year-old yoke of meaninglessness around their neck just because they happened to be descended from some minor bureaucrat in the time of Merlin -- which was a damn silly name in and of itself. Why can't their kids just be John and Jane Green and get on with their lives? Who do wizards really think they're impressing with names like Lucius Malfoy? Why not Isolde Flapdoodle or Ruprecht Fudgeknuckle? Honestly. Name your kid Pansy, or Millicent, or Draco? It's almost enough to drive anyone to be dark.

He took the white book, somewhat amused, and made his way back to the bedroom to get ready for his bath. "Dobby?"

"Yes, Master Harry."

"Are we going to be happy here? Do you have everything you need? How are we fixed for food?"

"Dobby is finished unpacking, and nearly finished with the cleaning. This is Master Harry's house now, so Master Harry will have to tell me what kind of food and meals to make."

"Okay, Dobby, that sounds fair enough. Tell me, you spent all those years working for other families, and I don't even know the simplest things about you. What kind of food do you like to eat?"

"Elves is happy eating the same food as wizards, Master Harry," Dobby answered primly.

"Yes, that's nice, as far as it goes. But suppose I'm away on a trip, and you are here guarding the house. You don't just go hungry, do you? What would you eat when you are not cooking for me?"

Dobby grinned; he was finally learning that Harry was genuinely interested in what he had to say. "Dobby is liking... French toast! I think that is Dobby's favorite, Master Harry, sir!"

"Excellent, Dobby!" Harry congratulated his elf. "Then how about you make us both some nice French toast for dinner? Until then, show me how to work the controls on this infernal bathtub contraption; it isn't like any I've ever seen before."

Some minutes later, Harry was sitting in sudsy water up to his neck, truly relaxing. The control for moving the water about was quite like a muggle jacuzzi, massaging the hot water into his sore leg. It felt heavenly. He sipped from time out of a tall glass of iced tea, and read the book in the bathtub book stand in front of him.

He was reading in The Strength of The Mind about a spell that would make it easier to understand, absorb, and remember the contents of a book. The book cautioned that the spell would only last for a few minutes, and that trying to do the spell too many times in a row could give one a headache. The spell was offered as a demonstration of what was possible in the magical mind of awizard.

"Why not?" he said aloud. "I certainly have a lot to learn, and this will help, I'll take it." He studied the incantation for a moment before pointing his wand at his forehead, saying clearly, "celeritas librium visum eruditio".

He didn't feel anything. Hmm, maybe I did it wrong. Okay, it's bath time, I'll worry about it later. It was only after the bath was draining and Harry was drying off with the fluffiest towel he had ever seen that it occurred to him.

He had finished the book. While the bathwater was still hot. And... he remembered it. It didn't feel any different from reading and slowly pondering the contents of every word on every page; it just didn't take as much time.

He noticed that he could recall any item in the book with a little effort. It said that you couldn't do the spell too often, or too close together. But it didn't say how often was too often, he mused. Perhaps it's different for every person. Better take it easy at first, just a couple tonight.

A thought stuck him. "Dobby," he said, and the elf appeared in front of him instantly. "Do you know of any books that I can read that will help me learn about the other magical races?"

"Like elves, Master Harry, sir?"

"Yes, like elves, and goblins, and centaurs, and giants, and... well, whatever. I don't remember seeing any such books at Hogwarts; the only thing I know is what I've heard from others, and I don't think I trust that very much. Most of what I've heard is just dumb. Any ideas on where I should look?"

"Master Harry might consider his library at the Black House," said the elf. "Master Harry hasn't been there yet to take charge of the house."

"I know, Dobby, but I also know who is there, and I don't want to see those people for a while. I am learning that they don't really have my own best interests at heart; just their own ideas about what they think my best interests should be. Know what I mean?"

"Master Harry's friends sometimes don't listen to him?" the elf asked.

"I think that's exactly right. They all think they know what's best for me, but they haven't tried to actually get to know me. So, I don't think I want to go there until I can decide some things."

"Dobby can bring the books here tomorrow, if Master Harry wants," Dobby said.

"Okay, that sounds like a plan. Not before breakfast, though. I'm hoping to sleep in tomorrow," Harry said with a grin. "So, French toast for dinner?"

The two wandered back to the kitchen, happily discussing the finer points of the best French toast. Syrup, marmalade, powdered sugar, whole eggs, egg whites... It made for cheery conversation.

***

Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London

"Thank you for coming, my friends," said Albus Dumbledore. He was seated at the head of the long table in the kitchen, looking around at the faces that had gathered. Everyone there was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, but -- as this was not an official Order meeting-- not everyone in the Order was present. Moody, Tonks, Molly and Arthur Weasley, and Severus Snape were the only ones there.

"Mrs. Figg has alerted me to something that is disturbing me greatly." Heads nodded and faces took on looks of varying degrees of concern around the table. When Dumbledore was "disturbed", it wasn't going to be good news.

The pause became uncomfortable, and Mad-Eye Moody spoke up, "Alright, you've set your mood. Get on with it then." The old, retired auror's gruffness broke some of the tension in the room. He hated being led around like a child, and didn't mind embarrassing anybody who tried it.

"Yes, Alastor... I... yes, I supposed I'd better. Harry Potter, and the entire Dursley family, have disappeared."

"What do you mean, disappeared?" Molly Weasley said, quite loud. "If those blasted muggles have hurt that poor boy, I'll--"

"For 'poor boy', read 'young idiot'," injected Snape, a very snide sneer twisting his thin lips.

"Everyone, please," placated Dumbledore, his hands waving everyone to calm. "Whatever has happened, it appears to have happened to all of them."

Moody asked in his gravelly voice, "What in bloody blazes do we have guards and wards there for? Somebody snuck past our watcher, slipped through the layers of wards, and made off with 'em without so much as a squeak of alarm?"

"Yes, well..." began Dumbledore. "Mrs. Figg has checked Number 4, and found the place empty."

Snape mumbled, "Probably ran away, the spoiled little--"

Moody stopped him. "Snape, you're such an arse-hole you could be dean of arse-holery at Oxford. In fact, I don't know why you weren't recruited by the All-England Arse-hole Team." He had seen Harry in action, and wasn't having it. Snape made as if to stand, reaching for the wand in his sleeve, before seeing Moody's wand pointed right between his eyes. "Go ahead. Please, Death Eater. Pretty-please-with-molasses-on-it, draw your wand."

Dumbledore looked around at the group with him. Rather than being cohesive and united in the face of a problem, they were ready to kill each other. Severus was being... well, being Severus. Moody's temper was shorter than he had ever seen it, and Molly looked torn between motherly worry and being ready to throttle the Potions Master. There were no less than 4 people shouting within ten feet of his hairy chin. Sighing, he raised his wand and let off a loud bang! "Everyone, please!"

Molly immediately looked ashamed, Snape's sneer deepened, Arthur continued to wait placidly, but Moody turned back to the headmaster. "Please what?"

"Alastor, please let us bring our attention to the matter at hand," answered Dumbledore. Moody 'harrumphed', his magic eye spinning wildly as he clamped his jaw shut and crossed his arms.

Dumbledore continued, "I have been to the house on Privet Drive, and found some things you all need to know. The house is empty. No Harry, no Dursleys, no furniture, no clothing. Also no blood wards." Molly and Tonks gasped at that. "The only thing that could bring down the blood wards is for Harry to no longer to consider it his home. And the only way they could have left without setting off alarms was if it was voluntary for all of them."

Snape answered, "Maybe now you'll finally believe me; your precious little golden boy has--"

That was as far as he got before his voice failed. Snape's mouth continued to move, but no sound emerged. Moody lowered his wand, saying, "Maybe I should call you Appendix. Because all you ever produce is bile, nobody can figure out why you exist, and it's been proven we can all live quite well without an appendix."

"Alastor, remove your spell at once!"

"Go fish."

"This petty arguing with one another is not helping--"

"Pay attention, Albus. We are not all fighting with one another. Your entire Order is united in clarity of purpose: getting that slimy shit-wit to shut the hell up."

"Right!" "Yes." "Finally." The answers came from around the table, every face looking at Dumbledore.

Before the headmaster could go on with his attempt at lecturing a room full of grown men and women, Moody continued. "Who was the guard on watch?"

"I'm afraid we don't know that. Mundungus was on watch when Harry returned to Privet Drive from Hogwarts, and reported that the whole family entered the house. Some time later, he reported that the Dursleys left the house without Harry. When he was relieved that night, Harry had still not left and the Dursleys had still not returned. As I'm sure you all know," he continued in a quiet voice, "it was not uncommon for the Dursleys to go out and about without Harry."

He stoically bore the angered glances from around the room. Nearly every one of them had voiced their objections about leaving Harry with the Dursleys. "The morning of the third day, Mrs. Figg flooed me and asked what to do. On my instruction, she went to the house that afternoon to check. She found it empty.

"There's more," he seemed reluctant to go on. "In the front hall, there were signs of a struggle. There was evidence that Harry was hurt." The mood changed in the room again at that little bomb, Dumbledore stopped.

Moody's gravelly voice growled a little before he spoke. "You love this, don't you?"

"I'm worried about Harry, Alastor, that's all--" Dumbledore tried to answer, before he was cut off again.

"That's not what I meant, and you know it. You just love drawing up the tension, raising emotions high, playing everyone's heartstrings with your little pregnant pauses. Stop being such a drama queen, you old fart!"

"Alastor, I really don't think that attitude is going to get us anywhere. I'll ask you to recall that you volunteered for--"

"I volunteered to help this group protect Harry Potter, not to spend the rest of my life kissing your wrinkly old arse. Answer the sodding question."

"Please, everyone, we're doing everything in our power to make sure Harry gets a chance to have a normal--"

"Oh, stop it! You and your little secret club are doing three great steaming helpings of diddly squat, with jack-shite gravy. Same as always, like the bureaucrats that you are. Just like Voldemort wants. You talk a good game, Dumbledore; but since I've started hanging around with your fan club, the only time I've seen you actually do something was last year at the ministry, when you thought your little tool was getting murdered. What are you actually doing?"

"Looking for Harry."

"NO, YOU'RE NOT!!" thundered the ex-auror. "You're sitting around atable talking shite! Harry Potter is not on my forehead, so sitting there and staring at my face is not going to get him found."

The rest of the room was watching the exchange between their most senior members. Even Snape-- still silenced -- was watching with interest to see the outcome of this one. Dumbledore sighed; he could see he was going to lose control of the entire group if he didn't find a way to stop this; but the ex-auror was too old and too smart to be bullied. "Alastor, nobody has more concern than I for Harry's welfare. Nobody wants him found more than I--"

"And yet, you're still talking," interrupted Moody with a glare. "I'm not an ickle firstie, Dumbledore. You get alot of mileage out of that twinkly-eyed kindly old grandfather horse-flop, but I'm eighty-five next month, and I've seen it before. As far as I can tell, you're all show and no go."

He stood. "I'm going to look for Harry. I'm going to find out how badly he was hurt, or even if he's still breathin' in an' out. Anybody else interested?" he said, looking around the table. "Or are ye going to just going to keep inhaling Dingle-Dork's exhaust?" The stunned group looked back at him, aghast that he would talk that way to the man widely considered to be the wisest and most powerful living wizard.

Molly was the first to answer. "I think Albus knows what he's doing; he's never steered us wrong before," she said.

"It's ruddy simple to never steer wrong when you never get on the broom." Moody had obviously had his fill. His magical eye was spinning almost too fast to see. "And it's pretty easy to follow someone who's not going anywhere." He raised his walking stick and disapparated, with a /crack!/so loud it hurt the ears of those who remained.

He never did remove the silencing charm from Snape. Dumbledore released his potions master.