FicWad

DISCLAIMER: See the Prologue.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've decided to make it so that the other animals have their own languages (cats have Feline, owls have Strigine, dogs have Canine, etc.). However, Parseltongue speech will be shown in italics while speech in the other "languages" will be shown in underlined text. Also, I'll do my best to provide accurate writing for the accents of certain characters, such as Hagrid for example, but no promises there, so please bear with me if I don't get them entirely correct.

WARNING: Frequent use of the word "hell" at one point, but used to describe the place itself, and not used as a curse word.

This chapter is analogous to Book 1 (/Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone/), Chapter Four, "Keeper of the Keys."


CHAPTER FOUR
AFTERSHOCKS

Dumbledore and Harry faced each other in the ruins of Number Four, Privet Drive, armed with their wands. The bodies of the three Dursleys lay off to one side, their eyes open and staring out blankly; they were dead.

"You left me with those monsters!" Harry yelled at Dumbledore, his handsome face contorted in rage and his brilliant eyes blazing. "What in blazes were you thinking, leaving me with them!?"

"They were your only blood relatives, Harry," Dumbledore said, trying to placate him. "They were the only viable option I could find for you... I couldn't find any other relatives on either side of your family..."

"No other relatives? Then what about friends of the family?" Harry retorted.

"Some were dead, and others were incapable of raising you," Dumbledore explained, without getting into specifics.

"And there was no one in the Wizarding world who could take proper care of me?" Harry said dubiously.

"There were still people loyal to Voldemort who wanted to harm you or worse, people who would have wanted to exploit you for their own gains, people who would have ended up spoiling you even though they wanted to raise you with the best of intentions... believe me, if there were other alternatives, I would have sought them out!"

"Lies!" Harry yelled. "Surely you could have thought of something instead of leaving me with them! Besides, haven't you read the newspapers lately? The newspapers have been calling them all kinds of things lately, such as 'The Evil Family!' There's even been talk of starting an annual 'Worst Family of the Year' award, and making them the first!"

"Their shortcomings aside, Harry..."

"For how much you claim to have cared about me, you didn't even send someone by to check up on me at least once! But I wonder... even if someone did have something bad to say about it, would you really have done anything?"

Not waiting for Dumbledore to answer, Harry pressed on, "And what's this nonsense about 'blood protection'? Exactly what was it supposed to protect me from?"

"From the evil forces which would want to harm you, of course."

"But what about my relatives themselves?"

"Only if there was no other choice. You have to take the blood protection into consideration..."

"Which, ironically enough, didn't protect me against my own blood relatives!" Harry retorted. "Don't you see the terrible irony it? Something which you could have easily put an end to and avoided altogether?"

"Harry, I had no other choice..."

"The way you keep saying that, I don't really think you have any other good excuses to try and feed me, Dumbledore," Harry said with obvious disrespect. "And you know something else? I'm not convinced you ever did have my best interests in mind... at least not for my sake."

Harry plowed on. "You needed your weapon intact... the only one who could vanquish Voldemort, or so the prophecy says. You wanted to mould me into your ideal little soldier, one who would want to come here to the Wizarding world and stay here, especially after living with the Dursleys for so long. You wanted me to look up to you as if you were the infallible leader of the Light which everyone idolizes you as so much."

"No, that's not true and you know it," Dumbledore said, now almost pleadingly.

"Oh, don't worry, /Headmaster/," Harry said as he oozed out that word in a sickeningly-sweet way, with an evil smirk on his face which did not suit his handsome face. "After all..."

And suddenly, Harry's voice changed into one which Dumbledore knew and remembered all too well, even after all these years.

"...I'm not the first student you've ever had before who has had problems with his Muggle relatives or surroundings."

And in a flash, young Harry Potter morphed into young Tom Riddle.

Their surroundings also changed. Number Four, Privet Drive morphed into the dilapidated ruins of the Riddle House in Little Hangleton, and the bodies of the Dursleys also morphed into those of the Riddles, even though the Riddle House had been falling apart for decades, and the Riddles looked as though they could have just been killed within the past day.

"So... young Harry Potter manages to fight off his malicious aunt, uncle and cousin, sever the blood protection from all the hatred and animosity between them, magically damages the house so it collapses mere minutes later... but spares the Dursleys instead of immolating them alive when he has the chance," Riddle mused as he twirled his wand. "Not quite up to my standards, but still rather impressive for a ten-year-old wizard who has yet to receive his Hogwarts letter."

"No," Dumbledore muttered, "he's nothing like you! He can't be!"

"Ironic, isn't it?" Riddle chuckled, completely rubbing it in Dumbledore's face, so to speak. "In an effort to avoid repeating a past mistake... you somehow end up making sure it happens all over again!"

Dumbledore shook his head as he tried to tune out Riddle's words as he felt his own self-doubt and loathing eat away at him from the inside.

"But don't worry, Headmaster," Riddle continued, "after all..."

Suddenly the voice changed again.

"...Look at how well I turned out."

Dumbledore could feel his bones grow cold at the sound of that voice. The one which haunted and plagued him. The voice of the name of the self-styled Dark Lord whom almost no one, save himself, dared speak...

Tom Riddle morphed again... into Voldemort.

And all around them, the surroundings and bodies instantly burst into flames, and now they were surrounded by a circular wall of towering fire.

And all the while, Voldemort laughed coldly and cruelly.

"You know something, old man," Voldemort addressed him haughtily, "for how much you claim to have stood and fought against me, you have sometimes helped me in ways even greater than those of my most devoted followers! I suppose I should feel thankful and all to you for allowing me to do what I wanted, with your indifference and neglect... but to tell the truth, I always have despised you."

Here, Voldemort's face became truly twisted and murderous, becoming so hideous and terrifying that even a gorgon would have been frightened out of its wits.

"But don't leave it to me to do all the talking... here, allow me to let you hear it for yourself from all of the casualties from my righteous crusades - past, present and future!"

Looking down, Dumbledore could see that the floor beneath them had vanished. Down below, there were ghastly bodies of people down there, all of them flailing their arms and trying to reach up to him from where they were. For a moment, Dumbledore thought he could even identify a couple of familiar faces among those below, even among the seemingly infinite number of cursed figures down there.

And the next moment, Dumbledore began to fall.

For what felt like an eternity, Dumbledore fell down through the fiery pit while Voldemort stayed where he was, laughing in triumph over him...

And suddenly, Dumbledore woke up.

He was lying in bed, breathing hard and starting to sweat. It took him a moment or so to assess the situation, and make sure that he was awake now, and not stuck in a bad dream.

A few moments later, however, tears began to run down his face as he wept.


Although it was not so obvious first, Dumbledore's sorrow and less-than-enthusiastic mood began to seep through the school like a kind of gas.

Whenever he spoke these days, it was not with his usual excitement and eccentricity, and that legendary twinkle in his eyes was seldom seen. Except for a few really serious incidents within the school itself, he rarely got excited over anything these days.

There had even been one incident where those second-year twins from Gryffindor, Fred and George Weasley, had completely flooded a hallway, leaving several people in it wet up to their ankles, including Dumbledore himself. For a brief moment, Dumbledore turned around to look at the twins as though he wanted to punish them; but the next moment, and to everyone's great surprise, he just sighed and continued on his way, sloshing through the water as he went. (Interestingly, the twins had been so put out and disappointed by the lack of any kind of reaction that they didn't cause any more intentional trouble for the rest of the year.)

A week after the Dursleys' various incarcerations, news began to leak out to the magical community about them being punished for abusing and neglecting one Harry Potter/. Within a day, the rumor mill went wild all over the magical community in Great Britain, but then after that, people began to change their minds as to the possibility that this could be /the Harry Potter. Dumbledore himself was stupefied by how, ironically enough, witches and wizards all over the country simply refused to believe that their precious savior could be the nephew or cousin to this Dursley family. Both wizards and Muggles alike had a tendency to believe the worst things they heard, especially when it was fed to them by media who did not mind spinning off the most outrageous and attention-seeking "news" they could, but how witches and wizards everywhere could so completely ignore the truth this one time when it was true... it truly boggled Dumbledore's mind. There was no way, they said, that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who vanquished the Dark Lord You-Know-Who when he was only a baby, could have been left with a horrible and abusive Muggle family and be forced to act as their virtual slave. Even when Rita Skeeter tried to spin it off, every Wizarding media outlet refused to carry her story, from The Daily Prophet to Witch Weekly - by Merlin, even The Quibbler refused to do so!

Dumbledore did not bother to correct them. Besides, Harry had been through enough already because of the Headmaster's indifference and ignorance of the situation; the last thing he needed was this public attention and humiliation with everyone knowing what he went through with the Dursleys. Dumbledore had already vowed to himself to make sure that no one else in the Wizarding world found out about Harry's ordeal; this simply made things a whole lot easier for him.

However, two other people new the truth, as they had also been there that night, nearly ten years ago, when Harry was left on his relatives' front doorstep. One of those two people had something to say to Dumbledore about it.

Professor Minerva McGonagall walked towards Dumbledore's office late one Friday afternoon after classes. For an entire day, she kept herself composed and looking calm after seeing something in a Muggle newspaper which otherwise made her want to go to Dumbledore's office straightaway and have a few serious words with him.

Dumbledore was in his office, in deep thought and contemplating whether or not to have a lemon drop, when the chime suddenly sounded. He suddenly jumped in shock, causing the precious lemon drop to fly from his hands and into the fireplace.

Sighing in exasperation, he just took his arm and swept the small jar of lemon drops off of the surface of his desk and to the floor. He did not even bat an eyelash as they made contact and scattered over the floor. "Come in," he said tonelessly.

Professor McGonagall entered, and gave a very peculiar look at the sight of an exasperated Dumbledore sitting at his desk, apparently not bothered by the fact that a small pile of his beloved Muggle candies was lying on the floor.

"Albus?" she asked carefully. "Is something wrong?"

"Is there a reason you wanted to see me, Minerva?" he asked tonelessly as he just continued to look at his desk.

McGonagall was originally going to show Dumbledore the article in the newspaper and then question his wisdom in leaving Harry with his Muggle relatives all those years ago, but now, as she saw him look so lifeless and depressed, she just could not bring herself to do it.

"Yes, there was something I wanted to show you, although I am not so sure if now is the best time..."

"Would it happen to have anything to do with young Harry Potter?" Dumbledore asked her.

She stared at him, dumbfounded, and wondering how he could have known how that was what she wanted to talk to him about. However, Dumbledore's next action explained that, as he took out a Muggle newspaper, which was identical to her own.

"I keep myself up to date with events in both worlds as well, my dear Minerva," Dumbledore said.

"Don't you 'dear Minerva' me," she snapped. Dumbledore took a moment to realize that she was treating him the same way she might treat a young, troublemaking student.

I suppose I had this coming, Dumbledore thought to himself, resigned to his fate. Although the last thing I need would be for Hagrid to find out...

But no sooner had he completed that thought than did he hear a series of faint tremors, as though someone was thumping across the ground...

Turning to gaze out the window, he could see Hagrid striding across the grounds towards the castle, and even from where he was sitting, Dumbledore could see a very serious expression on the caretaker's face.

I may as well wait for him to come here and join us, the headmaster thought with a sigh. That way, I'll only have to explain and defend myself once...

Soon enough, Hagrid entered the headmaster's office. Hagrid was obviously shaking with anger, but Dumbledore had a feeling that Hagrid was holding back from yelling at him only out of respect for him... and maybe because he didn't want anyone else to find out about the truth of Harry Potter's home life.

"Headmaster," Hagrid said slowly, but clearly angry. "Could yeh please explain abou' what I've bin hearin' abou' those Dursleys... an' Harry?"

Dumbledore took a moment to compose himself before answering either of them. "They were the only people I felt I could leave Harry with. There were no other living relatives on either side of his family... and I think we all remember what happened to his father's friends."

"There was no one else?" Hagrid inquired.

"At least no one who could have exploited Harry or spoiled him," Dumbledore said seriously. "Not only were there still fanatically loyal Death Eaters out there, but also corrupt Ministry officials and other people who would have wanted to use the prestige of raising Harry Potter for themselves. Even perfectly honest and well-meaning families, grateful for Voldemort's downfall, could have ended up spoiling him.

"I made sure that he was left with his relatives for the sake of his own safety, so that he would know the truth when the time came. He survived because of his mother's sacrifice, and her love for him... this is what constitutes his blood protection with his aunt, his last remaining blood relative."

"Obviously he wasn't safe enough," Hagrid grunted. "Not from his own relatives!"

"That's not all," McGonagall added. "According to the Muggle authorities, /he had been missing for a year/! For the entire past year, when we thought he was with his relatives, he was on the run!"

Dumbledore didn't show any surprise, but the office's two other occupants quickly figured it out. "Yeh KNEW?" Hagrid half-shouted. "Yeh knew that 'e was missin' this whole time?"

McGonagall fixed Dumbledore with a glare so furious that he actually shrunk back in his chair.

"Curse it, Headmaster, I rescued Harry meself!" Hagrid ranted. "I took him from the ruins of the house... but I didn't do it just so he could suffer fer years with so-called 'blood relatives' who hated him! When I think about wee Harry and how he must have felt growin' up with 'em... oh Merlin, poor little Harry..."

Hagrid actually broke down crying, and as he pulled out a big handkerchief to dab his eyes, McGongall put a reassuring hand on his arm. "There, there, Rubeus," she said reassuringly. "Why don't you wait outside? We can have a nice cup of tea in my office..."

Hagrid nodded, unable to articulate anything coherent from his weeping, and left the office.

Turning her attention back to Dumbledore, she carried on instead. "Did you really think those Dursleys would just accept him right away, just like that?"

"Perhaps not, Minerva," Dumbledore admitted, "but I had to give them the chance to come to accept him for who and what he was... a wizard who was also their blood kin."

"Albus," she groaned as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "I know how you feel about giving people second chances, and how people tend to improve themselves after learning from their mistakes - and don't get me wrong, because I've seen you turn around lives in ways I would have never thought possible - but really, this was one mistake you should have seen coming and should have been able to easily avoid."

"I suppose so," Dumbledore said quietly, looking down at the surface of his desk.

"And what happens when people find out the truth about Harry Potter?" she demanded of him. "What if he doesn't show up at Hogwarts like he should? What if something happens to him? What if he gets /killed/, Merlin forbid?"

Her voice became increasingly more strained with each possibly outcome. She herself couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to James' and Lily's son.

"We still have more than a few months before the start of the next school year," Dumbledore reminded her. "But if we still cannot find Harry by then, or if something happens to him first, Merlin forbid... then I just may have to face the consequences of my actions."

McGonagall noticed how she said "I" and not "we."

"For all of our sakes, Albus, I hope you're right about this..."

"So do I, Minerva... so do I."


"Hell" can be something of a flexible term or idea for various kinds of people.

In the religious sense, it is that place where evil and wicked people go after they die to suffer for the sins which they committed while they were alive. In many faiths and cultures, especially those in Europe and Asia, such as the Greek culture and its Tartaros, Hell was a place of eternal fire where people burned for their sins. Yet in other cultures, such as the ancient Mayan culture, Hell was a dreary, miserable, watery realm known as Xibalba. Still other cultures believed that evil souls were tormented or destroyed by evil demons of their own creation.

A few people had also described through their art, writing, and other works what their own Hells would look like, at least in their opinion. The Florentine poet Dante Aligheri, for example, wrote in his Divine Comedy about a multi-layered hell, at the bottom of which was an icy-cold lake where traitors would sink, since treachery was often the worst sin or crime which a person could commit.

Even within all these tales, there were stories of individuals who suffered in their respective Hells. In Greek mythology alone, there was a whole showcase of such characters: Tantalus, king of Thebes, who wanted to give the gods his best and thus served up his son, Pelops, as a human sacrifice, now forced to stand in a pool of water which receded every time he tried to drink some and under a fruit branch which moved out of the way every time he reached for it (and from whose name the word "tantalize" is derived); Ixion, the father of the centaurs, who made advances on Hera, queen of the gods, and was now forced to run about while harnessed to a big flaming wheel; and Sisyphus, the shrewd and wily king of Corinth, who outwitted and outsmarted the gods themselves on many occasions, who was now forced to push a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down again whenever he neared the top, as a way to keep him busy and prevent him from coming up with new tricks.

However, as people have often said, sometimes they go through waking, living hells of their own: Miserable experiences in their lives which they cannot escape from.

For one young boy in a mental hospital... his own personal Hell was a small white room, with a few furnishings - a bed, a cabinet, and a nightstand - all of which were bolted to the floor or to the wall, and his only possessions were the clothes he wore, which technically belonged to the facility.

Dudley Dursley was in hell.

After his parents had been arrested, some strange people had escorted him to a van, asking him to come with them while everything was sorted out. Dudley hesitated for a moment, but then agreed.

But once Dudley was in the back of the van, and he asked where they were going, they didn't answer him at all. He began to yell and scream at them while reserving enough energy for a tremendous tantrum later, but they just kept driving anyway.

Sometime later, the van pulled up to the heavy metal gates to a building which gave an uncomfortable feel to anyone who just looked at it. For a few seconds, Dudley could read the sign over the gates:

ST./ BRUTUS' SECURE CENTRE FOR INCURABLY INSANE CRIMINAL BOYS/

Dudley gasped in horror. His father told him about this place, and how it would be a perfect place for the freak to go to. Surely they couldn't be trying to send him there!

Flying into a rage, he unleashed all his pent-up rage and tried to escape from the back of the van. He actually managed to shake the van a little, as well as put a few dents in its interior as he tried to break out like some hero in one of those movies which he liked to watch so much. When the two men in the front of the van got out and walked around to open the back, Dudley felt elation: He was finally getting out of here!

As the van doors opened, Dudley tried to rush out...

Yay, I'm free!

...Only to get himself stunned by the driver with a taser like the kind which the police used.

Satisfied that this delinquent boy wouldn't be causing any more trouble, at least for a little while, the two people simply shut and sealed the back doors again, got back in the front, and drove the van through the gates.

"Hey, you do know we're not supposed to use or even have those things, right?" the other man up front asked the driver. "Where did you even get that thing to begin with?"

"Eh, my brother is a copper," the driver explained smugly. "Besides, the little punk had it coming, anyway."

Dudley was not unconscious, mainly because of all his layers of fat protecting him, but he lay on the floor, breathing heavily and feeling pain all over his body. He couldn't even lift his head.

After the van went through the gates, the heavy metal gates themselves slammed shut with a thunderous and unpleasant sound, and Dudley could feel his chances for escape vanish with that.

From there, Dudley's memory blurred into a montage of scenes... him being escorted into the building by guards... him being forced to undergo a physical examination... and finally, him being given his own private little room.

Oh, how he hated this room. How he hated this place. How hated what his life had become!

The worst part of all was that he could never get what he wanted. No nice new clothes, no small mountains of any good food, no toys, no television sets, computers or other electronic devices... there was absolutely nothing which he might want.

Dudley was hardly the smartest boy around, but he was devious enough to know certain tricks and tactics to get what he wanted. Barely a day after his arrival at St. Brutus', he threw a nice big tantrum, with the works. But nothing happened. So, Dudley tried it again... and again... and again. In fact, he must have thrown at least a dozen different tantrums, all within a week, and nothing happened.

Well, something did happen... but all he saw where emotionless doctors, workers and orderlies observing him and his behavior as they scribbled notes on their clipboards.

When his tantrums didn't work, Dudley tried whatever else he could think of: He screamed, he cried, he threatened, he begged... he said whatever he could think of to make them do something he might like, to make them unlock the door or let him go. He even yelled every foul and profane word he could think of at these people - and he knew quite a lot of them, thanks to his father - but even those didn't seem to bother these people.

For once in his life, Dudley couldn't get his way, and it infuriated him to no end. What he wanted and what he received were two completely separate and different things.

The first day alone was horrible. He was woken up early in the morning by a horrible-sounding buzzer which made him feel as though something was stabbing at his ears. One of the orderlies unlocked his door and told him that he would get breakfast... but first, he had to make his bed.

Dudley gaped at the orderly incredulously, and spent the next several minutes ranting and raving, trying to explain to the orderly that he didn't need to do chores like make beds, because his parents told him he was special, and at his house, it was the freak who was in charge of doing that...

But the orderly did not even so much as refute Dudley's claims on how things were supposed to be, let alone speak at all. He just gazed at Dudley expectantly.

Seeing that he was getting nowhere like this, Dudley conceded, swallowed his pride, and for what must have been the first time in his life, he made his bed.

Dudley was looking forward to breakfast - the thought of food to consume - but was appalled by his measly little serving of a mouthful of scrambled eggs, a strip of bacon and a slice of toast. He easily ate it all in one gulp - anyone witnessing it could swear that he inhaled it all - and immediately demanded more. But alas, and to no avail, he was unable to get any more food for breakfast.

After that, he was returned to his room, where he was let out again for lunch and escorted to the cafeteria, returned to his room again, let out again for dinner, and returned to his room once more for the rest of the evening and night.

It went on like this for a week, and no matter what Dudley did or tried to do, he could not get his way at all or get the people in charge to budge a single inch.

No television, no mounds of food and snacks, no toys, no nice clothes, no house, and no Mummy and Daddy to give him whatever he wanted...

Indeed, Dudley Dursley was in his own personal little Hell.

More than a week after he first arrived, he finally tried to get away with something. During breakfast, he tried to swipe another child's food.

"What do you think you're doing, piggy?" growled a voice behind him.

Dudley froze and nearly wet his pants. Gulping and slowly turning around, he saw Bubba, an enormous fourteen-year-old even bigger than himself, although not as fat.

"Oh, I um," Dudley stammered.

"You were trying to take my food," Bubba stated flatly.

Acting impulsively, Dudley acted quick, trying to snatch up the food, shove it in his mouth and consume it before Bubba could do anything about it.

Dudley thought that he could get away with it... but Bubba's hard fist to his face and subsequent bloody nose proved that he couldn't.

The food fell to the floor, completely ruined and inedible now, and Bubba knew that he wouldn't be getting another serving because of this little confrontation, but that was fine by him: As far as Bubba was concerned, this was worth it. Besides, he was trying to go on a diet, anyway.

"Now you listen to me very carefully," Bubba said in a dangerously low voice as he leaned closer to Dudley until their faces were barely inches apart. "You may have been the special kid where you came from, but here, you're nobody, but just another kid, just like the rest of us. You get treated the same way as us, and you do the same things as us. You got that, piggy?"

With his survival instincts kicking in, Dudley nodded furiously, his many chins wobbling as he did so.

"Good," Bubba said with a satisfied smile which only scared Dudley more. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding, Piggy."

At this point, the orderlies came in and escorted both boys back to their respective rooms. Bubba offered no resistance, but Dudley fought back as he unsuccessfully tried to seize the opportunity to do something.

Once he was back in his room, Dudley's patience finally snapped. Not caring that his room and everything in it were made of steel, concrete, plastic, and other such materials which could resist him, he finally threw a tantrum as he punched his firsts at the bed, kicked the nightstand, and even banged his own head against the wall, until his knuckles and forehead became bloody.

As Dudley lay on the floor, feeling exhausted from the tantrum (or maybe it was also the blood loss?), the door was unlocked and orderlies came rushing in.

Finally, I'm getting out of here, Dudley thought happily through the haze in his mind, before he fell unconscious.

When he came to again, he felt himself lying on a comfortable surface with something warm wrapped around him.

Maybe I'm home, Dudley thought to himself hopefully. Maybe I'm lying in my bed in my room in my house, with all my stuff around me, my mum and dad downstairs waiting for me for breakfast, and this was all just a bad dream...

(However, unbeknownst to either Dudley or Bubba, both of their parents had already met each other in their respective facilities, and already had become well-acquainted, especially after Bubba's father trashed Dudley's father in a brawl, and Bubba's mother had slapped around Dudley's mother. While Bubba's family had their own problems and issues, they absolutely detested and abhorred child abuse and neglect, and instantly hated the Dursleys with a passion for how they treated their nephew, young Harry Potter.)

However, as he tried to use his arms to lift himself up, he found out that he couldn't; his arms were stuck to his sides for some reason.

As he opened his eyes and became more alert, he took in the situation and began to understand, much to his growing horror and despair.

He was dressed in a straightjacket, lying in a padded cell.

Dudley couldn't even find the strength or the will power to throw any kind of tantrum. He just sat there, sniffling quietly, bemoaning what his life had become.

And all that while, he just kept thinking to himself, over and over again...

I want to go home, I want to go home, I want to go home...

But through it all, Dudley persisted in thinking about one thing: His freak of a cousin and how unhappy he deserved to be.

I hate that freak... that freak doesn't deserve to be happy... I hope that freak will never be happy again...


Soon enough, Harry had recovered from his final encounter with the Dursleys, and he was back to his normal, happy, Dursley-free self.

However, something still gnawed at him...

"Pim?" he said aloud one day, knowing that his magical mentor and guardian would hear him.

"Hmm?" Pim said, his avatar appearing not too far from where Harry stood.

"I've been thinking about something... about what my aunt told me that day," Harry said slowly. "I didn't believe what she said about my parents - especially some of the nastier things about my mother - but what if she was telling the truth about at least some things?" After a small pause, Harry then added, "In order to tell some lies or twist the truth around, she would have had to know the truth to begin with, right?"

Ah, sharp boy, very wise, Pim thought. "That is a very good point, Harry."

"Thanks, Pim. So... what do you think?"

Pim thought about it for a moment or so. "Well, as far back as ancient Rome, I recall there being a yearly schedule for the first magical schools and institutions, much like your modern school system, where students went for most months of the year to study and learn, except for a few during the summer, when they would help on their families' farms.

"If a term for Hogwarts really does start this September, then there may not be much time left for you to register at the school. We may have to act fast."

"But what would you have me do?"

"Harry... is your birthday not the day after tomorrow?"

Harry quickly did the arithmetic within his head. Yes, it was indeed the twenty-ninth of July. Soon enough, it would be his eleventh birthday.

"Yes... why, what do you have in mind, Pim?"

"Well, I have been thinking about it, Harry... I think part of the reason no one has been able to find you here is because of the wards, and while that has been absolutely vital and useful for your own protection, it has also been impeding the ability for anyone to get in contact with you when they probably have good reason to do so. So... how about you stay somewhere for a day or so, see if anyone comes along?"

Harry thought it over. "It's an interesting idea, Pim... but I don't think I'm just going to go where there are lots of people around and just wait for anyone to come along to find me."

"Good thinking, Harry."

"So... know of any good isolated places where I can hang around, see who comes by?"

Pim looked thoughtful. "You know something? I think I know just the place... Pack your things, Harry, and make sure you have enough to last for a day."

"Okay, sure... but may I ask what your plan is?"

"My plan is to have you wait somewhere for twenty-four hours - one full day - just to see if these other wizards can find you. That way, you can make sure that whoever is trying to contact you from this school has a chance to do so."

"Actually, that reminds me," Harry spoke up. "I was thinking about something... you don't mind me going to this school?"

Here, Pim noticed how Harry looked a little worried as to how Pim himself might react to his wanting to go elsewhere as well as the Tower of Pime.

"Of course not," Pim replied, looking completely fine with it. "You cannot stay cooped up in this tower for years to come. Besides, I'm sure magic has changed and advanced so much in the past fifteen hundred years that you're going to need to learn about it from other people as well. Obviously, you can still come back home for the summer and other holidays. You certainly need not ask for my permission to go there."

"Thanks, Pim," Harry said, smiling.


A few hours later, close to midnight, Harry was sitting in a small hut on a rock out at sea. Pim told him that the old man who owned this hut was away for the week, so Harry could just stay there for a day and leave without any trace that he was ever there at all.

One of those small white lights which Pim used on more than one occasion to transport Harry to the tower was hovering in mid-air, and Pim magically spoke through it.

"Very well, Harry... you have some food to eat for the next day, a sleeping bag... and oh yes, before I forget... here is something which I made long ago, which you might want to use for the day..."

Another dot of white light appeared above Harry, and something magically fell out of it. Harry caught the object and looked it: It was a small black stone, circular and smooth. It was a little larger in diameter than the size of his palm, and was as thick as his hand. It was basically a disc.

"This will start counting down at midnight, and will help you keep track of the time until it has been twenty-four hours," Pim explained. "If nothing happens after twenty-four hours, then just collect your things and use your Recaller to return home."

"Of course, Pim."

"Will you be able to keep yourself busy in the meantime?" Pim asked. "I noticed that you did not bring any books with you."

"I dunno, I figured that the less I have with me, the better. Besides, if anyone sees my stuff, especially the stuff which belongs to you, they may I ask where I got it from."

"Ah, very good thinking, Harry. But are you sure you will not be bored?"

"I'm sure my imagination will be enough, but thanks for asking, Pim."

"Indeed. It will be midnight in less than a minute, and the chronometric device which I left you will begin working then. If there is nothing else..."

"I'll be fine, but thanks again, Pim."

"Good luck, Harry."

"Thanks."

With that, the white light disappeared, and Harry was by himself.

Moments later, Harry saw the numbers appear on one side of the disc. The way there were displayed in white against the black surface and how they were counting down, second by second, reminded Harry of a digital clock or watch.

Well, I have a long day of waiting ahead of me, Harry thought as he yawned. Might as well pass a good chunk of the time by getting some sleep.

He set up his sleeping bag, crawled inside of it, put his glasses on the side, and was asleep within minutes.


It was after daybreak when Harry woke up. He consulted the enchanted stone which Pim lent him: It was about nine in the morning.

Well, only fifteen hours to go, Harry thought optimistically.

Just then, he heard something at the window.

He turned around at the tapping sound... and saw an owl.

It was also an owl with a letter in its beak.

As Harry walked over, the quickly surmised that perhaps modern-day wizards used owls to deliver their mail. Then again, he really wasn't all that surprised: As far back as ancient Greece, some people had used carrier pigeons. As a matter of fact, the use of carrier pigeons to deliver messages helped win certain battles in history, even in more recent wars like World War Two.

He opened the window to let the owl in, and it dipped its head, offering the letter to Harry.

"Thank you," he said politely to the owl. The normally-nocturnal bird hooted something back in the Strigine language which owls spoke, which basically translated to "You're welcome."

Harry looked down at his letter. It was in a thick parchment, addressed to him in green ink. On the back there was a seal, showing a crest with a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a snake. There was no return address and no stamp.

However, Harry also noticed something else, especially about the address...

Mr. H. Potter
The Biggest Bedroom
Hut-on-the-Rock
The Sea

Interesting, Harry thought. Well, I guess I better see what's inside.

Opening it up, he took out a piece of parchment and read it.

HOGWARTS/ SCHOOL// of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY/

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress

Questions were forming and multiplying like rabbits within Harry's mind.

"What do they mean by 'await my owl'?" Harry asked aloud.

The owl, which had been patiently sitting there that entire time while Harry was reading his letter, hooted and gestured at the envelope. "Actually, there's something else in there, take a look," he said in Strigine. Looking inside, Harry could see a small slip of parchment inside, separate from the letter.

We have been trying to get in contact with you for some time now. If you have safely received this letter, then please return this slip back with the owl as confirmation, and stay where you are until someone comes to get you.

Harry also noticed that it was written in a different hand than the acceptance letter, and that there was no signature to it.

Harry was inclined to do as the letter said, and return the slip back with the owl to whoever was at Hogwarts. But then he thought about the part about someone coming to get him; for some reason, that idea did not reassure him... but then again, he figured that he could just use his Recaller to escape if someone tried to keep him under guard or something, if it came to that (The Powers That Be forbid!).

With that idea in mind, he gave the slip back to the owl by itself and said, "Here, you can take this back."

"Thank you!" the owl hooted happily as it accepted the slip back and flew back outside and out of view.

As Harry watched it fly away, he also saw a lot of dark clouds on the horizon. As the hours passed, he would see it come ever closer to where he was.

Yay, a storm, Harry thought to himself. Should make this even more fun.

Harry sat down to have his packed breakfast, which was in a completely separate bag from what would be his lunch and dinner later on. After enjoying an apple and a chunk of cheese, he tossed the apple core out the window and into the sea to let the birds, fish, or other local creatures have something to eat, and sat down on his duffel bag.

Whoever is coming to get me, I hope they come here soon.

He consulted Pim's time-telling disc only every hour or so. With nothing else to do, he just napped and daydreamed.

It was around lunchtime when he thought he first heard thunder in the distance. He strode over to the window to look outside, and he saw the approaching storm clouds give of a flash of lightning.

One, two, three, four, five... Harry mentally counted in his head. Five seconds after he saw that flash of lightning, he heard the thunder following it. It's about a mile away, then, he concluded.

Harry learned somewhere, most likely through his own independent studies, that sound traveled at approximately seven hundred and sixty miles per hour, and thus took approximately five seconds just to travel one mile. So, as the hours went by and the storm came closer, Harry used this knowledge to calculate roughly how far away it was and how close it was coming.

Ah well, at least I have my own light show as part of some free entertainment, he thought optimistically as he had his lunch (some milk and a small bunch of grapes with a slice of bread).

It was late in the day, roughly sunset, when the storm was quite literally at his shore, at this rock in the sea. As Harry was taking out his supper, he listened to the storm, this natural albeit harsh symphony of rain pounding on the hut, winds blowing against it, and lightning striking very close to it, followed by its loud thunder.

As Harry had his supper (another slice of bread, some nuts, and a delicious orange), he was completely at ease with the storm. However, barely a minute after he finished his dinner, one particularly strong lightning strike took place just over or near the hut. He couldn't stop himself from jumping at just how intense it sounded; it almost sounded as though something enormous and loud would rush straight through the hut at any moment!

As the rumbling receded and ceased, Harry laughed nervously and calmed himself down. It was nothing to worry about.

As the night went on, the thunder and lightning drifted further away, but the rain kept on coming down and the winds continued to howl in their almost unearthly song. Harry merely continued to glance at the time on the enchanted stone. He wanted to stay up until midnight, until twenty-four complete hours had passed... then he could leave, if whoever was coming for him didn't show up first.

Besides... at midnight, it would be his eleventh birthday. He could just count down to celebrate, and assuming no one came by, he could just go back to the Tower of Pime, get some sleep, and then celebrate his birthday with Pim. Besides, Pim had hinted that he had something special for Harry when he returned. Harry wondered what it could possibly be...

Soon enough, it was nearly midnight, and there were only about a few minutes left. Ah, here we go, Harry thought, fighting off fatigue and sleepiness to stay up for it.

However, during those last few minutes before midnight, Harry thought he heard something outside...

Five minutes to go until midnight. Harry thought he heard something creak outside. He also hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in.

Four minutes to go. Maybe the roof wouldn't fall in after all...

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea which he was hearing, slapping hard on the rock like that?

Two minutes to go. What was that funny crunching noise outside? Surely the rock wasn't crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go. Sixty seconds... forty-five seconds... thirty seconds... fifteen seconds...

Almost there, Harry thought excitedly.

Ten seconds... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one...

BOOM.

Harry nearly jumped as high as he did when that lightning struck just over the hut. The hut shook again... but this time, it was definitely not because of lightning.

BOOM.

Someone was trying to get into the hut.


A/N: I think we can all guess what happens next...

Regarding the chapter title... I just thought it was fitting.

Personally, I like how Dumbledore's nightmare turned out. (Also, I hope I didn't confuse anyone too badly with it.)

As for the magical community refusing to believe the shocking truth this one time... how's THAT for a kicker? Yeah, I did it because I couldn't have the Wizarding world know about Harry's life with the Dursleys, or both worlds tearing each other apart over it.

For some reason, I decided to show what the Dursleys' new lives were like, even though I had originally planned to not mention them anymore after the previous chapter. I have no idea what British prisons and mental facilities are like, and so I'm taking a few creative liberties, especially with that St. Brutus' place, which is as fictitious as Hogwarts itself, so let us not get hung up on things like "realism" too much. Oh, and Steve's Place pitched the idea of Dudley having to deal with some kid named "Bubba"... I just took the idea one or two steps further with bringing in Bubba's own parents.

According to Peter Needham, who translates the HP books into Latin, the word for "owl" is /strix, strigis/. From that, I got "Strigine."

The thing with how loud lightning can sound when it's right on top of you... take it from me, I've experienced that before. It almost sounded like a freight train was coming through!

You know what to do... review!

/-Quillian, 3/18/07/
Last edited: 5/4/07



DISCLAIMER:See the Prologue.



AUTHOR'S NOTES: I've decided to make it so that the other animals have their own languages (cats have Feline, owls have Strigine, dogs have Canine, etc.). However, Parseltonguespeech will be shown in italics while speech in the other "languages" will be shown in underlined text. Also, I'll do my best to provide accurate writing for the accents of certain characters, such as Hagridfor example, but no promises there, so please bear with me if I don't get them entirely correct.



WARNING:Frequent use of the word "hell" at one point, but used to describe the place itself, and not used as a curse word.



This chapter is approximate to Book 1 (Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone), Chapter Four, "Keeper of the Keys."






CHAPTER FOUR

AFTERSHOCKS



Dumbledore and Harry faced each other in the ruins of Number Four, Privet Drive, armed with their wands. The bodies of the three Dursleys lay off to one side, their eyes open and staring out blankly; they were dead.



"You left me with those monsters!" Harry yelled at Dumbledore, his handsome face contorted in rage and his brilliant eyes blazing. "What in blazes were you thinking, leaving me with them!?"



"They were your only blood relatives, Harry," Dumbledore said, trying to placate him. "They were the only viable option I could find for you... I couldn't find any other relatives on either side of your family..."



"No other relatives? Then what about friends of the family?" Harry retorted.



"Some were dead, and others were incapable of raising you,"Dumbledore explained, without getting into specifics.



"And there was no onein the Wizarding world who could take proper care of me?" Harry said dubiously.



"There were still people loyal to Voldemortwho wanted to harm you or worse, people who would have wanted to exploit you for their own gains, people who would have ended up spoiling you even though they wanted to raise you with the best of intentions... believe me, if there were other alternatives, I would have sought them out!"



"Lies!" Harry yelled. "Surely you could have thought of something instead of leaving me with them! Besides, haven't you read the newspapers lately? The newspapers have been calling them all kinds of things lately, such as 'The Evil Family!' There's even been talk of starting an annual'Worst Family of the Year' award, and making them the first!"



"Their shortcomings aside, Harry..."



"For how much you claim to have cared about me, you didn't even send someone by to check up on me at least once! But I wonder... even if someone did have something bad to say about it, would you really have done anything?"



Not waiting for Dumbledore to answer, Harry pressed on, "And what's this nonsense about 'blood protection'? Exactly what was it supposed to protect me from?"



"From the evil forces which would want to harm you, of course."



"But what about my relatives themselves?"



"Only if there was no other choice. You have to take the blood protection into consideration..."



"Which, ironically enough, didn't protect me against my own blood relatives!" Harry retorted. "Don't you see the terrible irony it? Something which you could have easily put an end to and avoided altogether?"



"Harry, I had no other choice..."



"The way you keep saying that, I don't really think you have any other good excuses to try and feed me, Dumbledore," Harry said with obvious disrespect. "And you know something else? I'm not convinced you ever did have my best interests in mind... at least not for my sake."



Harry plowed on. "You needed your weapon intact... the only one who could vanquish Voldemort, or so the prophecy says. You wanted to mould me into your ideal little soldier, one who would want to come here to theWizarding world and stay here, especially after living with the Dursleys for so long. You wanted me to look up to you as if you were the infallible leader of the Light which everyone idolizes you as so much."



"No, that's not true and you know it," Dumbledore said, now almost pleadingly.



"Oh, don't worry, Headmaster,"Harry said as he oozed out that word in a sickeningly-sweet way, with an evil smirk on his face which did not suit his handsome face. "After all..."



And suddenly, Harry's voice changed into one which Dumbledore knew and remembered all too well, even after all these years.



"...I'm not the first student you've ever had before who has had problems with his Muggle relatives or surroundings."



And in a flash, young Harry Potter morphed into young Tom Riddle.



Their surroundings also changed. Number Four, Privet Drive morphed into the dilapidated ruins of the Riddle House in Little Hangleton, and the bodies of the Dursleys also morphed into those of the Riddles, even though the Riddle House had been falling apart for decades, and the Riddles looked as though they could have just been killed within the past day.



"So... young Harry Potter manages to fight off his malicious aunt, uncle and cousin, sever the blood protection from all the hatred and animosity between them, magically damages the house so it collapses mere minutes later... but spares the Dursleys instead of immolating them alive when he has the chance," Riddle mused as he twirled his wand. "Not quite up to my standards, but still rather impressive for a ten-year-old wizard who has yet to receive his Hogwarts letter."



"No," Dumbledore muttered, "he's nothing like you! He can't be!"



"Ironic, isn't it?" Riddle chuckled, completely rubbing it in Dumbledore's face, so to speak. "In an effort to avoid repeating a past mistake... you somehow end up making sure it happens all over again!"



Dumbledore shook his head as he tried to tune out Riddle's words as he felt his own self-doubt and loathing eat away at him from the inside.



"But don't worry, Headmaster," Riddle continued, "after all..."



Suddenly the voice changed again.



"...Look at how well Iturned out."



Dumbledore could feel his bones grow cold at the sound of that voice. The one which haunted and plagued him. The voice of the name of the self-styled Dark Lord whom almost no one, save himself, dared speak...



Tom Riddle morphed again... into Voldemort.



And all around them, the surroundings and bodies instantly burst into flames, and now they were surrounded by a circular wall of towering fire.



And all the while, Voldemortlaughed coldly and cruelly.



"You know something, old man," Voldemortaddressed him haughtily, "for how much you claim to have stood and fought against me, you have sometimes helped me in ways even greater than those of my most devoted followers! I suppose Ishould feel thankful and all to you for allowing me to do what I wanted, with your indifference and neglect... but to tell the truth, I always have despised you."



Here, Voldemort's face became truly twisted and murderous, becoming so hideous and terrifying that even a gorgon would have been frightened out of its wits.



"But don't leave it to me to do all the talking... here, allow me to let you hear it for yourself from all of the casualties from my righteous crusades - past, present and future!"



Looking down, Dumbledore could see that the floor beneath them had vanished. Down below, there were ghastly bodies of people down there, all of them flailing their arms and trying to reach up to him from where they were. For a moment, Dumbledore thought he could even identify a couple of familiar faces among those below, even among the seemingly infinite number of cursed figures down there.



And the next moment, Dumbledore began to fall.



For what felt like an eternity, Dumbledore fell down through the fiery pit while Voldemort stayed where he was, laughing in triumph over him...



And suddenly, Dumbledore woke up.



He was lying in bed, breathing hard and starting to sweat. It took him a moment or so to assess the situation, and make sure that he was awake now, and not stuck in a bad dream.



A few moments later, however, tears began to run down his face as he wept.








Although it was not so obvious first, Dumbledore's sorrow and less-than-enthusiastic mood began to seep through the school like a kind of gas.



Whenever he spoke these days, it was not with his usual excitement and eccentricity, and that legendary twinkle in his eyes was seldom seen. Except for a few really serious incidents within the school itself, he rarely got excited over anything these days.



There had even been one incident where those second-year twins from Gryffindor, Fred and George Weasley, had completely flooded a hallway, leaving several people in it wet up to their ankles, including Dumbledore himself. For a brief moment, Dumbledore turned around to look at the twins as though he wanted to punish them; but the next moment, and to everyone's great surprise, he just sighed and continued on his way, sloshing through the water as he went. (Interestingly, the twins had been so put out and disappointed by the lack of any kind of reaction that they didn't cause any more intentional trouble for the rest of the year.)



A week after the Dursleys' various incarcerations, news began to leak out to the magical community about them being punished for abusing and neglecting one Harry Potter. Within a day, the rumor mill went wild all over the magical community in Great Britain, but then after that, people began to change their minds as to the possibility that this could be the Harry Potter. Dumbledore himself was stupefied by how, ironically enough, witches and wizards all over the country simply refused to believe that their precious savior could be the nephew or cousin to this Dursley family. Both wizards and Mugglesalike had a tendency to believe the worst things they heard, especially when it was fed to them by media who did not mind spinning off the most outrageous and attention-seeking "news" they could, but how witches and wizards everywhere could so completely ignore the truth this one time when it was true... it truly boggled Dumbledore's mind. There was no way, they said, that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, who vanquished the Dark Lord You-Know-Who when he was only a baby, could have been left with a horrible and abusive Muggle family and be forced to act as their virtual slave. Even when Rita Skeeter tried to spin it off, every Wizardingmedia outlet refused to carry her story, from The Daily Prophet to Witch Weekly - by Merlin, even The Quibblerrefused to do so!



Dumbledore did not bother to correct them. Besides, Harry had been through enough already because of the Headmaster's indifference and ignorance of the situation; the last thing he needed was this public attention and humiliation with everyone knowing what he went through with the Dursleys. Dumbledore had already vowed to himself to make sure that no one else in the Wizarding world found out about Harry's ordeal; this simply made things a whole lot easier for him.



However, two other people new the truth, as they had also been there that night, nearly ten years ago, when Harry was left on his relatives' front doorstep. One of those two people had something to say to Dumbledore about it.



Professor Minerva McGonagall walked towards Dumbledore's office late one Friday afternoon after classes. For an entire day, she kept herself composed and looking calm after seeing something in a Muggle newspaper which otherwise made her want to go to Dumbledore's office straightaway and have afew serious words with him.



Dumbledore was in his office, in deep thought and contemplating whether or not to have a lemon drop, when the chime suddenly sounded. He suddenly jumped in shock, causing the precious lemon drop to fly from his hands and into the fireplace.



Sighing in exasperation, he just took his arm and swept the small jar of lemon drops off of the surface of his desk and to the floor. He did not even bat an eyelash as they made contact and scattered over the floor. "Come in," he said tonelessly.



Professor McGonagall entered, and gave a very peculiar look at the sight of an exasperated Dumbledore sitting at his desk, apparently not bothered by the fact that a small pile of his beloved Mugglecandies was lying on the floor.



"Albus?" she asked carefully. "Is something wrong?"



"Is there a reason you wanted to see me, Minerva?" he asked tonelessly as he just continued to look at his desk.



McGonagall was originally going to show Dumbledore the article in the newspaper and then question his wisdom in leaving Harry with his Muggle relatives all those years ago, but now, as she saw him look so lifeless and depressed, she just could not bring herself to do it.



"Yes, there was something I wanted to show you, although Iam not so sure if now is the best time..."



"Would it happen to have anything to do with young Harry Potter?" Dumbledore asked her.



She stared at him, dumbfounded, and wondering how he could have known how that was what she wanted to talk to him about. However, Dumbledore's next action explained that, as he took out a Muggle newspaper, which was identical to her own.



"I keep myself up to date with events in both worlds as well, my dear Minerva," Dumbledore said.



"Don't you 'dear Minerva' me," she snapped. Dumbledore took a moment to realize that she was treating him the same way she might treat a young, troublemaking student.



I suppose I had this coming, Dumbledore thought to himself, resigned to his fate. Although the last thing I need would be for Hagrid to find out...



But no sooner had he completed that thought than did he hear a series of faint tremors, as though someone was thumping across the ground...



Turning to gaze out the window, he could see Hagrid striding across the grounds towards the castle, and even from where he was sitting, Dumbledore could see a very serious expression on the caretaker's face.



I may as well wait for him to come here and join us, the headmaster thought with a sigh. That way, I'll only have to explain and defend myself once...



Soon enough, Hagrid entered the headmaster's office. Hagridwas obviously shaking with anger, but Dumbledore had a feeling that Hagrid was holding back from yelling at him only out of respect for him... and maybe because he didn't want anyone else to find out about the truth of Harry Potter's home life.



"Headmaster," Hagrid said slowly, but clearly angry. "Could yeh please explain abou' what I've bin hearin' abou'those Dursleys... an' Harry?"



Dumbledore took a moment to compose himself before answering either of them. "They were the only people I felt I could leave Harry with. There were no other living relatives on either side of his family... and Ithink we all remember what happened to his father's friends."



"There was no one else?" Hagridinquired.



"At least no one who could have exploited Harry or spoiled him," Dumbledore said seriously. "Not only were there still fanatically loyal Death Eaters out there, but also corrupt Ministry officials and other people who would have wanted to use the prestige of raising Harry Potter for themselves. Even perfectly honest and well-meaning families, grateful for Voldemort's downfall, could have ended up spoiling him.



"I made sure that he was left with his relatives for the sake of his own safety, so that he would know the truth when the time came. He survived because of his mother's sacrifice, and her love for him... this is what constitutes his blood protection with his aunt, his last remaining blood relative."



"Obviously he wasn't safe enough," Hagridgrunted. "Not from his own relatives!"



"That's not all," McGonagall added. "According to the Muggleauthorities, he had been missing for ayear! For the entire past year, when we thought he was with his relatives, he was on the run!"



Dumbledore didn't show any surprise, but the office's two other occupants quickly figured it out. "Yeh KNEW?" Hagridhalf-shouted. "Yehknew that 'e was missin' this whole time?"



McGonagall fixed Dumbledore with a glare so furious that he actually shrunk back in his chair.



"Curse it, Headmaster, I rescued Harry meself!"Hagrid ranted. "I took him from the ruins of the house... but I didn't do it just so he could suffer fer years with so-called 'blood relatives' who hated him! When I think about wee Harry and how he must have felt growin' up with 'em... oh Merlin, poor little Harry..."



Hagrid actually broke down crying, and as he pulled out a big handkerchief to dab his eyes, McGongallput a reassuring hand on his arm. "There, there, Rubeus," she said reassuringly. "Why don't you wait outside? We can have a nice cup of tea in my office..."



Hagrid nodded, unable to articulate anything coherent from his weeping, and left the office.



Turning her attention back to Dumbledore, she carried on instead. "Did you reallythink those Dursleyswould just accept him right away, just like that?"



"Perhaps not, Minerva," Dumbledore admitted, "but I had to give them the chance to come to accept him for who and what he was... a wizard who was also their blood kin."



"Albus," she groaned as she pinched the bridge of her nose, "I know how you feel about giving people second chances, and how people tend to improve themselves after learning from their mistakes - and don't get me wrong, because I've seen you turn around lives in ways I would have never thought possible - but really, this was one mistake you should have seen coming and should have been able to easily avoid."



"I suppose so," Dumbledore said quietly, looking down at the surface of his desk.



"And what happens when people find out the truth about Harry Potter?" she demanded of him. "What if he doesn't show up at Hogwarts like he should? What if something happens to him? What if he gets killed, Merlin forbid?"



Her voice became increasingly more strained with each possibly outcome. She herself couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to James' and Lily's son.



"We still have more than a few months before the start of the next school year," Dumbledore reminded her. "But if we still cannot find Harry by then, or if something happens to him first, Merlin forbid... then I just may have to face the consequences of my actions."



McGonagall noticed how she said "I" and not "we."



"For all of our sakes, Albus, I hope you're right about this..."



"So do I, Minerva... so do I."








"Hell" can be something of a flexible term or idea for various kinds of people.



In the religious sense, it is that place where evil and wicked people go after they die to suffer for the sins which they committed while they were alive. In many faiths and cultures, especially those in Europe and Asia, such as the Greek culture and its Tartaros, Hell was a place of eternal fire where people burned for their sins. Yet in other cultures, such as the ancient Mayan culture, Hell was a dreary, miserable, watery realm known as Xibalba. Still other cultures believed that evil souls were tormented or destroyed by evil demons of their own creation.



A few people had also described through their art, writing, and other works what their own Hells would look like, at least in their opinion. The Florentine poet Dante Aligheri, for example, wrote in his Divine Comedy about a multi-layered hell, at the bottom of which was an icy-cold lake where traitors would sink, since treachery was often the worst sin or crime which a person could commit.



Even within all these tales, there were stories of individuals who suffered in their respective Hells. In Greek mythology alone, there was a whole showcase of such characters: Tantalus, king of Thebes, who wanted to give the gods his best and thus served up his son, Pelops, as a human sacrifice, now forced to stand in a pool of water which receded every time he tried to drink some and under a fruit branch which moved out of the way every time he reached for it (and from whose name the word "tantalize" is derived); Ixion, the father of the centaurs, who made advances on Hera, queen of the gods, and was now forced to run about while harnessed to a big flaming wheel; and Sisyphus, the shrewd and wily king of Corinth, who outwitted and outsmarted the gods themselves on many occasions, who was now forced to push a boulder up a hill, only to have it roll back down again whenever he neared the top, as a way to keep him busy and prevent him from coming up with new tricks.



However, as people have often said, sometimes they go through waking, living hells of their own: Miserable experiences in their lives which they cannot escape from.



For one young boy in a mental hospital... his own personal Hell was a small white room, with a few furnishings - a bed, a cabinet, and anightstand - all of which were bolted to the floor or to the wall, and his only possessions were the clothes he wore, which technically belonged to the facility.



Dudley Dursley was in hell.



After his parents had been arrested, some strange people had escorted him to a van, asking him to come with them while everything was sorted out. Dudleyhesitated for a moment, but then agreed.



But once Dudley was in the back of the van, and he asked where they were going, they didn't answer him at all. He began to yell and scream at them while reserving enough energy for a tremendous tantrum later, but they just kept driving anyway.



Sometime later, the van pulled up to the heavy metal gates to a building which gave an uncomfortable feel to anyone who just looked at it. For a few seconds, Dudleycould read the sign over the gates:



ST. BRUTUS' SECURE CENTRE FOR INCURABLY INSANE CRIMINAL BOYS



Dudley gasped in horror. His father told him about this place, and how it would be a perfect place for the freak to go to. Surely they couldn't be trying to send him there!



Flying into a rage, he unleashed all his pent-up rage and tried to escape from the back of the van. He actually managed to shake the van a little, as well as put a few dents in its interior as he tried to break out like some hero in one of those movies which he liked to watch so much. When the two men in the front of the van got out and walked around to open the back, Dudley felt elation: He was finally getting out of here!



As the van doors opened, Dudleytried to rush out...



Yay, I'm free!



...Only to get himself stunned by the driver with a taser like the kind which the police used.



Satisfied that this delinquent boy wouldn't be causing any more trouble, at least for a little while, the two people simply shut and sealed the back doors again, got back in the front, and drove the van through the gates.



"Hey, you do know we're not supposed to use or even have those things, right?" the other man up front asked the driver. "Where did you even get that thing to begin with?"



"Eh, my brother is a copper," the driver explained smugly. "Besides, the little punk had it coming, anyway."



Dudley was not unconscious, mainly because of all his layers of fat protecting him, but he lay on the floor, breathing heavily and feeling pain all over his body. He couldn't even lift his head.



After the van went through the gates, the heavy metal gates themselves slammed shut with a thunderous and unpleasant sound, and Dudley could feel his chances for escape vanish with that.



From there, Dudley's memory blurred into a montage of scenes... him being escorted into the building by guards... him being forced to undergo a physical examination... and finally, him being given his own private little room.



Oh, how he hated this room. How he hated this place. How hated what his life had become!



The worst part of all was that he could never get what he wanted. No nice new clothes, no small mountains of any good food, no toys, no television sets, computers or other electronic devices... there was absolutely nothing which he might want.



Dudley was hardly the smartest boy around, but he was devious enough to know certain tricks and tactics to get what he wanted. Barely aday after his arrival at St. Brutus', he threw a nice big tantrum, with the works. But nothing happened. So, Dudleytried it again... and again... and again. In fact, he must have thrown at least a dozen different tantrums, all within aweek, and nothing happened.



Well, something did happen... but all he saw where emotionless doctors, workers and orderlies observing him and his behavior as they scribbled notes on their clipboards.



When his tantrums didn't work, Dudley tried whatever else he could think of: He screamed, he cried, he threatened, he begged... he said whatever he could think of to make them do somethinghe might like, to make them unlock the door or let him go. He even yelled every foul and profane word he could think of at these people - and he knew quite a lot of them, thanks to his father - but even those didn't seem to bother these people.



For once in his life, Dudleycouldn't get his way, and it infuriated him to no end. What he wanted and what he received were two completely separate and different things.



The first day alone was horrible. He was woken up early in the morning by ahorrible-sounding buzzer which made him feel as though something was stabbing at his ears. One of the orderlies unlocked his door and told him that he would get breakfast... but first, he had to make his bed.



Dudley gaped at the orderly incredulously, and spent the next several minutes ranting and raving, trying to explain to the orderly that he didn't need to do chores like make beds, because his parents told him he was special, and at his house, it was the freak who was in charge of doing that...



But the orderly did not even so much as refute Dudley's claims on how things were supposed to be, let alone speak at all. He just gazed at Dudley expectantly.



Seeing that he was getting nowhere like this, Dudley conceded, swallowed his pride, and for what must have been the first time in his life, he made his bed.



Dudley was looking forward to breakfast - the thought of food to consume - but was appalled by his measly little serving of a mouthful of scrambled eggs, a strip of bacon and a slice of toast. He easily ate it all in one gulp- anyone witnessing it could swear that he inhaledit all - and immediately demanded more. But alas, and to no avail, he was unable to get any more food for breakfast.



After that, he was returned to his room, where he was let out again for lunch and escorted to the cafeteria, returned to his room again, let out again for dinner, and returned to his room once more for the rest of the evening and night.



It went on like this for a week, and no matter what Dudley did or tried to do, he could not get his way at all or get the people in charge to budge a single inch.



No television, no mounds of food and snacks, no toys, no nice clothes, no house, and no Mummy and Daddy to give him whatever he wanted...



Indeed, Dudley Dursley was in his own personal little Hell.



More than a week after he first arrived, he finally tried to get away with something. During breakfast, he tried to swipe another child's food.



"What do you think you're doing, piggy?" growled a voice behind him.



Dudley froze and nearly wet his pants. Gulping and slowly turning around, he saw Bubba, an enormous fourteen-year-old even bigger than himself, although not as fat.



"Oh, I um," Dudleystammered.



"You were trying to take my food," Bubba stated flatly.



Acting impulsively, Dudleyacted quick, trying to snatch up the food, shove it in his mouth and consume it before Bubba could do anything about it.



Dudley thought that he could get away with it... but Bubba's hard fist to his face and subsequent bloody nose proved that he couldn't.



The food fell to the floor, completely ruined and inedible now, and Bubba knew that he wouldn't be getting another serving because of this little confrontation, but that was fine by him: As far as Bubba was concerned, this was worth it. Besides, he was trying to go on a diet, anyway.



"Now you listen to me very carefully," Bubba said in adangerously low voice as he leaned closer to Dudleyuntil their faces were barely inches apart. "You may have been the special kid where you came from, but here, you're nobody, but just another kid, just like the rest of us. You get treated the same way as us, and you do the same things as us. You got that, piggy?"



With his survival instincts kicking in, Dudleynodded furiously, his many chins wobbling as he did so.



"Good," Bubba said with a satisfied smile which only scared Dudley more. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding, Piggy."



At this point, the orderlies came in and escorted both boys back to their respective rooms. Bubba offered no resistance, but Dudley fought back as he unsuccessfully tried to seize the opportunity to do something.



Once he was back in his room, Dudley's patience finally snapped. Not caring that his room and everything in it were made of steel, concrete, plastic, and other such materials which could resist him, he finally threw a tantrum as he punched his firsts at the bed, kicked the nightstand, and even banged his own head against the wall, until his knuckles and forehead became bloody.



As Dudley lay on the floor, feeling exhausted from the tantrum (or maybe it was also the blood loss?), the door was unlocked and orderlies came rushing in.



Finally, I'm getting out of here, Dudley thought happily through the haze in his mind, before he fell unconscious.



When he came to again, he felt himself lying on acomfortable surface with something warm wrapped around him.



Maybe I'm home, Dudley thought to himself hopefully. Maybe I'm lying in my bed in my room in my house, with all my stuff around me, my mum and dad downstairs waiting for me for breakfast, and this was all just a bad dream...



(However, unbeknownst to either Dudley or Bubba, both of their parents had already met each other in their respective facilities, and already had become well-acquainted, especially after Bubba's father trashed Dudley's father in a brawl, and Bubba's mother had slapped around Dudley's mother. While Bubba's family had their own problems and issues, they absolutely detested and abhorred child abuse and neglect, and instantly hated the Dursleys with a passion for how they treated their nephew, young Harry Potter.)



However, as he tried to use his arms to lift himself up, he found out that he couldn't; his arms were stuck to his sides for some reason.



As he opened his eyes and became more alert, he took in the situation and began to understand, much to his growing horror and despair.



He was dressed in a straightjacket, lying in a padded cell.



Dudley couldn't even find the strength or the will power to throw any kind of tantrum. He just sat there, sniffling quietly, bemoaning what his life had become.



And all that while, he just kept thinking to himself, over and over again...



I want to go home, Iwant to go home, I want to go home...



But through it all, Dudleypersisted in thinking about one thing: His freakof a cousin and how unhappy he deserved to be.



I hate that freak... that freak doesn't deserve to be happy... I hope that freak will never be happy again...








Soon enough, Harry had recovered from his final encounter with the Dursleys, and he was back to his normal, happy, Dursley-free self.



However, something still gnawed at him...



"Pim?" he said aloud one day, knowing that his magical mentor and guardian would hear him.



"Hmm?" Pim said, his avatar appearing not too far from where Harry stood.



"I've been thinking about something... about what my aunt told me that day," Harry said slowly. "I didn't believe what she said about my parents - especially some of the nastier things about my mother - but what if she was telling the truth about at least some things?" After a small pause, Harry then added, "In order to tell some lies or twist the truth around, she would have had to know the truth to begin with, right?"



Ah, sharp boy, very wise, Pim thought. "That is a very good point, Harry."



"Thanks, Pim. So... what do you think?"



Pim thought about it for a moment or so. "Well, as far back as ancient Rome, I recall there being a yearly schedule for the first magical schools and institutions, much like your modern school system, where students went for most months of the year to study and learn, except for a few during the summer, when they would help on their families' farms.



"If a term for Hogwarts really does start this September, then there may not be much time left for you to register at the school. We may have to act fast."



"But what would you have me do?"



"Harry... is your birthday not the day after tomorrow?"



Harry quickly did the arithmetic within his head. Yes, it was indeed the twenty-ninth of July. Soon enough, it would be his eleventh birthday.



"Yes... why, what do you have in mind, Pim?"



"Well, I have been thinking about it, Harry... I think part of the reason no one has been able to find you here is because of the wards, and while that has been absolutely vital and useful for your own protection, it has also been impeding the ability for anyone to get in contact with you when they probably have good reason to do so. So... how about you stay somewhere for a day or so, see if anyone comes along?"



Harry thought it over. "It's an interesting idea, Pim... but I don't think I'm just going to go where there are lots of people around and just wait for anyone to come along to find me."



"Good thinking, Harry."



"So... know of any good isolated places where I can hang around, see who comes by?"



Pim looked thoughtful. "You know something? I think I know just the place... Pack your things, Harry, and make sure you have enough to last for a day."



"Okay, sure... but may I ask what your plan is?"



"My plan is to have you wait somewhere for twenty-four hours- one full day - just to see if these other wizards can find you. That way, you can make sure that whoever is trying to contact you from this school has a chance to do so."

"Actually, that reminds me," Harry spoke up. "I was thinking about something... you don't mind me going to this school?"



Here, Pim noticed how Harry looked a little worried as to how Pim himself might react to his wanting to go elsewhere as well as the Tower of Pime.



"Of course not," Pim replied, looking completely fine with it. "You cannot stay cooped up in this tower for years to come. Besides, I'm sure magic has changed and advanced so much in the past fifteen hundred years that you're going to need to learn about it from other people as well. Obviously, you can still come back home for the summer and other holidays. You certainly need not ask for my permission to go there."



"Thanks, Pim," Harry said, smiling.








A few hours later, close to midnight, Harry was sitting in asmall hut on a rock out at sea. Pim told him that the old man who owned this hut was away for the week, so Harry could just stay there for a day and leave without any trace that he was ever there at all.



One of those small white lights which Pimused on more than one occasion to transport Harry to the tower was hovering in mid-air, and Pim magically spoke through it.



"Very well, Harry... you have some food to eat for the next day, a sleeping bag... and oh yes, before I forget... here is something which Imade long ago, which you might want to use for the day..."



Another dot of white light appeared above Harry, and something magically fell out of it. Harry caught the object and looked it: It was a small black stone, circular and smooth. It was a little larger in diameter than the size of his palm, and was as thick as his hand. It was basically a disc.



"This will start counting down at midnight, and will help you keep track of the time until it has been twenty-four hours," Pim explained. "If nothing happens after twenty-four hours, then just collect your things and use your Recaller to return home."



"Of course, Pim."



"Will you be able to keep yourself busy in the meantime?" Pim asked. "I noticed that you did not bring any books with you."



"I dunno, I figured that the less I have with me, the better. Besides, if anyone sees my stuff, especially the stuff which belongs to you, they may I ask where I got it from."



"Ah, very good thinking, Harry. But are you sure you will not be bored?"



"I'm sure my imagination will be enough, but thanks for asking, Pim."



"Indeed. It will be midnight in less than a minute, and the chronometric device which I left you will begin working then. If there is nothing else..."



"I'll be fine, but thanks again, Pim."



"Good luck, Harry."



"Thanks."



With that, the white light disappeared, and Harry was by himself.



Moments later, Harry saw the numbers appear on one side of the disc. The way there were displayed in white against the black surface and how they were counting down, second by second, reminded Harry of a digital clock or watch.



Well, I have a long day of waiting ahead of me, Harry thought as he yawned. Might as well pass a good chunk of the time by getting some sleep.



He set up his sleeping bag, crawled inside of it, put his glasses on the side, and was asleep within minutes.








It was after daybreak when Harry woke up. He consulted the enchanted stone which Pim lent him: It was about nine in the morning.



Well, only fifteen hours to go, Harry thought optimistically.



Just then, he heard something at the window.



He turned around at the tapping sound... and saw an owl.



It was also an owl with a letter in its beak.



As Harry walked over, the quickly surmised that perhaps modern-day wizards used owls to deliver their mail. Then again, he really wasn't all that surprised: As far back as ancient Greece, some people had used carrier pigeons. As a matter of fact, the use of carrier pigeons to deliver messages helped win certain battles in history, even in more recent wars like World War Two.



He opened the window to let the owl in, and it dipped its head, offering the letter to Harry.



"Thank you," he said politely to the owl. The normally-nocturnal bird hooted something back in the Strigine language which owls spoke, which basically translated to "You're welcome."



Harry looked down at his letter. It was in a thick parchment, addressed to him in green ink. On the back there was aseal, showing a crest with a lion, a badger, an eagle, and a snake. There was no return address and no stamp.



However, Harry also noticed something else, especially about the address...



Mr. H. Potter

The Biggest Bedroom

Hut-on-the-Rock

The Sea



Interesting, Harry thought. Well, I guess I better see what's inside.



Opening it up, he took out a piece of parchment and read it.



HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY



Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore



(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)



Dear Mr. Potter,



We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into Hogwarts Schoolof Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.



Yours Sincerely,



Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress



Questions were forming and multiplying like rabbits within Harry's mind.



"What do they mean by 'await my owl'?" Harry asked aloud.



The owl, which had been patiently sitting there that entire time while Harry was reading his letter, hooted and gestured at the envelope. "Actually, there's something else in there, take a look," he said in Strigine. Looking inside, Harry could see a small slip of parchment inside, separate from the letter.



We have been trying to get in contact with you for some time now. If you have safely received this letter, then please return this slip back with the owl as confirmation, and stay where you are until someone comes to get you.



Harry also noticed that it was written in a different hand than the acceptance letter, and that there was no signature to it.



Harry was inclined to do as the letter said, and return the slip back with the owl to whoever was at Hogwarts. But then he thought about the part about someone coming to get him; for some reason, that idea did not reassure him... but then again, he figured that he could just use his Recallerto escape if someone tried to keep him under guard or something, if it came to that (The Powers That Be forbid!).



With that idea in mind, he gave the slip back to the owl by itself and said, "Here, you can take this back."



"Thank you!" the owl hooted happily as it accepted the slip back and flew back outside and out of view.



As Harry watched it fly away, he also saw a lot of dark clouds on the horizon. As the hours passed, he would see it come ever closer to where he was.



Yay, a storm, Harry thought to himself. Should make this even more fun.



Harry sat down to have his packed breakfast, which was in acompletely separate bag from what would be his lunch and dinner later on. After enjoying an apple and a chunk of cheese, he tossed the apple core out the window and into the sea to let the birds, fish, or other local creatures have something to eat, and sat down on his duffel bag.



Whoever is coming to get me, I hope they come here soon.



He consulted Pim's time-telling disc only every hour or so. With nothing else to do, he just napped and daydreamed.


It was around lunchtime when he thought he first heard thunder in the distance. He strode over to the window to look outside, and he saw the approaching storm clouds give of a flash of lightning.



One, two, three, four, five... Harry mentally counted in his head. Five seconds after he saw that flash of lightning, he heard the thunder following it. It's about a mile away, then, he concluded.



Harry learned somewhere, most likely through his own independent studies, that sound traveled at approximately seven hundred and sixty miles per hour, and thus took approximately five seconds just to travel one mile. So, as the hours went by and the storm came closer, Harry used this knowledge to calculate roughly how far away it was and how close it was coming.



Ah well, at least Ihave my own light show as part of some free entertainment, he thought optimistically as he had his lunch (some milk and a small bunch of grapes with a slice of bread).



It was late in the day, roughly sunset, when the storm was quite literally at his shore, at this rock in the sea. As Harry was taking out his supper, he listened to the storm, this natural albeit harsh symphony of rain pounding on the hut, winds blowing against it, and lightning striking very close to it, followed by its loud thunder.



As Harry had his supper (another slice of bread, some nuts, and a delicious orange), he was completely at ease with the storm. However, barely a minute after he finished his dinner, one particularly strong lightning strike took place just over or near the hut. He couldn't stop himself from jumping at just how intense it sounded; it almost sounded as though something enormous and loud would rush straight through the hut at any moment!



As the rumbling receded and ceased, Harry laughed nervously and calmed himself down. It was nothing to worry about.



As the night went on, the thunder and lightning drifted further away, but the rain kept on coming down and the winds continued to howl in their almost unearthly song. Harry merely continued to glance at the time on the enchanted stone. He wanted to stay up until midnight, until twenty-four complete hours had passed... then he could leave, if whoever was coming for him didn't show up first.



Besides... at midnight, it would be his eleventh birthday. He could just count down to celebrate, and assuming no one came by, he could just go back to the Tower of Pime, get some sleep, and then celebrate his birthday with Pim. Besides, Pim had hinted that he had something special for Harry when he returned. Harry wondered what it could possibly be...



Soon enough, it was nearly midnight, and there were only about a few minutes left. Ah, here we go, Harry thought, fighting off fatigue and sleepiness to stay up for it.



However, during those last few minutes before midnight, Harry thought he heard something outside...



Five minutes to go until midnight. Harry thought he heard something creak outside. He also hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in.



Four minutes to go. Maybe the roof wouldn't fall in after all...



Three minutes to go. Was that the sea which he was hearing, slapping hard on the rock like that?



Two minutes to go. What was that funny crunching noise outside? Surely the rock wasn't crumbling into the sea?



One minute to go. Sixty seconds... forty-five seconds... thirty seconds... fifteen seconds...



Almost there,Harry thought excitedly.



Ten seconds... nine... eight... seven... six... five... four... three... two... one...



BOOM.



Harry nearly jumped as high as he did when that lightning struck just over the hut. The hut shook again... but this time, it was definitely notbecause of lightning.



BOOM.



Someone was trying to get into the hut.








A/N: I think we can all guess what happens next...



Regarding the chapter title... I just thought it was fitting.



Personally, I like how Dumbledore's nightmare turned out. (Also, I hope I didn't confuse anyone too badly with it.)



As for the magical community refusing to believe the shocking truth this one time... how's THAT for a kicker? Yeah, I did it because I couldn't have the Wizarding world know about Harry's life with the Dursleys, or both worlds tearing each other apart over it.



For some reason, I decided to show what the Dursleys' new lives were like, even though I had originally planned to not mention them anymore after the previous chapter. I have no idea what British prisons and mental facilities are like, and so I'm taking a few creative liberties, especially with that St. Brutus' place, which is as fictitious as Hogwarts itself, so let us not get hung up on things like "realism" too much. Oh, and Steve's Place pitched the idea of Dudley having to deal with some kid named "Bubba"... I just took the idea one or two steps further with bringing in Bubba's own parents.



According to Peter Needham, who translates the HP books into Latin, the word for "owl" is strix, strigis. From that, I got "Strigine."



The thing with how loud lightning can sound when it's right on top of you... take it from me, I've experienced that before. It almost sounded like a freight train was coming through!



You know what to do... review!



-Quillian

(First posted: March 18, 2007)

(Last edited: August 22, 2007)