RETURN TO SENDER
Standard Disclaimer: Don't own, just playing and having fun with characters and situations brought to life by both their original creators and those who had taken them to heart.
Author's Notes. If some parts of the chapter look familiar ... they are. I have made extensive use of Chapter 1 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone ... as with some other parts of canon, there are some things which are just perfect in terms of their writing - even parts of the last two books. Too bad that the epilogue does not form part of what I consider 'perfect' writing and characterization.
Hope you enjoy ...
Chapter Seven. All Saint's Day
Albus Dumbledore was having a bad day.
Or night.
Whatever.
His mind was a jumble, he wasn't sure what he was doing, he wasn't sure what day or even what time it was … and had he been dreaming earlier or what?
He couldn't have been dead, now could he? He couldn't have watched the utter destruction of his world, a world that he'd spent his life defending, in that huge cavern with all those strange contraptions, now could he? He hadn't just been berated by that little pipsqueak of a girl -
He shook his head. No matter - he was at Privet Drive now; all he needed was to fetch Harry and bring him along to see Slughorn, and then bring Harry to the Burrow to be smothered by Molly and …
He blinked. What the hell?
The thing in his hand - a Put-Outer? Didn't he leave that in his office as a bequest for Ronald Weasley … SHYTE!
Everything came together for him then - the darkened street, the familiar houses, the Put-Outer in his hand and … he peered down the street - the cat sitting stiffly on the fence in front of a particular house.
November 1, 1981. The night after Halloween.
Number Four Privet Drive.
Everything flooded back - Voldemort gone, baby Harry brought to Hogwarts by Hagrid, his mental and physical gyrations from London to Scotland and back as he set his plans into motion, issuing commands and instructions to his staff at the school, at the Ministry and to his Order …
And still the memories continued - the letter to Petunia in his pocket, the instructions to Arabella Figg to move to this neighbourhood, the upcoming trials of Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, Igor Karkaroff and so many others … the matter of Sirius Black … Harry's Hogwarts letters … the Philosopher's Stone … Riddle's Diary … Dementors … the Goblet of Fire …
He drew a deep breath and surreptitiously withdrew a vial from his robes. No lemon drops this time - and he paused. No matter that the lights were out, Minerva in her cat form could see what he was doing … but he shrugged it off. After the past twenty-four hours - or was it the past seventeen years? - he needed a clear head.
He downed the vial's contents and shuddered as it went down, grateful as ever that Severus had seen the Light and turned on his former master. The man was a genius with Potions - and what he'd imbibed was proof of that!
He began walking down the street and grinned at the surge of energy running through his body and his mind. As he took a deep breath, he ordered his thoughts …
Did it really happen? HADES, Valhalla, Hermione Granger … Gabrielle, Xena, the Time Tunnel … It had been so real …
Or was it? He heard the vials clinking in his pocket and shook his head. Severus had warned him about taking too much - but he'd had no choice! It was his burden and his responsibility - there was no one else who could do what he had to do. He'd borne the mantle of leadership for decades … and if he needed a little tipple of Severus' wonderful potions so that he can continue functioning …
'It's for the Greater Good,' he thought to himself, as he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it but after a moment he spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun.
She looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
He grinned to himself as he fell quickly into the routine he remembered so well - "My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
They continued as they had before - and that caught Albus Dumbledore short. How did he know what she was going to say even before she could say it? It sure as hell wasn't Legilimency, as he hadn't even attempted it.
Did that mean that he'd just had a … a vision of the future? It felt so real … but then the memories faded and he couldn't remember what they were exactly - was this how Seers felt? Knowing that they'd made pronouncements, predictions, prophecies - but then losing those memories immediately after?
Or was it something else?
He gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it, using the action to cover his confusion. Did this mean that everything that he thought was a dream … had actually happened? That the world he'd worked so hard to save was going to be destroyed?
Was this, in fact, a second chance for him to do what he had to in order to avoid that horrible, frightening fate?
If yes … what was he supposed to change? Where did he even begin to make the change?
"Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"
"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."
"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.
"Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"
"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."
"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall - Dumbledore stared at her as she ranted … listening as he listed his reasons, all the while that a niggling doubt began forming in his mind.
Was this really the best for the boy?
Yes, he told himself firmly, it would be best to keep him from his fame - as well as keep him safe from those who would either exploit him or kill him. Best for everyone that young Harry be kept hidden … allow their world to heal from the ravages of war and rebuild their lives.
They had a monumental task ahead of them. Their world was devastated - economy ruined, so many witches and wizards dead, tortured or who'd abandoned Britain … and those left just wanted to get on with their lives.
Harry would be a distraction - people will look at Harry and be reminded of his parents and their sacrifice, a constant reminder to people of what they had lost: husbands or wives, brothers or sisters, aunts or uncles …
They'll be baying like hounds for those who'd followed Voldemort and revelled in the bloodbath the maniac had unleashed - which would only devastate their world even more. He could almost see the headlines demanding the Veil for the Death Eaters as 'justice' for young Harry and his parents.
The problem was that those who'd be sent through the Veil were also those who had the means and capability to get Wizarding Britain up and running. To go after them was to destroy what was left - there would have been no one left to jumpstart their economy, no one to sit in the Wizengamot, no one with the experience to head the Ministry's departments …
And very few left to uphold the traditions and customs that had kept Magical Britain safe for the past millennia.
It would take years to rebuild. More, if all that he had left to rebuild were the muggleborns and muggle-raised who had no idea of their traditions, no understanding of their glorious history or even a modicum of appreciation for The Greater Good!
What will they do if the Dark Lord came back while they were still rebuilding? True, Voldemort won't have his original power base of rich and wealthy purebloods like the Malfoys … but his presence alone would have others flocking to his bloody banner.
The prophecy made it all but inevitable. He knew, the moment he saw Harry's scar, that the damned thing was well and truly in play - actually he'd known from the moment Severus came to him and confessed that he'd heard it and run straight to Voldemort … Harry's scar meant that Voldemort would come back …
And he had to prepare the boy for his destiny.
THAT was the end-all and be-all of his plans - Harry had to be ready for that final confrontation with Voldemort. The horcrux in his head led to only one scenario: he had to let Voldemort 'kill' him, destroying the final soul piece and rendering the bastard mortal, after which Harry, using the element of surprise, finally rids the world of the evil.
The magical world will have its Saviour - and the world he'd fought so hard for, suffered so much for, will be safe for another thousand years …
Lily's sacrifice had given their world at least ten years of peace - time enough to rebuild, to bring their economy back on track and most importantly, bring those who'd gone Dark back to the Light … Severus had done so, borne out of his unrequited love for Lily - why can't the others? Especially the Malfoys, Parkinsons, Crabbes, Goyles … ten years would be more than enough to reform them, right?
It was for the Greater Good, wasn't it?
Hiding Harry away would give him the time he needed - as well as giving their world a bright, shining icon of the power of Love over Hate, of the inevitability of Light winning over Dark … but it couldn't happen if Harry were around now. The boy would only be a distraction, a constant reminder of who they'd fought for and who had finally defeated their Dark Lord.
But in ten years, when he was ready to enter Hogwarts and return to the magical world and his destiny …
He nearly jumped when Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog. He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't even noticed Hagrid arriving with Harry - and was grateful for that overwhelming sense of déjà vu that had him responding in a way that would not draw suspicion from his companions.
"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall at Hagrid, "you'll wake the Muggles!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James dead - an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles -"
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life - and with a roar, hurtled down the road, having forgotten to set the thing for flight, not drive - right into the still-turning Dumbledore and McGonagall, sending both flying into the air, to land with a loud THUD on either side of the road.
He quickly braked and jumped off the motorbike, staring at the scene with horrified eyes before he whispered, "I should na ha' done that."
Unknown to him, in another dimension, an old wizard wearing flamboyant robes found himself holding a mop, alone on the greasy, muddy deck of a dingy, disreputable barge on a river as black as midnight. He blinked and asked, "What, in the name of Merlin's hairy balls, have I done now?"
In the Project Tic-Toc control room, a wide-eyed Xena turned to her partner and demanded, "You're not leaving the boy with Hagrid, are you?"
. oOo.
*R. Lupin walks off whistling into the sunset ...*
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