A Stolen Past by nuw255
Chapter Notes: Harry accidentally lets something slip, causing him to learn a shocking lesson.
Sorry about the added wait on this one; my wife had surgery and I had to take care of her. Everything's fine now, though, so here it is!
Harry spent the next week at the Burrow with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, waiting impatiently for Ron and Hermione to return from school, and for Dumbledore to bring word of his efforts to expose Dolores Umbridge. He had been furious when the old Headmaster had explained to him that extracted memories were inadmissible in court, and that the Dursleys - as Muggles - would not be allowed to testify (though Harry doubted that they would have done so willingly anyway). Nevertheless, as he was unable to do otherwise, he spent his days helping Mrs. Weasley around the house, writing letters to Ron and Hermione, and wishing he knew what Dumbledore was up to.
One week after Harry’s visit to Privet Drive, Mr. Weasley came home from work dragging a large trunk and a birdcage. Harry immediately went to help him carry them inside.
“Can I help you with those, Mr. Weasley?” he asked.
Mr. Weasley smiled knowingly at him. “I should be asking that question of you - after all, they do belong to you.”
Harry looked more closely at the trunk and the cage, and it suddenly struck him that they were the same trunk and cage he had seen himself carrying in his aunt’s memory. “Where did you find them?” he asked in disbelief.
“Let’s get them inside, and I’ll explain everything.”
After hastily depositing the trunk and cage in the living room, Harry hurried into the kitchen, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were waiting. Mr. Weasley had a jubilant expression on his face, and seemed extremely keen to tell his story. Without saying a word, Harry sat down across from him and waited for him to begin.
“Amelia Bones, the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, gave me your trunk and Hedwig’s cage, Harry. Dumbledore convinced her to raid Dolores Umbridge’s home and office. Your things were hidden in her house. Your wand and everything else are inside your trunk - we don’t think anything is missing.”
“But- what’s that mean? Will I be getting my memory back now?” Harry asked hopefully. It was nice to have his trunk back, but it contained possessions that he didn’t even know he had. His memory was far more important than anything he could possibly own.
Mr. Weasley’s face fell. “Er- Not exactly,” he said. “Unfortunately, Minister Fudge claims that she’s been framed so, although he allowed your property to be returned, he’s doing his best to prevent charges being brought. I’m afraid that not even Dumbledore will be able to restore your memory without Umbridge’s wand, and until she’s convicted, we can’t lay a hand on it.”
“What?” Harry demanded. “You mean I’m stuck with no memory of my friends until some stupid politician decides to do the right thing?” He didn’t know much about politics, but he had often heard his uncle complaining about how long it took politicians to get anything done, and he didn’t have that kind of time. He had half a mind to storm out of the house in search of Umbridge that very minute, but unfortunately - fortunately for her - he had no idea where she could possibly found. Otherwise, he would already be on his way to steal her wand himself. .
“Well, I might not have put it exactly like that, but... yes,” replied Mr. Weasley. “I’m sorry, Harry, but it looks like it’s going to be a slow process.”
“Great,” Harry grumbled. “Perfect. I’ll just keep marking time until somebody who apparently hates me decides she wants to be nice and let me get on with my life.” Fuming, he pushed himself up from the table, knocking his glass to the floor and shattering it in the process. With a wave of his hand and a muttered, “Reparo,” he restored the broken glass and stormed out of the room.
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on Ron’s bedroom door. Harry, who was stretched out on Ron’s bed, ignored it. He was still stung by the injustice of his situation, and he didn’t feel like talking to anyone just yet. The door creaked open, but still he didn’t look up.
“Harry?” asked a hoarse voice. “May I interrupt?”
Harry finally sat up to see Professor Dumbledore standing just inside the room. “Er, sure,” he said.
Dumbledore twirled his wand, conjuring up a squashy purple armchair. As he sat down, he fixed Harry with an appraising stare. “I have just spoken with Arthur and Molly.”
Harry suddenly felt very ashamed of his outburst, and he looked down at his feet. “Yeah, er, sorry about that. I know you’re doing everything you can; it’s just frustrating that nothing’s really being accomplished yet.”
Dumbledore sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Harry, I want you to know that we all want very much to recover your memory. You must understand, however, that we cannot simply march into the Ministry of Magic and demand Madam Umbridge’s wand, no matter how much we all may want to. We simply do not have enough support on the inside to take such drastic actions. That doesn’t mean that we’re giving up on recovering your memory, only that we must tread cautiously until the time is right. Do you understand that?”
“Yes sir,” Harry said in a subdued voice.
Dumbledore continued staring intently at him. “As important as that understanding is, Harry, it is not the reason I am here. Molly tells me that you shattered a glass on your way out of the room.”
“I fixed it,” Harry replied indignantly.
“Exactly,” said Dumbledore.
Harry felt the blood drain from his face. “I did magic,” he whispered. “Mrs. Weasley told me that I can’t because I’m not of age, and then I did it right in front of her.”
“True,” Dumbledore responded with a slow nod of his head. “However, I find it more interesting that you were able to intentionally repair the glass without using a wand. Has this happened before?”
“Er- not exactly this,” Harry stammered, trying to stall for time. His ability to do magic without a wand was the last real secret he had left, and revealing it made him feel exposed and vulnerable. At length, he whispered, “You won’t tell anyone, will you?”
“No, I will not. In fact, I believe that - for the time being, at least - you would do well to keep this ability a secret from everyone. What else are you able to do without a wand, Harry?”
Harry shrugged. “Anything I can do with a wand, I guess.”
“Would you care to demonstrate a few spells for me?”
Harry crossed the small bedroom and closed the door. Pointing at the knob, he said, “Obfirmo,” and then jiggled it to demonstrate that it was locked. Satisfied, he added, “Alohomora,” and re-opened the door. “Anything else you’d like to see?”
“Perhaps you could defend yourself against this.” Dumbledore drew his wand more quickly than Harry would have thought possible for a man his age, and said, “Petrificus Totalus.”
“Protego!” Harry shouted, throwing his hands forward to deflect the attack.
“Very interesting indeed,” muttered the Headmaster. “I wonder, are you able to perform more than one spell at a time - perhaps one with your right hand and another with your left?”
“I’m not sure,” Harry said truthfully. “I think so. The only thing I remember doing like that is making an old marionette that the Dursleys gave me dance. I used five levitation spells - one from each finger on my right hand to each of its arms, legs, and head.”
“I see. Harry, have a seat.” Harry sat back down on the edge of Ron’s bed. “I was hoping not to have to explain this to you, but unfortunately, it appears that you may be without a memory for quite some time. I know that your friends, Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have warned you that a group of dark wizards are after you, so I won’t dwell on that. You need to know, however, that they are not your only enemies in this world. Sadly, there has been an ongoing effort to discredit you in the press for at least two years now.”
“Yeah, I know. They told me about that, too,” Harry replied.
“Good,” said Dumbledore. “Then you will understand why it is imperative that we keep your ability to do magic without a wand a complete secret. Anything out of the ordinary will immediately be seized upon as evidence that you yourself are a dark wizard, and we can’t have that.”
“So I was right to think that it’s unusual for somebody to be able to do magic without a wand?” Harry asked.
“Not unusual, no,” Dumbledore replied with a small laugh. “Unheard of. Impossible. Oh, some of us have learned to perform a few simple charms without our wands, but nothing near the level of a Shield Charm. In this regard, as in so many others, you are unique.”
“But if this is supposed to be impossible and I wasn’t able to do it before, how come I can do it now?”
Dumbledore smiled. “I’m afraid I can’t give you a definitive answer, but I do have a reasonable guess.” He paused for a moment as if collecting his thoughts. “Are you familiar with bumblebees, Harry?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Harry replied, completely bewildered by this unexpected turn in the conversation.
“Would you mind describing a bumblebee for me?”
“Well, they’re bigger than honey bees. They’ve got fat little bodies and stubby wings, and they like big bunches of flowers. What does this have to do with magic?”
Dumbledore ignored this question and proceeded with his explanation. “I don’t pretend to know much about Muggle physics, but I was once told by a friend that - because of its ‘stubby wings,’ its ‘fat little body,’ and its slow, lazy rate of buzzing - the bumblebee should not be able to fly. Of course, bumblebees know even less about Muggle physics than I do, so they go on flying anyway. You, Harry, are like a bumblebee.”
“You mean I can do magic without a wand because I don’t know it’s impossible?” Harry asked skeptically.
“Yes,” the Headmaster replied with a smile. “When Dolores Umbridge performed her rather shabby Memory Charm on you, she took your memory, but she inadvertently gave you the opportunity to develop this gift. Had the charm been stronger, as it would have been if performed by a professional, then you would not have had the dreams and flashes of remembrance that led you to begin experimenting with magic. Had it been any weaker, you almost certainly would have remembered that you needed a wand.”
Harry was stunned. Was it really possible that something good was coming out of this whole ordeal? Apparently, it was. “Thank you, Professor,” he said at last. “For not reporting me for underage magic, and especially for coming all the way out here just to talk with me.”
“It was my pleasure,” Dumbledore said as he got to his feet and Vanished his armchair, “but, alas, now I must go. Remember: not a word to anyone.” He left the room and started down the stairs.