Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
Chapter 3
The Endless Possibilities of Floo Powder
The late August morning dawned bright and clear as Harry awoke. His owl, Hedwig, was perched upon the open windowsill, snowy white wings held wide to maximize her exposure to the sun. He would have thought she was attempting to sunbathe, but experience had taught him that she often assumed this posture when returning from a hunt -- something to do with the coldness and damp that permeated her delicate feathers as she swooped through the pre-dawn mist.
Other than the occasional hoot from Hedwig, the house at number four, Privet Drive seemed unusually quiet this morning. He slipped into the discarded clothing from last night and trooped down the stairs. He found both the living room and kitchen deserted as he helped himself to breakfast. This was becoming the routine over the summer weeks, he thought; much more the rule than the exception.
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had suddenly decided that their precious son, Dudley, was destined for higher learning “ despite his threatened expulsions from the prestigious Smeltings Academy during each of the last four years. Since this was Dudley’s last summer before graduation, his parents had devoted themselves wholeheartedly to obtaining him a University appointment.
It was not going well, thought Harry wryly; not that they would ever concede that Dudley just wasn’t University material.
What had started out as weekly interviews with various admissions boards had quickly morphed into more frequent and frantic attempts. Having received no interviews with any of the premier Universities throughout Britain, Dudley and company had quickly exhausted the second- and third-rate institutions. They were now reduced to applying to trade schools where, Harry surmised, they probably should have started in the first place.
The upshot of the Dursleys’ new obsession was that Harry had often been left to putter around the house alone while Aunt Petunia accompanied Dudley to his next interview and Uncle Vernon went to work at the drill factory. Of course, Uncle Vernon had left him terse instructions from the start that he was to have no visitors, particularly any of his “weird friends” as he liked to refer to the wizarding community, no deliveries of any sort to his doorstep (the emphasis was always apparent), and was not to leave the house under any circumstances. Then they had locked him in and not left him with the key.
Now that the absences were much more routine, his uncle had shortened his exit tirade considerably. Still he liked to make his point before leaving for work each day by shaking a fat finger in a menacing manner while locking his porcine eyes onto Harry’s green ones.
Harry accepted all of this in stride. Considering the past abuses he had suffered at the hands of his relatives, this was just a minor inconvenience. That his aunt and uncle had not thrown him out on the street after his seventeenth birthday last month was an unexpected bonus that he did not want them to rethink. The obligation that his mother’s untimely death had imposed on her sister, Petunia, had expired when Harry reached his age of maturity. In the wizarding world, maturity was bestowed at seventeen “ a fact that Professor Dumbledore had made clear to his aunt and uncle during an unprecedented visit last summer.
Despite the fact that Dumbledore’s attempts at a civilized conversation had been blatantly ignored, Harry was certain that his aunt’s methodical mind had filed every scintillating fact away, the better to taunt Harry with if the opportunity presented itself. Yet, neither she nor Uncle Vernon had made the slightest move to evict him as he had expected on the last stroke of midnight on July 31. Perhaps in their obsession with Dudley’s University career, it seemed like too much extra trouble. After all, they had made ignoring his presence in their home into an Olympic event. Nevertheless, their apathy had unintentionally served Harry’s purposes: as long a he could still call Privet Drive “home”, the ancient magic that protected him from harm held true.
Besides, Harry had long ago prepared for such circumstances by obtaining a supply of magical Floo Powder. He had stowed the little pouch among his other treasures under the loose floorboard in his bedroom. Why, he had even assisted Uncle Vernon in renovating the boarded up chimney that had been mangled by the Weasley family’s disastrous arrival via the Floo Network a number of summers ago.
Always swayed by the latest Muggle fad, Aunt Petunia had insisted that she wanted all the fireplace bricks returned to working order so she could install a large wrought iron stand with candles in place of the customary andirons. It was necessary to completely unblock the chimney to allow the heat and smoke generated by the candles to dissipate into the air.
She never suspected that the entire incident had been orchestrated by Harry himself. After witnessing the possibilities of magical Floo Powder for communication as well as transportation, Harry had concluded that this avenue would be ideal for him should he ever be caught in emergency circumstances. But if Uncle Vernon had insisted on boarding up the fireplace as before, he knew that his dreams of Floo freedom would go up like so much smoke.
In the end, it had just been a matter of leaving the Muggle home magazines and mail order catalogs open to the pages depicting the wrought iron fire stands. Even their neighbor, Mrs. Figg, had commented on the magazine photo and confided to Aunt Petunia that their fireplace was ideal for such a treatment. Good, old Mrs. Figg had been interceding on Harry’s behalf even back then. Only recently had she admitted that she had been assigned by the Order of the Phoenix to keep a watchful eye on him while he was in residence at Privet Drive. That she had been born a Squib only made her cover that much more believable to the Dursleys, who would surely have been suspicious if they sensed anything remotely magical about her.
But despite all of his advance preparations, Harry had not had the luxury of using the Floo Network prior to this summer. There had always been someone about or due back at any minute. It had not taken long for Harry to conclude that these interviews were often day long affairs as his cousin and aunt were often indulged in grand tours of the institutions who dreamed of wooing their tuition money “ that is, until they actually sat down to review Dudley’s school transcripts.
He knew that even now, the golden days of liberty could suddenly come to an abrupt end. Sooner or later the interviews would cease as Dudley either met with success, or more likely, despaired of finding any school willing to count him among their alumni.
Consequently, from the day of Dudley’s first interview, Harry has wasted no time in contacting his friends via Floo for a welcome bit of conversation. Once it was evident that he would have the entire day to himself, they had expanded their horizons by planning their reconnaissance of the Black townhouse and spending many an afternoon together playing improvised Quidditch matches or simply lounging in the sunlit backyard at the Burrow.
Despite his newfound freedom, Harry did not dare to stray too far into unfamiliar terrain. He was only too aware that evil intentions could lurk behind the most innocent wizard’s façade. Prudently, he had notified the Order and obtained an official escort each time he ventured away from Privet Drive. A direct consequence of which was that he had learned that Mad-Eye Moody was relentless as a Beater and that Hestia Jones could spin the most outrageously funny tales when prompted by a goodly amount of butterbeer. Kingsley Shacklebolt had even taken a turn, although he had admitted he was often too tied to his desk job to get away.
Surprisingly, he had not been assigned to Nymphadora Tonks all summer long. Remus Lupin, he could understand, as he was still probably undercover among the werewolf community. But Tonks? She had always been the first one to volunteer for “Harry duty” as she liked to call it. All of his polite inquiries on her behalf had been turned away with an explanation that she was on a secret mission in a remote locale. Something about this seemed more like an excuse than an explanation, but he couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason he felt this way.
Although the ubiquitous presence of a bodyguard had not allowed them to mention Horcruxes by name, their lazy summer afternoons together had allowed them to conclude that they really had no idea where to resume their search. By mutual consent, they had agreed to place their other explorations (code name for Grimmauld Place) temporarily on the back burner “ at least until they were certain that the risk was truly justified.
Lately, Uncle Vernon had taken to accompanying Aunt Petunia to Dudley’s interviews as if his added bulk would somehow sway the minds of the registrars. The fact that they had left prior to sunup today bespoke of a long journey as Dudley’s potential schools ranged further and further from home. This had expanded Harry’s options considerably.
At Ron’s insistence this morning, he contacted Minerva McGonagall, now firmly entrenched as the new headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She temporarily connected her fireplace to the Floo Network so that Harry could visit her in her new office. They spoke of anything and everything that caught their fancy and Harry was surprised at how easy it was to speak his mind with her “ after all she was a teacher! The highlight of the afternoon was a resplendent high tea that rivaled the imagination of Lewis Carroll himself. It was served in a private garden to which only the headmaster or headmistress enjoyed unhindered access. He was pleasantly surprised that she had invited Ron and Hermione join them at the table; watching their awed reactions to the exotic surroundings had made Harry chuckle lightheartedly.
“It’s my own private enclave,” Professor McGonagall admitted. “I never knew that it existed all these years; even though I understand that the teaching staff is not prohibited access as long as they are in my company.”
She suspected, though, that Professor Dumbledore had spent many hours in silent contemplation within its walls; often when people had simply assumed he was away on business. That he had sought the cultivating genius of Pomona Sprout, the resident Herbology teacher, was evident by the lush and fragrant vegetation, many of which had been transplanted from tropical climes.
“Students are not traditionally allowed to visit the garden,” she continued, “but I often think that many of the things that we take for rules are simply conventions that no one has considered abandoning. Hopefully, under my tenure at Hogwarts, I will be able to steer some things in new directions.”
Numerous times he bordered on confiding to her about the onerous Horcrux hunt that loomed before him, but thought better of it at the last minute. His first loyalty, he reminded himself, must always be to the memory of Dumbledore. Nothing in her words or demeanor suggested that she had any agenda of her own, but it was just too big a risk to take. He finally admitted that he wanted to take some time to trace his family’s roots this fall, but that was as close to his true intentions that he felt comfortable sharing with
anyone other than Ron and Hermione.
Not surprisingly, she suggested that he begin his search in the Hogwarts library. She even offered to give him unlimited access to the restricted section, as which point he could have sworn he’d seen Hermione noticeably swoon.
Neville would swoon at this garden, Harry couldn’t help but think. Not that he would ever be presumptuous enough to voice that to the headmistress. She had given the three of them a rare gift indeed and he would not impose further on her generosity.
Demonstrating that she had given the subject a great deal of thought, Professor McGonagall outlined an unprecedented agenda of individualized studies that she was prepared to offer each of them if they agreed to return to Hogwarts in September. They would be allowed to set their own subjects, their own timetables, their own goals. They would be permitted to leave the grounds for outside research, but only after obtaining prior approval of a Hogwarts teacher or herself. Remembering Dolores Umbridge’s reign of terror, Harry was able to negotiate that the approval of a member of the Order would suffice as long as notice was sent directly to the headmistress’ office. Turning to Hermione for guidance, she nodded to indicate that she felt this would allow them enough of a loophole to deal with any untoward emergencies.
Taking a moment to steel himself, Harry presented his final roadblock. Speaking only for himself, he clarified, he wished to assume no other responsibilities to school activities or organizations that he would be forced to abandon if he had to leave in mid-term. He did not want any decisions he had to make to be colored by his desire to not disappoint others, he explained.
McGonagall raised a questioning eyebrow at this last point. She was even more surprised when similar requests were put to her first by Ron, and then by Hermione.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked each of them in turn. “Are you aware, Hermione, that we have no other clear candidates for Head Girl at this point?”
Hermione did not back down, however.
In the end, with all of their concerns addressed in turn, they agreed to Professor McGonagall’s proposal. The trio would be returning to Hogwarts for their seventh year “ even if it turned out to be only a temporary assignment.
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: While the Dursleys make plans for Dudley’s future, McGonagall presents Harry and company with a unique proposition that may allow them to enjoy the best of both worlds.