Fan Fiction ❯ Harry Potter and the Student of Memories ❯ Estranged Visitor ( Chapter 1 )

The sunlight was filtering down through the leaves of the trees.

 

There were still patches of grass that were brown from last year. Following the sidewalk to their driveway, and then up to the house.

 

Unlike everyone else's lawn. From the looks of things, they will still replacing theirs after last year's drought.

 

Harry Potter sighed heavily. This was turning into a wonderful day. He had been relaxing in the flower beds again.

 

Now, Harry Potter…. Well, one could say he was the black sheep of the family.

 

16, a scar across his forehead, hair that was tidy.

 

And most important of all, the main reason why he didn't have any real friends, he went to St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

 

But he did have friends. And he wasn't going to St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys.

 

You see, Harry was a wizard. Member of Gryffindor House, and student of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

 

A fact which, his aunt and uncle…., well, they would rather it remained hidden.

 

As such, the friends he did have, didn't exist.

 

After all, there's no such thing as magic.

 

“Gr'ia'n” he said softly, practicing the pronunciation. Why is it always so hard, remembering these spells?!?!

 

“Gr'ia'n…Gr'ia'n… Gr'ia'n… Gr'ia'n… Gr'ia'n… Gr'ia'n… Gr'ia'n.”

 

Something moved against his ear, rousing him from his slow chant.

 

One of the red flowers had grown… by at least three inches, it seemed.

 

Wandless magic. Something he hadn't thought to ask about until after coming back from school.

 

Whenever it actually happened, it was always by accident, and try as he might… it just wouldn't work when he wanted it to.

 

The bell rang, causing Harry to look up from where he had been `loitering' on his uncle's lawn.

 

Standing at the doorway of his uncle's house, was a boy his age, with short blond hair.

 

For a second, he thought it might be one of Dudley's friends. Then he noticed the boy's clothing. While it was obviously wearable, it was covered in rips and tears.

 

The white stitching was probably the only thing holding together the black material that his pants and jacket were made from.

 

He's in for it, Harry thought warily.

 

The door opened revealing Dudley. Heavyweight champion of his school boxing team, he wasn't losing girth anytime soon.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Can I speak to the man of the house?” the person asked.

 

“You're speaking to him.” Dudley told him, with a tiny sneer.

 

Silently, Harry wished him luck with whatever he wanted.

 

“Well then… cutey….” The boy said, sounding rather feminine. The sneer began to fade from Dudley's face. “If that's the case… do you want to talk about drills?”

 

“I-I-I,” Dudley swallowed, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. “I go get my, er, dad.”

 

Dudley was gone from the doorway, leaving the door wide open.

 

And if not for the short case of laughter that issued from the boy, Harry probably would have suffocated himself.

 

Fortunately, he stopped soon enough to not be noticed. Which, as it happened, turned out to be a good thing.

 

Uncle Vernon appeared in the doorway, just as the laughter died down. Purple faced, Uncle Vernon glared down at him, a vein standing out on his neck.

 

“I am not amused.”

 

“Are you the head of the house hold?” he asked. From the change in tone, Harry would have guessed the boy was embarrassed, maybe even a little intimidated.

 

“Yes, I am.” His uncle stated, a sneer appearing on his face. Watching his lips, Harry guessed Dudley learned his glare from his father.

 

“I'm here concerning one,” the boy riffled through one of his pants pockets, before reaching into his jacket, and producing a small pad of paper. He flipped open the cover, before replying, “Harry Potter. The Ministry of Ma-“

 

“NO SOLICITERS!!!” Uncle Vernon shouted, slamming the door in the boy's face.

 

“Well, that went well.” The boy muttered, putting the pad of paper away.

 

“Hey, er,” Harry began, climbing to his feet. The boy turned in his direction, noticing him for the first time. “You're from the Ministry?”

 

The last part came out as a bit of a whisper. While he doubted the Ministry would be angry with him for simply mentioning its' name, he wasn't in a hurry to go back there again. Especially not after Sirius…

 

“Is your uncle always such a bitch?” he asked, a definite American note to his voice.

 

“Er, yes, well, about why you're here-“

 

“Yeah, one second.”

 

Standing to his full height, from his slouched position, he appeared much older then before. As he gently combed his fingers through his hair, a definite illusion of maturity appeared.

 

“Yep, Illusions are fun, aren't they?”

 

Harry took a step back, looking at the boy again. The once slouching youth, with blond hair and a black stitch jacket, was replaced by a tall man in a business suit.

 

He rapped at the door, the noise making it appear as though the entire door may come down.

 

“Mr. Dursley. This is the department of Human Rights.” He shouted through the door.

 

Uncle Vernon answered it again, this time carrying a bucket of cold water. Before he could through it however, the man caught it, letting it tilt onto Uncle Vernon's sweater vest.

 

“I, I thought you were someone else.” Uncle Vernon stuttered, uncharacteristically.

 

“Evidently.” The man said.

 

“Can I see some ID?” Uncle Vernon asked. His color began to return to normal, until the man produced one. Then it switched promptly from pale, to sheet white. “C-come in.”

 

The man entered, and Uncle Vernon quickly shut the door.

 

Harry was left torn between suspicion, dread, although it had nothing to do with Uncle Vernon's well being, and bursting into laughter.

 

In the end, he decided laughter, was the easiest of all things to do. Which he continued. For almost five minutes straight.

 

Slowly, he moved back into the shade of the tree. A small chuckle could be heard every now and then, as he thought about his cousin Dudley's frightened appearance, that came without the threat of bodily harm.

 

Or his Uncle Vernon's face, as he was threatened for committing… he didn't really say what he was in trouble for, but Harry had a few ideas.

 

All in all, a half hour passed, before any sign of life could be seen in front of the house.

 

The man opened the door, turning in his direction. When he stopped Harry, he stepped out onto the landing.

 

“Mr. Potter?” he asked, in a gruff voice, his face devoid of emotion.

 

“Er, yes?” Harry asked, standing up. Something about this was rather unnerving. Possible the fact that the 30 year old man in front of him had been 16 or 17 a moment ago.

 

“Go inside and pack your things. You're being moved to a more… secure facility.”

 

“Feel free to take him off our hands for good.” Uncle Vernon piped in from behind him.

 

“Sure. While we have very loose ties to social services, I'm sure we can take care of that. Of course, as you're his legal guardian, you may be required to pay for food, clothing, and private schooling depending on whether he's as much of a delinquent as you claim.”

 

“Or, you could return him after you feel I can take care of him.”

 

Harry walked calmly into the house, before starting up the stairs. On the sixth step, he turned, looking down at the teenager/man.

 

“Who will I be staying with?”

 

“Until further notice, I believe there is a person nearby that could take you in. A Mrs… Figg?”

 

Nodding, Harry continued up the steps.

 

When he reached his room, he started packing.

 

“Is the poof gone now?”

 

“He's an American Dudley.”

 

“Fine, is the fag gone then?”

 

Harry turned to glare at his cousin. Next time, he needed to remember not to give him any ideas. If he knew Uncle Vernon wouldn't forget Harry was a wizard, he might resort to other means in driving Dudley off.

 

At least he hoped the boy was pretending.

 

“Yes, he probably is. Uncle Vernon wanted to talk to you about him. Said I should tell you to see him.”

 

Dudley grinned at him, maliciously, before heading downstairs.

 

After Harry placed his last school book in the trunk, he followed.

 

“I don't know what you may have heard, BUT I would NEVER lock a child up under the stairs.”

 

The man glared at Uncle Vernon.

 

“The fact the your bribing me suggests…. Otherwise.”

 

Looking for a way out, Uncle Vernon spotted Harry coming down the stairs.

 

“Ah, your back Harry. Come, we wouldn't want to keep the nice Mr. Dugan waiting.”

 

“Yes, come Harry. Let's be off.” said Mr. Dugan.

 

Harry followed behind him, as they left.

 

Stepping over the threshold, into the world, Harry felt a sense of relief he didn't think he would feel since Dumbledore told him he would be stuck with the Dursley's for the entire summer.

 

It wasn't until they had reached another street that he felt safe enough to pose ask anything.

 

Even then, it wasn't him that posed the first question.

 

“So, how does one pound translate, when it comes to American dollars?”

 

“I think two dollars.” A minute passed, before he asked why.

 

“In agreement for not putting his only begotten fat ass son in a foster home, he gave me 500 pounds.”

 

“WHICH YOU WILL BE RETURNING TO THE MUGGLES RIGHT NOW!”

 

Harry jumped a bit, when he heard Mrs. Figg screech at Mr. Dugan.

 

“Ah, you must be Mrs. Figg.” He said, offering his hand. Mrs. Figg didn't take it, glaring at him.

 

“Weren't you told to come see me first? To think, you threatened them like that, and then took their money. Money is earned! What kind of example are you setting for young Harry?”

 

Mr. Dugan lost all sense of humor, his eyes turning to bits of ice, as he glared daggers at her…. And then it was gone. He grinned, before pulling a wad of notes out of his pocket.

 

“Your absolutely right Mrs. Figg. What kind of example am I setting for young Mr. Potter?” Putting the wad of money in the palm of Harry's left hand, he turned back to Mrs. Figg. “This is money that was labored over, and seeing as it was a bribe, in relation to Harry's childhood, it's only fair that I return it to him.”

 

“B-“ Mrs. Figg was dumbstruck. While she knew Harry's childhood was bad, she didn't think it was a good idea. There were some things that money couldn't fix.

 

“You still should be trying to set a good example. Honestly, a man your age.”

 

********

 

The last thing she expected was laughter in response.

 

“You're… you're right..” he was trying to keep from laughing, but this situation was just… perfect. “You're, you're right. I shouldn't be setting a bad example.”

 

She nodded, in quiet agreement, before a startled gasp escaped her mouth.

 

He wouldn't blame her. He knew he would be startled too, if Mrs. Figg turned out to only have been faking it.

 

He was now, himself. The illusion gone, he floated to the ground by five inches, while gently shaking out his blond hair.

 

“Nice to meet you Mrs. Figg. At AGE 16 and one third, you can call me Martin.”