Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Harry Potter and the Ashes of Hope ❯ Chapter 10: Meeting 1 Seven years later ( Chapter 10 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

By now you all should know what I have to say...but because some of you are sticklers....

I don't own Harry Potter and please read the rest of the disclaimer in Chapter 1

Chapter 10

Meeting one

Seven years later...

In a small, cluttered, yet pleasantly colored office, Sara Lieberman sat in front of a desk full of legal papers. Sara's desk was covered in vacation souvenirs that she got from her honeymoon and picture frames that all bore either relatives or close friends. Between these sentimental trinkets that adorned her desk were an array of opened envelopes, government documents, and case files. All the photographs were still, all the envelopes had postage stamps, and all the documents were typed. Sara was a muggle.

It was this little fact about Sara, her muggle background and subsequent ignorance that a magical world even existed, that led to her complete bafflement over the case currently in front of her. She could not simply make heads nor tails over the case of one young John Doe.

John Doe was a ward of the British government. He had no reported family and no one had adopted him. Looking at a picture of the boy when he was about three, Sara could not understand why no one would adopt the adorable little boy. After all, he had a cute, round little face, boyishly handsome black hair, and striking green eyes. John Doe was the perfect image of what couples looking to adopt might desire in a child.

Nevertheless, his foster reports told separate tales. The boy's history itself was a mystery. He was found by a young man, Jackson Tulane, on the morning of July 31, 1997 and a medical examination revealed that he could not have been more than a couple days old at most, if even that. The child had been abandoned in a park in some city outside of London but did not appear to be in any poor condition as might be expected from an unwanted child. Rather, the boy was in perfect health. The most interesting thing about the child's discovery, however, was the bed of scorched grass on which he was found.

After ten weeks when no relatives had come forward to claim the child despite the numerous newspaper ads, the young boy became a ward of the British government. He was given the standard name of John Doe and was soon entered into the foster care system as well. The foster agency workers had originally assumed he would be adopted right away but quickly found they were mistaken. It seemed that John Doe was not a normal child.

His original foster caretakers, the McCormicks, reported nothing too unusual when asked about him. He was just a young baby like any other whohad passed through their care.

Sort of.

However, when further questioned eight months ago, they did admit he was a bit strange, although they could not pinpoint exactly what. Perhaps it was his lack of cooing, or his eerie level of awareness, or maybe the level of intelligence they perceived in his striking green eyes.

However, they had always brushed these things aside during his six-month stay with them because these things could always just have been their imagination. Only one observation about John Doe was certain though… the McCormicks never once heard him cry.

The strangeness encompassing the John Doe boy became more pronounced with reports from his following foster parents. Kara O'Donnell, a longtime caretaker in the foster care system, reported that he did not develop like a normal baby his age might. At the age when most children produce their first smile, John Doe remained expressionless and when he finally did wear his first smile it was a small, shy, and unnaturally intelligent smile in addition to being months later than normal.

Kevin and Sally Jones mentioned that, like smiling, the usual playmate baby toys did not interest the small child either. Any of the colorful and interactive toys they provided were quickly dismissed and ignored by little John.

Miguel and Juanita Rodriguez, who also fostered the little boy during his first two years, were quick to mention that he was a silent yet highly intelligent child. Not only did he never cry nor complain he never talked either.

Young John Doe was already two and a half before he made his first attempt at speaking; in a complete sentence, albeit with mispronounced words, he had politely asked to look at Mr. Rodriguez's newspaper.

As Sara went through reports of John Doe's foster parents, she noticed occurrence after occurrence of his comprehension beyond his years. Although smiling and speaking and reaching other milestones later than normal, he had been potty trained abnormally early and had apparently learned to read by age three. In fact, the caretakers stated that not only was he reading secondary-school material at an early age but that it seemed he was more than a quick learner; rather, it appeared as if John Doe already knew how to read.

Continuing through the statements issued by John Doe's past foster families, Sara noticed that the boy got stranger as he went from age three to age four. In the temporary custody of Joanne Gloucester, John Doe always sat amidst weird happenings. Poor Joanne would often walk into John's room only to find his toys floating, the heavy furniture rearranged, and the wallpaper changed. Before her very eyes she claimed to have witnessed John Doe ignite into flames and then simply disappear on several occasions. The strangest report of all, however, was when she claimed to have seen the young boy of four transform into a mystical-looking bird. Needless to say, Joanne was promptly taken out of the foster system after John Doe was removed from her custody.

Although Joanne's statements at the time they were issued seemed to be completely outrageous, Sara was beginning to see more credibility in them now that she had other John Doe reports laid out before her. Though no one else's statements reported incidents as unlikely as Joanne's, other foster families noted that they had found items previously out of John's reach somehow hidden around the house.

Some mentioned strange noises coming from whatever room John was in and others even noted the strange manner with which John would interact with stray animals. Sara concluded that the strange happenings had begun when John was almost four and, after Joanne's custody, had gradually become less and less obvious and suspicious.

Sara looked once more at the last known picture ever taken of little John Doe. In it, the boy of nearly six was sitting on a swing in a neighborhood park. The photo was taken by Raymond Richards and was obviously not candid. John Doe wore a tentative smile and his eyes were focused on the camera. Eerie eyes, Sara thought. Those eyes, which were an unusual emerald hue, seemed to glow unnaturally from the petite face on which they were placed. Yes, Sara thought, John Doe had the strangest eyes she had ever seen.

This picture had been taken exactly nine months ago. Today was April 21, 2004, and John Doe had not been seen for eight months, ever since suddenly and mysteriously disappearing from the aforementioned Richards couple. Authorities were currently investigating the disappearance and had collected statements from all of the boy's previous caretakers, the Richards, Rodriguezs, McCormicks, and Ms. Gloucester all included and copies of some of these statements had been faxed over to the foster agency.

Sara began putting the files and documents back into the cabinets finally when her office phone rang. Upon answering it, she was met with tragic news. Melissa and Joshua Lieberman, her in-laws, had fell victim to the latest of a series of British terrorist attacks. Quickly packing up the last of the documents, Sara hurried out the office door and rushed to meet her distraught husband waiting impatiently at home. By this point, all thoughts about the mysterious boy John Doe had completely left her head.

In a small, family-owned bakery in the heart of London, a scruffy-looking kid could be seen nibbling on a fresh pastry while counting up a small handful of change. The child, who looked no older than seven, had on an old and dirty T-shirt, a weathered pair of pants, and a pair of shoes with worn soles and several holes. He held himself in such a way, with shoulders slumped and head tilted downward, that he escaped most people's attention. Beneath a mop of messy black hair you could see that his brows were scrunched together in deep concentration and below them were the most spectacular green eyes. Not only were those eerie eyes the strangest hue of green but also they held years of intelligence and knowledge that surpassed the boy's apparent age.

By this point, Harry had finished his breakfast and snatched a discarded newspaper as he made his way outside. He quickly scanned the first few pages, taking notice of several attacks and reportedly “freak accidents” that had occurred around the city of London. With sad eyes, the boy realized that the average Londoner was quick to believe that these deaths were simply the result of a new wave of violence or unexpected bad luck. However, he was not the “average Londoner” and therefore knew that there were more to these incidents. This boy's name was Harry Potter though the world simply saw him as another John Doe passing on the sidewalk.

Years ago, Harry had survived and escaped his execution after a one-year stay at the wizarding prison Azkaban. It had been pure luck that his Animagusform, a phoenix, was a creature of fire. Therefore, by first transforming mentally he survived the Dementor's kiss because animals were immune to it and then survived the crematory by finishing the transformation physically. The only problem with this miraculous escape was that the transformation into a magical creature had some adverse side effects: Harry had been completely de-aged during the process of his “Burning Day.”

It was for this reason that Harry James Potter, who should have been 23, currently looked like a even-year-old. On that summer day seven years ago when he had first realized he had the body of a baby, he had screamed like hell hoping someone could help him in his vulnerable body. Fortunately, some passing man had found him, rescued him, and that's when Harry's young body had become over exhausted and the boy knew no more.

He later found out that he had been brought to a foster agency where after several weeks of no one looking for him (which made sense considering everyone he knew thought he was dead, a heartless murderer, and would never suspect him a baby) he was given the ambiguous name John Doe. As much as he'd rather have a better name chosen out for himself, the muscles in his tongue and mouth were still too young to properly talk (as if that would appear normal anyway) and he could not feasibly rename himself Harry again without risking being found out by the wizarding world.

For Harry, entering the foster care system had been an interesting experience. Although a loving, stable home is the ideal place for a child, the occasionally changing households had still been better than his childhood with the Dursleys. Most of the foster parents had been caring and loving, although too much part of the system to become overly attached, and also far more responsible than Petunia and Vernon had ever been.

For the first time in his life, other people had actually taken care of him and provided him with enough love, food, clothes, and toys. Granted, most of the toddler toys did not interest him; after all, he had seen too much in the world for bright colored buttons to entertain him, but all of the gestures were still well received by his childlike mind. The hardest part about being an infant, however, was his inability to do things he once took for granted and his inexperience at acting as a developing child. Therefore, he often had no clue when he should or should not have been developing.

Around age two, Harry knew he should have started speaking already. However, he had found no reason to and he had no idea how fast his vocabulary should be progressing. He finally “broke the milestone” by speaking in a full sentence one day, though this probably was not his best idea. It was also around this time that he began wondering about his phoenix form. It should have gotten bigger and more useful by this age and he was yearning to try the transformation again. One day, when his caretakers were far away, he ventured the transformation again and found it much easier and less painful than the previous time. In a second flat, he was a bird with brilliant plumage and he slowly taught himself how to fly and use his phoenix powers.

Whenever he was given alone time, Harry would transform again and utilize his new perspective. What interested him the most, though, was his phoenix eyesight. As a phoenix, Harry Potter could not only see perfectly but he could see magic too. There might not have been much magic in his muggle households but Harry did manage to see his own magic swirling around him. It was these observations that led Harry to attempt a new venture: he planned to undergo only a partial transformation. It took several months to perfect, but by age three, he had managed to alter his human eyes just enough to give him phoenix eyesight, thus changing the color of his eyes slightly and preventing him from ever needing glasses again.

Now being able to see magic as a human, Harry began his magical experimentation, the same experiments that would accidentally drive Miss Gloucester out of the foster care system. After practice, he began feeling the magic in his body and attempting to funnel it into his surroundings. Try after try, the colors of the magical swirls began having special meanings and his hands no longer felt empty without a wand. By age four and a half, Harry had nearly perfected basic wandless magic, an area of which he was barely aware a few years prior, and he could now use his skills discreetly without notifying his guardians.

There were only two considerable obstacles with which Harry Potter was faced: he had no guidance from magical texts nor teachers and therefore had to figure out a whole new field of magical theory himself, and also his young, little body was still too magically underdeveloped to allow him to use his magic as freely as he may have wished.

Fortunately, Harry was smarter than he would have previously admitted and, with more free time than he ever had as a teenager, became a quick learner; in addition, by the time he was age six, his body had matured enough to grant him more access to his overwhelming magical reserves.

It was when he had reached this magical milestone that he decided it was about time to leave the foster care system. He timed his escape perfectly and left one day while his guardians had their attention somewhere else. All of the clothes he had been generously bought, which actually fit him for once, had been packed the night before and no one noticed him leave. Once far enough from the neighborhood, he began trekking to downtown London where he figured there would be the most opportunity to live comfortably on the streets. He would use his magic to protect him from any dangerous muggles and he would avoid wizard folkat all costs now that he could detect their magical signatures.

It took several weeks before he could settle himself down, but Harry soon fell into a comfortable pattern of sleeping in abandoned buildings, finding spare change on the sidewalk, and accepting any generous offerings of either money or food he could get. He often used his money to buy cheap foods from convenience stores or little food stores and he also took much of the breads from local delis that would be discarded at the end of each workday.

Very recently, he had taken up pick-pocketing as well although he felt guilty every time he did so; alas, often the option was steal from a passerby walking to his or her car or starve for the day and with this notion some of Harry's guilt diminished. Pick-pocketing, of course, was not as easy as they had made it out to seem on TV, but with practice he had improved enough to rarely get caught doing it. All in all, Harry Potter certainly was not living in luxury but he was getting by just as fine as he cared to.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-8- 8-8-

Arabella Figg was getting old these days and could not get around as easily as she once could. She had long ago moved out of Magnolia Crescent, no longer able to take the stuffy suburban life now that she no longer was on an assignment for the Order, and she had moved into the city thinking she would be able to get around fine. Alas, the years had obviously taken their toll on her body and the busy city life was not treating the old squib well either.

It was one day in late April, the 21st to be exact, when she found herself walking to the grocer's from her apartment. She would have taken a cab as she normally did but the morning was just too gorgeous to resist; after all, this had to have been the first warm morning since the severely cold winter had ended four weeks ago. It was during the relatively normal walk back when the event happened: a kid ran into her and she dropped all her bags. She was about to let out a string of complaints to the rude child when he suddenly bent down to pick up her bags and issued a rushed, though sincere, apology.

“Oh I'm sorry Miss! I wasn't looking where I was going and I should have. I hope all your groceries are fine, here you go,” he rushed out as he stood up and handed Arabella the bags, “but I really ought to be going. Won't happen again, sorry!”

Arabella was temporarily glued on her feet as she heard the boy's voice. It was familiar! But, who could it be? It even sounded like… `but no, it could not be him,' she thought. `He's dead.' Nevertheless, as the trashy-looking boy lifted up his head to reveal the face below the black mop of hair, she saw the last thing she expected to see.

Their eyes made contact for a brief second in which several things happened. First, the child's remarkable green eyes which had been panicked a few seconds prior had suddenly frozen on herface. Second, his hands fell to his side, dropping a wallet to the cement. Third, shegot a very good look at the boy's face. There, right before Arabella's very own, albeit aged and spectacled eyesstood a seven-year-old Harry Potter.

The moment lasted a split second before an angry, nearing voice interrupted the meeting with a rant. “I'll get you, you filthy rat! Come back here you good-fer-nuthin' scoundrel! Give me back my wallet you pig-headed little bastard…”

With this loud, deep voice filling the street, both parties broke out of their reveries and the Harry look-alike stooped to the ground, head bent. Mumbling another apology, almost intelligible, the boy grabbed the wallet he had dropped and quickly ran off in the opposite direction of the fast-approaching and intimidating man. A few seconds later, the boy was gone and the only indication that he had not simply been a figment of her imagination was the passing man screaming, “Help! He stole my wallet!” and the bruise forming on her wrinkly arms.

A few minutes later, Arabella had broken out of her stupor and began speed-walking home with newfound vigor. Upon reaching her apartment door, she quickly yet carefully dropped her groceries near the entrance and made her way to the mantel above her fireplace. She reached into a dusty eyesore of a vase, pulled out a handful of powder, and threw it into the fireplace that had suddenly and unexpectedly ignited with flames. When these flames suddenly turned an emerald hue, old Arabella Figg stuck her head in the fire and shouted as loudly as she could,

“Hogwarts, Headmaster Dumbledore's office!”