14) Veritas ex machina – up in smoke part 3 ish?

A/N I see this fitting in with the up in smoke AU. This was written before the last one I put up, but I am posting it later because it fits after the last one – it's mid 4th year. I can't really call this triad a fic because it doesn't have a clear beginning or ending and there's a whole bunch missing from in between. It's just scenes from this alt u. If I ever get the muse to write more of it, I'll pull the chapters out of here and put them together. Otherwise, here's the third window.

~story starts here~

"This is Bartholomew Blather with the WWN, live from Gringotts, London. I'm here, in a truth room, to interview one Harry Potter, also known as The Boy Who Lived and currently, the youngest Triwizard Champion. Mr. Potter was, up until today, thought to be missing as he has not been seen since before Hogwarts' winter break. Good afternoon Mr. Potter, and may I say it is very good to see you both alive and apparently healthy? Many of us were quite worried."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Blather. I assure you; I am fine. I feel better, actually, than I have… ever? Anyway, could you explain what a truth room is? Thanks, by the way, for agreeing to the interview here. I imagine many reporters wouldn't."

"I must admit it was strange to be asked to report from a truth room. For our listeners, truth rooms can be rented from Gringotts. Nothing said in this room can be a lie. Of course, one could refuse to speak or only give part of an answer, but anything said today will be truth."

Though the audience couldn't see it, Bartholomew was quite surprised by the Potter lad's sly grin.

"I do retain the right to refuse to answer some questions," Harry stated. "But let's start with your monikers for me. The Boy Who Lived. Why do you all celebrate that so? I find it pretty… distasteful."

The interviewer was taken aback. "Your defeat of the Dark Lord You Know Who signaled the end of a terrible war, Mr. Potter."

"My defeat? You're joking, right? I understand that you all were very… enthusiastic about the disappearance of the Dark Twit, but I'm fairly certain I did nothing to accomplish it."

"Everyone knows…" there was a long pause as the interviewer attempted to state the truth as he knew it.

"Yes. You can't finish that, can you? It's not the truth. Everyone knows that I survived. My parents died. Oldy-twerp disappeared. It's thought that we were the only ones in the house, but I'm betting he had at least one follower with him – perhaps Peter Pettigrew? The death eater spy that betrayed my parents?"

"But Sirius Black…"

Harry waited and smiled again. "Nope. Sirius is my oath-sworn godfather. He pretended to be the secret keeper, but in actuality, it was Pettigrew. Pettigrew is, by the way, a rat animagus. I saw both him and Sirius last year. Pettigrew admitted both to betraying my parents and to killing a dozen muggles or so when Sirius had pinned him down."

There was a long silence as the interviewer tried to get his feet under him again. Harry took a bit of advantage of the lull.

"Anyway, let's assume that my parents, Mork-from-ork, and I were in the house. I figure my parents, both really wicked with magic from what I've heard, probably did something to save me. Heck, I'd be more likely to believe that your Dork Lard mispronounced his curse – kind of like Odrick the Oddball – than that I did anything. Except maybe wet my nappy."

"Yes, well… before we go on, why all these silly names? I realize you are just 14, but you should be wary of taking such direct jabs at You Know Who. If nothing else, you could be seen as being disrespectful to those of us who lived through the war."

Though it didn't show over the radio, Harry shrugged.

"The name that makes you all shudder? It's made up – just the letters of his real name moved about. His real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Riddle: that's not a wizarding family, is it? Anyway, if he can make up a fake name, then I say go for it. We learned last year that to defeat the boggart – which is powered by your greatest fears – you have to use the Ridikkulus spell and laugh. Laughter defeats fear. So, I call Who Flung Poo funny names. Make them up when I'm bored in Binns' class, actually. I don't mean it as disrespect to anyone but the Dim Jerk and his merry band of men. And women."

"I understand, I suppose. But as far as names go, I still don't understand why you are bothered by your own bestowed title?"

"Besides the fact that it illustrates disrespect for my parents – dismissing both their accomplishment in beating him and their murder – it puts a great big target on me. I wasn't even raised in the magical world! I'd never heard of any of this stuff 'til I turned 11! And when I get here? I have fans and enemies I'd never done anything to deserve! It's really weird, and I don't understand it to this day."

"You were raised muggle?" the astonishment came over clearly in Blather's voice.

"Yes. I was raised by the Dursleys - my maternal relatives. Whoever had charge of me figured out that my mother's magic had formed some kind of shield around me. That probably had a bit of something about how I lived when the Vile-and-dark attacked? I mean, that lightning bolt on my head? Probably the rune: sowelu as the last step in keeping me whole. Or maybe eihwaz? But it looks more like sowelu…" Harry trailed off as if in thought.

"Are you saying your mother did a sacrificial rite?" The dumbfounded interviewer blurted. "Those are illegal in Britain!"

Harry's eyes narrowed and grew cold.

"Dig her up and put her in Azkaban, then. Yeah?" the interviewer looked ashamed. "If she did a blood or magic – or both! – sacrificial rite, then she didn't break the law until she was already dead. Is suicide illegal in Britain? Anyhow, the person who placed me with my relatives noticed that my mother had placed wards around my relatives' house. That person tied the magic around me into those wards to make them very, very strong."

"Your magic powered the wards around a non-magical house that was unconnected with ley-lines?"

"Yeah. According to the healers, it made my magic a bit wonky. Took forever to get through my first maturation, and it looks like I'm starting the second maturation early."

"Healers? I did notice that you look quite a bit different than Rita Skeeter described you, or even how the pictures in the Prophet showed you to appear, just a few months ago."

Harry looked at the interviewer stoically for a moment. He took a deep breath, thinking how to answer.

"Well, here it is. My relatives' house had those wards, and - coupled with my mother's protection on me – they made quite a strong overall barrier toward Riddle's spittles. No matter how much they wanted to kill me, they couldn't. But my relatives are really intolerant. They hate magic, hated my mother, and hate me. I'm not exaggerating when I say that. I made it to Hogwarts alive, but not really that healthy. Last summer, when I spent a bit of time in Diagon Alley, I met up with a healer. They told me that if I wanted to… recover any of the lost health, I'd need to address it between magical maturations. Wait too long and the growth plates are closed. Try to do it while your magic is wonky and you can damage your core. My only real time to address it was this winter solstice."

A light of awareness was shining in Blather's eye. "Which is why you disappeared from Hogwarts and missed the Yule Ball."

"I didn't disappear. I never signed up to stay. No Hogwarts student is required to stay over winter break. Besides, the Yule Ball is not a requirement for this stupid tournament. A stupid tournament I didn't sign up for. Note that, will you. I stated it in this truth room. Anyway, only the three tasks are required to satisfy the contract that was forced on me. Being healthy is more important than going to a dance where I would surely embarrass Hogwarts and England with my lackluster skills. Anyway, I did what was necessary for me."

"You are a bit taller and more filled out. And you're not wearing glasses?"

"Seven inches, almost two stone, and yeah, my eyes are all better. I took part in a ritual cleansing, purification, and healing."

"Cleansing and purification?"

"There was still some dark magic around my scar."

"Your scar seems less pronounced now? I can barely see it."

"Yeah. That magical residue had to be gone before the healing could work."

"But wouldn't that have removed your mother's protection, also?"

Harry sighed. "I don't have my mother's protection in my magic anymore."

"Well, at least you won't have to live with the muggles that quite obviously did not take care of you. Any idea where you'll live now?"

A small smile appeared on Harry's face.

"If I knew, I wouldn't tell your audience. Some of Riddle's fans are still out there, and I'm only 14."

"One might say you've been hasty in dismissing those wards, then."

"One might. But the choice was mine. Live safely until I'm 17 but die most likely before I'm 40 – yeah, that's how bad my health was. Or live in good health from now until that fake title you guys gave me gets me killed. I chose the latter. It was my choice, after all."

"And your guardian approved?"

"My guardian? The muggles who harmed me in the first place? They don't have the right to deny medical treatment in the UK."

"No, your magical guardian. If you were raised muggle then you should have had a guardian assigned in the magical world: someone to teach you what you need, especially since you will be head of an ancient family?"

"I've never been introduced to any guardian; I've never been told anything about the Potter family by any witch or wizard of my acquaintance. Hagrid bought my stuff with me before first year and Mrs. Weasley – she's the mum of some fellow Griffs – has done some shopping with me twice. Otherwise, I've been left on my own. If there is a magical guardian, he or she has been so lax that they don't deserve the right to advise me on anything, let alone anything so personal as my own health."

"I see your point," the interviewer murmured, thinking on yet another story that was waiting to be discovered from this interview. He could hardly keep his inquiries and thoughts straight at this point.

If he knew that Harry had sprung all these surprises on him on purpose, to keep the interview in the direction Harry himself wanted, he would wonder how Harry had not ended up in Slytherin.

To give himself time to jot some notes, Blather asked, "Is there anything else that you felt you needed to tell the audience, Mr. Potter?"

"Actually, yes. I do want to thank all your listeners who have wished me luck in the tournament or, indeed, at any time in the past. Please understand, I never have received any of your mail," Blather stopped writing and looked up again, wide-eyed. "I apologize if any of you have sent me anything and not gotten a response. I was apparently under some extreme mail wards. They're gone now, but I have new ones in place, and all incoming mail is now being processed by a service before it gets to me. Thank you for your patience in this matter."

The young snake-in-lion's-clothing looked at a wrist watch. "You'll have to pardon me, sir. I only rented this room for 30 minutes, and our time is up. I wouldn't want to run afoul of the goblins! Thank you very much for helping me get some truths out there."

"Of course; perhaps we could schedule another of these?"

Harry smiled enigmatically.

"I'll be back in school and then I'll most likely be in hiding. Sorry."

With that, Harry turned and left. By the time Mr. Blather had signed off of the broadcast and exited the room, Harry was gone.