Me and Miss Bones
Chapter 1

by Olafr – Harry Potter and associated milieu, characters, and situations are owned by J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a work of fan fiction, produced solely for enjoyment. No infringement of rights is intended.

Rating: PG-13

Last updated: 9 February 2005.

Author's Notes: This work was heavily inspired by a work by DrT on Astronomy Tower, Scenes from October – in other words, I read it and got the idea for this story. Many of the plot elements used in this story are referenced in that story, although this is my own take on the basic idea, not a simple recasting of DrT's work. (This work is posted with DrT's permission.)

oOoOoOo

From the Journal of Harry James Potter:

30 June 1996 – Sunday

I'm really not sure how to start these things. Hermione gave me this on the train home yesterday and showed me one of her own entries to give me an idea of how to use it. I'm supposed to 'unburden myself', whatever that means. I suppose it means writing out my worries and so on. It feels really stupid, but if nothing else, Hermione usually knows what she's doing. So here goes.

I'm really worried about how this summer is going to go. Whatever idiot organised that little public scolding yesterday at the train station clearly doesn't know the Dursleys – I'm imprisoned again, and I was let out once this morning to wash and use the toilet. No food, yet, and no water other than what I was able to drink while I was in the bathroom this morning. It's late afternoon, and I'm thirsty again, and I'm worried that I won't get anything until tomorrow morning.

oOoOoOo

From the Journal of Harry James Potter:

1 July 1996 – Monday

I was right, they only let me drink when I'm in the bathroom in the morning. Uncle Vernon frog-marched me into the bathroom this morning and left me for half an hour. I drank so much I thought I was going to be sick, but I felt so thirsty when I woke this morning that I couldn't help myself. I guess it worked; I'm only now starting to feel thirsty again, so I guess I'll have to keep doing that. No food again today, though.

I was thinking about Sirius today – how could I not, locked up with nothing else to do? (My trunk is in the cupboard; I only have my wand. I'm glad I had it hidden up my sleeve.) The talk I had with Luna keeps running through my head. It's funny, but what she said about there being an afterlife, and her sureness that she would see her mother once again, really affected me. It just feels right, too – I think I believe her. I have to, really; the thought that I wouldn't see Sirius again, ever, is unbearable.

Sirius, my father, my mother – I will see them again. That thought fills me with hope that I'll eventually find happiness, in the next life if not in this one.

I'd better stop here – Uncle Vernon has taken the bulb out of the fitting, and the sun is setting so I'm running out of light.

I'm hungry.

oOoOoOo

From the Diary of Susan Bones:

Tuesday, 2nd July

Dear Diary,

Oh, what a day! The news in the Prophet is just awful, with Death Eaters killing another two families yesterday and another article accusing Minister Fudge of corrupt behaviour and collusion with the Death Eaters. Auntie told me this morning at breakfast that for a change the article was correct and factual, and that the information had been leaked after interrogation of Lucius Malfoy under Veritaserum. She smiled just a little as she said that, so I think that she might have had something to do with that. So did Mother, and she scolded Auntie for it, who just ignored Mother's scolding.

Auntie said that there would be a vote of no confidence in Fudge today, with election of a new Minister from the Wizengamot to follow. While everyone would love Professor Dumbledore to take the position, she said he won't. She ranted for a while on the subject; I won't duplicate it all here. She even said that she would do the job herself if she had to, if only to keep it out of the hands of another Death Eater sycophant. Mother just snorted at that. She's said many times that Auntie wanted eventually to be Minister, so I only just kept myself from sniggering in sympathy.

I wonder what Harry thinks of the articles in the Prophet? The Ministry's finally acknowledged the return of Voldemort (thank you, Harry, for encouraging the members of D.A. to get over our fear of that name – but I'm not sure if I can say it yet, even if I can write it), although all last year the Prophet was running a consistent campaign against him and he seemed pretty bitter about it. Come to think of it, Umbridge was an Undersecretary at the Ministry before being placed as Defense teacher, and she gave him detention for insisting that Voldemort was back... Oh, I don't know what to think! I'd like to discuss it with Auntie, but I suspect she won't have much time for me at the moment.

Perhaps I'll write Harry a letter. I wonder why he allowed the Prophet to libel him like it did all last year? Oh, how do I get his address? What if he doesn't want to hear from me?

oOoOoOo

From the Journal of Harry James Potter:

3 July 1996 – Wednesday

I think I'm in trouble.

Last night, Uncle Vernon forced me to write out twenty "I'm fine" notes on parchment. I refused at first, but he tied me down, tore off my shirt, and beat me with his belt. He then threatened Hedwig, saying that if she wasn't going to be used to send the notes then she had no reason to live. I gave in, of course, but I fear that by doing so I may have signed my own death warrant – I still haven't been fed, and I'm starting to wonder if I will be.

I'm starting to think that Hermione might have been correct about keeping a journal. Even though my stomach is cramping and my back hurts so much I can't lie on it, I feel better after writing out that stuff yesterday: The Triwizard tournament and all the stuff last year about Umbridge, the Inquisitorial Squads, the fight in the Ministry, and losing Sirius. I've been thinking about the good times, not the bad; it's as if I had put the thoughts into a pensieve for a while – they're still there, but they've lost weight and no longer dominate my thoughts.

Oh, Hermione, will I ever see you again? Or you, Ron? Or Ginny, or Luna, or Neville? I just saw Hedwig return after flying out last night, and then Pig came and went. Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia must be taking the letters they carried, and I'm feeling more and more certain that they mean for me to die undetected. I thought that I would be more scared by the thought than I am, but I find myself looking forward to meeting my parents for the first time. And seeing Sirius again.

The only thing that makes me sad at the thought of going is how it would affect my friends – Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, and Neville. If the prophecy is correct, my passing would leave Voldemort unstoppable, and I rather imagine that all of them would join me in the afterlife fairly quickly. It is the fact that my passing would sadden them, and that Voldemort would likely torture them before killing them that I truly regret.

I suppose I should feel bad for all the other witches and wizards, and I suppose for the population of the whole world, but somehow I simply do not and I don't know why. That disturbs me a little, for I know I should feel bad about it. Maybe it's because they allowed themselves to be led so easily? Hermione told me once that we get the government we deserve. Perhaps the public deserve Voldemort.

More owls have been coming. I decided to keep count. There were six owls today that tried to get into my window but eventually gave up. I didn't recognise any of them. I wonder who they were from? I wonder if one of them was from Luna. I'd like to talk to her more about the afterlife.

I miss my friends.

oOoOoOo

From the Journal of Harry James Potter:

4 July 1996 – Thursday

My parents came to me in a dream last night. I'm writing it down before I forget...

Evening. Another six owls so far today.

I've decided I can't allow myself to pass on. As much as I want to see Sirius and my parents again, for all that my heart yearns to bask in their love, I know that their love is always with me and I have only to think of them to feel it.

I cannot give up. I am a wizard, and I have my wand. A simple Alohomora will let me out of my prison cell and allow me to keep myself alive, and the notifications from Ms Hopkirk will eventually result in a rescue.

I'll do it later, and sneak some food once they've all gone to bed.

I've done it. An Alohomora, then a quick trip down to the kitchen where I gathered together all the edible food I could find – half a meatloaf, a bit of cake, a block of cheese, and some little tomatoes. I drank my fill and filled a jug with water and came back to my room, then used the toilet before sealing my door with a Colloportus – the last thing I want is Vernon strangling me in my sleep or something. Then, to my embarrassment, another two Alohomoras and a Colloportus to retrieve Hedwig and destroy my pre-written notes.

The food was delicious. I think I'd better write a letter to Dumbledore asking to be removed.

The owl from Hopkirk came right on schedule. The usual, threatening exuplsion, please explain, etc, etc. Does that old witch never sleep? Who the hell does she think she is, anyway? Doesn't she know that without me, there is no hope?

Who the hell does Dumbledore think he is, too? Who gave him the right to decide where I should go? That self-righteous bastard, it's entirely his fault I've had the childhood I have, and I've been sitting here thinking that it would be easier simply to die.

Oh, God, what will I do? I don't trust Dumbledore, my relatives are trying to kill me, Voldemort's trying to kill me, Fudge and the Ministry are trying to kill me, and Order doesn't care about me and those who do only care about me as a tool, the wizarding public think I'm insane or selfish or something, an-

I don't know why I bothered to eat anything, I just vomited it all up again. Chalk up an Evanesco for Mafalda and co.

I feel sick.

oOoOoOo

From the Diary of Susan Bones:

Friday, 5th July

Dear Diary,

I finally got Harry's address from Hermione Granger. What a rigamarole I had to go through to get it! I had to write Professor McGonagall to get Harry's address, and she refused but gave me Hermione's instead. I then had to write Hermione, then justify myself to her! Harry Potter, you had better be worth all this hassle.

In other news, Diary, Mother told me that Auntie was elected Minister last night. Her first tasks today will have been to appoint her replacement as head of DMLE and make any other department head changes she wants, and then organise the Auror forces to properly address the problem of the Death Eaters. I wonder how she will go about it? Mother said something about 'nailing jelly to a tree', but I have no idea what she meant by that. I can see that it would be difficult to do that, as it would keep slipping away... where does Mother come up with these sayings?

I decided to try a new hairstyle today. I've lengthened my hair and put it into a single heavy plait which reaches to my nipples when I drape it over my shoulder, so I guess it's about mid-back. I was inspired to do so after looking at photos of Oma. Mother looks a bit like her too, and she suggested I should try the plait, claiming I would look just like Oma except for the hair colour. (Oma has flax-coloured hair, Mother said, while I have strawberry blonde. I can't remember; we haven't been to Sweden to see her in years; I can hardly remember her; and the photographs we have are black and white, of course. Maybe we can go this Yule to celebrate with her? I'll have to mention it to Mother.) She did the lengthening charm for me, and taught me to plait it the right way by hand. Afterwards, I couldn't believe how much nicer my hair looked. I guess Hannah was right all along, the twin plaits I had before really weren't right for me...

oOoOoOo

From the Journal of Harry James Potter:

5 July, 1996 – Friday

I was woken by Vernon bashing on the door, calling me all the names under the sun and threatening to kill me if I didn't open the door. Not being stupid, I refused. He eventually gave up. No answer from Dumbledore yet. What's taking so long? Hedwig's not back yet.

2pm. Hungry again. Went to get some food. Alohomora, attacked by both Dudley and Aunt Petunia, two Stupefy's, refilled jug and collected bread and cold meat, two Enervates, and another Colloportus. Letter from Hopkirk arrived within minutes, quite stroppy this time, threatening Aurors and immediate arrest if repeated. No owls so far today. Hedwig's still not back yet either. What's going on?

8pm. Something's not right. Dumbledore's still not here; nor is Hedwig. No other owls have come today, either, and the Dursleys have become so aggressive that I've had to use a Wall-of-Iron spell on the doors and windows of my room to keep them from breaking through with hammers and attacking me. As it is I'll have to stupefy them soon to get some more to eat and drink. How can this possibly be considered my home? I can't live here; they're actively trying to kill me. Blood protection or no blood protection, I'll have to get out of here.

The good news is that the Wall-of-Iron kept out Hopkirk's owl, too. I had to smile at that. Hmm, why are Hopkirk's owls getting through but not any others?

I'll give it until midnight, then I'll escape and call the Knight Bus and go to the Leaky Cauldron and figure out what to do from there. At least Tom will feed me, even if I'll have to visit Gringotts first.

Aw, shit. Dumbledore has my key. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

My toe hurts. I kicked the wall. I feel better, though, though I'd better make sure Hermione never sees this or she'll scrub out my mouth with soap, or worse, a Scourgify. Ginny wouldn't mind; I think she'd encourage me. I wonder what Luna would think?

oOoOoOo

The office of the Minister of Magic was large, plush, and tastelessly decorated in burgundy velvet, but the office was the furthest thing from the mind of the newest Minister, Amelia Bones. It was eight o'clock and she was yawning, fighting off exhaustion after a taxing day. With a flourish, she signed a last document and leaned back.

'Enough,' she said to herself. 'Time to go home.' At that moment there was an urgent knock on the door followed by Kingsley Shacklebolt bursting into her office.

'Shack!' she exclaimed, falling back into her long-practiced role of head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She had elevated Shacklebolt into that position as one of her first acts as Minister, so their relationship was similar overall.

'Minister,' said Shacklebolt with a deep nod of his head and an unrepentant smile.

'What can I do for you?' she said with a return smile.

'This is a for-your-information. I've just had to countermand a request from the Improper Magic office for a squad of aurors to arrest Harry Potter.'

Bones stood up straight, her eyebrows reaching for her hairline. 'Arrest?'

'Yes. He has been sent three owls from that office since midnight last night.'

Dropping into a frown, Bones searched her memory. Then it came to her. 'Harry Potter was brought before a full Wizengamot last year for a mere Improper Use of Magic charge, and for defending himself against dementors, no less! Shacklebolt! Assemble a squad of aurors to accompany me to Potter's home. I'm going to find out what's going on. You will command the squad. Return here with the squad and a portkey programmed for Potter's address in five minutes.'

Shacklebolt snapped to attention. 'Yes, Ma'am!' he snapped, then turned and left.

In the time it took to organise the squad and the portkey, Minister Bones wrote out a directive suspending the right of the Improper Use of Magic Office to issue penalties or notices of any kind, pending an immediate investigation of the office. She also dictated an order to the Aurory to investigate the operations of the IUMO with respect to bias and corruption with respect to issue of notices, with particular respect to their treatment of Harry Potter.

She was just blotting her signature on the second document when Shacklebolt returned with a four-man squad and an old wooden tennis racket. Shacklebolt handed Bones three letters, which she quickly read before folding them and tucking them into her robes. She nodded, grabbed the rim of the tennis racket, and waited. A moment later, she felt the portkey grab hold of her magical core and hook her up. When her vision cleared, the six of them stood in front of an unassuming semi-detached home in a row of dozens of similar homes. She looked to Shacklebolt.

'This is it?' she asked in surprise.

'This is it,' he replied with assurance. 'Shall I go first, Minister...?'

'Please do.'

'Dawlish, Tonks, come with me. Jones, Evans, you've got the Minister.'

Pressing the doorbell, Shacklebolt waited for the door to be opened. After almost a minute, it was flung inwards to reveal a short, fat man with a sweating, purple face. At the sight of the crimson robes the Aurors wore, his eyes bulged and his complexion darkened further.

'I don't want your kind around here! What the hell do you want!' he spat.

'We are here to see Harry Potter,' said Shacklebolt evenly. Dursley's eyes narrowed to slits.

'Nobody of that name is living here. At least, not for much longer!' He went to slam the door closed, but Shacklebolt deftly barred the door open and petrified Dursley where he stood before leading the way inside.

Inside, Minister Bones looked around the lounge while Tonks and Dawlish went upstairs. There was shouting and two Stupefy spells before all was quiet.

'Minister Bones, if you will?' called Shacklebolt from the top of the stairs. She went upstairs and was shocked to see that behind the expected dull orange glow of the Wall-of-Iron, there was a set of four locks on the door, all usable only from the outside. Hammers and a cricket bat lay on the floor outside the room. Taking all this in, Amelia wondered at the scenarios. Why would there be locks on the outside of the door? She gestured at the glowing wall, the command implicit.

With a muttered word, Shacklebolt cast a spell at the wall. Nothing happened, however, except a muffled 'Ow!' from inside the room. Slightly wide-eyed, he gestured to Tonks. 'Tonks, talk him out of there.'

'Aye aye, sir.' Tonks, who had soft, blue hair today that actually went quite nicely with the uniform, stepped up to the door. 'Harry? It's me, Tonks,' she said loudly. 'I'm here with a team to investigate what's going on. We've got the Dursleys under control; would you come out please?'

There was a pause, and Harry's voice replied. 'What do you always trip over in the entrance hall?'

Tonks screwed up her brow for a moment in thought, then grinned. 'That bloody troll's foot umbrella stand!'

The glow disappeared, and Harry's voice came clearly now. 'You can open the door, Tonks. Nobody else.'

With a glance at Shacklebolt, who nodded, Tonks stepped forward and tried to open the door. It was locked, and stayed that way despite an Alohomora.

'Harry? I can't get it open.'

The door opened part-way, and she pushed it open the rest of the way. Harry stood in the middle of his room, wand at the ready. He looked terribly emaciated, and the room smelled like ripe teenager. His eyes flicked over her, untrusting.

'Do the nose thing,' he said.

Tonks dutifully changed her nose to a pig's snout, at which point Harry finally relaxed and almost collapsed. 'Tonks, thank God. The Dursleys have been trying to kill me for some reason. They've been acting really oddly, much more aggressive than usual. And Hedwig's gone missing; Dumbledore hasn't answered my note. All the owls have stopped for some reason, except for Hopkirk's, I don't know what's going on.'

Amelia stepped forward, Shacklebolt following her, and her eyes widened as she took in Harry's condition. 'Good evening, Mr Potter,' she said. 'May we come in?'

Now nervous, Harry stepped back and nodded. He sat on the small, thin cot that seemed to be his bed. Amelia seated herself in the hard wooden chair that sat before his tiny desk, noting that Shack and Dawlish had gone off to do something, leaving Tonks to guard. Harry gulped nervously.

oOoOoOo

Harry sat on his cot, gulping nervously. He remembered Amelia Bones from his trial last year; someone had told him she was head of the DMLE. Two things gave him some measure of comfort – three, really: They had not already siezed his wand; Tonks was present and not actively moving to protect him; and Bones had been strict but scrupulously fair at his trial. He watched as Bones sat in his chair, facing him, while Tonks stood in the doorway. A quick smile from her made him feel a little safer. Still, her presence made him decidedly nervous. He decided to settle the question of why immediately.

'So, what have I done that brings the head of Magical Law Enforcement here?' he asked nervously. Despite everything, would she want to snap his wand? Beneath his relaxed appearance, he sat on a hair trigger.

'It's Minister, actually,' said Bones with a sort of half-smile. Minister! That meant Fudge had been thrown out.

'Congratulations, then,' said Harry. 'I don't suppose Fudge has been charged with corruption, has he? And what about Umbridge?'

Minister Bones frowned at him for a long moment, eventually saying, 'Thank you for you congratulations, Mr Potter. Perhaps I can answer your questions at another time. In the mean time, I am here to investigate some rather suspicious behaviour by the Improper Use of Magic Office, and coincidentally why you have apparently felt it necessary to use a number of spells. Seeing your condition, however, I think we can defer any questions.'

Harry flinched away from Bones, and a fear rose within him. 'You're... not going to snap my wand, are you?' He hated himself for the small voice he used to ask the question. The indignant expression on the Minister's face was reassuring, however.

'I should think not!' she exclaimed, then paused before continuing, 'Not until we complete our investigation into the IUMO, in any event. Since you raise it, however, what justification can you offer for you use of magic, Mr Potter? I cannot believe you did it simply on a whim; what sequence of events led to your decision?'

Glancing at his journal, which was an old cast-off exercise book that he had found in the desk along with some pens, Harry debated with himself as to whether it might not be simplest simply to give it to her. Faced with the thought of a repeat of last year's Wizengamot hearing, he took a breath and pointed to it as it sat on the desk. 'I've been keeping a journal. It's all in there.' He looked her in the eyes. 'I trust you to keep the contents private, Minister.'

Bones fixed Harry's gaze for a time, before nodding and picking up the journal. She flicked through it quickly, turning the pages once every ten seconds or so. As she read, he saw her expression tighten but there was no other outward reaction. He waited nervously to see what would happen.

oOoOoOo

Amelia Bones flash-read the journal, a skill she had often needed as head of DMLE, hardly able to believe what she was reading. It was all she could do to control her expression. When she finished, she closed her eyes and thought for a moment. It was clear that Harry could not stay here, and given his comments about Dumbledore it was clear he should not be involved right now anyway. She made her decision.

'It's obvious you can't stay here, Harry,' she said, ignoring his surprise at her use of his first name. 'And I can't let you stay in the Leaky Cauldron; if Headmaster Dumbledore was keeping you hidden then it doesn't make sense to throw it all away by putting you somewhere public where you could be snatched by Death Eaters, does it?'

She heard him mutter something under his breath about Dumbledore, but decided to ignore it. She continued, 'If you'll come with me, I think I have a solution.'

For a long, long moment, Harry looked into her eyes. She felt impaled on his intense gaze, his green eyes piercing her soul, weighing it. Eventually he blinked and nodded. 'My trunk is in the cupboard under the stairs.'

'Evans,' said Shacklebolt, and the auror, who was standing nearest the staircase, disappeared downstairs. Amelia stood, handing the journal to Harry, and led the way downstairs. There she stopped to watch Evans wrestling Harry's standard school trunk out of the cupboard. Her nose told her Harry had come to stand next to her just as Evans finished extracting the trunk and stood upright. He smelled of unwashed underpants.

After levitating the trunk and disillusioning it, Evans commented, 'Did you get locked in there at some point, kid?' He turned to comment to his partner, Jones, 'There's some writing on the wall in there. "H. Potter's room."' Amelia turned just in time to see Harry's eyes flash dangerously.

oOoOoOo

Harry heard the half-joking tone of the Auror Evans and clamped down tight on his suddenly boiling resentment. Exerting every ounce of control he had, he said, 'That was where I lived until my eleventh birthday.'

It gave him a kind of macabre satisfaction to see all six adults flinch, Minister Bones and Tonks less so than the others. He clutched his journal to himself as they all swung their gazes upon him, making him feel like a spotlight had picked him out on an empty stage. He saw Bones nod to herself, then she said, 'It's time to leave. Who's got the portkey?'

Shacklebolt produced a length of rope, a worn piece of orange nylon, and moments later the two of them were in what Harry assumed was the Minister's office – it reeked of Fudge, opulent and in bad taste. His head still whirling from the transport, Minister Bones said, 'Take a seat on that couch, Harry. I'm going to get a healer in here to check you out before we go home.'

Feeling his head clear, Harry allowed himself to look up. 'Home?'

'Well, my sister-in-law's home, actually. I believe you might know her daughter, Susan.'

Harry perked up as an image popped into his head of the last time he had seen Susan Bones at the D.A. He smiled. 'Hufflepuff?' he confirmed, and smiled at the Minister's nod.

'She was very complementary about your teaching ability, actually. She said she did very well in her Defense OWL examination, and is hoping for a good result.'

oOoOoOo

From the Journal of Harry James Potter:

5 July, 1996 – Friday (continued)

11pm. I'm writing this in my room at the Bones' farm in Kent. I can't believe that my plan actually worked, although not in the way I'd expected. Amelia Bones is the new Minister and for some reason decided to investigate in person. She hasn't said one thing about making any statements or press conferences or anything like that – either she's truly honest, or she's just a lot craftier than Fudge ever was. Only time will tell, but for now I've decided she can be trusted.

Amelia – she practically ordered me to call her that when the situation wasn't formal – arrived, stunned the Dursleys, read this journal up to the previous entry (in about five minutes flat – she makes Hermione look like a slow reader), and spirited me away, leaving the aurors (Tonks and Shacklebolt were part of the team) to clean up the mess. We ended up in her office where she had me checked out by a nurse before using yet another portkey to bring me here. She introduced me to her sister-in-law Brigitta (wow! I'll write more about her tomorrow) but I didn't see Susan at all. They showed me to my room, told me breakfast would be at 7, and here I am. I'm should go to sleep but I'm too wound up to do so at the moment.

My room, which I was informed is mine for as long as I want it, is really nice. It's got a sloped ceiling from being right against the roof, but it has two nice windows, one with a desk beneath it and the other by the head of the bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. There's a nice rug on the floor, and the bed looks really soft, like a Hogwarts bed without the drapes and tester. There's a bookcase next to the bed, and Brigitta (Susan's mother) magically unpacked for me so everything's put away. The bathroom is right next door.

I'm actually looking forward to tomorrow. For now, I've got a potion I'm supposed to take to start undoing the starvation the Dursleys put me through. I wonder what Susan will think of me suddenly showing up? God, I hope she's not like Lavender. She seemed pretty sensible in DA so here's hoping.

oOoOoOo

Amelia and Brigitta Bones sat in the kitchen, candles flickering against the stygian dark of the cloudy night, cups of tea (Amelia) and coffee (Brigitta) steaming on the table between them. Harry had been settled in his room with a nutrient potion with a mild sleeping potion mixed in, and they had gone back downstairs to talk.

'I'm sorry for bringing Harry back without consulting you, Gitte,' said Amelia quietly. 'I only went to his home by chance, really. Old Auror instincts kicking in I suppose. I'm glad I did, though. You should have seen his room, the way he was treated.'

Brigitta sipped her dark coffee thoughtfully. 'I think I can guess,' she said, her blonde eyebrows pulling into a slight frown. 'He looks half starved.'

Amelia nodded, her eyes going to the plate of butter biscuits in the middle of the table. 'He is. He let me read the journal he's been keeping since he got back from Hogwarts. The last thing he ate before about midnight last night was on the Hogwarts Express.' Brigitta's eyes widened.

'That's almost a week!'

'Five days. He waited five days with no food and no water except when he was let into the bathroom once a day before deciding to use his wand.'

'Why so long? Surely...' She let her voice trail off at Amelia's shaking head.

'I don't know, but Harry has been treated abominably by everyone except a few friends.' She swallowed heavily and wiped one eye. 'He'd almost decided to let himself die of starvation. What he wrote...' Her expression hardened, anger instead of sadness. 'What he wrote... I tell you, Gitte, there's going to be a few heads roll over this. I remember, the only time I'd seen him before was a year ago, almost exactly. You remember that emergency trial I had to attend as part of the Wizengamot?'

Brigitta leaned forward, curiousity overriding concern for the boy-child that they had just put to bed. 'Yes, of course I do. You wouldn't tell me what it was about.'

'I wasn't allowed to. I'm still not allowed to, really, except that as Minister I can enact executive decrees to overturn that kind of nonsense. Fudge called a full Wizengamot trial for a case of underage magic.'

'Harry?'

'Harry. He was charged for performing the Patronus to defend himself and his Muggle cousin from two dementors. What's more, Fudge was both prosecutor and chief inquisitor and attempted to railroad a conviction without allowing Harry to call any witnesses, and was calling for a sentence in Azkaban.' Amelia looked almost ill at the memory. 'I almost resigned from both the Wizengamot and the Ministry that day.'

Brigitta's eyes were ablaze. 'Unbelievable! You stayed to stop him from replacing you with his own lackey, I assume.' Amelia nodded.

'Yes.'

Silence stretched as the two sipped their drinks, the warm, comfortable silence of old friends. Eventually Brigitta put down her mostly-empty cup and smiled at her companion.

'Derek used to be just like you, Em,' she said softly. 'It's one of the reasons I fell in love with him, you know, even though he was older.'

'I know, you've told me before,' replied Amelia, her voice now also soft. She put down her empty mug with a soft thump. 'Gitte, I've been thinking...'

'Mmm?'

'I wonder, if Harry likes it here...?'

Brigitta's eyes widened in surprise, then crinkled into a smile. 'Let's just let him live here for a while before we think about that. I think that right now, he needs to heal.'

Amelia nodded, and reached out to grasp Brigitta's hand. 'I know it's been a while, Gitte, but...?' she asked, almost whispering.

'I'd love to. Come on.'