18 The Boy Who Confused

Harry walked confidently towards his Aunt, all four heads of house, teaching staff and groundskeeper alike, and even the Headmaster following in his wake. Though he was nervous, he decided to put on an innocent and oblivious front, though somehow he doubted his success when people began to hiss, several more turning to each other to whisper heatedly.

"Bless my soul, that's... that smile!" McGonagall whispered shakily, hand on her chest.

"Black," Snape's low voice hissed scathingly, dark eyes narrowed in distaste.

Professors Sprout and Flitwick muttered and whispered together in the far corner, and Harry caught the words 'Death Eater Sirius Black'. The smile in question almost slipped from his lips, but he fixed it quickly.

Harry pretended that he either didn't hear, or wasn't sure what to say. Almost as though it didn't involve him; in essence, he told himself, that it didn't.

'We're off to a great start, I'd say,' he thought with an internal snort.

"Harry," the Headmaster began, adopting an unwelcome and more familiar tone. "How good of you to remember to come, thank you for giving us some of your time."

Harry tilted his head, amused and annoyed. By phrasing it that way, it implied several things. One: that the meeting had been discussed prior to now between Dumbledore and Petunia, despite the fact that it actually hadn't.

Two: that he was somehow 'overwhelmed' but still being a 'good, predictable child'. Patronizing and implying that his reaction was not to be treated as fact.

And finally: that he had control over the situation. Basically, he thought he was in complete control of all present.

It was a manipulative way of speaking that lead simpler folk by the nose. Not agreeing to things the way Dumbledore had implied were, would seem confrontational. Furthermore, the guilt at disappointing an authority figure would usually kick in. Usually; that is, unless you have Harry's experience.

But Harry knew psychology well, so still smiling, he tilted his head to one side, adopting a confused face. Open posture that looked receptive, but making himself smaller and look less sure.

"Professors? Headmaster? Oh my, I don't remember making appointments with you, and I wasn't called..."

Harry inwardly smiled, but his face remained politely confused, quickly translating the undertones each sentence held.

'I had an appointment with my aunt, not you.'

"But it was so good of you to come, even on such short ntoice," Dumbledore smiled, blue eyes twinkling away. "After all, this is quite a monumental day."

'I am in control of all Hogwarts matters, and as a personal favor I am handling this; you were merely keeping us waiting.' The first half translated. 'This situation is unusual, and out of my comfort zone.'

Harry smiled so wide his eyes nearly closed, upturned at the corners and crinkled. "Yeah, but it's over now and settled, so unless you need me, I will hug my aunt and skip off to Ravenclaw tower; I'm beat!'

'Unless you have a reason to keep me, I am not going to oblige you and stay. What's done is done, and I am interested in my family and getting to bed.'

"Surely you can spare a few moments to settle some matters before bed, Harry. We won't be long," Dumbledore argued, looking charming and grandfatherly. His robes were a clashing mix of magenta with pumpkin orange hemming and sash, another psychology trick used for deflection.

'If you refuse me here and now you will look like an arse, so let's get this done till my satisfaction.'

Harry looked at Petunia, who was a bit paler than usual, but otherwise unshaken. He flashed her a smile and made a beeline for her.

"Oh I really don't want to be out past curfew, not on my first day of school," He insisted gently, playing the golden boy. "And you absolutely can't make any exceptions for me."

This sort of persona was easy, but it gave him strange pangs and burned hotly along his biceps when he spoke. That was new!

'I am not a rule-breaker, nor an arse, but I am also not available for questioning at this time.'

The throbs of pain felt stronger now, and both his arms felt heavy. Not able to show his distress, but feeling like he was actively being burnt, Harry did his best to appear like a normal but quirky child.

Dumbledore's eye dimmed, and he put on a sorrowful, small voice. "It really is important that we settle this matter tonight, Harry."

By using Harry's first name here, the familiar tone adopted that of an old family friend. If Harry bristled with anger, or said something in response, social necessities would deem him rude and abrasive.

"I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I really don't think you should break the rules for me. No, I must follow the same rules as everyone else. Unless..." He paused and hitched a confused and hurt expression between his brows. "Unless I've done something wrong?"

'Gotcha! You can either punish me or let me go, but you'll lose face either way. If you punish me you look harsh and cruel, if you let me go you look like a weak old fool. Check-bloody-mate.'

Dumbledore seemed saddened by this, but he nodded. "No, you're fine, my boy. I had just hoped to have a moment of your time." He turned from the youth to his silent staff. "I'm afraid there's no use badgering the poor boy, so let's leave them be."

Snape swept past them in the wake of the Headmaster, both the first to leave. McGonagall looked like she wanted to say something but turned swiftly and marched after her colleagues.

Sprout smiled and mumbled, "See you the last week of September, Hufflepuff House is p-pleased to have you."

"Absolutely!" Flitwick squeaked, gesticulating wildly. "G-Good to have you in Ravenclaw, can't wait to see you grow!"

Both darted quickly through the door, almost fleeing.

Harry turned to his Aunt, holding up a finger in the universal symbol for 'one'. Tilting his head to listen, he waited for the sounds of the others to fade away, then nodded. His smile smoothed and he relaxed.

"Were they horrible to you, Auntie?" He asked, partially teasing, but mostly serious.

Petunia looked at him for a moment, then broke into a smile. "What am I to do with you?" She sniffed, eyes shining with unshed tears, but quickly blinked them away. "You'll find that your Aunt is as much an Evans as your mother ever was. There is a fire in us, Harry. Before we were married, we were born Evans, and Evans we stay."

Harry smiled genuinely, a much smaller facial movement that warmed his face in ways his larger smile had not. Perhaps, this was his real smile. Either way, Harry loved hearing about his mother.

"Say, Auntie,?" He quipped, moving to stand in front of her. "What House do you reckon they would've sorted you to?"

Petunia laughed, almost like it had caught her by surprise. Either way, she was smiling. "Your... your mother and I used to have this same conversation, you know. In... in the... before..."

She trailed off, tugging Harry into her arms for an impromptu hug. Wordlessly, and sighing softly, she pet his hair and simply held him; he didn't resist. Several moments passed, but both were silent and enjoying the others presence. Family was always Harry's weak spot.

Finally, Petunia's voice came, ringing out softly above his head.

"My dear boy, I do believe I would have been a Slytherin."

* * * * *

Up in the tower, high above the school grounds, lights through high windows reflected three figures, silhouettes stretching with the low glow of the fireplace. Inside, two of the figures were facing the third, and it was he that spoke.

"I fear," he began, turning towards the dim fire in the fireplace. It illuminated his face in sharp contrast, shadows creating deep lines, making him appear older. "That there is something young Mister Potter is hiding from all of us, and to what ends, I do not know."

The silence hung for a moment before he continued. "I failed many youth in my years, many young lads in Hogwarts, but I shan't do it again. Because of this, I have to consider all facts." He looked up, blue eyes sharp. "Minerva, Severus! I need you to show me your memories of anything unusual you have seen in your brief interactions with the young Harry Potter."

After a few moments, muttered spells, and waiting, all were gathered around the silver basin of the Headmaster's penseive. Dumbledore nodded at them and plunged in, joined first by McGonagall, then Snape. When their feet first touched down, both men turned to McGonagall, for it was her memory they were viewing. She had been the first to interact with Harry in July, so it came first in the chronological order.

McGonagall began to narrate as they watched the memory unfold. "My first encounter with Harry Potter was after we received his acceptance letter. I was curious, and he had personally requested his vault key, so I paid a visit to the muggle home he grew up in. I watched the house in my animagus form for six hours before I made myself known. I was hoping to observe the family and see if there was anything wrong due to the rather short and strange reply."

The scene showed McGonagall apparating to the alley behind the home on Number 4 Privet Drive, and then her shift to animagus form with it's low viewpoint.

She had spent most of the day with a group of cats and kneazles that lived with the neighbor, Mrs. Figg the neighborhood squib. Perhaps she recognized McGonagall's form, or maybe she really was daft, because she didn't bat an eyelash at the new addition.

While she pretended to be a domestic cat, she kept close watch on the Dursley home. What quickly became apparent was the strange dynamic of the family, let alone Harry Potter himself.

Over the course of several replays and even more time lapses, they discovered the strangeness that was the Boy-Who-Lived. Covered from head to toe, neither of them felt confident in their first identification of the youngest Potter. A beanie hat, hooded jumper pulled up and over his hair and large sunglasses kept nearly all of his face hidden. A small portion of skin not covered by those above, was shielded by a large scarf that concealed his lower face, neck, mouth, and jaw. In fact, no real skin could be seen, as even his hands had gloves. All the professors agreed that this was an important part of the mystery and made a mental note of it to question further when they had more information.

That day, the hours unfolded quickly inside the penseive, and soon the Potter heir had appeared and manhandled the humiliated animagus into his arms and home. McGonagall's expression turned dark, and she gave a glare when either of her colleagues began to coincidentally cough or clear their throat.

Penseive memory version of Harry had just indicated that he would like the Potter vault key and extended his hand for the brass trust fund key, when Dumbledore called out in a booming voice, "Stop!"

Both men walked forward quickly as the memory froze, each wanting a better view. Dumbledore and Snape circled and crouched, bending and twisting to view all of the possible angles. The fingers on Harry's left hand looked unusual, just as much as his absence of fingers, but it was also the way Harry interacted with the Transfiguration Professor that caught the attention of both men.

"Curious," Dumbledore whispered.

After another sweep of the memory, they moved on. Dumbledore's first encounters with Harry were short and fragmented.

"But, Headmaster, did you not meet Harry as a child first?"

Dumbledore went still, closing his eyes against the hopeful and pained eyes that suddenly burned hotly on him, the scene of the Headmaster's arrival at Ollivander's playing absently in the background.

"No, Minerva, I don't have the strength to view that memory at this time."

Snatches of conversation, scenes with Harry wandering through Hogwarts during the last month of summer, all passed with little incident. But it was the memory of his sorting that stood sharply out compared to others, and they each watched the three viewpoints of them each witnessing the event.

McGonagall's offered the closest vantage, but Snape's memory was sharper on the details. Dumbledore's eye view only completed and filled in the missing angles, but didn't offer anything new that the other two had not covered.

After several beats, they left the penseive and sat quietly in the Headmaster's office, thoughts filling the deafening silence and keeping them company.

"I don't understand," Dumbledore admitted, voice soft. He stroked his long white beard as he thought, hand moving in a downwards motion. "What does it all mean?"

"Indeed, I find myself at a loss," McGonagall agreed, dark circles appearing beneath her eyes. "But he hardly seems dangerous at this time." She looked worn and stressed, hair escaping her usually immaculate bun atop her head.

Snape snorted, hair hanging in slick lines around his long, angular, and sharp face. His eyes were staring into the distance and his mouth was pinched with stress.

"Somehow," Snape muttered in his low, deep voice. "Harry Potter has become a mystery, and one I would love to crack. But I agree with McGonagall's judgement; we wait and watch for now."

Dumbledore nodded, and the three all headed to their beds, brains buzzing with the idea that Harry Potter had secrets. Yes, secrets, and none of them could fathom what they were. But their brains burned with curiosity and wonder.

Up in Ravenclaw tower, Harry sneezed.