Chapter 71- A little knowledge is dangerous thing.

July 26, 1995

"There's been some trouble regarding Harry."

Percy Weasley made an irritated sound and punched his pillows, wondering if it was finally time to get up. His sleep had been plagued with half remembered dreams and the nagging of his guilty conscience. He patted around for his horn-rimmed glasses, then held them in front of his face so he could glance at the clock.

Too Early To Be Awake. Lovely.

Heaving a great sigh, Percy re-folded his glasses and tried to settle in again. His conscience didn't get the hint though, and continued to prod at him, speaking in his father's voice.

"Professor Dumbledore has reason to believe Harry's Archive folder is malfunctioning."

"The evidence suggests his guardians have been negligent."

"His folder was supposed to alarm if anything unusual happened, and it hasn't."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Percy recalled the day before when he'd been sent to fetch Harry Potter's folder from the Census Library and Archive. In retrospect, he'd been the junior person on the premises and the most logical choice for the task, but at the time he'd been a little miffed over the whole affair. The minister didn't usually treat him like a common errand boy.

Still, he'd been willing to follow the minister's lead and keep up appearances. Alienating Dumbledore served no purpose, after all. He was still the Hogwarts Headmaster, and a great favorite in the Wizarding Community. It was a pity the old chap seemed to be slipping, but there was no cure for growing old. It happened to everyone eventually.

Keeping that sentiment firmly in mind, Percy had decided rather magnanimously that there was no real harm in humoring his former headmaster. He'd fetch the folder. The minister might even agree to open it, just to put Dumbledore's fears to rest. By the time he'd returned, folder in hand, he'd been so wrapped up in his own hubris he hadn't known how to react when Professor Flitwick discovered a Silencing Charm on the thing.

A Silencing Charm!

"His folder was supposed to alarm if anything unusual happened, and it hasn't..."

And the noise the folder had made when the charm was removed! Percy ran a weary hand through his sleep-tousled hair. Thank heavens Professor Flitwick had erected a barrier before removing the spell. If he hadn't, the sonic blast that issued forth might have deafened the lot of them. As it was, the folder's alarm was enough to make everyone's ears ring in spite of Flitwick's Muffling Charm.

Heaving a great sigh, Percy finally gave up and reached for his glasses again. Ignoring the "Go Back To Sleep, Stupid!" admonition on his clock's face, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and searched for his slippers and dressing gown.

Dumbledore was wrong about one thing, though, he mused, padding toward the kitchen of his new flat. Even if he'd given in to his father's original request it would have been for naught. Clearly, more than one member of the Wizengamot was needed to open the folder. When Minister Fudge and Professor Dumbledore had attempted it, they had failed. Percy had eventually returned the folder to its place in the library, Cornelius Fudge's demands for an investigation still ringing in his ears.

"Maybe his folder hasn't alerted because nothing's wrong."

"That's the assumption people have been working under for the past several years. Actually I think the folder has been silent so long everyone had practically forgotten it."

That was it. The heart of the matter. After Minister Fudge had told him about the exquisite magical protection surrounding Harry Potter, Percy had almost convinced himself that he must have been mistaken about the degree of danger Harry had been in during his school years. Clearly Harry couldn't have been in any real danger, and of course the idea that his Muggle relatives mistreated him was pure rubbish.

Wasn't it?

"What if Dumbledore's right, Perce? What if the folder is malfunctioning and Harry's relatives are not taking proper care of him? You may not care, but I will not tolerate Harry or any child being mistreated."

Shut up.

Percy winced, trying to ignore the hot guilty feeling the memory engendered. Potter wasn't mistreated. He wasn't! he insisted, pressing his lips together and resolutely putting the kettle on the stove.

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Madam Pomfrey paused on a rise between Hogwarts and the village of Hogsmeade. The grounds were always particularly lovely this time of year, and the scene below made a very pretty picture. Hogwarts castle rose majestically before her, framed by the green, flower-dotted landscape and the sparkling blue water of Hogwarts Lake, but she was too troubled to fully appreciate it.

Adjusting her grip on her medical bag, she sighed and continued down the path, heading for the castle gates. Normally she found the walk between the village and the castle soothing. Indeed, that had been the primary reason she'd Apparated to the outskirts of Hogsmeade instead of using a shorter, more direct approach to return to the hospital wing. She'd hoped a brisk walk would help her get her thoughts in order, but today even the morning sun dancing playfully on the lake's surface wasn't enough to successfully distract her.

As she walked, Poppy found herself recalling the speech Albus made at the end of term-about what is right and what is easy. She knew what the headmaster was getting at of course, she'd lived through You Know Who's first rise to power, but that didn't mean she was looking forward to what was coming once she got back to the castle. Albus and Pomona were probably quite cross with her for disappearing the way she had. The fact that she'd gotten caught up in events beyond her control might be her only saving grace.

It was almost funny, since the evening had actually been rather ordinary up to that point. She and Pomona Sprout had been summoned to watch the hospital wing...had it only been last evening? Poppy shook her head as she continued. With all the excitement, it seemed like more time had passed. At any rate, the two of them had made quick work of getting the hospital wing in order, caught up on each others' news, then settled in to wait. One watched the ward while the other napped-standard operating procedure.

Things had stayed quiet until well after midnight, when the alarm signaling an Order portkey being activated sounded twice, and their first group of casualties arrived. Of the lot, Minerva McGonagall had been the only one still clinging to consciousness. Her whispered warning about the invisible trap waiting in the Burrow soon had Poppy scurrying to contact the other Order defenders before anyone else blundered into it. That accomplished, she had just been going to help Professor Sprout when the alarm went off again. Changing direction, she'd hurried over to the spot where new patients portkeyed in, but this time a snowy owl appeared!

Some post owls were accustomed to Portkey or Floo travel, but this one clearly was not. Poppy had quickly picked up the corners of her apron and rushed forward to catch the disoriented creature. Odd. The Order portkey system was set up so even an ill or injured member could make use of it. Why had the owner sent an owl with a note?

And why did the owl seem so familiar? There weren't many snowys around...

Poppy had puzzled that over as the owl righted itself and settled on her shoulder. Still trying to place the bird, she'd taken the letter from its beak, fingers flying to her mouth when she thought of a possible answer. Potter! Potter has a snowy owl! The bird's brilliant white plumage made it stick out in a crowd, and she'd admired it many times when post was delivered in the Great Hall.

That had put things in a whole new light.

Poppy smiled a little when she recalled her own reaction to that little brainstorm. She'd been nearly beside herself with concern, thinking that Potter must be very bad off indeed if he was actually asking for help! It had taken her a second or two to catch on to the obvious-namely Potter hadn't written the note himself.

Dear Sir or Madam:

I apologize in advance if this letter seems unusual, but I find myself in a rather unusual situation...

Unusual. Poppy almost laughed aloud at the blatant understatement. "Unusual" didn't even begin to cover it.

Still, she hadn't been overly concerned, at least not at first. Aside from the thin, Muggle paper it had been written on, the letter itself had been rather unremarkable in spite of its dramatic arrival. It was nothing more than a request for a house call, really. From the symptoms described, it sounded like Potter had a combination of gastroenteritis and pharyngitis. Nasty, but certainly fixable. The writer-Janet Wright-had also mentioned prolonged unresponsiveness, but Poppy had taken that in stride. She'd tended Potter many times in the last four years and was well aware of the boy's tendency to sleep long and deeply when recovering from an injury. It was quite likely he reacted the same way to illness. If so, she couldn't blame the woman for being concerned. She'd found Potter's healing process a bit discomfiting herself the first time she'd observed it.

Discomfiting! Poppy shook her head again, tutting at her own arrogance. The address Janet provided was in the general vicinity of the Leaky Cauldron, so after warning Pomona she'd be out for a bit, she'd opted to Floo there and Apparate to Potter's location. Her plan had been simple: Check on Potter, stabilize him if necessary, and bring him back to the hospital wing. The whole errand should have taken thirty minutes. An hour at most.

Should have. "Should" being the key word there.

Naturally, it didn't.

Oh, no, the situation she found when she arrived at the Wright residence was a far cry from the simple little exam and treatment she'd been expecting.

Pausing again at the castle entrance, Poppy hesitated with her hand on the door then squared her shoulders and marched through. When one had a nasty dose of medicine coming, it was always best to take it quickly.

She was about halfway to the infirmary when a voice caught her attention. "Poppy! Where on Earth have you been, dear?"

Turning, Madam Pomfrey saw Professor Flitwick hurrying toward her with at least a dozen breakfast trays trailing in his wake. Instantly alert, she asked, "Did something else happen?" There was more food than necessary for Arthur Weasley's family. Anticipating a disaster, Poppy unconsciously quickened her step, making the little Charms professor trot to keep up with her.

"How bad is it?" she asked, stopping dead in her tracks for a moment. "Oh, Pomona!" she groaned, hurrying even more.

"Now, now calm down, dear," Flitwick puffed, trying to avoid spilling the trays as they clanked and rattled behind him. "It's not as bad as all that. There were a few minor injuries, but I stayed around to help. Most everyone was treated and released. The patients still in the hospital wing are simply sleeping off one soporific agent or another. Pomona thinks they'll be waking soon."

Relieved beyond speech, Poppy slowed her pace, then stopped, leaning gratefully against the wall and allowing him to fill her in on the night's activities. Now that the adrenaline surge she'd just had was fading, her own fatigue was beginning to creep in. A small dose of Pepper-Up might be in order once they reached the hospital wing. She simply couldn't shake off these all night emergencies the way she used to.

Flitwick noticed, of course, and asked after her as they continued on their way. "Are you quite all right dear? Where ever have you been?"

Poppy sighed. "I'm fine, Filius, just tired. I've been in London...tending Mr. Potter," she admitted, wincing when his mouth fell open and the breakfast trays wavered dangerously before he got them under control again.

They walked in silence for a few paces, the trays trailing behind them like a line of baby ducks, before the little Charms professor spoke again.

"Is the boy all right?"

Madam Pomfrey nodded. "Yes. He's resting comfortably."

"But he's still in London?"

"Yes."

Flitwick's face twisted into a mask of confusion. "May I ask why?"

Poppy sighed. "I'd rather wait to answer that until all concerned parties are assembled."

Filius chuckled. "I think you'll find lots of 'concerned parties' behind that door," he said dryly, pointing to the wooden slab that separated the hospital wing from the rest of the castle.

Poppy sighed as she straightened her hat and smoothed her apron. As soon as she stepped though that door she was going to be the absolute center of attention. "Very well. I suppose we'd better get on with it," she said, reaching for the latch.

"Wait," Flitwick said, catching her wrist. "Let me go first. The house elves sent some lovely sticky buns. You might have an easier time of it if their teeth are stuck together."

This is the height of idiocy! Percy grumbled to himself as he headed to one of the Ministry's more out of the way Floo connections. Honestly! It isn't as though I don't have anything else to do!

Stopping in the hall, he considered abandoning the errand, then shook his head and pressed on. The Silencing Charm they'd found yesterday had shaken his confidence, and just now when he'd pulled the access instructions for the Boy Who Lived, it was obvious no one had even touched them since early 1982.

Besides, all he really had to do was check in with the custodian. Harry didn't even have to know he'd been there. Feeling much better, Percy drew the instructions out of his robe pocket as he knelt in front of the little-used grate. "Arabella Figg," he called, throwing a pinch of Floo Powder in the fireplace.

Within seconds he was staring into a rather Muggle looking lounge. Percy frowned a bit, wondering if he had the right grate, then recalled the caretaker had to masquerade as a Muggle. It had all been there in the instructions, along with explicit instructions to Floo, not apparate.

The procedure had also cautioned against drawing attention to oneself, and waiting until Mrs. Figg acknowledged the call before proceeding.

So where on Earth was she?

Percy shifted a bit as his knees began to protest his kneeling on the hard floor. "Mrs. Figg? Mrs. Figg, are you there?" he called, remembering belatedly that it was rather early still, and it was possible she wasn't up and about yet.

"Who's there?" a sleepy voice finally asked from the couch. Percy frowned, unsure whether to be concerned or annoyed when he caught sight of the exhausted-looking witch. The rumpled state of her hair and Muggle clothing seemed to suggest she'd slept on the sofa all night.

"My name is Percy Weasley-I'm with the Ministry of Magic," Percy said, watching as she got up and walked over.

"Percy? Good Lord! I haven't seen you since before you started Hogwarts! I don't expect you remember me, though," Mrs. Figg said, showing a great deal more animation. "Come in, dear, please! It'll just take a second to heat up the kettle."

"Don't go to any trouble on my account," Percy said, lurching forward out of the hearth as his body joined his head in the witch's lounge.

"No trouble," Mrs. Figg assured him from the kitchen. "I could do with a cuppa myself after last night. How is your family this morning, dear? All fine I hope?"

Percy had no idea, but assumed he'd have been notified if any calamity occurred. "They're fine so far as I know," he hedged. "Thank you for asking."

"Good," Mrs. Figg said, relief obvious on her face as she came bustling back with two steaming mugs and a plate of pastries on a tray. "I've been so worried, especially with all that You Know Who unpleasantness."

Oh, smashing, Percy groaned, taking a sip of tea and making a noncommittal noise around it. Dad's been spreading that You Know Who rubbish again. He waited for her to demand answers, the Ministry's pat answer on the tip of his tongue, but she surprised him by delicately letting the matter drop.

"That's better," she remarked, after they'd sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes. "Now, what can I do for you, dear?"

"I'm here on Ministry business, Mrs. Figg," Percy began, after swallowing a bite of pastry.

"Ah, you'll be wanting to see Vernon's house, I suppose," Mrs. Figg said with a sigh before he could elaborate.

"Vernon?"

"Vernon Dursley, Harry's uncle."

In spite of everything, Percy didn't want this impromptu visit noised about. Not yet, at any rate. "I don't want to disturb anyone," he backpedaled. "I just wanted to check up on the, erm, current state of affairs."

Mrs. Figg shrugged, taking out her wand and weaving a complex series of charms around Percy. "It's early enough, I doubt anyone will notice you. If they do, just tell them you're interested in the house."

"The Muggles won't mind?" Percy asked, finding that rather hard to believe, especially given his father's stories about Harry's aunt and uncle.

"Why should they mind? That's what it's there for, after all. Actually, I think I'll go with you," she decided, ushering him out the door. "I need to remove some Muggle Aversion Charms, and now's as good a time as any."

Muggle Aversion charms? Percy frowned in confusion. That certainly didn't tally. "I thought Harry's Muggle relatives didn't like magic," he commented as they made their way up the street.

Mrs Figg's expression grew unexpectedly grim. "They don't," she said, further bewildering Percy when she lowered her eyes as though ashamed. "That poor child. That poor sweet child," she said with a sigh. When she looked up he was astonished to actually see tears in her eyes. What on Earth was going on? She clearly thought he knew what she was talking about. How could he ask without sounding like a fool? What had upset her so? And on that subject, why the uncommonly keen interest in his family's welfare?

They walked a few more paces in silence, moving like ghosts through the damp, gray morning. Mrs. Figg shook herself out of her reverie after a few moments, but her choice of topic only added more questions to Percy's already racing brain.

"The wards surrounding the property are fairly standard. An extra set was added to track Harry if he ventured too far from the house-he was just a toddler you know-and I think others were installed to detect magical activity in the house. Anti-Apparation wards extend about twenty-five meters from the house in all directions. There's also a series of wards across most of the neighborhood at allows me to know if a magical person is about," Mrs. Figg explained as they made their way along. Percy nodded politely, but didn't really see why she was telling him all this, unless it was merely a point of interest. He might not agree with all the decisions Harry had made over the years, but that didn't mean he wanted the younger boy here without protection. The way she was carrying on, one would think preparations were being made to dismantle the wards!

"Here we are," Mrs. Figg announced, breaking his train of thought. "Number four," she said, pointing.

Percy squinted through his glasses. "There must be some mistake. That house is for sale...and completely vacant!" he exclaimed after walking up to the house and peering in a window.

"There's been some trouble regarding Harry..."

"There's always trouble regarding Harry. What's he done this time?"

"He hasn't done anything. Professor Dumbledore has reason to believe Harry's Archive folder is malfunctioning."

Mrs. Figg looked up from removing her Muggle Aversion Charms. "Did Arthur forget to tell you? The family's gone. Moved out of the country."

"So what does this have to do with me?"

"Harry's folder is sealed. We need approval from the Wizengamot and the Minister's Office to access it."

"No! Absolutely not! The headmaster can make an appointment and go through proper channels just like everyone else!"

"Well, normally he would, Perce, but this is a bit of an emergency."

"No, Dad. An emergency would be you and I both getting sacked for doing something so stupidly irresponsible..."

"...no longer necessary, I reckoned the Minister would send a team of Aurors out to remove the wards, were you not here to gather specifications?"

"Oh, no. I mean yes! Where is my mind?" Percy replied, buying a little time to regroup by reaching inside his robe for the quill and parchment he always carried and scribbling down what she'd already said. When he was caught up, she carried on, describing the ward structure and telling him the best times to send people in without their being noticed. Percy took it all down but was no longer really listening. As soon as he could manage it, he was back at the Ministry, hurrying toward the Census Library as fast as his long legs could carry him.

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