Harry Potter Fic: Scars of the Soul
Title: Scars of the Soul
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3098
Warnings: * implied child abuse
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: This is weird. I mean - really weird, outside my usual style and I’m not sure how much of a success it is. Anyways, be warned - it might not be to your liking.
Summary: AU, Non-Magic, one-shot. “My department is not in the habit of allowing child abuse, no matter how strong the child in question is.”
Scars of the Soul
A dream that a lion had dreamed
Till the wilderness cried aloud,
A secret between you two,
Between the proud and the proud.
-Yeats, “Against Unworthy Praise”
Part One
Sixteen year old Harry Potter was a fairly unusual boy. His parents had been killed when he was only a year old, fifteen years ago come Halloween, and he’d lived with his mother’s sister, Petunia, her husband, Vernon, and their son, Dudley, ever since. But despite the fact that they were blood relations, Petunia and Vernon Dursley had never treated their nephew as well as they should have, as testified by the bruise on his jaw and the red weal that snaked over his shoulder and collarbone.
Vernon usually didn’t hit him on the face; he’d always bruised easily, and the bruises were generally reluctant to fade. They were hard to explain, especially if he got them often. It was much better to decorate his body with bruises or welts, easily hidden by the too-large castoffs of Dudley’s that hung loosely on a frame too thin from lack of food.
On this hot, humid July day, Harry was hunkered down against the outside wall of his Aunt and Uncle’s house. The sun was setting, sending the temperature dropping even as the last dying rays stabbed at the sky and soaked the surroundings in molten gold. It glinted brightly off his round glasses and highlighted the dark purple bruise on his jaw with shadowy intensity.
Flickering green eyes watched the corner of the house, and he listened carefully for the noisy bulk that was his older cousin, Dudley. Fortunately, it appeared he’d already gone inside, having gotten bored of the stalking game.
Staring blankly across the street, Harry slowly focused his eyes on the figure standing on the other side. Tall, with pale hair and gray eyes, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white button-up shirt, staring at the Dursleys’ house with surprising animosity. Then, the figure turned and walked away, and the sunlight continued to fade.
Part Two
“What’s going on?” Harry asked in bewilderment, staring around him. The flashing lights gave the dark street a surreal glow, augmented by the shadowy press of bodies around him. He jerked away when someone grasped his shoulder, directly over the red weal that snaked across it.
“Are you Harry Potter?” A voice beside him demanded, and Harry jumped, stepping away.
“Yes,” he said guardedly. “Who are you?”
“I am Officer Jack Pole, and I’m investigating reports of Child Abuse. Would you mind coming this way, Mr. Potter?”
“Child abuse!” Harry exclaimed in astonishment. “What child abuse!?”
“This way, Mr. Potter,” Officer Pole said again, and reached out to touch Harry’s arm again. Harry knocked the arm away.
“Don’t touch me!” He snapped angrily, backing away another pace. The officer hesitated, watching him carefully. “Why do you want to talk to me?” He demanded. “Why not Dudley?”
“Because the reports are about you,” Officer Pole said steadily. “Would you like to go into the house?”
“No!” Harry said, horrified. “I’m not a little kid! I’m not helpless!”
“Just come in and we’ll talk about it,” Officer Pole said, again in that calm, easy voice, and scowling heavily, Harry reluctantly allowed the officer to shepherd him towards his aunt and uncle’s house.
Part Three
“Officer Archer, this is the abuse case, Harry Potter,” Officer Pole said, sticking his head through a doorway. “He needs a place to stay for a few hours. Got the time?”
“Send ‘im in,” a muffled voice said from within, and Officer Pole gestured for Harry to enter. He did, keeping his eyes down the entire time, his arms crossed in front of his chest defensively. The sound of a chair shifting across the floor reached him, and he felt the burn of a gaze on his bowed head. His ears started to heat up, and he scowled. “There’s a seat,” the officer, some sort of high-ranking one, said unexpectedly, and Harry glanced up reluctantly as Officer Pole left again. Archer, a tall, dark-haired man with bright blue eyes, nodded to a seat in front of a large wooden desk, and Harry slowly sat, refusing to look at the officer, opting instead to stare determinedly at his knees.
“How old are you, Harry?” Archer asked after a moment, and Harry hunched his shoulders reflexively, still refusing to lift his head.
“Sixteen,” he mumbled finally, then snapped his gaze up, eyes flashing. “I’m not a child! I didn’t need help!” Too late, he realized his mistake as Archer’s cool gaze latched onto the dark bruise along his jaw, and Harry saw the man’s teeth clench. He dropped his head again hastily.
“I have no doubt,” Archer said after a long moment. “However, my department is not in the habit of allowing child abuse, no matter how strong the child in question is.” Harry had no answer to that, and so hunched down in the seat and refused to acknowledge anything for the next hour.
Part Four
“A foster family?” Harry asked doubtfully, frowning up at Archer. The dark-haired man smiled down at him.
“You’ll like the Weasleys, Harry,” he said reassuringly. “Mr. Weasley works in the electricity firm, and Mrs. Weasley is a marvelous cook.”
“But they already have seven kids!” Harry said incredulously.
“Only two at home, at the moment,” Archer said, smiling indulgently. “They aren’t in the habit of taking in foster children, but they knew your parents, apparently.”
“My parents?” Harry asked keenly, his gaze zeroing in on Archer with a startling intensity. “Did you know my parents?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” Archer shook his head. “I saw James occasionally, but he was at least five years older than me. I was just a trainee when he died.” Harry scowled, disappointed. “Don’t worry, kid,” Archer said, smiling. “If you go to the Weasleys, I’m sure they’ll tell you lots of stories about your parents.”
“Well, all right,” he said, finally. “I’ll go.”
Part Five
“Hello, Harry dear!” Molly Weasley exclaimed, instantly wrapping Harry in a hug. Harry froze, standing stiffly in her arms and making no move to return the hug. Surprised, Molly pulled away to look at his face, and seeing the stunned look, she gasped. “Oh, goodness! I’d forgotten...those horrid people!”
“Er...hello,” Harry tried cautiously, and Mrs. Weasley stopped her angry muttering and gave him a delighted smile.
“Come on in, Harry!” She said cheerfully. “Have you had breakfast yet? It’s awfully early.”
“Er, no. No, not really,” he said, gingerly stepping after her retreating figure.
“He’s been at the station, Mrs. Weasley,” Officer Pole said, taking his hat off of his pale hair. “I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of sustenance at this time of night...day, I mean.”
“Well, you should!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, and there was the sound of pots banging from the kitchen. Alarmed, Harry glanced up at Pole, who grinned at him broadly. “All you officers are far too skinny!” Pole’s grin grew wider, and then Harry peered cautiously around the doorframe, seeing, to his astonishment, at least six pots on the wide stove. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, pancakes, homemade syrup bubbling in a small pot in the back, and a pan of sausage sizzling in the foremost pan. Harry had never seen so much food in one place in his life. “Sit down, sit down!” Mrs. Weasley shooed them towards the scrubbed wooden table. “I’m afraid it’s a bit early for the kids. EVERYBODY UP!” She bellowed, and Harry started in his seat. Pole laughed, and Harry gave him a dirty look. From upstairs came a loud groan and muffled cursing. Then a female voice said something rapidly, and there was a sudden commotion as what sounded like a herd of elephants pounded down the stairs. Harry leapt to his feet, eyes wide, as he saw that he wasn’t quite off the mark.
Eight redheads poured down the stairs in their pajamas, not two.
“What the - ” Harry gasped, hurrying around the table to put it between him and the crowd.
“Is he here yet, Mum?” One of the redheads - a girl, Harry thought - demanded.
“There he is!” Another one shouted, and Harry found himself under the Collective Weasley Gaze.
“Bit small, aren’t you?” One asked after a pause, and Harry gaped, stunned. Pole laughed.
“Officer Pole!” The Weasleys chorused. Then two of the redheads stepped forward, and Harry was suddenly looking at identical twins. They bowed low at Pole, who shook his head, grinning, then each one snatched up one of Harry’s hands and shook it firmly.
“How do you do, old chap?” One asked, smirking.
“I’m Gred,” said the other.
“And I’m Forge,” said the first.
“And we’re...”
“...absolutely delighted...”
“...to meet you...”
“Oh, shove over,” one of the others complained, and a tall man with a fang in his ear stepped forward and smiled at Harry’s overwhelmed expression. “You’ll get used to it,” he said reassuringly. “I’m Bill, by the way,” he said with a wink. “Those two are Fred and George, no matter what they tell you. That git over there is Charlie, he works with dangerous animals in Romania most of the time. That oddball is Percy, the smartest of this whole lot.” Percy nodded while Charlie grinned and waved. “That’s my dad, in the back, by the stove,” Bill said, and Mr. Weasley smiled brilliantly at Harry, who waved weakly back. “My little brother Ron, over there, he’s your age, I think.”
“Hi Harry,” Ron said, flushing a bit. Harry tried a smile, not knowing how successful it was.
“And last but not least, my little sister Ginny,” Bill nodded to the girl, who smiled at him.
“Er...hi...” Harry said, feeling a bit lost and subdued. The kitchen seemed to waver in front of him, nine earnest faces with red hair...Harry looked beseechingly at Pole, who was smiling gently at him.
“Food!” Mrs. Weasley said at that moment, and there was a pileup at the table for chairs as Mrs. Weasley piled her surplus of food onto the surface. “Sit down, Harry! Officer Pole, are you going?” Harry snapped his gaze over to Pole, feeling unaccountably scared. Pole was indeed rising to his feet.
“Yep,” Pole said with a nod of the head. “I’ve got to be off, only stopped by to drop Harry off. Thank you for everything, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”
“Think nothing of it, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, calming down now that everyone was eating happily.
“Bye, Harry,” Pole said with a smile, and then he strode out of the kitchen. Harry gazed around him at the sea of red hair, feeling helplessness bubble up in him. Turning, he rushed after Pole, not knowing what he was going to say but knowing he had to say something.
“Officer! Officer!” He called, catching up to Pole. The officer turned to look at him, his eyes softening. “You - don’t leave me here - I can’t - they aren’t - ”
“What’s wrong, Harry?” Pole asked gently, crouching in front of him so he was looking up at him. Strangely, Harry felt better at that movement, and quashed it angrily. He was not a helpless, abused child!
“I - they’re - they’re a family...I don’t - they’re not - ” Harry trailed off, struggling to find the words. Pole laid his hands on Harry’s forearms, calling his attention with a gentle touch. His eyes met Harry’s firmly, a slight smile showing at the corners of them.
“They want you here, Harry,” he said quietly. “The only reason they didn’t adopt you fifteen years ago was because your parents’ mentor thought it best for you to grow up with your mother’s sister. Had we known...well, you’d be a black-haired Weasley, had we known.” Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat, his eyes darting over Pole’s face. “Give it a try,” Pole said softly. “I’ll be back on Sunday - if you’re still unhappy, I promise you, I’ll find you another place to live. Is that agreeable to you?” Harry nodded, but once he felt the involuntary tremors his hands were making, he gave a truly magnificent scowl. Pole smiled and shifted his grip to Harry’s hands, squeezing firmly, holding them steady. Then he rose, smiled once more, and released him. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunching. “Chin up, Harry,” Pole said. “Your life is going to take a turn for the better. You’ll be surprised at how much fun you can have.” Swallowing, Harry nodded, and watched desolately as Pole walked towards his car, got in, and drove away.
“Hey,” a voice said behind him, and Harry jumped, turning. It was the youngest boy, Ron, who smiled at him tentatively. “We’ve been wondering where you went. Aren’t you hungry?” Surprised, Harry realized that he actually was. With a slight nod, he moved towards Ron, who turned and led him back to the house, already telling Harry about something to do with ghouls, ghosts, and goblins in a bar that Harry had no idea what to think of.
Part Six
“Sir?” A Lieutenant poked his head into Jack Pole’s office, blinking at the tall man who was bent over a desk.
“Yes?” Pole asked looking up. The Lieutenant smiled.
“We’ve got a couple newbies here,” he said. “One of them says he knows you.”
“Oh?” Pole asked, straightening and putting down his pen. “Who?”
“Says his name’s Harry Potter,” the Lieutenant said. “Says he knows you because you took him away from his aunt and uncle’s house when he was sixteen.”
“Harry Potter?” Pole asked, surprised. “Here?”
“Yeah,” the Lieutenant said, giving him a strange look. “You do know him, then?”
“Child abuse case,” Pole said, standing up. “Quite a few years ago, now. I had no idea he was training to become a Law Enforcement Officer.” The Lieutenant’s eyes cleared, and he nodded.
“He’s in the other room,” he said, and pulled his head out. Pole shook his head and followed.
Outside in the Officer’s resting area, two young men stood, looking rather uncomfortable in their new uniforms. One of them had a mess of black hair, bright green eyes, and round glasses on his nose.
“Harry?” Pole asked, and the man’s head snapped up, and he straightened up with a startled smile.
“Er...hi...” he said, then blushed. Pole laughed and strode forward, giving Harry a one armed hug.
“Decided to become an Officer?” Pole asked, smiling, and Harry’s lips twitched, and he ducked his head, nodding. “Well then, welcome aboard!”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, but he was smiling.
“How are the Weasleys?” Pole asked, guiding him to sit down.
“They’re great,” Harry said, eyelids sliding halfway shut. “Really great.”
“Glad to hear it,” Pole said, examining Harry’s face. The last time he’d seen it, it had still had the faint coloring of a bruise on the jaw. Now it was strong and mature, a faint shadow of stubble on the cheeks, any remaining baby fat having been burned away in the Officer’s training program. “What made you decide on Law Enforcement?” Pole asked, and Harry gave a wry smile and an embarrassed shrug.
“You,” he said, and Pole raised his eyebrow. “You were nice,” he elaborated, and Pole nodded in understanding. To a sixteen year old boy who’d never known a kind word in his life, someone nice would always be remembered. Pole smiled, oddly pleased.
“Well, I’m glad to have you with us,” he said.
“Thanks,” Harry replied, and Pole stood up.
“Afraid I can’t stay much longer,” Pole said, truly regretful. “Had I known the amount of paperwork that comes with the Promotion, I’d never have taken it,” he said with a rueful look, and Harry laughed.
Part Seven
It was almost as if he’d been transported back in time to that surreal, half-remembered night where his life had changed forever. Flashing lights and the press of shadowed bodies, and Harry was suddenly sixteen again, feeling bewildered and scared. But he wasn’t sixteen anymore, he was an adult, and the rolls were reversed. It was Harry who guided a scared and bewildered child away from the commotion. It was Harry who sat the child down in his car and closed the door to block out the sound. It was Harry who calmed and comforted the young boy with a story of a sixteen year old boy who was determined to master his own life, who was determined to be something other than an abused child. It was Harry who took Pole’s place, who took him to meet his superior, and then took him to a family of redheads. Charlie Weasley and his wife, Abigail, and their three boys and two girls. It was Harry who knelt before a bruised child and reassured him, and it was Harry who drove away, his throat tight. But he knew. He remembered.
He left Charlie’s house and drove back to the Department, and went into Pole’s office.
“How did you do it?” He asked. Pole didn’t reply. He just smiled at Harry, and took Harry’s trembling hands in his own to still them.
At the end of the day, Harry returned to the Weasley house. Not Charlie, but Molly and Arthur, and ate roast and potatoes and carrots with gravy, and slept in the room he had as a teenager, and waited for two days to pass. Then he returned to Charlie’s home, and caught sight of a mess of brown curls and bright blue eyes, and the faint shadow of a bruise around one of them. But he didn’t concentrate on that - his eyes remained firm on the tentative, happy smile.
He asked Pole later that day how he’d known what to do. Pole only smiled, and the smile whitened a scar on his cheekbone, and he glanced at a photo of a grim-faced man on his desk. Archer. And Harry understood, because Pole’s gray eyes had the same look that Harry saw in his own every morning in the mirror, and saw in the eyes of the child at Charlie’s house. Scars on the soul, not on the skin.
When he was offered the Promotion, he accepted.
When the child who wasn’t a child anymore arrived, he smiled and hugged him and told him he was glad to have him aboard, and the child who wasn’t a child anymore smiled and stumbled over his words and stared at Harry with those same scars in his eyes, and Harry took a picture of Pole, staring grim-faced at the camera like Archer had before him, and put it on his desk.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 3098
Warnings: * implied child abuse
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: This is weird. I mean - really weird, outside my usual style and I’m not sure how much of a success it is. Anyways, be warned - it might not be to your liking.
Summary: AU, Non-Magic, one-shot. “My department is not in the habit of allowing child abuse, no matter how strong the child in question is.”
Scars of the Soul
A dream that a lion had dreamed
Till the wilderness cried aloud,
A secret between you two,
Between the proud and the proud.
-Yeats, “Against Unworthy Praise”
Part One
Sixteen year old Harry Potter was a fairly unusual boy. His parents had been killed when he was only a year old, fifteen years ago come Halloween, and he’d lived with his mother’s sister, Petunia, her husband, Vernon, and their son, Dudley, ever since. But despite the fact that they were blood relations, Petunia and Vernon Dursley had never treated their nephew as well as they should have, as testified by the bruise on his jaw and the red weal that snaked over his shoulder and collarbone.
Vernon usually didn’t hit him on the face; he’d always bruised easily, and the bruises were generally reluctant to fade. They were hard to explain, especially if he got them often. It was much better to decorate his body with bruises or welts, easily hidden by the too-large castoffs of Dudley’s that hung loosely on a frame too thin from lack of food.
On this hot, humid July day, Harry was hunkered down against the outside wall of his Aunt and Uncle’s house. The sun was setting, sending the temperature dropping even as the last dying rays stabbed at the sky and soaked the surroundings in molten gold. It glinted brightly off his round glasses and highlighted the dark purple bruise on his jaw with shadowy intensity.
Flickering green eyes watched the corner of the house, and he listened carefully for the noisy bulk that was his older cousin, Dudley. Fortunately, it appeared he’d already gone inside, having gotten bored of the stalking game.
Staring blankly across the street, Harry slowly focused his eyes on the figure standing on the other side. Tall, with pale hair and gray eyes, dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white button-up shirt, staring at the Dursleys’ house with surprising animosity. Then, the figure turned and walked away, and the sunlight continued to fade.
Part Two
“What’s going on?” Harry asked in bewilderment, staring around him. The flashing lights gave the dark street a surreal glow, augmented by the shadowy press of bodies around him. He jerked away when someone grasped his shoulder, directly over the red weal that snaked across it.
“Are you Harry Potter?” A voice beside him demanded, and Harry jumped, stepping away.
“Yes,” he said guardedly. “Who are you?”
“I am Officer Jack Pole, and I’m investigating reports of Child Abuse. Would you mind coming this way, Mr. Potter?”
“Child abuse!” Harry exclaimed in astonishment. “What child abuse!?”
“This way, Mr. Potter,” Officer Pole said again, and reached out to touch Harry’s arm again. Harry knocked the arm away.
“Don’t touch me!” He snapped angrily, backing away another pace. The officer hesitated, watching him carefully. “Why do you want to talk to me?” He demanded. “Why not Dudley?”
“Because the reports are about you,” Officer Pole said steadily. “Would you like to go into the house?”
“No!” Harry said, horrified. “I’m not a little kid! I’m not helpless!”
“Just come in and we’ll talk about it,” Officer Pole said, again in that calm, easy voice, and scowling heavily, Harry reluctantly allowed the officer to shepherd him towards his aunt and uncle’s house.
Part Three
“Officer Archer, this is the abuse case, Harry Potter,” Officer Pole said, sticking his head through a doorway. “He needs a place to stay for a few hours. Got the time?”
“Send ‘im in,” a muffled voice said from within, and Officer Pole gestured for Harry to enter. He did, keeping his eyes down the entire time, his arms crossed in front of his chest defensively. The sound of a chair shifting across the floor reached him, and he felt the burn of a gaze on his bowed head. His ears started to heat up, and he scowled. “There’s a seat,” the officer, some sort of high-ranking one, said unexpectedly, and Harry glanced up reluctantly as Officer Pole left again. Archer, a tall, dark-haired man with bright blue eyes, nodded to a seat in front of a large wooden desk, and Harry slowly sat, refusing to look at the officer, opting instead to stare determinedly at his knees.
“How old are you, Harry?” Archer asked after a moment, and Harry hunched his shoulders reflexively, still refusing to lift his head.
“Sixteen,” he mumbled finally, then snapped his gaze up, eyes flashing. “I’m not a child! I didn’t need help!” Too late, he realized his mistake as Archer’s cool gaze latched onto the dark bruise along his jaw, and Harry saw the man’s teeth clench. He dropped his head again hastily.
“I have no doubt,” Archer said after a long moment. “However, my department is not in the habit of allowing child abuse, no matter how strong the child in question is.” Harry had no answer to that, and so hunched down in the seat and refused to acknowledge anything for the next hour.
Part Four
“A foster family?” Harry asked doubtfully, frowning up at Archer. The dark-haired man smiled down at him.
“You’ll like the Weasleys, Harry,” he said reassuringly. “Mr. Weasley works in the electricity firm, and Mrs. Weasley is a marvelous cook.”
“But they already have seven kids!” Harry said incredulously.
“Only two at home, at the moment,” Archer said, smiling indulgently. “They aren’t in the habit of taking in foster children, but they knew your parents, apparently.”
“My parents?” Harry asked keenly, his gaze zeroing in on Archer with a startling intensity. “Did you know my parents?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” Archer shook his head. “I saw James occasionally, but he was at least five years older than me. I was just a trainee when he died.” Harry scowled, disappointed. “Don’t worry, kid,” Archer said, smiling. “If you go to the Weasleys, I’m sure they’ll tell you lots of stories about your parents.”
“Well, all right,” he said, finally. “I’ll go.”
Part Five
“Hello, Harry dear!” Molly Weasley exclaimed, instantly wrapping Harry in a hug. Harry froze, standing stiffly in her arms and making no move to return the hug. Surprised, Molly pulled away to look at his face, and seeing the stunned look, she gasped. “Oh, goodness! I’d forgotten...those horrid people!”
“Er...hello,” Harry tried cautiously, and Mrs. Weasley stopped her angry muttering and gave him a delighted smile.
“Come on in, Harry!” She said cheerfully. “Have you had breakfast yet? It’s awfully early.”
“Er, no. No, not really,” he said, gingerly stepping after her retreating figure.
“He’s been at the station, Mrs. Weasley,” Officer Pole said, taking his hat off of his pale hair. “I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of sustenance at this time of night...day, I mean.”
“Well, you should!” Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, and there was the sound of pots banging from the kitchen. Alarmed, Harry glanced up at Pole, who grinned at him broadly. “All you officers are far too skinny!” Pole’s grin grew wider, and then Harry peered cautiously around the doorframe, seeing, to his astonishment, at least six pots on the wide stove. Eggs, bacon, potatoes, pancakes, homemade syrup bubbling in a small pot in the back, and a pan of sausage sizzling in the foremost pan. Harry had never seen so much food in one place in his life. “Sit down, sit down!” Mrs. Weasley shooed them towards the scrubbed wooden table. “I’m afraid it’s a bit early for the kids. EVERYBODY UP!” She bellowed, and Harry started in his seat. Pole laughed, and Harry gave him a dirty look. From upstairs came a loud groan and muffled cursing. Then a female voice said something rapidly, and there was a sudden commotion as what sounded like a herd of elephants pounded down the stairs. Harry leapt to his feet, eyes wide, as he saw that he wasn’t quite off the mark.
Eight redheads poured down the stairs in their pajamas, not two.
“What the - ” Harry gasped, hurrying around the table to put it between him and the crowd.
“Is he here yet, Mum?” One of the redheads - a girl, Harry thought - demanded.
“There he is!” Another one shouted, and Harry found himself under the Collective Weasley Gaze.
“Bit small, aren’t you?” One asked after a pause, and Harry gaped, stunned. Pole laughed.
“Officer Pole!” The Weasleys chorused. Then two of the redheads stepped forward, and Harry was suddenly looking at identical twins. They bowed low at Pole, who shook his head, grinning, then each one snatched up one of Harry’s hands and shook it firmly.
“How do you do, old chap?” One asked, smirking.
“I’m Gred,” said the other.
“And I’m Forge,” said the first.
“And we’re...”
“...absolutely delighted...”
“...to meet you...”
“Oh, shove over,” one of the others complained, and a tall man with a fang in his ear stepped forward and smiled at Harry’s overwhelmed expression. “You’ll get used to it,” he said reassuringly. “I’m Bill, by the way,” he said with a wink. “Those two are Fred and George, no matter what they tell you. That git over there is Charlie, he works with dangerous animals in Romania most of the time. That oddball is Percy, the smartest of this whole lot.” Percy nodded while Charlie grinned and waved. “That’s my dad, in the back, by the stove,” Bill said, and Mr. Weasley smiled brilliantly at Harry, who waved weakly back. “My little brother Ron, over there, he’s your age, I think.”
“Hi Harry,” Ron said, flushing a bit. Harry tried a smile, not knowing how successful it was.
“And last but not least, my little sister Ginny,” Bill nodded to the girl, who smiled at him.
“Er...hi...” Harry said, feeling a bit lost and subdued. The kitchen seemed to waver in front of him, nine earnest faces with red hair...Harry looked beseechingly at Pole, who was smiling gently at him.
“Food!” Mrs. Weasley said at that moment, and there was a pileup at the table for chairs as Mrs. Weasley piled her surplus of food onto the surface. “Sit down, Harry! Officer Pole, are you going?” Harry snapped his gaze over to Pole, feeling unaccountably scared. Pole was indeed rising to his feet.
“Yep,” Pole said with a nod of the head. “I’ve got to be off, only stopped by to drop Harry off. Thank you for everything, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.”
“Think nothing of it, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, calming down now that everyone was eating happily.
“Bye, Harry,” Pole said with a smile, and then he strode out of the kitchen. Harry gazed around him at the sea of red hair, feeling helplessness bubble up in him. Turning, he rushed after Pole, not knowing what he was going to say but knowing he had to say something.
“Officer! Officer!” He called, catching up to Pole. The officer turned to look at him, his eyes softening. “You - don’t leave me here - I can’t - they aren’t - ”
“What’s wrong, Harry?” Pole asked gently, crouching in front of him so he was looking up at him. Strangely, Harry felt better at that movement, and quashed it angrily. He was not a helpless, abused child!
“I - they’re - they’re a family...I don’t - they’re not - ” Harry trailed off, struggling to find the words. Pole laid his hands on Harry’s forearms, calling his attention with a gentle touch. His eyes met Harry’s firmly, a slight smile showing at the corners of them.
“They want you here, Harry,” he said quietly. “The only reason they didn’t adopt you fifteen years ago was because your parents’ mentor thought it best for you to grow up with your mother’s sister. Had we known...well, you’d be a black-haired Weasley, had we known.” Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat, his eyes darting over Pole’s face. “Give it a try,” Pole said softly. “I’ll be back on Sunday - if you’re still unhappy, I promise you, I’ll find you another place to live. Is that agreeable to you?” Harry nodded, but once he felt the involuntary tremors his hands were making, he gave a truly magnificent scowl. Pole smiled and shifted his grip to Harry’s hands, squeezing firmly, holding them steady. Then he rose, smiled once more, and released him. Harry stuck his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunching. “Chin up, Harry,” Pole said. “Your life is going to take a turn for the better. You’ll be surprised at how much fun you can have.” Swallowing, Harry nodded, and watched desolately as Pole walked towards his car, got in, and drove away.
“Hey,” a voice said behind him, and Harry jumped, turning. It was the youngest boy, Ron, who smiled at him tentatively. “We’ve been wondering where you went. Aren’t you hungry?” Surprised, Harry realized that he actually was. With a slight nod, he moved towards Ron, who turned and led him back to the house, already telling Harry about something to do with ghouls, ghosts, and goblins in a bar that Harry had no idea what to think of.
Part Six
“Sir?” A Lieutenant poked his head into Jack Pole’s office, blinking at the tall man who was bent over a desk.
“Yes?” Pole asked looking up. The Lieutenant smiled.
“We’ve got a couple newbies here,” he said. “One of them says he knows you.”
“Oh?” Pole asked, straightening and putting down his pen. “Who?”
“Says his name’s Harry Potter,” the Lieutenant said. “Says he knows you because you took him away from his aunt and uncle’s house when he was sixteen.”
“Harry Potter?” Pole asked, surprised. “Here?”
“Yeah,” the Lieutenant said, giving him a strange look. “You do know him, then?”
“Child abuse case,” Pole said, standing up. “Quite a few years ago, now. I had no idea he was training to become a Law Enforcement Officer.” The Lieutenant’s eyes cleared, and he nodded.
“He’s in the other room,” he said, and pulled his head out. Pole shook his head and followed.
Outside in the Officer’s resting area, two young men stood, looking rather uncomfortable in their new uniforms. One of them had a mess of black hair, bright green eyes, and round glasses on his nose.
“Harry?” Pole asked, and the man’s head snapped up, and he straightened up with a startled smile.
“Er...hi...” he said, then blushed. Pole laughed and strode forward, giving Harry a one armed hug.
“Decided to become an Officer?” Pole asked, smiling, and Harry’s lips twitched, and he ducked his head, nodding. “Well then, welcome aboard!”
“Thanks,” he mumbled, but he was smiling.
“How are the Weasleys?” Pole asked, guiding him to sit down.
“They’re great,” Harry said, eyelids sliding halfway shut. “Really great.”
“Glad to hear it,” Pole said, examining Harry’s face. The last time he’d seen it, it had still had the faint coloring of a bruise on the jaw. Now it was strong and mature, a faint shadow of stubble on the cheeks, any remaining baby fat having been burned away in the Officer’s training program. “What made you decide on Law Enforcement?” Pole asked, and Harry gave a wry smile and an embarrassed shrug.
“You,” he said, and Pole raised his eyebrow. “You were nice,” he elaborated, and Pole nodded in understanding. To a sixteen year old boy who’d never known a kind word in his life, someone nice would always be remembered. Pole smiled, oddly pleased.
“Well, I’m glad to have you with us,” he said.
“Thanks,” Harry replied, and Pole stood up.
“Afraid I can’t stay much longer,” Pole said, truly regretful. “Had I known the amount of paperwork that comes with the Promotion, I’d never have taken it,” he said with a rueful look, and Harry laughed.
Part Seven
It was almost as if he’d been transported back in time to that surreal, half-remembered night where his life had changed forever. Flashing lights and the press of shadowed bodies, and Harry was suddenly sixteen again, feeling bewildered and scared. But he wasn’t sixteen anymore, he was an adult, and the rolls were reversed. It was Harry who guided a scared and bewildered child away from the commotion. It was Harry who sat the child down in his car and closed the door to block out the sound. It was Harry who calmed and comforted the young boy with a story of a sixteen year old boy who was determined to master his own life, who was determined to be something other than an abused child. It was Harry who took Pole’s place, who took him to meet his superior, and then took him to a family of redheads. Charlie Weasley and his wife, Abigail, and their three boys and two girls. It was Harry who knelt before a bruised child and reassured him, and it was Harry who drove away, his throat tight. But he knew. He remembered.
He left Charlie’s house and drove back to the Department, and went into Pole’s office.
“How did you do it?” He asked. Pole didn’t reply. He just smiled at Harry, and took Harry’s trembling hands in his own to still them.
At the end of the day, Harry returned to the Weasley house. Not Charlie, but Molly and Arthur, and ate roast and potatoes and carrots with gravy, and slept in the room he had as a teenager, and waited for two days to pass. Then he returned to Charlie’s home, and caught sight of a mess of brown curls and bright blue eyes, and the faint shadow of a bruise around one of them. But he didn’t concentrate on that - his eyes remained firm on the tentative, happy smile.
He asked Pole later that day how he’d known what to do. Pole only smiled, and the smile whitened a scar on his cheekbone, and he glanced at a photo of a grim-faced man on his desk. Archer. And Harry understood, because Pole’s gray eyes had the same look that Harry saw in his own every morning in the mirror, and saw in the eyes of the child at Charlie’s house. Scars on the soul, not on the skin.
When he was offered the Promotion, he accepted.
When the child who wasn’t a child anymore arrived, he smiled and hugged him and told him he was glad to have him aboard, and the child who wasn’t a child anymore smiled and stumbled over his words and stared at Harry with those same scars in his eyes, and Harry took a picture of Pole, staring grim-faced at the camera like Archer had before him, and put it on his desk.