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“Hello, I’m here for the- um, the Continuing Education program?”

The woman on the other side of the desk doesn’t look at Harry for long enough that he almost says it again, thinking she hasn't heard him, but just as he opens his mouth, she speaks, still looking down at her desk.

“Are you finishing an already attempted school program, or starting the equivalent from scratch?” 

“Uh,” Harry starts, “I’m- I’m starting from scratch, so an equivalent, I guess.”

She reaches behind herself without looking at him, pulling out an intimidating stack of papers and puts them on the desk in front of Harry.

“Read through the contract then fill out the information at the back. Then, take the filled out forms to the Department of Education’s offices on the third floor, and give it to Madeline, the woman working the front desk.”

Harry blinks several times, thrown by the amount of information he was just given.

“I- I thought this was the Department of Education? This was where the Aurors at the entrance told me to go.”

She sighs like Harry is trying her patience, before finally turning to look at him, “This is the Department of Information. The Aurors shouldn't have sent you here, but it's a common enough problem that we’ve started keeping some of the more frequently needed forms on hand.” She pauses, tilting her head at him before shaking it and pointing towards the glorified waiting room, basically just a hallway with chairs. “You can fill it out here, or make your way up to the Education offices, but they’ll be able to help you fill it out if you don't understand something, so I’d recommend going there.”

“Right I’ll- I’ll make my way there then, I guess.” Harry says, reaching out slowly towards the stack of papers, flipping through them slightly before a look from the woman has him scooping them up, “Thank you,” he says as he steps away, but the woman doesn't acknowledge him as he scurries down the hall.

—

“-and then after you fill in things like name, birthdate, and address, you’ll be asked to answer questions about your education history.” The nice lady behind the education offices front desk - Madeline - says, “Did you go to Muggle elementary or high school, have you done any private magical tutoring, do you want to take classes or jump right into the exams. Things of that nature. Honestly,” she assures in a kind voice, “the forms aren't as scary as they look, it's all very straight forward.”

“Right,” Harry mutters, his eyes flickering from the pages to Madeline's face, “Do I need, like, evidence or proof for stuff? Like the name of my school, or a piece of mail for my address?” 

“Oh, you don’t need to worry about anything like that,” Madeline replies, “All paper used for forms like this are enchanted so you can't write a lie on it. It lets us skip past having to chase all that down.”

“Right,” Harry mutters again, “I’ll just- I’ll just go sit down and fill it out then?” He says, backing away from the desk where Madeline has been walking him through it, towards the waiting room. This one an actual room across from the front desk.

He takes great pleasure in closing the door behind him and seeing no one else in the room. He doesn’t want anyone to see his panic. He’d thought he’d be able to at least start the process to sign up, but it seems he won't even be able to fill out the forms. He’d prepared as well as he could for this. He has a fake ID, one the person he bought it from seemed confident would convince the Ministry, even if only for a while. He’d prepared a fake address as well, one he even had fake mail for, but it seems like that won’t help him like he thought it would.

Harry sits in one of the chairs with a groan, leaning down to bury his face in the papers. He supposes it was a bit of a pipe dream that this would work, that he could have used this as his way to edge his way into magical Britain without becoming a spectacle. Though, mostly, he’d just wanted a wand, a desire that had dug itself so deeply under his skin when he saw someone use one for the first time that he’d made a bit of a fool of himself in Diagon Alley. Apparently you can't buy a wand as an adult unless you have evidence of your last one being broken or lost, who knew.

He shakes his head, pushing himself up from the mess of papers in his lap. It doesn't matter how much he wanted to take the classes, how much he’d wanted to find his way into this society instead of existing on the fringes of it like he had been in the Muggle world; it doesn't matter how much he’d wanted to learn to use his magic intentionally. Clearly, this isn't the way he's going to do it.

Now, Harry supposes, the challenge is leaving the waiting room without Madeline getting suspicious. He could probably just say he's going to the bathroom and then not come back. It's not like he’s given out any of his actual information, all he's told them so far is the fake name on his ID - Oliver. He’d liked the Oliver Twist books when he’d read them, they felt relatable to little him in a way nothing else had been. It's felt like something of an inside joke to claim it as his name now.

He leaves the papers on the chair and gets up, putting it back into a neat stack - just because he's leaving unannounced doesn’t mean he has to leave a mess - before he starts to walk out casually, like he's not doing anything out of the ordinary, double checking that the ribbon wrapped around his wrist is still secure, but when he goes to open the door, a man stands on the other side.

Harry jolts, taking a quick step back from him. It takes him a moment to take in the man, but once he does he realises he recognises him. Vaguely.

Thomas Marvelo Gaunt. The current Minister of Magic. He’d been mentioned in the background of a few of the articles Harry had read when he’d first found the magical community in the outskirts of Windsor, quoted first as a politician criticizing Fudge's handling of everything that had happened, yet still calling for calm in light of it, then as someone who seemed to move quickly into everyone's ideal pick for Minister once Fudge had stepped down.

Harry only really recognised him due to the photos he had taken with Black and Lupin after he was first elected. It was one of only a handful they had published. Harry isn't sure if he wishes they had done more or not.

“Minister!” Harry yelps, before clearing his throat, “Hello! What- what are you doing here? Uh- sir.” He adds belatedly.

Gaunt smiles, the same one Harry had seen in the photo. It made Harry feel slimy then, and it still does now.

“I heard we had a new prospect for our Continuing Education program, and I know how intimidating it can all be, so I thought I’d come and greet you myself.”

Gaunt holds a hand out, and Harry reaches out to shake it while trying to look behind him to see if he could wiggle his way out. He knows the Minister was the one to champion the Education changes in the years after he was elected, when it became evident that a not-insignificant portion of the magical population wanted an education but had been barred for one reason or another, so him deciding to give a new member personal attention wouldn't be that out of the ordinary. Nonetheless, it’s one of Harry’s nightmare scenarios for how this day could have gone.

“Well that's very kind of you,” Harry says, “but- I, uh, I’m doing just fine. You don’t need to bother.”

“Oh? But it seemed like you were just about to leave without filling out your forms.” Gaunt's smile is plastered across his face, and his eyes seem glued onto Harry.

“I…” Harry starts, unnerved that either he had been watching him while he was in the waiting room or there was some other magic on the forms he was unaware of, “I was just going to get some air, the forms were kind of overwhelming.” He says. That would probably end with him outside.

“Perfect,” Gaunt replies, “I was hoping to go on a walk myself once I was done here, we can go together.”

“That's alright! You don't have to-” Harry starts to say before Gaunt grabs his arm, the one with the ribbon on it. He jolts slightly, worried the man might knock it out of place, but he seems to deliberately avoid it. That seems in line with what Harry knows of how these people treat what he thinks is his soul mark - it had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out that that's what it was. To reveal someone’s mark without their consent is one of the more taboo things one can do. He’d learned that through an article about a man charged with assault for forcefully removing a woman's soul mark covering. The Minister's grip on his arm is gentle either way, but one Harry knows he won't be able to break out of as he’s guided out of the waiting room.

“Madeline,” Gaunt says as they walk past the front desk, “would you be a dear and send a message up to my office and let them know I’ve decided to take my guest for a walk?” 

Madeline nods quickly, a flush on her cheeks and a dreamy look in her eyes,”Yes sir!” She says with another avid nod of her head.

“Thank you.” Gaunt returns, guiding them down the hall.

When they get to the elevators, Harry speaks again, finally able to squeak the words out. “Sir, you really don’t need to bother with this, I’m sure you’d rather enjoy your walk on your own!”

Gaunt's stride doesn't break, steadily pulling Harry along as he answers, “Nonsense, I quite enjoy being able to show new visitors the garden.”

Harry only has a moment to wonder what garden Gaunt is talking about - he’d meant to use one of the exits going out to the street, he wasn't aware there was anything like a garden at the Ministry - when Gaunt nods at one of the Aurors who are, for some reason, standing by the elevators as they step inside. The doors clatter shut ominously behind them, but not before he sees them walk purposely away.

“The roof, if you please.” Gaunt says to the operator.

“The- the roof?” Harry manages to ask as the elevator jolts and starts moving upwards.

Gaunt spares him a glance, “That's where the gardens are,” Gaunt says, the obviously left unsaid, “It's not usually open to the public - not unless there's an event - but I think that's a shame, so I try to use it whenever possible.”

“Right…” Harry says, shifting his feet, trying to see if there's any give in Gaunt's hand on his arm now that they're in a confined space, but even when he leans away, Gaunt just seems to lean with him, his hold unrelenting.

The elevator stops with a jolt, and the doors open with a clatter, letting light spill into Harry's eyes. It takes a few blinks for him to see past it, but once he does he can start to understand why Gaunt would want to use it as often as he could.

“I see you agree with my assessment.” Gaunt says, pulling him until they step out of the elevator, and the doors close behind them.

“I- I suppose,” Harry murmurs. It’s beautiful, the greenery lush, not quite as controlled as he would have thought they would be, and the sun is shining in a way that suggests an enchantment. If he squints, he can almost see the glimmer at the edge of the roof that gives away a ward. Harry coughs, feeling awkward suddenly, “So you- uh, you take walks here often?”

“As often as I can,” Gaunt says, tugging Harry along again, following a path that seems well worn. They start going at an odd angle after a few feet, breaking Harry's line of sight with the elevators. It means that when the ding of the elevator doors opening rings out behind them, he can’t see who comes out of them.

“Is the garden usually busy?” Harry asks.

“Not normally, no. Only me and my guards are allowed inside - unless there's an event, as I said before.”

“So… was that a guard that came in behind us?”

“Yes.” Gaunt replies simply.

They walk for several more steps, a silence encompassing them that Harry finds stifling. It's only once they’ve walked several more feet that Gaunt speaks again.

“How are you finding London, Oliver?” Gaunt says. The fake name Harry had chosen for himself seeming to twist off the Minister's lips. “As I understand it, you’re a fairly recent arrival.”

“I- yes, I just arrived a few months ago,” Harry replies, disconcerted by Gaunt already knowing that. He’d kept his cover story close to reality - he’d come to London after finding an isolated magical town while he’d been traveling through the outskirts of Britain. He’d wanted to know more, and he’d been nearly university pointed in this direction. He’d only briefly mentioned that to Madoline after asking her to explain the forms. Harry wasn’t in the waiting room long enough for her to tell him that, was he?

Harry shakes his head, intentionally not side eyeing Gaunt. “And, I’ve been finding it very… interesting. I’d only ever seen pretty small magical communities before, and most of them couldn’t answer most of the questions I’d have. I have to admit to being the most excited about the libraries here. They’re much better stocked than anything I could find out there.”

“Oh? Do you have an interest in something in particular?”

Harry hesitates, knowing he could easily let something slip here he doesn’t want to, but… He did come here mostly to learn; to edge his way into this magical place. Maybe he can make himself seem sympathetic, maybe that would make the Minister look the other way if he does let something slip. He seems to have a fondness for those joining the education program.

“Not anything specific,” Harry finally says, “just… I feel that I’ve missed a lot by growing up away from anything magical.” He shrugs, “Seems that there's a lot to catch up on. It's part of why I wanted to sign up for the Continuing Education program. I thought it would be a good place to start.”

Gaunt nods, “That's one of the main purposes of the program. You’d be surprised by the amount of people who slip through the cracks, losing out on learning the foundations that those who went to Hogwarts or other institutions take for granted.”

They turn a corner, and the elevator doors come back into view, but whoever came out apparently didn’t stay there. Gaunt pulls Harry slightly when he starts to angle towards the elevator, making Harry start another lap around the garden with him.

“One of the first units,” Gaunt starts, “taught alongside the one of foundational magic, is history. Not a complete history of magical society - though the basics are touched on - it's on modern history. Significant events from the last few decades. It doesn't cover everything, it avoids things like social drama - despite some saying it would be useful context to know. Instead, it focuses on legal events: magical conflicts, arrests, political movements, and laws passed or rejected.”

Gaunt pauses. It seems significant, but Harry doesn't know what response he’s looking for. “That seems… like reasonable things to focus on,” he ventures.

“I quite agree. It's why I made sure it was included in the program.” He pauses again, but doesn’t wait for Harry to respond before he continues, “Do you know why the education program was implemented?” he asks.

“I’d read that it was part of how you’d campaigned for minister in light of… in light of Fudge stepping down.”

“So you’re aware of why Fudge had to step down?” Gaunt says, and Harry can feel his eyes suddenly digging into the side of his head.

Harry takes a breath, “It was- it was quite the scandal, or so I’ve read.”

“More akin to a foundational moment of our current society. It revealed the depth of neglect the Ministry had allowed under their watch. That they had allowed a child to die under the care of Muggles, after assuring the public for years that he was well cared for. It's not a surprise that Fudge didn’t last long after that. Especially given who the child was.”

Harry feels himself pale, but he tries to keep it off his face. God, he’s fucked. He’d hoped the odd turns of phrases Gaunt had been using were a coincidence, that the fact he had been brought out here had been happenstance. But no, the Minister must know who he is. He must be trying to feel out how much he's willing to talk about, how much he knows.

As they turn the corner, Harry lets out a breath as they come back in view of the elevators. He doesn't care if it draws attention. He’s leaving, right now. He can go back to his room at the inn and get his stuff, find somewhere else to stay that's not smack dab in the middle of magical Britain. It's not like he’s hurting for money anymore, not after visiting Gringotts and reopening his family's vault - and hadn’t that been a surprise. He’d already converted a chunk of it to Muggle money, he could easily find a hotel to stay at where he won’t have to worry about anyone recognising him.

He tugs at the hand holding his arm, and Gaunt holds on for a moment before suddenly letting go.

“I’d really rather we continued our walk in the garden.” Gaunt says, but no footsteps follow Harry as he walks towards the elevator.

“No!” Harry yelps, “I- No, I’d rather not, thank you.” Harry says firmly, “I’ll be going home, actually. I think I’m done here for the day.”

“Ah, your home.” Gaunt says, his tone changing from the personable one from before, turning into something slimy. “The Leaky Cauldron, was it? Room 11. You must get attached to places quite easily if you consider an inn you’ve stayed at for just over a month to be home.”

Gaunt's voice rings in Harry's ears as he comes to a stop. He sees movement from the corner of his eye, an Auror coming out from a shadowy corner to stand in front of the elevators.

“And that must be what you're referring to,” Gaunt continues, “since as far as I can tell, you haven't lived in anything beyond halfway houses in several years. It's resourceful, I’ll admit, but not something that tends to lend to stability.”

Harry turns to stare at Gaunt incredulously, “How- what? How long have you been following me?”

“Not long. Only since your visit to Gringotts.”

Harry blinks for a moment in confusion.

Gaunt raises an eyebrow, “You thought the reactivation of the vault of a famously missing child would go unnoticed? We’ve had an alert system set up for that vault over a decade now. Snape will be glad to hear his idea came to fruition.”

Harry ignores the reference to a name he only vaguely recognises from the articles around when he’d first gone missing as he flushes, feeling foolish for not thinking that the Ministry would have an alert for things like that, especially after he’d learned how important he seemed to be to them.

“It didn't take long after we got the report for us to find you.” Gaunt continues, “A boy young enough to still be in Hogwarts suddenly appearing in Diagon Alley in the middle of a school year? You were very hard to miss once we knew to look.”

Harry shifts where he stands, clenching his fists. “So what?”

Gaunt tilts his head, “So what?” he repeats.

“What does it matter if I'm- if I’m him. I don’t want anything to do with that, I’m just… I just wanted to take classes since I’m too old to learn anywhere else. I don't want to be involved with all that.”

Gaunt stares at him for a moment, “I don't think you have an option to be uninvolved if you want to stay here. Especially not if you wanted to learn. Lupin teaches the foundations of magic unit, he would have recognised you eventually.”

Harry just looks away, not responding, wondering if he could just jump from the roof, if his magic would make him float down safely, taking control like it sometimes did.

“I think this is a conversation better suited for my office.” Gaunt says, and he nods at the Auror who opens the elevator doors.

Harry takes a step back as Gaunt tries to grab his arm again, suppressing a flinch. The Minister's hand hangs out for a moment before he drops it.

“Harry,” Gaunt says, and his name on his lips makes him jolt, “you can try to leave, but you must know I can't leave you alone now that you're here.”

Harry feels his eyes sting. He turns and walks towards the elevators, Gaunt close behind him.

—

The lock of the door clicks as it shuts behind them. It feels like a nail in the coffin, one of many that have been slowly hammered in unnoticed ever since he stepped foot into the Ministry, since he had come down to Diagon Alley in the first place.

Gaunt is already sitting behind his desk, his posture relaxed now that he doesn't need to keep watch of Harry, making sure he doesn't slip away.

“Before we begin,” Gaunt says, “I’d like to know how much you're aware of.”

Harry doesn't look at him, instead letting his eyes flicker around the room. Latching onto books on the shelves, paintings on the walls, the lack of pictures to be found. 

Gaunt huffs, “Given what you’ve said already, I have to assume you know at least the basics. The media frenzy that surrounded your disappearance, the political and social shift it resulted in.”

Harry takes a deep breath before he steps forward and sinks into the chair in front of Gaunt's desk, “I’m aware of some of it. I… I didn’t look at most of the early stuff, where, uh, when it all first… came out, but I looked at some of the stuff after. Some of the statements Black made, some of the fallout in the government, some opinion pieces. Not much of anything else.”

“Hmm.” Gaunt hums, sending him a contemplative look, “and before that?” Gaunt asks, “you were quite infamous even before then, have you read about why?”

“I am… aware.” Harry says, “I just don’t understand it.”

“Which part?”

“I don’t…” Harry huffs, letting out a breath, “okay so, my parents are dead, I knew that already. They didn't die like I thought they did, but they're dead nonetheless. Instead, they got killed by a- a terrorist? Okay, sure.” Harry swallows, hoping his voice hadn’t audibly wavered. “What I don't understand is why was it such a big deal that I didn't die?” Gaunt goes to interject but Harry shakes his head, “No I- I understand that I survived the- the killing curse or whatever, I just don’t… It wasn’t like I did anything, you know? It must of been something my parents did, or some protection they got for me. I don’t understand why the-boy-who-lived became such a big thing.”

Gaunt stares at him for a moment as he takes a breath, “Well, it seems you know the basics, and I forgive your lack of understanding for the rest. What you need to understand is that the day that your parents were killed signaled the end of the war with the Dark Lord Voldemort.” He pauses for a moment, considering his words. “It was an otherwise normal day. There were no conflicts, no fights. Simply the end of the man who had terrorized their community for years. The public needed a reason for what happened, a miracle, a person, something to explain the sudden lack of pain. And because of the unexplained nature of your survival, you became the unfortunate focus.”

Harry lets that settle in his mind for a moment, “And so, because people thought of me as this… miracle, or whatever, when it came out that I might be- that I might have been dead, that's why people responded so strongly.”

“Indeed.” Gaunt leans forward in his chair, and Harry feels his whole body clench, knowing what question is coming next. He knew what he’d be asked if he was found as soon as he realised how big of a deal his disappearance was to these people.

“Harry,” Gaunt says, his voice softer than it had been so far, and Harry's pathetically grateful, “I imagine this is one of the reasons you decided to try to keep your identity a secret, but I’m afraid I have to ask. Where did you go? What happened after you disappeared from the cupboard?”

It's interesting that Gaunt says disappeared from the cupboard. As far as Harry can tell the public consensus was that his body had been taken from there by Vernon and dumped in the closest river. Maybe the Ministry had kept information like that from the public.

Harry lets his eyes flick about the room as he wonders if he should refuse to answer. He could lock his mouth shut and refuse to budge, but at this point he doesn’t think he has anything to bargain with except his cooperation.

“If I- If I tell you,” he starts, “you can’t contact Black.” Gaunt gets a reticent look in his eyes, and Harry continues quickly, “Not yet, at least! I know- I know you’ll have to eventually, but please, I don't-” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, “I don’t want to talk to him yet. I barely know how this place works, but I know enough to be aware that it wouldn't be long before everyone knew I was here if I was placed with him. Please, I’ll… I won’t run, I’ll tell you what I remember I just- I just don’t want to deal with it all yet.”

Harry doesn’t say that he knows what it's like to be saddled with people who think they have a claim to him, who don’t want him but feel a pressure to keep him. He doesn’t know if Black will be the same, but he doesn’t want to find out, so he’ll keep trying to squirm his way to avoiding it.

“He will find out eventually,” Gaunt says, his voice contemplative, “and it would be best if he found out from one of us instead of a leak of some kind, but I am willing to wait, though not indefinitely.”

Harry doesn’t ask how long. If he leaves the length ambiguous, he knows he can drag it out past what Gaunt would probably be willing to agree to now. Harry nods instead, “Alright, I… Alright.” He breathes through his nose, then out his mouth, ”What did you want to know?”

—

It wasn't long after Harry had first arrived at Diagon Alley that he’d realised something weird. A holiday of some kind had just ended as he was trying to rent a room at the Leaky Cauldron, leaving behind odd decorations, and even odder conversations.

“It's a remembrance,” The inn keeper had said when Harry had asked what it was for, “for the Potter boy.” He’d seemed confused when Harry had said he didn’t know who that was. “You know…” He’d muttered, “Harry Potter? The-boy-who-lived? He died some years ago, this all is something the Alley does to remember him.” He saw Harry's absent look and he shook his head, grunting and waving his hand, “Anyways, I need a name for the room.”

He probably shouldn't say Harry, he’d thought, and said instead, “Oliver.”

After he’d checked into room 11, letting his magic settle into the room and leaving Harry confident enough to leave his bag there (but still taking his money with him) he’d thought it was a good idea to check out one of the newsstands. If there had been a celebration, there would likely be some sort of “looking back” article, and if he wanted to blend in here, it would probably be a good idea to be familiar with stuff like that moving forward.

And he had found an article, a pretty detailed one, but the story had been too familiar for comfort. Much too familiar.

The death of Harry Potter was announced to the wizarding public in October of 1986. A comprehensive timeline - or what the ministry claimed was comprehensive - of what the authorities knew was released the same day.

On January 15th 1986, authorities were called to number 4 Privet drive after a Muggle primary school teacher reported the prolonged absence of their student, Harry James Potter. A Muggle social worker was sent to the home, who was greeted by Petunia Dursley - Harry's Muggle maternal aunt. Mrs. Dursley was unable to provide Harry to the social worker, and when the social worker pushed, she claimed that the boy had run away during the night several weeks ago.

Given that the boy was five at the time - and it was the middle of winter - the social worker was alarmed that the boy had not been reported missing. She ignored Mrs. Dursley's attempts to claim the boy had run off in the past and would return on his own, and called the local Muggle authorities.

By the time the police arrived an hour later, Mrs. Dursley had gone from anger and belligerence towards the social worker for calling the authorities, to a cold calm.

The police had walked through the house after listening to Mrs. Dursley's claim of Harry running away, and had found nothing of note until the social worker - who had lingered in the living room, looking for evidence of Harry's life before he “ran away” - noticed the locks on the door of the cupboard under the home's main floor stairs, and the faint smell of bleach emanating from within.

When the police finally opened the door - who had to force it open after Mrs. Dursley refused to provide the key for the padlock - they found a small room adorned with broken children's toys, and the floor covered in bloodstains, patchy in parts because of the attempts to remove them.

By the end of the day, Petunia Dursley and Vernon Dursley were detained in the local police station, and search parties were sent to canvas the surrounding neighborhoods and towns. Despite Mr. Dursley's repeated claims that he knew nothing about Harry's whereabouts, it wasn't long before eyewitness reports came out of his car being seen parked on a bridge overlooking a nearby river, where a large figure was seen throwing a bin bag over the side of it into the water below. 

Given the size of the blood stains found in the cupboard, and the fact Mr. Dursley was seen disposing of something that was roughly the size of Harry’s body, the couple were arrested and charged with murder by the Muggle authorities.

It took several months for the magical authorities to catch wind of what had happened - and only because a Squib neighbour had brought it to the attention of the Ministry - but by then, Vernon Dursley had died in prison of a heart attack before he could be brought to trial, and Petunia Dursley had been released on bail.

Mrs. Dursley was quickly remanded into Ministry custody, and Aurors took control of the since-boarded-up number 4 Privet drive. Unfortunately, they could not discover much more than the Muggle authorities did.

This is where the details on what the public knew got murky, Harry found. All he could put together for sure were the effects of what this announcement had on the magical community after.

There was a public outcry that lasted months. Why was the-boy-who-lived placed with Muggles, how was it possible he was dead for months with none of them the wiser, how could the Ministry let any of it happen in the first place?

Answers wouldn't come out completely, and most of the legwork putting together what did come out was done by a string of articles published in a small magazine called the Quibbler.

It started with an internal investigation on why Harry was placed with Muggle relatives when - at the time of his parents’ deaths - there were dozens of applications from magical families who had offered to take him in. The answer came, in part, from the current headmaster of Britain's main magical school, Hogwarts: Albus Dumbledore. He claimed responsibility for the ultimate decision to place Harry with the Dursleys, stating he wanted to give Harry a normal life away from the celebrity that would follow him in any magical society, while also laying blame at the feet of the Ministry.

Of the dozens of people who applied to take care of Harry, Dumbledore had considered only a handful of them safe choices. With more than half of the applicants being families with links to the fallen Dark Lord, a handful of them being ones with good intentions but lacking the things Dumbledore believed necessary to care for him, and the last few being ones the Ministry denied outright, Dumbledore said he had been left with few real choices, of which none panned out.

Molly and Arthur Weasley had applied in the days after, but they had been denied due to their seven children - cited as a concern for whether they could provide Harry with enough attention, and lack of funds, despite Arthur working solidly with the Ministry for a decade.

Remus Lupin - who had been named in the Potters’ will as a possible guardian in the event of their death - had applied to take in Harry the day after his parents death, but due to his lycanthropy, he had been denied within hours of his application being received.

Andromeda Tonks applied as well, a week after the incident, but she was denied; with the Ministry claiming she could not adequately split her attention between her own daughter and a new child, as well as there being notes criticizing her Muggle-born husband.

With no other option unless he wanted to let Harry be placed with known dark families, who he claimed he believed would mistreat him due to his connection to the death of the Dark Lord, he used Harry's blood connection to leverage his placement with the Dursleys, the family of his maternal aunt.

In his speech to the Ministry, which was then transcribed and released to the public by journalist Rita Skeeter, it is claimed after he finished explaining his reasoning, he grew pale and denied his chance to defend himself to the court, instead claiming that while he believed in his choice at the time, Harry Potter is dead, and it is clear he could not in good conscious defend his decision now.

He stepped down from his position as headmaster two weeks after with no official charges pressed against him, and with the deputy headmistress taking over, who has since taken the role of headmaster in an official and permanent capacity. Albus Dumbledore has not been seen by the press since.

Due to his words being released to the public, additional pressure was placed on the Ministry, with large amounts of vitriol being levied at both the Minister and his political party. It was mere months before Fudge said he would step down after the next election, held early due to lack of confidence.

In the months leading up to the election, a man who was virtually unknown at the time quickly came into public consciousness: Thomas Marvolo Gaunt. Campaigning on a promise to right the mistakes of the ministry; a promise of investigating the policy and laws that made what happened to Harry Potter possible, he gained the public's favour by following up on that vow before any votes were cast.

For reasons unknown, Minister Gaunt doubted that Sirius Black committed the crimes he was accused of in November of 1981 - namely, the murder of twelve Muggles, and the wizard Peter Pettigrew - and he used the chaos inside the Ministry to have what had otherwise been considered a concrete conviction shed light on the fact the man had not even received a trial.

He used that point as a part of his larger plan for the Ministry, to prove how the Ministry, up to then, only appeared like a functional government, but when you looked at the details, it barely functioned, trampling people’s rights and dignities in the process, putting people's lives on the line.

Sirius Black did not receive a trial before Gaunt was elected, but due to actions Gaunt took beforehand, it was only a week after he was in office that one took place, revealing a lack of investigation, including the fact Mr. Black had never been questioned under veritaserum - which, after it was finally ordered to be done for the trial, found that Sirius Black was innocent, and Peter Pettigrew, the real culprit, was finally discovered.

There was a renewed anger after Mr. Black was released, as newspapers quickly put together that, as Harry Potter's godfather, he would have been placed in his care if he had not been wrongfully jailed.

Gaunt used this anger to strengthen his campaign in the Ministry, removing many members who he believed to be responsible, as well as setting his sights on laws he claimed were used to restrict people's rights, and in the case of Harry Potter, were used as the reason an otherwise capable man was denied the ability to adopt him.

It was a controversial decision, Gaunt's focus on removing legislature that restricted magical creatures such as werewolves - giving them a protected class status, so they couldn't be refused work for being a werewolf or the like, or be fired for it - but due to the promises he had already fulfilled, and the general dislike of the Ministry’s decision before he was elected, he was not met with the pushback he would have received a mere year earlier for the same action, and over the years has been credited as one of the major reasons for the shifts in Britain's opinions of magical creatures.

It took nearly a full day for Harry to process all he had read. He wasn’t in denial. It took only the first few sentences for him to realise the truth, despite the horror it caused in him. He remembered the Dursleys well, and the dank cupboard he had often been locked in. It was hard to reconcile with the fact that this entire society had seemed to dissect and fixate on how he had been treated there, that the event that left him convinced he would die had been published as speculation for all to see.

Yet, he had to admit, it was convenient to have the proof that they thought he was dead in hand. He never wanted to be placed somewhere against his will again, never wanted to be forced to stay with people who hated him. It suited him quite well that no one would think to look for him.

But in his security in that thought, he knows now he had made a mistake in the weeks after. Once he’d learned who the Potter family had been, that the vault he had been left by his family (and isn't that a crazy thought after years of scraping by on his own) had been left undisturbed, he went to Gringotts to see if he could claim it, and surprise of all surprises, he had. A simple blood test was needed to prove who he was, and the goblin who helped him - Griphook was his name - seemed oddly gleeful to help, though now he wonders if he was expecting a reward of some kind for “finding” him. 

Though once he had the money, gallons instead of dollars, he hadn’t known what to do with it. He’d never had much more than what he could carry with him day to day, so beyond the new stability of knowing he’d always have the same room to return to - he’d rented it a month in advance, and the innkeeper had said he’d let him rent it as long as he could pay - he hadn't known what to do with it.

So, he’d spent most of his time exploring the area, dipping his toes into Knockturn Alley on occasion, buying books that piqued his interest and discovering magical hobbies - finding out riding brooms were a real thing was a shock - before one day he’d stepped into Ollivanders, the pull of finally trying to get a wand of his own too strong to ignore. 

He’d been turned away fairly quickly though. Ollivander seemed to know in a look who he was, though he hadn’t reacted as Harry thought he would. Instead, he simply raised an eyebrow and told him, “You might be a celebrity, Mr. Potter, but that does not mean I can simply hand out wands willy nilly. Come back when you have the papers for them, and only then.”

Ollivander had raised his wand after, swishing it lightly, and Harry had been pushed out on his behind. Harry's only relief of that embarrassment was that it was a Sunday morning, and most people hadn’t yet been out to the shops yet.

It had pointed him in the right direction though. If he wanted a wand - as he desperately did - he needed papers for them, and now that he knew to look for it, it was easy to see the pamphlets scattered around the newsstands advertising the new “Education Program” Minister Gaunt had implemented just three years ago. An attempt, the lady working at the newsstand claimed, was part of “that hippy Ministers' plan to help them magical creatures get work, not that I had any problem with that, mind you. My cousin's son joined the program, it was the only way he could retake his OWLS.” 

And so, a month after he first stepped foot in Diagon Alley, Harry went to the Ministry, fake ID in hand, and asked for the papers he needed to fill out to join the program.

—

“The most important thing, I think,” Gaunt says, “is to know where exactly you ended up that night.”

“Instead of at the bottom of a lake?” Harry asks, just to be snarky, but Gaunt doesn't flinch, instead simply staring back at him, waiting. Harry huffs, leaning his chin on his head, “I don’t really know how I got there, but I ended up in this hospital - a Muggle one - in Weston… something, in Somerset. I’d been found unconscious out on the street.”

Gaunt's eyes sharpen slightly, “Do you know the street?”

“Uh, this place called Godrick… Hallow, I think?”

“Godric's Hollow,” Gaunt corrects, before he shakes his head, “Never mind that for now, continue please.”

“Right. I, uh, I stayed at the hospital for a while. I was unconscious for the first week. I’d been stabbed or something and lost a lot of blood, and there was suspected head trauma. I’m not sure what else.” He pauses, unsure how to continue the story, not sure he wants to get into it.

Gaunt takes the reins by asking, “Did the hospital not investigate what happened to you? I imagine a child appearing unconscious would be cause for alarm.”

“They did, they asked me a few questions, but I was young enough that they didn't push very hard, not once I kept saying I didn’t remember.”

“Did you not remember?”

He did remember, he remembered all of it. Every dreadful cut, the slam against the wall, the warmth of his blood pooling under him. Harry shakes his head, averting his eyes and shrugging his shoulders.

Gaunt’s eyes haze over in that familiar way people’s tend to when they push Harry too hard, but instead of moving on to whatever else he would want to talk about, his eyes suddenly refocus.

“You confounded them,” he says, comprehension entering his voice. He nearly grins before his face flattens out, “That's illegal to do intentionally, you know.” He grins sharply, and Harry wonders if he should feel threatened. “I suppose that's why none of the staff ever reported your presence.”

Harry turns that over in his head for a moment. “You were looking for me?” He asks after a few moments.

Gaunt nods, “Shortly after we gained custody of Petunia we put her under veritaserum, and while she couldn't tell us what happened to you, she knew you hadn’t been dumped into the lake. Instead, you’d simply disappeared.” He tilts his head, “Some thought you’d been kidnapped, but I always subscribed to the theory of accidental magic. Which, given what you’ve said, seems the most likely.”

Silence lingers for a moment, with Harry refusing to say anything more and Gaunt trying to wait him out. It takes just over a full minute for Harry to break. He’s almost disappointed in himself. He learned to sit in silence a long time ago, a minute of it should have been nothing.

“The papers never said that Petunia was put under veritaserum, nevermind that she confirmed I wasn’t dead.”

“Fudge believed that it would be better to have the public believe you were dead instead of missing, status unknown,” Gaunt shrugs, “I question the decision, but it would have been inadvisable to backtrack on it once I was elected, given we had no idea whether you were even still alive at that point.”

Harry huffs, disbelieving it, “I guess it would have been bad for morale to announce that their precious miracle was alive, only to find out he was dead a few months later.” Harry tilts his head, “Does Black know? That I wasn’t dumped in the lake.”

“He does,” Gaunt responds, sending Harry a searching look, “There was a report that has information that was never released to the public. It had things inside of it that were seen as too upsetting for the public, as well as risking the integrity of our investigation if it became common knowledge.”

“Who’s read it? The report, I mean.”

“Not as many as you would think, maybe a half dozen. A few of my employees who I consider particularly talented, but Black and Remus have their own copies. I believe they’ve investigated some on their own.”

Harry taps his foot, “...Can I read it? It seems a bit unfair that all these people have read about me and yet I don’t know what it says.”

“It would be upsetting, I believe. It doesn’t get very specific - Petunia didn’t know much - but it is not written with the victim’s feelings in mind.”

“I want to read it.” Harry grounds out, the words barely escaping from behind his teeth.

Cautiously, Gaunt sends him a searching look, before he waves his hand and a folder appears inside it. He hands it to Harry, who looks inside warily, feeling oddly like it's about to snap closed around his hand. 

Gaunt was right. The report wasn’t written with the victim in mind. It wasn't even really written at all. It's just a collection of pages, reports and interviews with notes on the side of them. It makes it slightly hard to parse. 

It started when they picked Petunia up.

On the 22nd of August, the Ministry received a letter informing them of the death of Harry James Potter from one Arrabelle Figg, containing Muggle news clippings that discussed the discovery of the Dursleys actions, as well as Vernon's death in prison.

The Aurors quickly reached out to the Muggle authorities and gained access to any evidence logged, and transported Petunia Dursley into their custody.

Mrs. Dursley was then put under veritaserum several times over the following days and questioned, where she provided the following testimony, which remained consistent with both different questions and different interviewers.

On January 2nd, Harry Potter was performing chores around the house - something Mrs. Dursley claimed was commonplace as she had been having him clean the house for the past two years, since just before he turned four - when he dropped a glass Vernon Dursley had inherited from his mother while he was washing the dishes. Due to it being Christmas holidays, Mr. Dursley was home from work and heard the crash.

Mrs. Petunia Dursley did not witness the event, as she claimed to prefer to leave the punishment of the boy to her husband, but she heard the resulting shrieks. She did not find this altercation alarming, even when she saw the blood smears on the floor. Even then, she did not provide aid to Harry, and instead simply cleaned the floor and admonished her husband for making the mess.

Several hours later, when Mrs. Dursley, her husband, and her son had finished eating dinner, she opened the cupboard door with the intention of having him clean up the dishes, but she found it empty, save for the large amount of blood coating the small cot and blankets inside.

It was only then that she grew alarmed. Through her own words, the investigation of her memories through legitimacy, and the amount of blood she remembers (though, of course, a note beside the testimony says, any memories are susceptible to unintentional distortion as time passes, especially highly emotional ones) it is clear she believed that Harry Potter was dead at this point. She attributed the body's disappearance to magic she didn’t understand, and gathered the cot and blankets in a bin bag, and handed them to her husband to get rid of, though she never made Mr. Dursley clarify how he did so.

She spent the next several hours cleaning up the remaining blood, bleaching the stains and the spots blood had been smeared earlier, though the stains seemed to reemerge every few hours despite her efforts.

At no point during the proceedings, nor in the weeks after, did Mrs. Dursley or Mr. Dursley attempt to contact any authority figures to report that Harry had gone missing. They instead discussed fleeing, but they had not yet decided whether to do so by the time the social worker arrived on the 15th.

Two investigations were done by the Ministry in conjecture in the coming weeks and months. One focused on uncovering the depths of Harry's mistreatment by the Dursleys, and the other to find out where his body went.

The report on his life at the Dursleys house doesn’t interest Harry, he knows what's in there. So he pulls those papers out - noting that there are more papers in that section than all the others combined - and places them on the desk, ignoring the way Gaunt’s eyes tracks the movement, latching slightly on the ribbon on his arm before it flickers away, and Harry focuses on the other.

The second report is pretty sparse. They searched the surrounding towns for any appearance of a child matching his description, either up and walking, or found dead, and then when nothing turned up they looked even farther, reaching lengths that would have been extremely difficult for adult wizards to cross with magic, let alone a child. And when again, that turned up nothing, they did the search again but expanded it to cover any child who appeared, thinking he might have disguised himself.

There were some attempts to look for dark wizards who might have been holding him captive, but surprisingly there hadn’t been much belief that any previous Death Eaters might have held him, and the majority of the search was focused on making sure any dark wizard who was brought in - regardless of the arrests reasons - would be interrogated to see if they held him. None of them ever showed any results.

The bulk of the report is filled with plans to find Harry in the future. There was apparently some hope that his Hogwarts letter would find him, but Gaunt's notes show he knew that wouldn’t happen. The spell tracking children isn’t omnipotent, instead it goes off the listed address the Ministry keeps on file for them.

There's a handful of others. A man named Severus Snape was the one to suggest leaving the Potter vault unclaimed in case Harry found his own way back. Apparently, to make a vault, you have to do a blood test so the goblins can discover any possible family wealth or debt, so they made an agreement to be alerted if he tried. Something that Harry's pretty sure isn’t legal.

The one that stands out though, is that before Snape suggested putting an alert on the Potter vault, Gaunt had the idea to use Black as a way to test if Harry was alive. If he was dead, the vault would transfer to Black as his godfather. It was why he was investigating his incarceration, he wanted to know how it could be possible to get Black there for a visit.

It was a happy accident that he was released, Harry supposes. Or not happy, as now it means that Gaunt could decide he had to go stay with him.

There's a smattering of pages at the end that Harry thinks are the work of Black and Lupin. Sporadic searches in distant magical villages, though there's only one he recognises.

“They looked at Godric's Hollow?” Harry asks, finally looking up from the report.

“They did. It's where your family used to live when you were a baby,” Harry jolts in surprise, but Gaunt continues without pause, “They thought that if your accidental magic took you anywhere it might have been somewhere familiar. They visited all the hospitals in the area, but none of them mentioned you. I suppose now we know why.”

“Right…” Harry murmurs, flipping through the report one last time before reaching forward and placing it on the desk. “And that's the whole report?” Harry asks, even though he knows the Minister wouldn't share it with him if there was more, if he had already kept it separate from the rest of the folder.

“That's all I have on record,” Gaunt says, “There might be sporadic notes that Black and Lupin have that I don’t yet have access to, but that's all.” He picks up the report, then grabs the section Harry had put aside, “Are you sure you don’t want to read this section?”

Harry shrugs, trying to make it look casual, “I already know what's in there, don’t I.”

“I suppose you do,” Gaunt murmurs, then slides the pages back inside the folder before waving his hand, and the folder disappears. Gaunt looks at Harry for a moment before he tilts his head. “I let you distract me just then, but I do need you to elaborate on something.”

Harry slumps, having hoped the report being sent away signaled the end of the interrogation, but nods anyway, “What did I miss?”

“You told me what you know about the night and week after you went missing, but there is still a twelve year gap between then and now,” Gaunt sits starkly still, the lack of movement making Harry uncomfortable, “Would you care to elaborate on where you’ve been since then?”

“I wouldn't care to, actually,” Harry snips, “and I thought you already knew where I’ve been. You said you knew I'd stayed in halfway houses, so it's not like you know nothing.”

“We’ve been able to trace your history back a handful of years in the last month, but we lack knowledge of the years after you disappeared.”

“And that's just something you have to know?” Harry asks sarcastically.

“Well,” Gaunt drawls, “given that your disappearance has been the question of the decade, it's important we get ahead of whatever the answer is before your reappearance is revealed to the public.”

“Get ahead?” Harry repeats incredulously, “What the hell does that mean?”

“At this point it could mean anything, though I have to imagine you have been living a less than glamorous life so far despite being free from the Dursleys. We’ve looked multiple times over the years, and you’ve never appeared in foster care or been registered in a temporary placement. I can only gather that you have either been homeless - something I rather doubt a five year old could manage - or you lived with such unsavory characters that they felt it unwise to say they had a child under their care.”

Harry stares at him for a moment before he barks out a laugh, covering his face with his hands.

“My life,” he starts, his voice muffled, “where I’ve stayed, how I took care of myself, all of it, is none of your business, and I sure as hell don’t give a shit what the public thinks of it. So you can choke on whatever the hell it is you think I was doing.”

Gaunt quiets after hearing his words, and it's only after almost a minute of silence that Harry finally moves his hands and looks up at him.

“I can see that you're at the end of your tolerance for this conversation,” Gaunt says when he sees he has Harry's attention, “My apologies, I should have been more aware of how taxing this has been on you.” He sighs, leaning back in his chair, “We can pick this up another time, but unfortunately I can’t simply let you walk out of here.” Harry goes to interject, but Gaunt holds up a hand, “No, I don’t mean that I’ll keep you here, simply that I will be assigning someone to stay with you while you return to the Leaky Cauldron, presuming you still wish to keep your room there.”

“I- I do,” Harry says after a minute, cautiously. If he fights right away, he’ll lose the ability for his protests to mean anything later, so despite how much he does not want someone following him around, he bites his tongue. “Who do you want to watch me?”

“A man you may or may not be familiar with, depending on how thoroughly you read the papers. He’s one of the few I have already informed of your return; he even helped me track down some of your recent residencies.”

“Alright… but who is it?”

The door opens behind Harry after his questions, and it's well timed enough that Harry has to wonder how thoroughly planned this meeting has been. He turns his head to look, tracking the new arrival as he comes to stand beside the chair Harry sits in, though a few steps away.

“Meet Severus Snape,” Gaunt says, “he’ll be watching you for the coming days,” before adding, almost like an afterthought, “until you are placed in your godfather's care.”

Severus Snape is a dour looking man, and one he does in fact recognise from the paper, though only one photo - taken several months after Black's release from prison, Snape and him standing side by side.

“You're the one who had the alert placed on my Gringotts account.” Harry says before Snape can start speaking.

Snape's face doesn't change at all despite Harry's unprompted words. 

“Indeed,” Snape says, “it seems you know of me. Do you require an introduction, nonetheless?” he asks.

“Do you?” Harry retorts.

“I see you’ll both get along marvelously,” Gaunt says, before his eyes zero in on Harry again, “While I would rather enjoy letting this topic rest, unfortunately you must give me something in regards to your previous locations before you leave, though it doesn’t have to be comprehensive.”

“I must, must I?” Harry says, angry. He feels Snape shift beside him, and he hides a flinch as his anger drains out of him, though given Snape's stillness after, it wasn't unnoticed. Harry lets out a breath before he stands from his chair. “Fine,” he says, gritting his teeth, “I lived with an old woman for a few years after I left the hospital. She lived on the outskirts of Somerset. Her… her name was Elizabeth.”

“Why did that arrangement end?” Gaunt prompts, but Harry just presses his lips together. 

“Alright,” Gaunt says after a moment, “I suppose that's enough for now. Severus,” he turns his attention to Snape, “please escort Harry back to his room at the inn.” 

Gaunt sends Snape a long look, who nods in return, and Harry wonders what exactly they just communicated to each other that Harry missed.

—

“I had forgotten how… messy, the Leaky Cauldron was.” Snape says as he follows Harry into his room.

Harry snorts. If this is what Snape considers messy, he could name a half dozen places that would give the man a heart attack.

He checks that all his stuff is still in his bag. He’d kept all the important stuff on him, what he’d needed if he had to truly disappear quickly, but he’s still attached to the rest of his stuff, even if it's only a few books and pairs of clothing. His whole life is in that bag.

Once Harry's confirmed that everything's still there, he straightens up and awkwardly turns towards Snape.

“So…” Harry starts, “how is this gonna work? Are you just gonna stand around and watch me the whole time?”

Snape turns toward him from where he’d been slowly taking in the room, his eyes latching on to every detail that Harry thinks his presence has left in the room.

“No,” Snape says, “I won’t just be standing around the whole time, though admittedly I will be with you more than you would probably prefer.”

Harry sighs, walking to the chair tucked into the corner of his room and sprawling on it, “And I suppose you're supposed to find out all you can from me in the meantime?”

Something like a smirk tugs at the edge of Snape's lips, “That was an implicit instruction included in the request to watch you.”

Harry tilts his head, knocking it against the back of the chair, “Request? Not order? I thought Gaunt was your boss.”

“I am… employed by him, yes, but considering the nature of this assignment, I believe he thought it appropriate to give me the option to refuse.”

That's an invitation to ask why if Harry's ever heard one, but given how carefully curated his visit to the Ministry had been, he doesn’t think he wants to take it, doesn’t want to humor whatever manipulation Snape is attempting to use on him.

“I’m sure,” Harry says instead, before sighing again, “So, am I stuck in here or can I go into Diagon Alley? There's other stuff I've been wanting to do.”

“Like wandering the stores aimlessly?” Snape asks pointedly, before continuing, “Yes, you can if you wish, but I’ll be shadowing you for any ventures beyond this room.”

“What, even if I just go downstairs to eat?” 

“This inn is a high traffic area. If anything is likely to happen, it'll happen there.”

Harry groans, slumping even further into his chair before he perks up with alarm, “Wait, you aren't going to try to stay in my room with me, are you?”

“I would like that even less than you would, I believe, so no. The room next door has been rented for me. I’ll be staying there for however long you remain here.”

Something about the words strike Harry sourly, so he says, perhaps unwisely, “Well, you better get comfortable, ‘cuz I‘ve got this place rented for the next month.”

“I’m aware,” Snape drawls, “just as I’m sure you’re aware that the Minister plans to have you living somewhere other than an inn in the coming weeks.”

“I’m aware,” Harry says back, sharply, “doesn’t mean I plan to make it easy for him.”

“...I would expect nothing less,” Snape says back, his tone odd, not one Harry recognises.

Snape turns away after he says it, scanning the room again before picking up one of the books Harry had left scattered around the room. By the design on it he could tell it was one of the Potions for Beginners books he’d bought on a whim. It wasn't any help since he didn’t have any of the ingredients to make potions with, and the warnings in the beginning of the book had scared him off from really trying. Fumes and explosions and acid, oh my.

Snape just looks at the book for a moment before he puts it back down, turning his attention instead to the newspapers he had scattered. It looks a bit like a random assortment of papers, but it was only because even with the chronological statement of events he’d found, it had taken a bit of effort to lay out everything that had happened afterwards.

Snape’s eyes zero in on the only one his picture is on.

“I didn’t realise you worked with Gaunt when I saw you in the paper,” Harry says, wanting some sort of reaction from him.

“At the time of the article, I didn’t,” Snape responds, eyes not leaving the paper, “It was only in the last few years that I’ve found myself under his employ.”

“I thought Gaunt said you were the one who came up with the idea to put an alert on my vault?”

“I was,” Snape says, inclining his head, “but at the time I wasn't doing so as an employee of his, I was doing it to assist Black.”

Harry lets the statement linger, feeling that same open invitation to ask him for more information.

“Are you and Black close?” Harry finds himself asking, not able to stop himself before the words leave his mouth.

“Close?” Snape scoffs, “No, but we found ourselves united in our goal to find you in the last few years.”

Harry blinks a few times, “You wanted to find me? Because- because I’m the-boy-who-lived, right?”

“No,” Snape says, his eyes leaving the newspaper, but conspicuously avoiding looking at Harry, “I went to school with your parents, as your godfather Black and Lupin did. I felt it was my responsibility to help them find you.”

“...Well,” Harry says after several moments of silence, with Snape seemingly unwilling to elaborate without a question being asked, and Harry unwilling to ask one, “I guess you found me then, mission accomplished.”

“I suppose I have,” Snape says, before tilting his head, “though the question now is how long you’ll cooperate with us in staying.”

“Guess so,” Harry says petulantly, though trying not to.

Snape continues to look through the newspapers on the table, and Harry looks at him for several long minutes, kicking his feet against his chair, trying to understand what sort of emotions lead to this man willingly spending his time watching a seventeen-year-old.

“So,” Harry eventually says, once he decides he won’t figure it out then, at least not without asking more questions, “want to go downstairs and get some lunch?”

—

“I didn't know this place existed,” Harry says, looking around the clean café he and Snape had ended up at after Snape said he refused to eat anything that the inn's bar could provide.

Snape doesn't look at Harry as he answers, instead nodding to a passing waiter, “I’ve made it a point to make sure I’m aware of popular places of business in the alley. This restaurant in particular is one of the more popular ones. It seems wizarding society has quite the taste for Muggle foods when they don't know that's what it is they’re eating.”

“I thought the Muggle stigma had ended, based on the papers I’ve read.”

Snape snorts, “I’m sure the papers are declaring that peace has been achieved and all are equal now under Gaunt's administration, but the realities of people's attitudes often clash with legality.”

“Do yours?” Harry asks.

Snape considers him for a moment, “In the past, my beliefs have clashed with the Ministry, but I find myself in the fortunate position that my goals and its now align.”

“Goals as in finding me?”

“Yes, finding you, in addition to other things.”

“Others, as in?” Harry asks, knowing he's toeing the line of being annoying, if not outright stepping over it.

“As in things that I don't believe are your business.”

Harry tilts his head in concession, “Hey, I get that. I just thought, since you left me so many openings earlier to ask you to elaborate, that maybe you just wanted me to ask you questions.”

“You caught those, did you?”

“You were pretty obvious.”

“And yet you did not feel the need to acquiesce then?”

“Maybe I just didn’t care to find out whatever it is you wanted to tell me.”

Snape sends him a look, before letting his eyes slide off him and shift to the side, catching the waiter from earlier and nodding at him again. Moments after he does, several plates float out from the back of the restaurant and land on their table.

“I didn't know this was how food was served at restaurants here,” Harry remarks, “The inn certainly never sent me my food like that.”

“It wouldn't. The spells required to send out food in such a way require a particular finesse that is often too expensive to be used anywhere so common.”

“Common?” Harry repeats, nearly incredulously. “Who the hell actually calls places ‘common’?”

Snape ignores him, primly taking a napkin and spreading it on his lap before he reaches for the food, doing a good impression of aunt Petunia when she had company over. 

“What is this place if not common, then?” Harry asks, finally breaking and grabbing some of the food.

“An establishment of rather higher regard than the bar at the Leaky Cauldron,” Snape replies.

A moment of silence passes, interspersed with the quiet sounds of eating. “I would have been happy with anything,” Harry eventually says, “you didn’t need to take me to a place like this.”

“I’m afraid Gaunt insisted I not allow you to be fed subpar food, as you had been feeding yourself.”

“... What? Why?” Harry asks in confusion.

“He has invested quite a lot of time and resources in his search for you, I imagine he wants to assure you won’t grow ill from the… quality of the food you were consuming before.”

“Bullshit,” Harry says with a harsh laugh. “If he just wanted me to eat healthy, he didn't have to spend however much money this place costs to make it happen.”

Snape tilts his head at him and sends him a considerate look, “Perhaps he just cares for your comfort.”

“My comfort…” Harry mutters disbelievingly, “Right, tell a funny joke this time.”

“I would not joke about the Minister,” Snape says sharply. It makes Harry flinch back minutely.  Snape notices, only perceivable through a flicker of his eyes. He sighs after a moment, “The Minister is not one to take lightly, Harry.” 

It's the first time Snape has addressed him by name.

“Are you scared of him?” Harry asks. If Snape is actually scared of Gaunt, Harry might have to reconsider what he plans to do. Though he’ll have to reconsider it no matter what, given his plan currently stands at hoping Gaunt holds off on letting Black know that he's here, and running at the first opportunity once he knows of a suitable far away magical community he could join easier than this one.

“The Minister is one who inspires a healthy amount of respect,” Snape replies, “I am only saying that those who choose to not take him seriously rarely come out in as good a standing as when they went in.”

“Well, good thing I won’t have to see him anymore once he hands me over to Black,” Harry says, putting an innocent look on his face.

Snape's eyes flicker to Harry's wrist at his words, gliding over the ribbon he has covering his soul mark, before he quickly looks away. “For all our sake, I hope you're right,” Snape says.

—

“I wouldn't have thought he would make us wait,” Harry remarks, leaning against the wall in the waiting room outside Gaunt's office.

After a night's rest, he feels a bit more settled than he’d been the day before. He’d nearly bolted that night, spooked by Snape's words at the restaurant, but the second he’d opened the door to his room, the man himself had appeared. Harry hadn't checked if it was possible to open the door after he was ushered back inside, but he’d bet money that it wouldn’t have budged if he’d tried.

“Running magical Britain often involves unexpected issues popping up,” Snape says, sitting stiffly in one of the chairs, “regardless of whatever personal matters the Minister would prefer to prioritise.”

“Wish he’d have sent us a note or something to let us know,” Harry mutters, “I hate waking up this early.”

“Ten in the morning is not early.”

Harry scoffs, “You would think that.”

“What is that supposed to-” Snape starts to say, but he falls silent when the receptionist clears her throat and tells them they can make their way into the Minister's office.

Harry makes it to the door first, with Snape close on his heels. Though it opens before he can get his hands on it, and a man stands behind it, but not the one Harry expected. It’s Sirius Black.

Harry takes a sudden step back but collides with Snape, who doesn't quite grab him, but certainly makes it clear that Harry won't be able to pass him.

“What-?” Harry stammers, feeling the blood rush from his face, feeling the urge to run take hold of his legs. He made sure to keep his essentials on him, he knew he might get a chance to run, one that wouldn’t leave any opportunity to return for his things. He’s running over the contents of his wallet when Black steps forward and engulfs him in his arms. It's unexpected enough that Harry's mind goes blank.

The man's muttering something above his head where Harry's buried in his chest, words he doesn’t understand with how overwhelmed he feels wrapped inside the arms of a man he doesn’t really know.

Thankfully, someone else steps in and pulls Black away, though when he recognises him as Lupin, he almost wishes he was still in the hug.

“Sirius, you can’t-” Lupin starts, before Black interrupts him with a sniffle.

“I know, I know,” Black says, “I’m sorry, I just…” He trails off, with his eyes locked on Harry's face.

“As touching as this scene is,” Snape drawls, “I believe it would be better suited to somewhere private.”

“Of course, right,” Black says, gathering himself as he steps backwards in the Minister's office with Lupin. Snape nudges against his back, motioning him in. Harry turns his head towards him, silently pleading with him to let him make a break for it down the hallway, but he’s ignored and pushed into the room.

—

“I thought you weren’t going to tell Black I was here yet!” Harry bursts, directing a glare at where Gaunt sits behind his desk as he edges away from the door where the others linger in surprise at his raised voice.

“You thought you could wiggle your way out of him finding out you were here at all,” Gaunt retorts, “but unfortunately for you, Lupin and your godfather had been alerted soon after we were first made aware of your presence in Diagon Alley. You should be thankful I prevented him from confronting you at your room.”

“Thankful?” Harry sputters, still on the back foot, “I didn't want to see him at all!”

A choked sound comes out from behind Harry in the direction of the other men, but he doesn’t turn around to see who made it.

“And why is that, I wonder?” Gaunt says, making a considering noise. “After our conversation yesterday, I took it upon myself to investigate why you would be so resistant to Black's presence, given up until now you’ve had no real experience with him. And yet, despite having the name for your previous caregiver, I still could not find anything to explain your resistance, simply an elderly woman dying of old age quietly at home. One that supposedly wasn’t meant to have a child living there.”

Harry jolts slightly, startled by the reference, “What? You thought Elizabeth kidnapped me or something?” He asks incredulously, “Maybe she was old and a bit batty, but she was… kind to me.” He slumps slightly, feeling his indignant energy flag slightly at the memory of the old women who cared for him in the handful of years after he was released from the hospital. “I would have stayed there longer if I could’ve.”

A voice butts in, Lupin’s, “Then make it make sense for us Harry,” he says, beseechingly, “As far as we can tell, you’ve known about us for the past month, and about magic even longer. Yet you chose to try to connect with the Ministry without getting in contact with us, intentionally trying to make sure we don’t find out about you.”

Harry's eyes flick to him, unsure what to make of the man he knows tried to be his guardian when he was little. It makes his head hurt to think about, so his eyes flick away quickly, but unfortunately they land on Black instead.

His face is crumpled, despite the apparent efforts he's making to keep it together. Odd twitches at the edge of his mouth giving away the struggle. It's hard to look away from, and apparently Black takes it as an invitation.

“Harry…” Black manages, before he swallows, “I know this all must be scary for you. Learning that, after all these years of struggling on your own, there's people who’ve cared about you all this time, that there's people who would’ve taken you into their homes, but I promise you that you don’t have to be afraid. I won’t let anything happen to you.” 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry sees Lupin shuffle from beside Black, which seems to prompt him to correct himself, “We won’t let anything happen to you, none of us.”

Black's words feel almost practiced, like he had a long time to consider his words, but it doesn’t diminish the emotions that gather in the bottom of Harry’s stomach in response.

There’s something close to understanding in Black's voice, a compassion he only ever heard from other kids he’d met in shelters and halfway houses. 

Harry wonders if Black knows about the pit that's always existed in his chest and in the bottom of his stomach ever since he was little and found himself locked in his cupboard. Wonders if he understands the fear that exists when you know the people who are taking care of you complain about being forced to keep you, the dread that, one day, they might decide you're too much and shove you out the door, locking you out in the cold. He wonders if he knows what it's like to feel the world disappear into black while you lie in the dark, after they chose to lock you away and forget about you.

He wonders if he knows what it's like when the only person he’d found who’d loved him and cared for him died in her sleep in the middle of the night, leaving him to wake up to a world where he was alone again.

Harry shakes his head, clenching his eyes shut, clenching his teeth, clenching his hands. This feeling in the bottom of his stomach is why he didn’t want to meet these people.

“Even him?” Harry asks, finally finding his voice, scratchy as it is and motioning to Gaunt, “You lot seem very on board with working for a man who seems like he only cares about what happens to me as long as it can give him some good publicity. I’m sure it means nothing that it would boost his numbers if he found the-boy-who-lived, back from the dead.” His voice sounds bitter even to his own ears, his confusion for why the man seemed so invested in him bleeding through.

The room goes silent for a moment, his words apparently a shock to the four men.

“The Minister might have more to consider than just your safety,” Snape starts, apparently the first to gather his wits, slow and careful, “but he cares for your well being as a citizen, as any good leader should.”

Surprisingly Lupin scoffs, “A citizen, he says.”

“Remus,” Snape grits out, side eyeing him with intensity.

“No,” Black interrupts, “Sod this. The reason the Minister cares so much is because-”

“Black!” Gaunt growls, trying to interrupt, but Black marches forward.

“-of the same reason you have that ribbon around your wrist!” he finished.

Harry’s brain stalls, until he finally manages to eke out a quiet, “What?” as his eyes dart around the room. Black looks nearly righteous for a moment before the quiet of the room and the alarm on Harry’s face make him seem to curl into himself.  “...What does that mean?” Harry asks dumbly.

The quiet lingers for a few moments longer before Gaunt sighs, slumping slightly into his seat, seeming to make a decision, “What your godfather has so abruptly decided to reveal,” He glares at Black, a sharpness in his eye that sends the start of a chill down Harry's spine, “is that each person here has a reason for deciding to spend so much time searching for you, and mine just happens to be unique.”

Gaunt's eyes slide back to Harry, changing in a way he's never seen directed at him before, and motions for him to sit in the chair in front of his desk. Harry sits, taking the chance to hide the fact he feels like his knees might not be able to hold him much longer, but he turns the chair slightly so no one stands behind him.

“You know the significance of what is under the ribbon on your wrist?” Gaunt asks, and Harry nods, the motion hesitant. “Then you know that someone out in the world has a matching mark on their wrist, and that for us - and by that I mean wizarding society - the existence of the same mark on two people implies a connection.”

“Soulmates,” Harry blurts, “It implies they’re soulmates.”

Gaunt tilts his head, a glint in his eye, “Yes it does.”

For the first time, Harry's eyes flick down to Gaunt's wrist, but all he finds is the end of his sleeve and the bottom of an arm band. His eyes stay glued there, feeling frozen, and after a moment Gaunt turns his arm so the inside faces Harry, and his other hand raises and pulls his sleeve and the band under it up in one motion. Then, Harry sees the mark that had rested on his own wrist for as long as he could remember. A snake, wrapping around itself, with its tail that flicks out and follows the artery back to the heart.

Harry feels his hand float down to his own wrist, and he toys with the ribbon for a moment before he moves his hand to cover it, feeling the need to create an additional layer over his mark, his heartbeat quick and loud in his ears.

“It’s alright,” Gaunt murmurs, his voice quiet, like he’s talking to a spooked animal. In his defense, Harry definitely feels like one. ”I won’t make you reveal yours.”

“You… You won’t?” Harry asks. In all the (admittedly short on details) news reports and stories he’d read about soul marks, the etiquette was to share them right away so you could activate the bond between them.

“No. This wasn’t how I wanted to do this. I can’t imagine this possibility was something you prepared yourself for. I won’t force you to do anything.”

“Right, I… Okay. Th- Thank you, I guess,” Harry blinks a few times, seeing the grimace that briefly appears on Gaunt's lips as his eyes try to skirt around him. “What- um-” Harry squeaks, so off guard and disoriented that all thought of anger and fear and strategy has left his mind, “I don’t know what… I don't know how- I- …How did you know?” He finally asks.

Gaunt shrugs his shoulders. “During the investigation into your disappearance, your appearance and general state of wellbeing was tracked quite extensively through the memories of your aunt. She saw your mark on several occasions. It was in the file that accounted the depth of the mistreatment they afforded you.”

Harry feels his pulse fluttering under the skin of his neck. He hadn’t put it together until then that people might have been able to see first-hand accounts of his life with the Dursleys, rather than just hearing about them from someone else.

His eyes dart around the room, away from his- …whatever Gaunt is, towards his godfather and the two men who stand beside him. His mind feels blank. Overwhelmed. He doesn't even think he's been in the room for that long, and yet, everything has gone so wildly out of bounds for how he thought it would.

Snape lingers at the door, seeming desperate to slither his way out of the room, Lupin has his arm on Black's shoulder, who in turn seems hunched, a look of guilt in his eyes. Yet as Harry faces him, he slowly seems to gain some confidence back. Whether it's real or artificial is anyone's guess.

“Harry, pup,” Black starts, “I know this all feels sudden for you. And it is!” He hurries to reassure as Harry stares at him blankly, ”We’ve sprung a lot on you really quickly,” A cough from the direction of Gaunt, that Black ignores, “But everyone here wants you to be safe so desperately. I’m… sorry. I shouldn’t have sprung what Tom is on you so suddenly, and definitely not so soon, but I needed you to know that everyone here only wants you to be okay.” 

Black takes a few hesitant steps forward until he stands beside where Harry sits, who can't seem to find the will to flinch away from the hand that lands on his shoulder.

“I’ve spent so long looking for you, Harry,” Black continues, “and so has Remus, and so has Severus, and so has Tom. I know this is overwhelming, I know that I've… perhaps not gone about this the best way, but we love you Harry. I love you more than anything, and I’m never going to allow anything to happen to you again. Okay?”

Black seems to want some form of agreement from him, some form of acknowledgement. He doesn’t know what purpose it'll serve, but his mind is running on autopilot. Despite how much he likes to pretend he’ll fight until the end, Harry knows that he’ll fawn at the first sign that he’s truly out of his depth.

“Okay,” Harry breathes, and Black’s face breaks out in a timid grin.