Story [Harry Potter] A Little Bit of Harry

A LITTLE BIT OF HARRY​

by ardavenport



Harry opened the fat black bound textbook. He recognized his handwriting on the inside front cover, 'HARRY POTTER', written in the same way he had marked all his Hogwarts school books.

Riffling through the pages of 'Unfogging the Future' from Divination class, he found a very few notes that he had made while working out his homework before he and Ron Weasley finally tossed their books aside and just made up the divinations homework that they thought Professor Telawney wanted, full of doom and death in their futures. The tactic has certainly improved their grades.

A lot of the chapters ended in long lists and tables of what various mystical signs and castings meant. There were a few bored scribbles in the margins that he had made under the pretense of taking notes in class when he was really just trying to stay awake in the stifling, incense infused warmth of Trelawney's tower. But other than that the book was mostly unmarked and unused, Divination being one of Harry's least favorite subjects.

Harry looked up at the people before him.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand. Where did you get this?"

"See, Horace! What did I tell you?!" The short, stout witch dressed in patched green robes whacked her small thin husband with her enormous handbag. It looked heavy, but he seemed to be used to it and hardly flinched. But his cheeks reddened as his wife continued. "It's a total fraud! A complete waste of money. We could have gotten ten copies of that book for little Edna for what you paid for it."

"Mrs. Blythe, please!" Augustina Smedley, who had come from the Ministry of Magic with them, admonished the woman.

They stood together in an unused classroom at Hogwarts, Harry's part-time home for the summer along with Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger and a large group of students who had been too busy hiding from and fighting Lord Voldemort to finish their seventh year of schooling. Their intensive scholastic marathon was heaven for Hermione, but Ron grumbled that it was a poor reward for them to be forced to cram in a whole year's worth of catch-up learning to pass their N.E.W.T.s. During late night study sessions, Harry had to agree, but technically, neither he nor Ron qualified to be trained as aurors at the Ministry without acceptable N.E.W.T. scores -- not that it was likely that they would be turned down, especially Harry -- but he did not want to start out his career by being given special favors. Professor McGonagall, who had been put in charge of making sure that they passed their tests with respectable scores, took her duty very seriously; rumor around the castle was that her appointment as temporary Head of Hogwarts would be made permanent.

Summer sunlight streamed in through the newly repaired windows of the classroom. Bangs and echoes of heavy stone and wood sounded through the door from the parts of the battle-damaged castle that were still being repaired. The exterior walls had already been restored and the rest of the work would be done by the time the new term started in September.

Smedley looked embarrassed. "I'm so sorry to have bothered you about this trivial matter," she apologized bobbing an embarrassed curtsy. Like so many people who did not know him, she initially introduced herself with awestruck gratitude for being allowed in his presence, but her Ministry formality seemed to kick in and she had stopped stammering. It had been bad enough when Harry was famous for being 'The Boy Who Lived' who had somehow deflected Lord Voldemort's killing curse back on him when he was a baby (it was really his mother's blood spell that had saved him), breaking his power. But all of Hogwarts had seen him dispatch the Dark Lord for a final time less than two months ago. Harry wasn't really used to the 'Hero' status that would follow him for the rest of his days, but he had learned to accept it neutrally.

"Now, Mr. Blythe," Smedley turned to the middle-aged wizard, "now that we have established that this is a fraud, will you please tell me where you got it?"

The man looked miserable and Harry couldn't help feeling a bit sorry for him, trapped as he was between an angry wife and an accusing Ministry official.

"Well, I didn't really ask for a name. Met him outside the Leaky Cauldron -- just by chance mind you -- said he had several of Mr. Potter's school books -- swore they were authentic -- "

His wife batted him again with her purse.

" -- I think his name might a'been Flectcher," he mumbled.

"Fletcher? Mundungus Fletcher?

The trio instantly turned back to Harry.

"Um, long stringy hair, short legs? Bloodshot eyes, saggy face? A bit shabby?" Harry described the low-level wizard criminal who had sometimes done jobs for Professor Dumbledore when he was alive and had sometimes helped in the fight against Voldemort. But since his cowardice had resulted in the death of Mad-Eye Moody, he seemed to have gone into hiding and Harry hadn't heard that he'd been any help to anyone since.

"Uh - - uh - - uh, yes, that might've been him," Mr. Blythe stammered, his gray eyes wide. "Mind you, I don't generally deal with that sort, but he swore that that book was genuine."

"Mr. Potter," Smedley cleared her throat, "do you know this person?"

"Um, not very well." Harry did not know how much of Fletcher's work for the Order of the Phoenix was known, even to members of the Ministry. "But he nicked some things from S--my god-father's house after he died." Sirius Black had been posthumously exonerated of being in league with Voldemort, but Harry did know that most people still assumed that he had been and he did not want to get side-tracked by the explanations. "He got caught trying to sell some of it on Diagon Alley. I didn't know he was still around."

Looking down at the book in his hands, he suddenly flushed with anger as he realized what must have happened. Just before he fled his aunt and uncles' house for the last time, he had stripped down everything he owned to one rucksack leaving most of his school possessions behind for the Dursleys to deal with. Not only had Mundungus Fletcher abandoned Moody to be killed by Lord Voldemort, he had doubled back to the Dursley's house to collect his abandoned possessions on the assumption that anything previously owned by 'The Boy Who Lived' could be valuable. Now that Harry had decisively defeated Voldemort, Fletcher was obviously cashing in on his investment.

"I'm sorry to bother you about this business; it's so seedy, but we've been getting reports of these fakes - - "

"It's not a fake," Harry interrupted Smedley.

Three wide pairs of eye stared back at him.

"I mean, I didn't plan on keeping it, so I left it behind at my aunt and uncles' place. Fletcher must have broken in and stolen it. Along with the other things I left."

His revelation had the desired effect; Smedley's eyes widened even further with the horror that someone would be so low as to steal from Harry Potter. "Oh, on my wand, this is terrible! Terrible! I will be in contact with Auror Headquarters immediately about this outrage. We will catch Fletcher and bring him to justice -- " she announced with determination, assuring Harry that Mundungus Fletcher would be Enemy #1 at the Ministry until he was caught. But then she followed her statement with something less welcome." -- and we will return all your stolen property absolutely as soon as possible."

Horrified, Harry looked down at one of his least-loved school books. When he left it and his other things to the Dursleys' house, he pictured them chucking everything in the bin, or making a bonfire of it all. He did not feel overly nostalgic about getting any of it back. His quidditch robes were attached to his happiest moments, but he didn't feel any desire to get them back; they likely wouldn't fit him anymore anyway. He certainly did not fancy keeping 'Unfogging the Future' around. Once he was finally done with his N.E.W.T.s (before the new school year at Hogwarts started because everyone had to clear out for the incoming students) he was looking forward to a clean start at the house he had inherited from Sirius.

"You really don't need to bother returning anything," he hastily amended. But Smedley didn't listen to any of his protests. She had a gleam in her eye and he realized he had inadvertently given her a new mission. The Blythes were looking at the book in his hand with tragic longing, especially Mr. Blythe. He had to do something quick.

"Do you have a quill?" he asked, breaking into Smedly's declarations about righting wrongs. She took a few seconds to register the change of subject before digging into the purple and blue handbag that matched her suit but clashed badly with her mustard yellow shoes. Harry took the pen (it was a self-inking quick-type quill) and opened the book. Hastily scrawling in 'The former property of' above his name and then 'This book belongs to' under it, he looked up at the Blythes.

"What's your daughter's name again?"

"Uh, uh, Edna," Mrs Blythe breathed, her eyes fixed on the quill, "uh-uh-Edna Sprite Blythe, that's-that's E D N A, uh, S P R I T E, um, Blythe, I mean, S M Y T H E."

Harry printed the name carefully, turned the book around and presented it to them. They looked at it as if he had personally rescued their child from the Dark Lord and was now returning her to them.

Mrs. Blythe recovered first and took the volume. "Thank-you, you are so kind. Thank-you, thank-you." Harry doubted that little Edna would ever be allowed to touch the book, let alone take it with her to school. Augustina Smedley looked too awed by his generosity to speak. Harry was sure that he would soon see a parade of his cast-offs (at least the ones with his name on them, and possibly the ones that didn't and maybe some real fakes) presented to him to identify. Little bits of his life returning, unwanted by him, but treasured by others and possibly passed on for generations. That thought stayed with him as the grateful parents left with Smedley who promised that swift justice would be delivered to Fletcher.

Staring out the classroom window at a familiar sunlit courtyard below, Harry imagined his discarded robes and books having a sort of life of their own, like horocruxes, bits of his soul living on in inanimate objects, his fame making them immortal. He didn't like it. When he saw the look of wonder of the Blythes' faces, he wanted to make them understand that he had only given them a book, and not a very good one, either.. But it would be no use. It would be no use for the rest of his life.

He sighed, turning away from the window and leaving the classroom to find Ron and Hermine. They were due for a personal study session with Professors Flitwick and McGonogal. At least these souvenirs, these bits of his 'soul', made people happy. And nobody had to die for them.

But he would not mind at all if they ended Mundungus Fletcher's career.



**** END ****


Also posted on tf.n:

Disclaimer: All characters and situations belong to JKR; I'm just playing in her sandbox.

 

I quite like this! I clicked expecting something funny, which this isn't -- it's better. I like this glimpse into the life of a hero Harry will have, even more so than at Hogwarts as the Boy Who Lived, and how it's not really good or funny. In fact, it kinda hurts.

Harry imagined his discarded robes and books having a sort of life of their own, like horocruxes, bits of his soul living on in inanimate objects, his fame making them immortal. He didn't like it. When he saw the look of wonder of the Blythes' faces, he wanted to make them understand that he had only given them a book, and not a very good one, either.. But it would be no use. It would be no use for the rest of his life.


This was my favorite bit. I love the comparison to horcruxes and, of course, love that he hates that idea. And that line "It would be no use for the rest of his life" -- true and sad.

Loved this!