Work Text:
July 16th, 1998
Journal Entry #67 – Final Entry
There was something wrong with the case of Harry James Potter.
That wasn’t something I’d ever expected to write about the Savior of the Wizarding World.
The Chosen One.
The Boy Who Lived.
Before, his life seemed straightforward. Tragic, but inevitable. He was a child born into war whose parents were killed at a young age by a mass-murdering psychopath only to be hounded by said psychopath until he managed to defeat him at age seventeen.
This was the story our world told over and over again and it was the one I passively treated as fact. At least, I treated it as fact until I had the opportunity to speak to Harry Potter face to face.
Tired is the first word I’d use to describe him.
He melted into his chair the moment I offered it to him. The bags under his eyes were deep and dark. His body didn’t fill out his clothes. And despite his exhaustion, he was hyper-vigilant. At any sharp movement of my own, his right hand would move towards his left wrist – presumably to where he stored his wand. His eyes trailed me for the entire duration of our meeting.
‘Of course,’ I thought. ‘This was understandable. This boy has been on the run from the Dark Lord for the past year.’ These were all signs of someone living hand to mouth and having to look over their shoulder for so long. Despite this rationalizing, paranoia in the back of my mind continued to make me uneasy. I’d seen these habits in other children before. Children subjected to abuse and neglect.
I pushed that thought away every time it resurfaced. He’d been on the run. It was as simple as that.
However, this subconscious and seemingly preposterous thought unknowingly affected the direction of my interview. I asked fewer and fewer questions about the past year of terror – fewer questions about Voldemort – and I started fishing for more personal information about him that I really had no business asking.
“Do you wish for us to get in contact with your relatives to let them know you’re okay?”
“Is there someone you’d feel safe to stay with for the time being?”
Of all the questions I asked, his responses to those were the most eye-opening. When asked the first, he declined the offer but refused to give a straight answer as to why. As for the second, he answered negatively, stating that he preferred to stay at his godfather’s house. Number 12, Grimmauld Place. A house – after being inspected by the Ministry the week before – was concluded to be decrepit, laced so thoroughly with dark magic, and completely unsuitable for human habitation. When I asked him why he would rather stay there than with a friend, he stated that he wouldn’t want to “displace” them or “become a burden to them after everything the war had put them through.” He then assured me that he felt safe and welcome at the house. Apparently, the reminder of his godfather far outweighed the general gloom of Grimmauld Place.
These answers only fed into my paranoia that something more sinister was afoot with Harry Potter.
I suppose I spiraled after that.
I started conducting interviews with all the significant people I could find in Mr. Potter’s life. I started noticing trends in these interviews. I asked the adults Harry was close with if he had ever sought them out for advice, comfort, anything. The answer I unfailingly received each time caused me to despair. He was polite with them, and even considered them friends, but he did not see them as reliable authority figures. As for the agemates of Harry, they responded differently to my questions. Despite my position in the Ministry – or perhaps because of it – they were cagey with their answers. All of my questions were treated with suspicion. But I can read between the lines. Questions about his home life were neatly dodged. His habits that could be deemed as concerning were written off as normal.
Events of his life were developing a sinister undertone.
My superior in the DOCW found out about my meddling in Mr. Potter's affairs well past the case’s closure date. I received a cease and desist order. However, by this point, I was past caring about my job and the legality of my actions. My paranoia was screaming that my hunch was correct. I was going to get to the bottom of it. By that point, it was too personal – too painful for me to just let it go. I had a feeling that Harry had been wronged, not only by his relatives but by the wizarding world as a whole and I owed it to him to make sure he received justice for it.
I started digging even further – by this point, my actions had become irrefutably illegal. I fear that if I wrote all that I’d done in order to gain the information - and get caught before I do what I’ve set out to do - I’d be sentenced to life in Azkaban or worse. I’m not entirely sure why I was willing to go so far for this boy. Risk my friends, job, and even my very life. Perhaps I’m projecting and only doing for him what I wish someone did for me.
I started digging for any records that related to Mr. Potter. Continuous visits to the muggle world turned up a lack of medical records. Not a single one for the boy. Old primary school records listed reports of a troubled child who got into regular fights with his cousin and his cousin’s friends, often resulting in trips to the nurse’s office. Funnily enough, the only one who ended up in the nurse’s office afterward was Harry. A couple of his teachers throughout his life expressed their concern for him, his health, and his lack of friends. Nothing ever came from their concern.
My fear grew.
One of the (admittedly lesser) crimes I committed was breaking Mr. Potter’s relative’s request for ‘no contact.’ It took me weeks to finally track them down, and it wasn’t until they moved back into their little home in Surrey that I finally approached them.
Unpleasant people were the Dursleys.
From the first words out of Petunia Dursley’s mouth, I could feel her disdain - if not outright disgust - for me. My clothes, my hat, my wand, my magic. Vernon Dursley was even worse. He threatened me outright with physical harm if I didn’t leave him and his family well enough alone.
But I had reason to believe that this family had hurt a child and I was going to get answers.
While avoiding the specifics of what happened to gain me entrance (for legal reasons), I did eventually find myself in their sitting room with the two of them and their son, Dudley, sitting my opposite. A small spot of tea and a favor from a potions master/friend located in Spain had the Dursley family’s inhibitions lowered and their tongues loosened.
I learned disturbing things that visit. Not only had Harry Potter been incredibly neglected by his relatives; there was also abuse. Petunia confirmed that she hadn’t ever taken Harry to see a doctor or physician, even when he fell ill. She admitted to giving him cruel and unusual punishments. Mistreatment started as soon as he was dropped on their doorstep. They forced him to clean or repair things in the home. They regularly withheld food from him. Any hint of magic from him was dealt with swift retribution. Verbal abuse was a normal occurrence in the Dursley household. By their own mouths, all three of them confessed to having hit Harry for some slight or other.
Petunia then took me on an involuntary tour of their home. The first stop was the cupboard under the stairs. According to her, Harry slept here until he was eleven years old. It was mostly empty as the family had just moved back in, but upon closer inspection, I found the words ‘Harry’s Room’ scratched into the corner, confirming Petunia’s claim. There was a loose floorboard in the corner that hid away a small stash of spoiled food and a few broken toys.
We then moved to Harry’s ‘bedroom’. The old door was covered in no less than seven different locks and a cat flap at the base of it. The room itself was small. Like most of the rest of the house, it was sparse of furniture. I was shown some damage outside the window that had been caused by some bars Vernon had put up over the window one summer being ripped off by Mr. Potter’s friends. I discovered another loose floorboard – this one also filled with a long spoiled stash of food. It also held old letters that had been addressed to Harry. I pocketed them to read later.
After assuring the Dursleys would not remember the visit, I left Surrey.
I then spent the entire night in a muggle pub trying to erase my own memory.
The next few weeks I spent pondering all I had learned and questioned what to do with it. However, the longer I thought about it, the more I started making connections that I was hesitant to believe.
While the Dursleys were the actual abusers/neglecters, there was one specific person in the wizarding world who was charged with Harry Potter’s wellbeing – a charge he had asked for the night of the Potters’ murders. Albus Dumbledore. There were yearly written affirmations in the records department of the Ministry assuring that the boy was receiving the care he needed to grow up healthy. As one short visit to the Dursleys proved otherwise, these affirmations were false.
I started wondering if Dumbledore’s enabling of the Dursleys was accidental or intentional. Whether it was carelessness that he just couldn’t be bothered to check up on the boy or if the old headmaster had done it on purpose. My paranoia had me believing it was the latter.
My suspicions were confirmed the night I broke into Hogwarts. It was eerie, walking through the hallways I grew up in. The entire castle was deserted; its ruination was still too fresh for anyone other than emergency cleaners to be there. They’re saying that the castle won’t be ready for students when fall comes around – Hogwarts will be closed this year. I poked my head into the Hufflepuff common room for nostalgia’s sake before moving on to the reason for my visit.
The headmaster’s office had been closed and warded off after the Battle of Hogwarts for a later date when the Ministry could go through and document everything. It took me two hours to break those wards.
I spent the next three days going through the ex-headmaster’s files and collection of memories (thankfully not thrown out by Severus Snape) searching for incriminating evidence. I put aside any memories that pertained to Harry. I saw the memory of the night Dumbledore left him on the Dursley’s front porch despite Minerva McGonagall’s objections to their character. I watched as Harry was sorted into Gryffindor house – Dumbledore was pleased by this turn of events if his smile was anything to go by. I saw Dumbledore’s trap/obstacle course he’d laid for Professor Quirrell/Voldemort that was easy enough to be thwarted by three first-year students. I saw his quick shutdown of Harry after he requested to remain at Hogwarts over the summer rather than return to his relatives. I saw his refusal to shut down Hogwarts even though students were being petrified and there was the threat of death looming over them. I saw his encouragement of Harry to be the hero and face things he was much too young to face. I watched as Dumbledore affirmed that Harry had to compete in a deadly tournament that the boy never signed up for. I watched his avoidance of Harry his entire fifth year even as the boy desperately sought him out. I watched as Harry screamed at him and destroyed his office after his godfather died. I saw Dumbledore desperately try to regain his trust that same summer by berating his relatives for their treatment of him. I saw his conversations with Harry in his sixth year where he told the story of Tom Riddle and his creation of Horcruxes. I watched him set up this child to embark on a quest – armed with nothing but minimal knowledge and the hope to succeed. Finally, I came across a memory from Severus Snape and not Albus Dumbledore. The contents were the nails in Dumbledore’s coffin. Dumbledore revealed Harry’s prophecy to Snape and explained how it was necessary that Harry die in order to stop the Dark Lord. At each point in Harry’s life, Dumbledore was there to nudge him where he needed him with kind advice and a friendly smile.
I watched as Dumbledore created the exact hero he needed in order to ensure Voldemort’s demise.
And beyond it all, I saw Albus Dumbledore. I saw who he truly was. Beyond his twinkling smile and grandfatherly guise. Beyond Rita Skeeter’s “Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore” was an incredibly complicated man. The man genuinely did want the best outcome for Magical Britain, but he was willing to maneuver anyone and everyone in order to get that outcome. Even a child who had nothing.
The puzzle fit together quickly after that. Dumbledore knew Voldemort hadn’t died that fateful Halloween night, and he knew that the prophecy declared that Harry was the key to his permanent extermination. So, he had to make sure that Harry would be willing to sacrifice everything for the Wizarding World in order to bring to pass Voldemort’s demise. And it just so happened that Harry’s only living relatives were a nasty sort of people who hated everything to do with magic.
And thus, his master plan was hatched.
Harry Potter would be raised under the poor care of the Dursleys. Perhaps it wasn’t planned, but his resentment of them would make him eternally grateful to the Wizarding World and the respite it provided from the Dursleys. His desire to save it would be born. Dumbledore then nurtured Harry’s heroic qualities – fostering the idea that Harry was the only one reliable or capable enough to take care of extremely large threats. He fostered the idea that Harry had to take care of these issues because no one else would. Harry’s first year was a set-up – a test of sorts. To see if he really did have the self-sacrificing qualities Dumbledore needed. He encouraged Harry’s behavior in his second year with the basilisk and the Chamber of Secrets. He had Harry compete in the Triwizard Tournament when Harry could have simply forfeited the competition at the start of each task. He gave him the impossible quest of destroying Horcruxes without giving him the information or means to destroy them. Only to turn around at the end and tell Harry that he must give one more thing in order for peace to be won.
Again and again, Dumbledore and the adults in Harry’s life failed him. They were unreliable. They could not take care of the problems so Harry had to do it himself. And he should not have had to.
The thing that haunts me the most is that Dumbledore’s plan worked. He molded a child into one of the most self-sacrificing people I’ve ever met. The Wizarding World is now safe from the threat of Lord Voldemort. Our children are safe. We can now rebuild what we lost.
But was there no other way to do that than to inflict all that misery and lay down all that responsibility at the feet of a child?
In the muggle world, there is a story called ‘The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas.’
Omelas was a perfect place. The people who lived there were thriving and happy – they’d never known struggle or hardship. It was a literal utopia. However, there was one dark stain on their city’s glittering veneer. Once the inhabitants of Omelas grew old enough, they were shown the secret of the city. It’s one sin that maintained their perfect world. The city’s peaceful prosperity required that one child be kept in constant darkness, pain, and misery, otherwise Omelas good fortune would vanish and their city would become like any other. Of course, the people were initially shocked and outraged once shown, because, of course, this was wrong. Of course, this child should not be suffering alone in the dark. But eventually, they came to the conclusion that one child’s misery was worth the happiness of the whole city. They agreed that it was for the greater good.
But every so often, there were the few who walked away from Omelas – not willing to partake in the fortune that a child’s suffering brought.
I’ve never been able to connect with this story as much as I can now.
Is the misery of one boy worth the greater good of Magical Britain?
No. It is not.
We should be able to achieve the greater good without ruining the life of a child. We should be able to take responsibility whether it be basilisks, insane professors, or even mass-murdering Dark Lords. It is not to be the responsibility of any of our children. To hell with any prophecies that say otherwise.
Harry Potter has been wronged by his relatives, Albus Dumbledore, every damn adult in his life, our entire society. He has never known consistent love – never had a parental figure he could rely on. And his life will forever be dictated by that.
All of this has led me to an inevitable conclusion. There is no other choice or path for me to take without my conscience being stained by the knowledge of what we have done.
I’ve gotten my hands on a modified time-turner from an unregistered source in South Africa – capable of jumping back years at a time. It’s never been used before; the practical applications behind what it can do is only theoretical. I don’t know if the world it will take me to is the same one I’ve lived in for the past 29 years or if it will take me to one that is parallel. Either way, I will devote my life to making amends on behalf of all those who benefit from Harry’s suffering.
I’ve sent in my two weeks to the Ministry. I’ve left notes for the few friends I will leave behind. I’m getting my affairs in order; packing all of my possessions and wealth for a one-way journey, sending things I’m leaving behind to the people I love. I will leave this journal as a testament to what we as a society have done.
I will go back and change Harry’s story. Hopefully, I can give him the life he always should have had.
Harry Potter has been wronged by the Wizarding World. We have taken everything from him for our own selfish personal gain. I won’t be a part of this any longer.
So, I will walk away from Omelas.
And I’m taking the child with me.