In the Almighty's temple, Gaia might have been silent, but Gabriel and Michael were far from it. Both had left some very explicit phrases echoing around the temple. Yet, surprisingly, Gaia had not expressed any displeasure at their poor choice of language. Perhaps her silence was all they needed to know about the situation since Gaia was usually very vocal.

Gabriel was upset because of the lives that Mal and Harry lived. While he was well aware of the details from Harry's lives, he wasn't aware of Mal's. From there, his anger grew towards the angels involved with the members of the cult's souls. Especially Rida. Something was off about that angel, and he was determined to get to the bottom of things.

Michael was also in a state of upset over the angels' policies and practices. Mainly because some of what Mal commented about wasn't standard procedure, but he was coming to understand now more than ever why it was necessary and why they should have been established a long time ago.

However, the complacency among the angels boarded on laziness, and he had to wonder what procedures and other practices were already being ignored or blatantly violated daily. He was already aware that the guardian angels to the souls of the cult were among them.

A few different note pads now surrounded Michael. One for his test for the couple, one for things that he wanted to be fixed in the world that Mal was from-with ideas on how to do it, and one that pertained to Purgatory. And all the work that was needed to be done here. In that notepad, he scribbled a vital reminder to speak with Ephraim about training angels on how to treat children, victims of traumatic deaths, or lifelong abuse.

He also owed his brother an apology, a big one at that. It seemed he owed a lot of people apologies.

When Mal accused Privet Drive of being magicked, Gabriel had to close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. Both to stave off a headache, because yes, headaches were a thing in the afterlife, and a groan at what he knew Michael's reaction was going to be.

The ancient Arch Angel had looked just as melancholy and defeated as Gabriel had felt on numerous occasions while watching over Harry's lives; now Michael sat straight and alert. A look of triumph on his face.

"See!? She's right; magics are preventing the neighbors from reporting the abuse! All we have to do is use that angle to get Harry away from all that!" Michael shouted gleefully. "Now he won't have to go back with his memories! I win, after all! Don't piss away a method that's worked for millennia!"

Gabriel waited until his older brother, and lifelong friend was finished before dropping the icy water balloon on the celebration with one word.

"How?"

He asked the question in a gentle, respectful manner. It was also a logical question that needed asking, and Michael realized that he got ahead of himself. After all, they had to plan out the details for every eventuality, so it worked in Harry's favor.

His mind began scrambling through the facts about Harry's life, world, and its people in it. They had tried many things to help Harry, even going so far as to up his potions resistance.

"What about the squib?" While he was sure they had discussed this before, they had not tried this avenue before.

"Firmly in Dumbledore's confidence, and that's without spells and potions. Added to that, she knows. Maybe not all of the details, but she knows to some extent what Harry's suffering through." Gabriel shook his head. "She actively reports people on who are trying to help Harry. To have her work against Dumbledore would go against her unyielding belief and devotion in Dumbledore and cause irreparable damage to her mind and soul."

Michael was well aware of what they risked; they had attempted to alter Dumbledore's behavior in the contract, if not to make him Harry's ally, then to at least lessen the amount and weaken the potions. But the process would have broken his soul; it was already showing when Harry died in his fourth death, and Dumbledore fell apart. He still potioned Harry according to his plan, but it cost Dumbledore his sanity to do it. Because despite believing that it was necessary, because of the alterations that Gabriel and Michael made, Dumbledore struggled with his choices.

While Michel wouldn't have cried over the loss, no angel could physically and intentionally harm a soul without hurting themselves. He had suffered such a migraine for what amounted to a mortal's decade as they waited for Dumbledore's soul to heal enough to return to the mortal world.

It was for this reason, more than anything else, why Rida stopped physically abusing Mal. Michael would bet his left-wing on that fact.

From the look on his face, it was clear to Gabriel that Michael wasn't going to let this go.

So, Gabriel cut him off. "Michael, if you can present to me a way to send Harry back without his memories, where things will undoubtedly, and irrevocably, work in his favor, I will side with you. Happily. Until then, you said something about testing this couple; why don't you hold off any final judgment until after that. Then based on those results, we'll come up with a game plan, alright?"

Michael nodded but otherwise remained silent. He knew that Gabriel was right, and he hated it. He hated changing the way things ran in Purgatory. Not because he was afraid of new things or better improvements, but because he remembered, all too well, the chaos from before the current system was in place and the horrors that had existed when the demons had roamed free.

He would do anything to keep that from happening again—even risk making Gaia hate him if that's what it took, though it would kill him.

Maybe she knew him better than he thought and was showing him why they needed to change. Because right now, it was clear that the way Michael ran things, and let so much go, was part of the problem.

Maybe this break was what they all needed.

"Oh shit! Not again!" Gabriel whined as Harry once more attacked his office.

While he may be an Arch Angel, Michael was vindictive enough to chuckle and smirk silently at Gabriel's predicament.

It was rather comical and put his feelings of conflict at ease for a moment.

~==(oIo)==~

Harry sat with Mal in his arms, relatively comfortable, massaging her scalp and listening to her essentially purr. He couldn't remember a time when he had been more content. Not in any of his lives or with either of his wives.

"May I ask a question that's been nagging me?" He asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Sure." Mal yawned as she sat up, loath as she was for him to stop massaging her head.

Slightly chilled by the sudden absence of her body, he quickly decided to ignore his desire to pull her back and pushed forward.

"If Arnold wanted you to be his third wife, how come you never ended up marrying him?" Then Harry felt like he was going to be sick. "Or did he marry you, and someone else engineered your death?"

"You forget what Tarnok told you about my last life in your panic." Mal gave him a small smile and patted his arm in comfort. "No, you big lug, my stepfather did not marry me, nor did he pawn off my demise onto another. Remember, perception is everything to him, and having someone else doing me in would attract a lot of unwanted attention. Even in that community, unsanctioned murder was illegal.

"As for why that's rather simple; He molested me."

Harry was confused, "I thought the cult didn't care what men did and killed you because he'd been caught before in a past life."

Mal shook her head. "He was taken away by an outside force, an intruder if you will. All crime, if proven, is dealt with by the Church. They hate outside forces coming in and telling the community how to police their own." Harry nodded his understanding. "Issues such as this, and murder, as I mentioned earlier, have come up in the past. If the church officials say you need to die for the good of all, then that's not murder; it's cleansing. If the Church feels as if they can't handle the problem, then, and only then, will they tolerate police involvement."

Oddly enough, Harry understood that completely. Prime example, how Dumbledore handled the students and staff within Hogwarts. The only time he'd seen DMLE forces at Hogwarts had been during Hagrid's arrest, Buckbeak's "execution," and Umbridge's take over. Even then, the Auror's power was laughable.

"Anyway, in my fourth life, I think, and from then on, when this situation came up again, Christie saved me from drowning and made her calls. This time, the Church answered her."

The current Priest and three nuns arrived.

Two nuns, Sister Florence and Sister Clarence, watched over the other children, keeping them at bay for their health, spiritual and physical. They were perfect for the job as they worked at the daycare and already knew them.

The oldest nun, Sister Ethel, listened to Christie's story as they cleaned Mal up. She asked questions for clarification. While Sister Ethel knew what Mal had all over her face and chest and could make an educated guess on what happened, she said nothing to Christie. Instead, she sent Christie to get Mal some clean clothes. While gone, Sister Ethel asked Mal who and if he had penetrated her. Mal said Arnold, and no, he only touched.

Meanwhile, the Priest, Father Scott, investigated the house. Lauren was unconscious in her room due to her medications. Arnold was currently out grocery shopping when he asked Christie where he was.

Father Scott didn't need to be told what happened; he already knew. Still, he listened as Sister Ethel told him what she had learned from the girls.

He and Sister Ethel vowed to help Mal.

Christie had done as she was instructed and stripped Mal's bed before putting fresh sheets on. So that a clean and medicated Mal was tucked into bed by Father Scott. Sister Ethel meanwhile coached Christie on how to give Mal her medicine and when.

Christie was punished, of course. However, right she was in her actions, she had broken the house rules and interrupted evening prayers at the Church. Her punishment, Father Scott, assured her it was most vicious. She had to say the full rosary three times. A price she happily paid for Mal getting help.

Arnold came home and found the company; he was ready to welcome them, but a soured Father Scott told Arnold to be silent. Put away the groceries, then meet him and Sister Ethel. It came as a shock to Arnold that this wouldn't be a pleasant visit for him. So Arnold did as instructed, then he knelt before the Priest.

Father Scott wasted no time, telling Arnold that he had seen a man's essence on Mal's body upon his arrival, then her bed during his inspection, as had Sister Ethel when she cared for the girl. Was it Arnold's shame? Arnold had attempted to lie, but Ethel spoke, saying Mal was aware enough to say what happened. So Father Scott scolded Arnold.

Confess now, or be punished more severely.

Immediately, as if desperate to save himself at all costs, Arnold launched into a tale of how Mal had tormented him, taunted him, teased him with her utterly sinful body. Willfully and knowingly after that, school (Mal's public school) had their sex education class. She was of the devil! She had to be if she was attempting to seduce a married man. He begged Father Scott to save him.

When Arnold had finished, Father Scott, who listened silently to Arnold's pleas, did the unthinkable.

"You mean this leads to one of your deaths!?" Harry thundered. He thought the Priest and Nun were going to protect Mal this time.

"No!" Mal shouted back. "He defended me!"

Harry paused, truly at a loss for words, till they found him again. "You're right; that is unthinkable. Given the rest of your experiences. But seeing's how you've described Father Scott and Sister Ethel so far, I have to say their backing you isn't a surprise, but it is a welcome relief."

Mal thought over his words. "You have a point there."

Father Scott agreed Arnold's claims usually would be given their due consideration had Mal been healthy of mind and body. However, even then, Father Scott would have seen Arnold's words for what they were: A weak attempt to hide his misdeeds by passing the blame onto another. His victim in this case.

Had Arnold not beseeched the Church many times to cleanse him of his "useless" wife? Had he not been caught leering at younger women? Had he not had confessed to thoughts of depravity at every confession? The man who admittedly treasured his public image more than his sons? It was now evident that Arnold was willing to do and say anything, so long as he looked good in the end.

No, it was clear to Father Scott who the real victim was.

Father Scott followed up by telling Arnold that he would now sign a pledge. In this pledge, he must vow never to touch Mal again. Any time he had unholy desires and thoughts of Mal, he would pray. This pledge stated that he would not marry Mal, nor could he hinder others' marriage pursuits with her. And unlike with some families, Arnold was to have no say in who she married: It would either be her choice or the Church's. Because of her state of mind, Lauren could not make that choice for Mal, and Arnold was banned because of his actions.

Father Scott did verify that Arnold could marry a third time, but only after Lauren died from a natural death, and only if Arnold did all he could to help Lauren stay alive, and comfortably, at that. To hinder or inhibit Lauren's health would be murder, and it would see Arnold cast out and turned over to the outside police force.

That was to be his price, his penance.

At first, Arnold had blustered; why in the world would he ever agree to that? If Father Scott thought he could scare or bully him into signing, then Father Scott didn't know him as well as Father Scott claimed. Maybe Arnold would have words with the Elders, telling them that Father Scott was blackmailing him with his confessions. Which were sacred, and priests were forbidden from breaking the confessions sacrament. Then they'd see who had the last laugh.

Father Scott had merely smirked, Arnold could do that, but the Elders already knew about Arnold's confessions, just as they were now aware of what Arnold had done to Mal. Where did he think this pledge came from?

No, as Arnold said, Father Scott could not blackmail him with the sacred oaths of confession. But Father Scott could blackmail him with Arnold's deeds that day, as Arnold had not confessed under holy oath.

Now, given that, who would the public believe more? The barely tolerated Arnold? Or the highly esteemed Father Scott?

"It was at that point that Arnold knew he lost. So rather than lose everything he'd built up around his very public and beloved image, Arnold signed the pledge that Father Scott and Sister Ethel drafted." Mal finished.

"How do you know all this? I doubt Rida told you."

Mal shook her head. Deciding not to say that Rida fully believed that Mal was at fault for the molestation, and ranted that Arnold was unfairly punished. "Christie listened at the top of the stairs."

Harry smiled fondly. "You really loved your sister."

The smile that spread across her face reminded Harry of Sirius when he would talk to Harry about James. Even as tears filled her eyes, that smiled remained on her face.

"I still do. Christie was more than my sister. She was my best friend, like a daughter at times."

"Why don't you tell me about her?" Harry suggested. "Purging doesn't always mean letting go of the bad. It's also to remember the good. Christie was clearly the good for you like Sirius was for me. Tell me about her, tell me how she died, in more words than what you already said."

Mal sniffed and wiped the corners of her eyes. "Okay."

Mal and Christie were eight, almost nine years apart. Mal was little but old enough to start helping, especially in Arnold's eyes. Her biggest fear was about dropping the tiny baby girl. Mal, at that age, didn't understand the ways of the community and its thinking. All she knew was no one celebrated the baby girl as the baby boys had been.

So she took it upon herself to care for and cherish this baby as it should have been. Hence why, at times, Christie felt more like a daughter to Mal and why Christie sometimes called her mama as a small child. It was raising Christie more than anything that taught Mal about the joys of being a mother.

As a result, Christie and Mal were very close, almost inseparable.

Despite being related, they didn't look alike much. Where Mal was ivory-skinned, Christie had a rosy glow to her dark peach coloring. Mal had ice blue eyes; Christie's were almost dark teal; Mal's hair was burgundy locks; Christie's was honey brown. Though both shared their hair's curly nature, Christie sported tighter ring curls rather than Mal's loose spirals.

As they grew, Christie did mimic Mal as toddlers and small children do. So they can learn what they like and don't. Although Mal encouraged Christie to find her own interests, Christie ended up with similar interests. Their love of books, art, and some video games allowed them hours of bonding time.

During the bad times, they clung to each other as if they were the other's lifeline. Mal read to her until she was old enough to read for herself. Mal nursed Christie when she was sick, and Christie attempted to do the same for Mal for many years until she was old enough to do the job accurately. Even so, Christie often was the only one to care for Mal, so even if it wasn't the best, it was still more than Mal got trying to do it all herself.

No matter what, they were always there for each other.

Like Mal, Christie's childhood was nothing to brag about. Though thankfully, Mal had managed to spare Christie a lot of pain.

And like Mal, Christie married early in life, though she wasn't given a choice in her husband.

It all happened so fast; there was no stopping it. Even so, Mal was never quite sure what possessed Arnold to accept the arranged marriage. Maybe money exchanged hands; perhaps it was a move to hurt Mal, knowing how close the sisters were, or maybe it was both. Either way, not long after Christie turned eighteen and legal, Arnold married her off. The two men had planned everything and only informed Christie at the Church what was happening.

Christie Eve Higgins was then Christie Eve Cross. Her husband was Bruce Adam Cross.

Everything had a home, things had to be sterilized clean, and if anything was out of place, it needed fixing. Immediately. Typically, this wouldn't have bothered Mal or Christie; they understood such disorders and were attentive to people's needs as much as they could. Bruce was a mean man who Mal honestly thought had a form of OCD. But what made him unbearable was his hellish temper. If things weren't the way he liked them, and if he didn't get his way, he became verbally abusive, then he became violent.

His sole reason for even wanting Christie was her middle name. His middle name Adam, his destined wife, would have Eve as her middle name, and they would be just as the star couple in the bible. While that was the main thing he wanted in his wife, Christie was hardly the only one with the middle name Eve. However, she was the youngest legal young woman, and Arnold boasted his daughters were the best maids. Bruce wanted a young wife for many children and wanted a housekeeper that would meet his standards.

It had been an unhappy marriage. At least on Christie's part. Though over time, Bruce wasn't far behind her. Christie hated the marriage and hated her husband. She fought against him all the time, making so secret of her real thoughts and feelings. She confessed to the Priests, begged the church officials to annul her marriage, pleaded with the nuns to take her in and hide her. None of it worked. As they had approved of this match, they would not be told they were wrong.

The more Christie rebelled and was denied, the worse her depression got, which made her marriage worse as her husband became more abusive. He had been promised compliance and obedience, but he bought a disgrace.

Mal had tried to convince Christie to leave on numerous occasions, but she had denied each time. Christie had faith that the Church, the community, would see reason. Mal knew the truth; Christie was young and hopeful, but she was mostly naïve.

Despite that, Mal helped as much as she could. Mal was the one who helped her sister make her married life more manageable. She got Christie on birth control so that she wouldn't have that raping bastard of a husband's child. She took Christie to the hospital when she was too injured to do it herself. Mal wanted to involve the police, even knowing the Church's and the community's stance on the police and those considered outsiders. Instead, Christie begged Mal not to, holding onto her belief in her home and its people.

"I should have called the police anyway." Mal's voice was wavering as she spoke. "Christie would properly be alive if I did, she might have hated me, but she would have been alive."

Mal didn't need to say what the other side of that coin would be; the community would have more than likely killed the sisters if Mal had succeeded in getting Bruce arrested with Christie's cooperation or not. More than likely with Arnold leading the charge.

After the fourth beating, with the corresponding hospital stay and the Church's scolding her about not getting pregnant, Christie finally realized that no help would come from that community. She called Mal and admitted Mal was right; give Christie the night to pack, then Christie would leave with Mal.

However, Christie was beaten to death that night, most likely by Bruce, though Mal suspected Arnold's help. Either Bruce overheard the phone call, or he caught her packing. From the look of her injuries, Christie had fought back with all that she had. Which meant there would have been a lot of noise.

Yet, no one helped Christie. For whatever their reasons, the community didn't lift a finger except to drop off what was left of Christie at the hospital anonymously.

Mal was labeled as Christie's emergency contact at the hospital already, and they wasted no time calling her.

For three days, Mal was at the hospital as they worked to get Christie stable and run multiple tests. Three days to learn that their efforts were in vain. Christie had lost too much oxygen to her brain, and it had begun separating. She was brain dead.

Mal had been through a lot, but not even her ex leaving her cut as deep as watching Christie die once she pulled the plug on her sister. Knowing that she could have been saved, but everyone deliberately turned their backs. That loss absolutely gutted her.

Even knowing that as an organ donor that parts of Christie lived on in others, it didn't help much. It was heartwarming and a comfort source in later days, but those first weeks, even months, were devastating to live through. Mal caught herself many times, thinking that Christie hadn't called in a while, and went to call her. Only to remember, and it was as if the loss tore her heart open anew.

"At that moment, I was glad not to have children then." Mal said as tears blurred her vision. "Because, now I know it's illogical, but I just felt that if I couldn't keep my own sister safe, what chance did I have with a baby of my own? In many ways, Christie was my baby, and I let her down."

Harry quickly caught Mal as she fell apart, pulled her into his arms once more, and held her tightly against his chest again. He let her sob, wail, and grieve completely. It was clear she had never felt safe enough to let herself fall apart and weep with all that she was before.

Probably because she was afraid she wouldn't be able to pick up the pieces and get back up again. Harry mused, knowing that feeling all too well himself, having experienced it after Sirius's death.

Whether it was because he knew it's what she needed or because he couldn't hold back anymore, Harry didn't know, but soon, his hand was tangled in her hair, his cheek resting against her forehead as he held her tightly. Rocking her back and forth softly, not saying anything, but occasionally pressing kisses on her forehead and over her eyes as she fell apart. Each kiss was burning his lips and leaving imprints on his soul.

In his experience, this was usually where women took his gestures the wrong way and tried to turn things sexual, then got insulted when he didn't want that.

Thankfully, Mal did not react like that. It seemed she wanted, needed, this physical contact as much as he did. A part of Harry was disappointed that things didn't turn more physical, but he was enormously relieved when she didn't push him away and instead snuggled in closer. Now more than ever, he knew was not the time to explore their mutual physical attraction with each other.

"You're right," Harry said when the worst had passed, "that was illogical thinking on your part. What happened to Christie wasn't your fault. And even if you think you could have, we both know that you did all you could; otherwise, your ninth death would have been something much different. At least I'm assuming Christie's death was from your ninth life?"

At her nod, he continued.

"All you wanted to do was help your sister; they were the ones who killed her. Thanks to your help, there wasn't an innocent child involved at the end and left behind with Bruce. Because we both know you would never be granted custody. You would have suffered a lot more if Christie had been a mother. But I think you would have been a great mother. You would have done anything to protect your child. Be it yours through adoption or by blood."

"Thank you," Mal sighed, "and you have a point, and I knew it was illogical, and I know it's a good thing that Christie and I didn't have children, but I don't think my guilt is going to go away so easily."

"No." Harry agreed, knowing from experience. "No, it won't."

~==(oIo)==~

This time, Michael wasn't alone in his fury; Gabriel was right there with him, positively seething. The deep gonging of deep base bells that could be heard from above indicated Gaia's own rage.

"Heads will roll!" Michael thundered, not a trace of doubt or mercy in his voice or being.

"I'll get the axes." Gabriel promised, letting Michael know that he had Gabriel's full support in whatever punishments he dished out.

The ringing of bells as if from a Cathedral showed they had Gaia's support.

Cults as harmful and dangerous as the one Mal lived in were taught about in the academy for a reason. If the guardian angels came across one, they were to bring it to the Arch Angels' attention immediately so they could assess the cult.

If it was to become a serious religion that could help and save many lives in many ways, they would leave it alone.

However, if all it did was harm people, they would plan to shut down the entire thing.

That no one had bothered to report this one, the fact that this one was large and had been operational for decades, utterly pissed them both off.

It further showed Michael how truly lax he'd become in his duties. Which among them was making sure the lesser angels did their jobs correctly.

All Gabriel saw was many lazy angels or an extreme cover-up that wreaked of a deeper conspiracy and a sinister plot. Something that even if Michael had been more involved, they would not have noticed it. It was only by a stroke of luck that they even knew about Mal's situation now. No one bothered to report anything anymore, and those that did were young angels soon "corrected" of this notion by the elder ones.

Only time would tell how bad the situation really was. Regardless, this was a certainty; some angels would get demoted, and some angels would no longer be angels by the end of this.

As Gabriel simmered in his rage silently, Michael sighed and watched the pair of souls on the screen a little unnerved.

Harry, without any outside prompting, had known precisely what Mal needed in the way of comfort. And she had calmed his rage before he could go on a rampage. Not even Ephraim, in his infinite patience and calming demeanor, could do that with such ease.

The situation reminded him of another couple so long ago, from the last time Gaia had gone rogue. He hadn't witnessed the bonding, only the chaos and pain caused by his separating that couple. Well, his eyes were well and truly opened now.

~==(oIo)==~

"Feeling better?" Harry asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen between them as Mal recovered.

"Much actually."

"Anything else you want to say on the matter? Something that might allow us to end this on a high note?" Harry hoped that ending it with a pleasant memory would help Mal remember the good times, not the gruesome ending.

To his great relief, Mal smiled softly, "We always talked about naming our first-born daughters after each other. I wasn't sure what she planned on, but I decided that instead of CH, in the beginning, it would be a K, and instead of IE at the end, it would be a Y."

Harry could picture the name in his mind, and unconsciously he added to it; Kristy Rose Potter. He even saw her in his mind; a small toddling girl with a messy head of burgundy curls and emerald green eyes. He vowed Mal would have that beautiful little girl, and if he had anything to say about it, he'd father the child himself.

In his arms, unaware of his thoughts, Mal also saw a toddling baby girl rushing around barefoot with a massive grin on her face. A messy head of burgundy locks blew back as she bustled about. When Kristy looked back at Mal with a broad, mischievous grin, Mal noticed the girl's eyes were a vivid emerald green. Unconsciously, Mal snuggled in closer to Harry, only her subconscious recognizing who Kristy's father was.

"Change of topic, and back to our original point," Harry said when the vision of Kristy ended, "my third death."

"That's depressing." Mal grumbled.

Harry couldn't resist the opportunity.

"Oh, well, excuse me, Princess!" Harry burst out, mock offended. "And here I thought my reaction to the Wizarding Britain and Hogwarts would be, at the very least, amusing to you!"

Slowly Mal's face turned to look up at him with wide eyes before her features morphed into the most pitiful puppy dog face she could muster and certainly the most pitiful he'd ever seen. And he'd dealt with Sirius's literal puppy face.

"I sowwy. I be good. Pwease, tell me."

He was trying hard not to laugh, he really was, but his efforts had his hand over his mouth and tears welling up in his eyes.

Mal grinned happily at his reaction; she had hoped that would make him laugh. "Do you want me to move?"

"That's entirely up to you."

"Harry, be honest with me; what do you want me to do?"

Harry sighed again, rest his head against hers as he whispered, "Stay."

So Mal stayed curled up in his arms, her chin resting on Harry's chest.

The morning had started like any other. Petunia woke him up at 5 am, so he could start his morning chores, get the morning paper drying for Vernon, bring in the milk, and most importantly, start cooking breakfast for the Dursleys. He had to make sure there was enough food to satisfy his uncle's and his cousin's appetite.

As the Dursleys were eating, Harry was doing the dishes and cleaning up the items and space he had used during his cooking and the things the Dursleys weren’t using as they finished with them. Harry had slightly burned his mouth from eating straight out of the pan before the Dursleys made their way downstairs, so he was doing all he could not to say a thing. Not that the Dursleys had any meaningful conversations with him, but they did expect him, at the very least, to say yes sir or ma'am when they gave him an order.

As Harry had been trained, he automatically paused what he was doing and went to retrieve when the mail arrived. Almost absentmindedly, Harry sifted through it to organize it how Vernon liked to look through it.

But the final letter had him freezing and his full attention.

On thick parchment paper, folded into a rather thickly packed envelope, was written details that no one outside of #4 Privet Drive knew, addressed solely to him and his cupboard.

Harry had already sorted the rest of the mail to Vernon's liking. So he meandered back to the dining table where said sea life attraction was hollering at "the Freak" to hurry up.

Had he not been in such a state of shock, he would have realized that walking into the dining room filled with the Dursley's, with his first very own letter, was a terrible idea. He wisely would have hidden the letter and waited until he was alone in the cupboard before reading it.

But, he had not. Foolishly, after handing Vernon the mail, Harry turned and began to open his letter. Taking in every detail of the wax seal as he carefully opened the letter without harming the seal. Which was the most intricate and beautiful one he'd ever seen.

At Mal's confused look, Harry shrugged. "I was a lonely boy with few hobbies allowed. Wax seals they didn't mind."

"Might I interject a moment?"

Harry fell silent, allowing her interruption. He wasn't sure if he was looking forward to her observation or dreading it.

"The mailing system at Hogwarts: I'm assuming at magical households; the delivery owl would return to Hogwarts because magical families already have their own owls. As the entire magical community relies on owl post, yes?"

He nodded.

"Don't professors usually hand-deliver muggleborns their Hogwarts acceptance letters?"

Yup, he was dreading her point. "I believe so. If nothing else so they'll believe the professors about their child being magical. Why?"

"A professor wouldn't visit you because you were classed as muggle raised. A family that knows about magic but lived around muggles- this means the owl would have stayed so Petunia, who knew how owl post works, could respond. So the question remains, why didn't the owl stay?"

Harry froze as he thought about it.

"It would seem I have a lot of analyzing to do later." Harry mused.

"I'll help." Mal smiled. She was already thinking of many things that she felt needed addressing.

"Please!" Harry begged light-heartedly. "I could use an outsiders' point of view. Due to the many potions later controlling me, my memories are not the best, and I often overlook many important details. Such as that owl bit you mentioned."

The morning he received his first letter also had one other important factor that Harry did not consider as he slowly opened his letter.

They were between TVs at the moment—at least a TV for the dining room. Vernon and Dudley had been eyeing a larger model with higher resolution for the living room, which meant the living room TV would become the dining room's TV. The reason for no longer having one for the dining room was because Dudley had thrown the old one to the floor in a fit of rage when his favorite Saturday morning cartoon had been canceled.

Thankfully, Vernon and Petunia had not blamed Harry for its destruction; he only had to clean it up.

What that meant for that morning, and Harry, was a bored Dudley was looking for something to watch while eating. His parent's morning conversations were dull. Harry's cleaning lacked excitement. But "the Freak" with a letter, as if anyone would write to "the Freak," was a chance to get Harry trouble, which solved Dudley's entertainment problem.

So Dudley snatched the letter away from Harry and "tattled" that Harry was stealing mail.

He knew it was useless, he wouldn't get the letter back, but Harry defended himself; he hadn't stolen anything. The letter had been addressed to him.

Upon reading the letter's address, Petunia and Vernon had not reacted the way he was used to. Anger and hostility sure, but the fear in their eyes, the horror in their expressions, that was new.

Vernon immediately tore it up and ordered Harry back into the kitchen to finish the dishes.

Dudley began demanding to know what was in "the Freak's" letter—forgetting that neither Petunia nor Vernon had bothered reading its contents. But he was placated when Vernon stood and declared they were going TV shopping.

As they left, planning to make a day out of it, Harry was locked in his cupboard.

Alone, with nothing to do, he thought about the letter. It was clear that his aunt and uncle didn't read it because they already knew what the contents would be. And judging by the way Vernon took the trash out before they left, which was another of Harry's jobs, they were actively keeping him from the letter and its knowledge.

They had looked at Harry in fear, which was a strange turn of events. They were afraid of him, but why?

When they returned later that evening, the fear was gone. In its place was fury, and perhaps, even a small amount of jealousy.

As he laid down to sleep that night, hungry, he was desperate to know the contents of the letter. His mind racing at the possibilities of what it said, making it easy to ignore the hunger pains.

Despite having been raised with a witch and living with one for almost ten years, Petunia and Vernon naively thought that destroying the letter would be the end of it. They had denied Harry his magical heritage; he would now grow up to be normal just like them.

What a perfect revenge against "the Freaks" and against Lily that would be.

But the letter became letters, and they kept coming. Four more were found with the mail the next morning, which Vernon checked himself just to be sure. Thankfully, to them at least, denying Harry the chance to read them.

The next morning after that, eight more waited. Vernon then sealed off the mail slot and burned the letters that evening.

The next day, Petunia had returned from the market with two dozen eggs to get some baking done, and inside every last one was a Hogwarts letter.

After a week and a day of this madness, Petunia and Vernon were frazzled and short-tempered.

Harry was furious and desperate to know what was in those letters.

Dudley had forgotten about them. There was a TV in the dining room again, so now all of the "important" places had one. The living room, dining room, Dudley's bedroom, and even one in the upstairs loo. It was a black and white portable, but it was a TV, and Dudley didn't miss a thing no matter which room he occupied.

So for Dudley, all was right in his world. He had forgotten and no longer cared about the letters. He was also uncaring towards his parents' plight.

Harry's mental state was frantic and obsessive about getting his hands on one of those letters. This was why when the boarded-up fireplace burst open and hundreds of letters came pouring out, Harry forgot all of the rules. The Dursleys and his own for self-preservation.

Harry stood on the coffee table and flailed about to catch one.

Vernon was furious and trying to stop Harry.

Petunia was shrieking in outrage, and her panic was showing.

Over the past week, her once immaculate home now sported unseemly boards over essential places. Now, these soot-covered letters were making a worse mess than if they had just simply been letters.

Dudley merely turned up the tv volume and didn't notice the chaos till the letters started flying in front of the tv. Then he was too stupefied to move.

Thwarted again, Harry and Dudley were packed into the car while Vernon gathered up the letters to throw out, and Petunia packed things for Vernon, herself, and Dudley.

They fled all over, trying to escape the letters, and finally, they landed on that little island and that little shack.

"And what a nightmare that was; let me tell you." Harry groaned. "Petunia was crying over the state of the house was left in and unable to clean it. Or, rather, have me clean it. Dudley whined about not having his video games, about not having his bed to sleep in, about sharing a room with his parents and me. Vernon was yelling all the while about nonsense, or so I thought at the time.

"He was ranting about "the Freaks" and how they always found us. How they were harassing "good and decent people." How they were ruining the Dursley's lives more than I had. I went from "the Freak" to "the boy," so I knew he was talking about a different someone or somebodies."

Along with his endless whining, Dudley complained a lot! He was hot; he was cold, tired, uncomfortable, and wasn't happy about any of this. But the loudest, most obnoxious complaining of all was that he was hungry and thirsty, which was every five minutes.

It was only when Petunia told Vernon that she was hungry too that they stopped to eat.

Naturally, Harry had as little as possible.

Noticing her quizzical look again, Harry smiled. Resisting the urge to nibble on her furrowed brow, and gave her an approving nod.

"Two things." Mal said, holding up two fingers and lowering one. "First, Petunia, do you think she was obsessive-compulsive about her cleaning on her own, or do you think it was magically induced?"

"No idea, why?"

"Because if it's not magically induced, and I don't see Dumbledore caring enough to make her that way; unless his goal was for you to be worked to the bone from a young age." Mal mused. "Anyway, back to my point, Petunia's obsessive behavior could stem from feelings of inadequacy growing up. Lily was "special," and she was "normal." Where Lilly had magic to impress her parents, Petunia only had mundane things like keeping her room clean, high school marks, dressing modestly like they would have wanted, and acting neatly at all times. The gardening was probably something she did with her mother over the years.

"Now, in her mind, that's all she's got that makes her better than Lily."

Harry, thinking it over, found himself repeating Mal's words from earlier. "You're probably right, and that explains so much, actually. What was your second thing?"

"How far away could a person be and still have the switching spell work?"

Harry got confused by this line of questioning. "I have no idea. I'd like to say you at least had to see what you were switching. Why?"

Mal looked at him in surprise. "How else could those letters get inside the eggs shells? Regardless if it was the switching spell or not, someone would have to have been there to replace the real eggs with the letter-filled eggs."

Harry collapsed under the weight of that realization. "Son of a bitch!"

Mal couldn't help it, "That's a rather rude thing to say about your mother."

~==(oIo)==~

Gaia was laughing.

Gabriel had an amused smile on his face.

Michael looked worried, not that Gabriel could blame him.

Mal's theories, and the things she pointed out, were spot on. So much so that Gabriel had to wonder how much of that was the attention to fine details, reading between the lines, or if there was something more to Mal.

He made a note to have her tested for magic and seer abilities.

For Michael's part, he too realized how right Mal had been, but his thoughts went in a different direction. Just how much had Dumbledore stacked the odds against Harry?

How could one person go to such lengths against another? A child at that? Was Gabriel, was Gaia, right? Was the only way to save the world, save them all, was to break a millennium of practices?

~==(oIo)==~

Mal's comment had not gone unpunished. Once Harry recovered from the shock, both from her revelation and her words after, he took his revenge. He ruthlessly ticked her.

Her shrieks of laughter, her flailing limbs, her desperate pleas fell on deaf ears. He loved the sound of her laughter too much; it was almost like bells.

Soon, both of them were crying from laughter, and only then did Harry stop.

"Any major theories about Dudley's behavior before I continue?"

Mal, still smiling and still a bit teary-eyed, shook her head. "He's rather dull, an open and shut case, nothing but a fat whale. He's nothing more than a giant spoiled brat of a baby." Mal's eyes glazed over for a moment, "and now I just see Spirited Away."

"Huh?"

Mal shook her head again, "Never mind. My point is Dudley had never been told no before then, and to make matters worse, everything he ever wanted, he got. Either at that moment or a short while later. He was able to get away with anything and everything. His parents never taught him acceptable behavior.

"In my opinion, nothing short of a boot camp or military school can help him. Course,"

She had stopped there and was silent for a few minutes before Harry prompted her to continue.

"I just remembered a fanfic. Vernon and Petunia were arrested for child abuse, while Dudley went into Foster Care. Vernon later died due to an overdose of Veritaserum, Petunia's mind broke, and Dudley went to an all-boys home. Dudley couldn't handle the drastic change in his life, and he walked off the roof of the building. He was nine at the time."

"Merlin!" Harry shuddered.

Mal nodded, "It was rather sad, but given how he chose death over accepting change and possibly changing himself, it got him minimal sympathy. It didn't help that he went from being a pampered walrus to being treated similar to you, and that's why he took the plunge."

Harry sighed, "Yeah, I can see Dudley reacting like that."

"Make sure to tell Gabriel about the possibility. Whatever Petunia's and Vernon's other crimes are, they made Dudley into what he is. It's not all his fault; he just wasn't taught any better. And despite learning otherwise, he doesn't understand the real consequences of his actions because mommy and daddy always saved him and tell him how wonderful he is." Mal's eyes went wide before she hung her head. "I'm so sorry; my defending him must upset you."

Harry compared Dudley, not for the first time, with Draco Malfoy. Both had been raised a certain way, with certain beliefs. Despite professors' attempts to re-educate them, both clung to the words of their fathers.

He lifted Mal's head by her chin and kissed her brow. "If Draco Malfoy can redeem himself in adulthood, then with the right influences, the right person, Dudley can be redeemed as a child. I'll be sure to mention that to Gabriel; if not, you can."

Launching back into it, no one was happy about being in the shack. It was cold, there were leaks, the cooking was tricky, the floor was straight-up dirt, and everyone was tired and cranky by now. But none more so than Vernon and Petunia. After their meager dinner, they went to bed upon the loft and promptly fell asleep. It was just after five in the evening when they did.

Dudley was the next to pass out, but much later. During all of that time, he was in too much turmoil to notice or care about Harry.

He was still hungry; where was the rest of his food?

He was cold; where were the thicker blankets?

Where was the TV? How was he supposed to catch up on his shows?

He was supposed to go watch a game with Piers! Why had they dragged him away!?

He was bored! Why hadn't they packed his video games? His comic books?

Where was his bed!? He couldn't sleep on that couch! It was dingy, dirty, and broken!

Eventually, Dudley did lay on it with all of the blankets he could find.

Harry managed to grab the thinnest blanket. Which he then used to separate himself from the floor of dirt.

Whatever Dudley's complaints about the couch were, he could not, would not, sleep on the floor like some animal. Harry doing it was just fine, but Dudley refused.

Over and over, for six hours, Dudley complained, whined, and wailed. All the while, no answer came from the loft, only snores. And Dudley was far too lazy to climb the ladder-like stairs to go up to the loft to harass his parents.

When Dudley finally fell asleep, Harry laid there watching time tick by on Dudley's watch. Which, as one would imagine, was just there to show off. Enjoying the quiet, at least the quiet from the Dursleys awaken states. Their sleeping states were more docile if a bit noisy. There was a storm raging outside, and with the snoring, there really was no quiet to be had. But it was as good as it got given the situation.

When the watch said it was midnight, Harry gave himself a few moments to celebrate his birthday.

Then, his life changed forever.

As the front door burst from the hinges and fell to the floor, a giant of a man, larger than Vernon, with a wild mess of hair and beard, stepped into the shack.

"What was your first reaction to Hagrid?" Mal asked with an eager giggle.

While he thought the giggle was cute, Harry stared at her dumbfounded. "Really?"

She nodded.

"Bearing in mind that I was a newly minted eleven-year-old, I had just run away with my horrible relatives from a seemingly harmless, yet ominous, letter of unknown origin that kept popping up out of nowhere. Then this giant man bursts through the door in the middle of the night. How do you think I reacted?"

Mal pouted. "You didn't like him?"

"Like!?" Harry nearly shouted, sighed, gathered his thoughts, then tried again. "My later feelings for him aside; at that moment, this all started because of a letter. This letter terrified and infuriated my aunt and uncle. Its constant appearing in more bizarre ways had them so panicked that they ran from their beloved home to a debilitated shack that they usually wouldn't be caught dead in!

"Then, Hagrid shows up!? My first view of the guy was after he busted down the door; he was huge! My first thoughts were, "Bloody Hell! What is that!?" I thought he was some kind of a monster and that Vernon and Petunia were right to grab us and run."

"But you warmed up to him?" Mal asked with a fond smile.

Harry sighed and smiled too. "Yeah, kind of hard not to. Hagrid is so kind-natured, simple-minded, and not a mean bone in his body. Unless you get him angry, that is."

Mal dropped her voice into the deepest base she could manage and scowled, "Hulk Smash!"

Harry gave a deep belly laugh. "Pretty much. He was easily just as dangerous too."

"I always wondered what Blast-Ended Skwerts were like." Mal said thoughtfully.

"Horrible." Harry shuddered. "The stuff of nightmares. I swear, if I go back with my memories intact, I'm going to do all that I can to prevent those things from being created again. If I fail in that, I'm going to slaughter them all!"

"Really?" Mal quirked an eyebrow at him, skeptical.

"No," He sighed remorsefully, "but I'm going to use every scare tactic in my arsenal to convince Hagrid to stick with the curriculum. I might even have him over part of the summer if I can manage it. It will have the benefit of him not being labeled an incompetent professor and another class that's being under-taught. Course, all of this is for not if I don't go back with my memories. And whether or not Hagrid will even listen to me."

"Given how much Hagrid cares about you, I think he'll listen to your opinion." Mal assured him. “The real question is whether or not he’ll believe you over Dumbledore.”

"You're more than likely right." Harry said as he ran his hand through his hair.

"I always thought of Hagrid as sweet. He had this childlike innocence in him. I don't think he'd ever intentionally hurt a child." Mal pouted.

"Intentionally, no." Harry agreed. But he was curious, so he fixed her with a glare, "And pray tell, how to the fanfictions treat him?"

Mal flinched, and he knew he had her there.

"Some were rather docile in their treatment. Others, not so much." Mal admitted. "In the ones where Dumbledore was dragged before the Wizengamot to answer for his crimes, he attempted to deflect blame onto his staff and others. In particular, Hagrid and McGonagall, whom we can both agree are so blindly devoted to the white-whiskered ass; they'd probably turn on you if Dumbledore told them to. Hagrid would be reluctant, but he would. Some fanfictions do have that happen.

"Anyway, Dumbledore played it off as they didn't understand his orders, and what happened after that was the fault in their logic. When they defended themselves, they were yelled at that Dumbledore is not the ultimate authority and were dragged across the coals. Several stars waned in those stories, particularly McGonagall's."

Harry nodded mournfully, knowing that would very well be the case if Gaia willing, that finally happened in his world.

Also, McGonagall indeed turned on him fast enough during second year after the whole Parseltongue fiasco. All because of the rumors, and Harry wasn't sure if who started them, but he wouldn't be surprised if Dumbledore said it to McGonagall while several gossip mongers were earshot.

"That is, of course, if they all aren't potioned to him." Mal mused.

Again, Harry could only nod in agreement. He had been potioned; it wasn't that fetched that the Professors at Hogwarts, at the very least, were loyalty potioned as well. There could be many more that Harry wasn't thinking of at that moment.

She looked up, meeting his emerald eyes, and he stared down into her ice blue ones, "Was it really all that bad with Hagrid's creatures?"

"Let me give you a list," Harry seethed; not at her, but the memories, "a giant Cerberus that was taller than Snape with platforms, and Fluffy wasn't finished growing yet, I might add! A baby dragon that spit fire, had a venomous bite, and wanted to gnaw on everything! Next was the Acromantulas; there were hundreds of those things! The smallest being the size of a large house cat, and that was without the legs being taken into account. Aragog himself was a big as a house!"

Mal was aghast, "Surely not!"

He fixed her with a glare, "Were you there?"

Mal frowned, "Regardless of your complaints about them, it would be good to make allies with the acromantulas."

Now it was Harry's turn to be aghast and stared at her in horror. While he didn't have the problem with spiders that Ron did, encountering a large colony of Acromantulas tended to make one cautious of ever reencountering one of them. And now Mal was suggesting making allies with them?

"Think about it," Mal urged him gently. "Acromantula silk is precious and highly sought after. Not to mention that their venom is useful in potions, extremely expensive, and very difficult to come by."

He paused and gave her words the attention they were due. She was right, on all accounts, and if he was right about the Potter estates, he might be able to negotiate with the colony in the Forbidden Forest. Merlin knew that they were unhappy there. Aragog was at least content as Hagrid was essentially his father in all but blood and Aragog's best friend.

But after Aragog died, that unrest and resentment at their location and whatever deal they had with Dumbledore turned hostile. They happily joined forces with Riddle.

Yet another individual who spoke pretty words and gave empty promises.

Unconsciously, Harry began to make plans. He'd have to make sure that he could afford their upkeep if hunting for themselves wasn't an option. It was something to consider, at the very least.

"So, are you ready to know what happened with Hagrid and my introduction to the Wizarding World?" Harry asked with a taunting grin.

"Yes!" Mal exclaimed as she bounced in his lap.

Harry briefly commended himself on his self-control. He managed to enjoy the show without giving in to the desire to strip her down and ravage her. It just goes to show, even when the bits aren't working, you can still have difficulties with the desire to be more physical.

Though he wished she'd stop taunting him. What was worse, she wasn't even aware that she was doing so. He seriously feared for his sanity if she ever did.

The scene in the shack was played out pretty much the way it did in canon. Harry had hidden while Hagrid apologized and mistook Dudley for Harry.

Resulting in Harry revealing himself after Dudley fearfully said that he wasn't Harry. Hagrid felt rather sheepish/ foolish about the mix-up for a few seconds.

Hagrid took great pleasure in revealing that Harry was a wizard and was the first-ever person to wish Harry a happy birthday. Not that Hagrid was aware of that last fact.

The Dursleys were furious and attempted to stop Hagrid from explaining everything.

Dudley had gone unnoticed and was stuffing his face with Harry's cake. It was too much temptation for the lad, who was so used to being spoiled and having a ready supply of sweets. The untouched, forgotten cake didn't stay that way when Dudley's "needs" hadn't been met in a few days.

Fed up with the Dursleys ranting and raving, upset after discovering that the fat boy was eating the cake he made especially for Harry, without permission at that, Hagrid was left with no recourse except to scare away the loud and obnoxious trio.

So he gave Dudley a pig's tail and threatened that he'd give Dudley a pig's snout to match if they didn't shut up.

The Dursleys fled up the loft and hid. Even Dudley proved that he forgot about his laziness when scared enough and scrambled his way to safety. They were utterly silent for the rest of the night.

Harry didn't see them for the rest of the night either, and they still hadn't emerged when Harry left with Hagrid the next morning.

As the sun hit Harry's face, and he breathed in the ocean air, he had never felt so free. And Hagrid was the one who gave him this freedom. Hagrid had done the impossible; he'd gotten Harry away from the Dursleys. And for that alone, Harry would love him forever.

"But that won't stop me from complaining about his creatures." Harry grumbled.

Still, a grin appeared on his face as he remembered seeing Diagon Alley for the first time. Though he felt, as he attempted to describe the sights, sounds, and smells, he didn't do the experience justice. Regardless of how he felt, Mal hung onto his every word.

Gringotts was, of course, their first stop. The passages in the books, scenes from the movies, and from what Mal gathered from Harry's tale, the Goblin's home and place of business fell short of the true marvel that was Gringotts. It was an enormous structure that was both beautiful and intimidating. The inside was far more elaborate and tactfully decorated.

The visit had been relatively brief, curious, but ultimately underwhelming. Especially considering what should have happened.

"You were supposed to meet with the Potter account manager. Not Griphook." Mal surmised.

"What!?" Harry asked in shock. "Really!?"

Mal nodded, a little unnerved. "You didn't know?"

"All I know was that first meeting wasn't supposed to happen the way it did!" Harry shook his head, "All Gabriel would say was to make my way to Gringotts; from there, all would become clear. But I was always with a supporter of Dumbledore, or Molly did my shopping for me."

"Right," Mal sighed. "There's only somethings you can learn as a mortal."

Harry nodded.

Mal flushed. "Oops!"

"I have an account manager?" He prompted her softly.

"Theoretically." Mal admitted, flushing deeper, feeling like she was betraying some grand design by telling Harry what the fanfictions and other sources said. "From what I've gathered is that the Potter family has a title, The Most Ancient and Noble House of Potter. Longbottom, Bones, Greengrass, and some others are labeled the same. Black is among them. It means the Head of the family is titled Lord."

"So, similar to Malfoy?"

Mal shook her head. "Malfoy wishes he has the prestige these families, your family, has. He can only get so far with his money. Your family is among those who established the Wizengamot and later the Ministry. It's also said your family is connected to not only Gryffindor but the Peverell family as well."

"Bloody Hell!" Harry whispered.

"The reason for the Account Manager is because of the many vaults and the vast fortune the Potter's have." Mal explained. "Among the reasons that Dumbledore wanted the Potter's wiped out, and control over you when that failed, was to get his hands on the Potter vaults with the fortune and artifact. Some of the artifacts are considered family heirlooms. Further, he wants to access the Potter libraries, which are said to be extensive and full of all kinds of knowledge, especially if the Peverell family library is lumped into that.

"Remember, Dumbledore has the Elder Wand and knew that your cloak was the real deal too. He wants the location of the last Hollow, and he wants control over all of them. But sources say that as long as you are alive, the cloak won't work for him as it does for you. And it certainly wouldn't stay with him for long. Speculation is that he gifted it back to you with tracking charms he put on a thread and sewed into because the cloak can't be altered directly because of who it came from. Also that he gave it back because it would have returned itself to you if he hadn't."

Harry could stare at her flabbergasted.

"Perhaps we should continue before you get too wrapped up in this knowledge." Mal suggested, and Harry nodded. Filing away what she said to bring up with Gabriel.

Armed with gold and the mysterious vault's contents, Harry and Hagrid were once more on the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. Up this way and down the other, zigzagging from time to time, eventually, they had everything on his school list.

"What was getting your wand like?" Mal was almost in tears dying to know what that experience was like.

Harry could see this and smiled fondly at her. "Words can't do the experience justice; the closest I can get," he pointed out the window, "is it's like seeing that for the first time."

For the first time that little Harry could remember, he was having fun. He was going to learn magic. He was going to be away from the Dursley's for most of the year. He was getting to eat real treats and a full meal until he was full.

To finish off that wonderful day, Hagrid got him his very own pet. Harry was worried about accepting the most beautiful animal he'd ever seen. Pets in the Dursley house never lasted long. But Hagrid looked so disheartened, so against everything he'd been taught, and against his better judgment, Harry explained why he was worried about accepting the beautiful owl. It wasn't that Harry didn't want her; he did very much so; it was the Dursley's and their reactions he was worried about.

Hagrid went back to being his affable self. He quickly put Harry's worries at ease. He assured Harry that the Dursleys would not be able to hurt, let alone kill this owl. She was brilliant; she would sense them coming and be out of there before they could so much as glared at her. Plus, he would deal with them to ensure that they didn't harm Harry's pet.

So Harry gratefully accepted the heartfelt and heartwarming gift. He later named her Hedwig.

"I spent an entire afternoon going over names with her. Each one she shook her head at, a couple she shrieked at, absolutely insulted by them. Till I said, Hedwig. She cocked her head as if to contemplate it, so I repeated the name the first time I ever did that, and she started preening like she does when she likes something. I knew then that she loved that name."

He spoke with such affection that Mal realized just how much he missed his feathered friend. She hoped he was able to go back with his memories. So he could see Hedwig again and spoil her as he wanted to.

Hagrid brought Harry back to the Dursleys in the canon verse, where he stayed until September first. But the reality was very different.

During their break, before heading back to Surrey, where the Dursleys were already home, they were sitting and eating ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Harry's first-ever taste of ice cream and he was savoring every bite. Hagrid was sitting with him, chuckling affectionately at Harry's antics. As they were finishing their treats, a house-elf popped in.

Mal looked at Harry in shock, to which he nodded.

Dobby had not been his first sight of a house-elf.

He didn't think much about the race and research it until after meeting Dobby and was back at Hogwarts his second year. Meeting Dobby had been a unique experience that had Harry wanting to know more about the race.

"But that's a story for later." Harry grinned at her.

Seeing rage come back into his eyes, Mal wrapped her arms around him, and he clung to her as he told his tale.

Shortly after the house elf's arrival, Hagrid and the elf were in a massive argument. While the elf was more subdued/ demur, Hagrid was very vocal and animated during their argument. Half of the Alley must have heard at least part of it.

Hagrid hadn't wanted to bring Harry back to the Dursleys. He wanted to bring Harry back to Hogwarts with him and raise the boy himself. He didn't like the Dursleys; he was used to people treating him with disdain, the Dursleys reaction to him was nothing new. However, that level of hostility, that level of fear, Hagrid was also deeply familiar with, and he knew those reactions only bred hate, then violence if nothing was done.

By now, even Hagrid could tell that something wasn't right at the Dursleys or with the way they treated Harry.

But the house-elf wouldn't budge on its stance.

A wizard named Dumbledore had told Hagrid no, and wouldn't let Harry live in any other place. Speaking through the elf, Dumbledore reminded Hagrid of the wards guarding #4 Privet Drive and that Harry was safest there. Like it or not, Harry had to go back.

When Hagrid slumped in defeat and scowled, the house-elf looked immensely relieved—patting Hagrid's arm before popping away. It seemed that the elf agreed with Hagrid, but they had to obey this Dumbledore.

"Pause." Mal said, holding up a finger, and Harry gave her a nod. "Aren't blood wards illegal? I don't remember if the canon verse says it or not, but several fanfictions rip that point apart. Saying they wouldn't do much good and would have failed the moment that your blood was used in the ritual to revive Riddle."

"Then, they'd be right." Harry sighed. "Every part of it. You know by now, of course, that Dumbledore is very much my enemy. No, those wards wouldn't have worked and certainly would have failed should Riddle have attacked at any point after the ritual. Dumbledore had guards stationed there; Snape knew where I lived, the old wanker practically drew ol'Moldyshorts a road map!"

"So why do you think Vol- I mean Riddle, never attacked?"

Harry shrugged. "He was cocky; he wanted me to sweat about it; he was afraid of attacking me at home again, given what happened the first time around; he was in hiding and saw no point in attacking me yet. It could be any of those things, could be all of them. Not that Riddle would ever cop to the fear part."

Despite how he was raised, Harry knew that his treatment and living situation at the Dursley's was not normal. Unlike Dudley, Harry did like reading, and when he hid away from Dudley during the times he was allowed out of his cupboard, he hid away in the local library. This didn't happen a lot while a small child; it was a couple of years before he started Hogwarts, and he certainly couldn't bring the books home. The library proved a perfect hiding spot because Dudley would never look there, allowing Harry access to critical information.

He wanted to escape the Dursleys and was slowly amassing information so he could eventually achieve that goal. He would have to run away, but he wanted to be at least thirteen. So he was a bit bigger and had more of a thought-out plan.

However, even knowing that the Dursleys were horrible, Harry was momentarily panicked upon hearing that the Dursleys were the safest place for him. Not for the first time, Harry wanted to curl up into the smallest ball he possibly could in his cupboard and never leave it again. Before, he wanted to do that because it meant the Dursleys would leave him alone. Now, he wanted to hide from the greater world at large.

But as Hagrid and the house-elf were arguing, Harry managed to talk himself down from his panic. While the world at large could be a terrifying place, with its own perils and dangers, and while there were indeed worse things than the Dursleys, that didn't mean he had to tolerate, much less settle, for life at the Dursleys.

Still, no matter what they wanted, in the end, Hagrid brought Harry back to #4 Privet Drive. Though the trip there was anything but pleasant.

Hagrid, the most behemoth of a man Harry had ever seen, went from this cheerful and easily pleased person to looking like a petulant child having their favorite toy taken away from them after doing something wrong. Hagrid was sullen and withdrawn all the way there.

Mal couldn't help but giggle at the images Harry was painting in her mind.

Back at #4, Hagrid had once again done the impossible; he put the fear of God into the Dursleys. So much so that Harry momentarily believed that they would start praying and attending Church regularly after Hagrid left.

Due to his threats and under his watchful yet meaningful glare, Vernon and Petunia moved Harry to Dudley's second bedroom. Petunia was the one to make dinner that night, and Harry, despite his day of rich foods, was sitting with them at the table, eating a full meal.

"But," Mal interrupted, "I thought they moved you to the second bedroom during the letter diabolical?"

"Did I say as much before?"

Mal shook her head.

"To be honest," Harry snarled, "they would have left me in that cupboard forever if they could have gotten away with it." Then he shook his head, "No, it was only in the books that they gave me the second bedroom willingly."

Despite Dumbledore's orders through the house-elf, Hagrid lingered through the evening and tucked Harry into bed that night, which Harry found comical. The room barely fit him, yet Hagrid squeezed inside and tucked little Harry into bed like a nurturing parent. For the first time in his life that Harry could remember, he had experienced a piece of what parental love must have been like.

After that, Hagrid only had returned to Privet Drive before Harry turned seventeen.

Harry found out from Gabriel a few lifetimes later that Dumbledore was furious with Hagrid for disobeying orders and disrupting how things were done at the Dursleys. As punishment for his defiance, Hagrid was no longer allowed to see Harry outside Hogwarts or Diagon Alley.

"I wonder how Dumbledore managed that." Mal mused. "Charms? Potions?"

Harry shrugged, though honestly, he suspected the same thing.

It took three days. For three days, Hagrid got his wish, and Harry wasn't treated any different. Then on the fourth day, things went right back to the way they had been.

"Let me guess," Mal grumbled, "a certain white-whiskered buffoon with a name that almost rhymes with Ass told them they no longer had to worry about Hagrid, but let you keep the room?"

Harry tapped her gently on the nose, "Right on the Galleon."

The rest of the month passed by rather tensely and awkwardly at that. But September first finally came, and the male Dursleys couldn't seem to hide their delight at the prospect of getting rid of Harry for months on end. Though given the Platform's name, they expected Harry to fail in finding his way to school.

Only Petunia seemed upset over Harry's leaving. He thought it was because after he left, she would now be responsible for the cooking, the cleaning, and caring for her garden.

"Though it was no secret at the time, the only reason they were even dropping me off at King's Cross was that Dudley had his surgery to remove his tail not too far away."

"Okay, I have to know something." Mal got an evil grin come over her face, "You can't eat twelve hours before a surgery, right?"

Harry nodded, "If memory serves."

"How many times did Dudley have to go back for his surgery?"

Harry momentarily lost himself in bails of laughter.

"What isn't commonly known, in either the books or the movies, and I'm going to safely assume, not in any of your fanfictions," at Mal's headshake, Harry continued, "was that appointment on September first, was actually Dudley's third attempt at getting that tail removed."

He kept sneaking food and then lied about it. When they gave him the meds to make him sleepy, he projectile vomited on everyone. The same thing happened the second time. So the third time, #4 was emptied of all the food. Vernon conscripted Harry to help him clean out Dudley's hideaway places when Petunia took Dudley out for ice cream.

That night, the Dursleys went out to a buffet and ate till all were full. When they came home and Dudley asked for more, he was told no for the second time. He wailed and threw the worst tantrums to date when he realized there really was no food left at all in the house—just water to drink. Petunia cried herself, wanting to give in, but Vernon and Petunia had prepared for this. Vernon hid all of Petunia's cards, checks, and other moneys, along with clearing out the food.

Mal collapsed against Harry, lost in laughter.