Maybe
Chapter 8
By Anne B. Walsh
Author Notes:
As noted in "Living with Danger," I did write Harry's lullaby.
Chapter 8
Harry leaned his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of what sun there was on his face. Recess would be over soon, and he’d have to go back inside and face the afternoon classes before going to see the counselor.
I wonder what kind of questions she’ll ask. Probably if I like my aunt and uncle. Inwardly, he practiced his sincerest expression. "Yes, ma’am, I like them. I have everything I need and they take good care of me."
Some inner prompting made him open his eyes — or perhaps it was the half-heard sound of several pairs of feet thudding his way. Dudley’s gang was charging towards him, obviously intending to take advantage of the momentary absence of the recess monitor — the teacher must have gone inside for some reason.
Harry leapt to his feet and ran.
xXxXx
"Oh, Miss Anderson," called one of the other teachers — was it Mrs. Easton or something like it? — catching sight of Aletha as she rounded a corner. "Would you mind nipping outside and keeping an eye on the students on the playground? I’ll only be a moment — thank you so much."
She was gone before Aletha could say anything.
"I suppose I will, then," Aletha said half-aloud, chuckling to herself as she made her way toward the playground doors.
Her good mood lasted for precisely one second after she stepped outside.
The playground was silent, every child staring at a point to Aletha’s left and above her. Reluctantly, Aletha turned to look as well.
A familiar figure was silhouetted against the sky on the roof of the school kitchens.
"Miss Anderson!" Piers Polkiss ran up to her, practically dancing. "Potter’s on the roof, Miss Anderson. We’re not allowed on the roof. Is he going to be in trouble?"
"Hush," said Aletha authoritatively, and Piers fell silent. She cupped her hands around her mouth. "Everyone inside!" she shouted. "Back to your classes!"
There was a collective groan, but the children obediently trooped towards the doors. Dudley Dursley had a wicked grin on his face — he was obviously thinking about how much trouble Harry would be in at home for being found on the roof of a school building. Aletha stifled a grin of her own.
If you only knew, boy...
When the playground was clear, she walked out into the middle of it and looked up at Harry.
"Hello," she called.
"Hello," Harry called back.
"Are you all right, Mr. Potter?"
"Yes, ma’am, I’m fine."
"Did you climb up there on purpose?"
"No, ma’am."
"It was an accident, then?"
"I think so."
"All right. Hold still, I’ll get you down." After quickly checking to see that no one was watching, Aletha pulled out her wand. "Wingardium Leviosa!"
She could see Harry’s eyes widen in surprise as he felt himself lifted from the ridgepole where he was sitting. Carefully, she guided him outwards, then down, halting him a few inches off the ground. He extended his legs and stood up without having to be told, and she quickly ended the spell.
"Here I am, I’m back—" Mrs. Easton rushed out onto the playground and looked around in dismay. "Good heavens, what’s happened?"
"There was a slight emergency involving Mr. Potter here, I had to send the other children inside, but everything’s all right now." Aletha decided to seize her opportunity. "Mrs. Easton, would you happen to know what classes Mr. Potter has this afternoon?"
"Art, mathematics, and history," answered Harry on his own account.
Aletha smiled at him. "My apologies, I should have asked you first. Are you behind in any of those classes?"
Harry shook his head.
"Mrs. Easton, would you do me an enormous favor?"
"What sort?"
"Inform Mr. Potter’s teachers for those subjects that I’m kidnapping him for the afternoon? I think he would benefit from a session right away, and perhaps a bit longer than my usual chats with the students." Aletha beckoned the other woman closer. "He was on the roof of the kitchens," she whispered. "Claims he got there by accident."
"Oh — my. Well, yes, in that case. We can’t have that, no indeed. I’ll certainly do that for you, Miss Anderson."
"Thank you, Mrs. Easton, very much. Goodbye, now." Aletha beckoned Harry to follow her, and they reentered the school building.
"Thank you," said Harry quietly as they passed through the doors.
"For what?"
"For getting me down."
"You’re welcome."
They walked in silence for a moment. Then Aletha froze, feeling her pendants heat. Quickly, she pulled them out and sighed. Hermione. But I can’t do anything about her now. She murmured the spell that let the pendants know the message had been received and tucked them away again as they returned to normal.
She looked back at Harry. He was leaning against the hallway wall, rubbing his chest where the pendants would hang, and Aletha suddenly noticed how pale he looked. "Mr. Potter. Are you all right?"
Harry jumped and looked at her guiltily. "Yes, ma’am."
"You look tired."
"I’m just... I’m fine."
Aletha fixed him with a look. "What did you eat for lunch?"
Harry looked at his shoes. "I didn’t eat lunch," he said in a mumble.
"Why not?"
"My aunt forgot to pack me one."
"Why didn’t you buy one?"
"I didn’t have any money."
"All right. What did you eat for breakfast?"
Harry’s shoes were still fascinating him. "A piece of toast," he muttered even more quietly.
Aletha put her hands on her hips. "No lunch and almost no breakfast. Did you have dinner last night?"
An almost imperceptible shake of the head.
Now the million-Galleon question... "Why not?"
"I wasn’t hungry."
Wasn’t hungry indeed. Being punished, more likely.
Aletha restrained her anger. The Dursleys could suffer later. Her cub needed feeding now.
"Well, hungry or not, you have to eat. Come with me." She set off in a different direction.
xXxXx
Fifteen minutes later, Harry was sitting in the counselor’s office, on a rather comfortable couch, finishing his first full meal in a day.
He felt quite a lot better.
He hadn’t known what to expect when Miss Anderson pulled him out of his classes for the afternoon, but he certainly hadn’t been expecting her to take him to the cafeteria and tell him to get himself what he wanted and she’d pay. He had been a bit worried, when he took his loaded tray up to the cashier, that she would renege when she saw how much he was getting, but she had paid without a murmur — in fact, he’d gotten the impression that she felt he could have used a bit more still.
Miss Anderson was sitting behind her desk, eating a chocolate bar and reading a book. Harry looked at the cover. "Long Journey Home." I wonder what it’s about.
He set his empty tray aside on the end table beside the couch. The sound attracted Miss Anderson’s attention. "Finished?" she said, closing her book.
"Yes, ma’am. Thank you."
"You’re welcome." She came out from behind the desk and sat in an armchair off to one side. "Now, according to my job description, I’m supposed to talk to you. But I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do. So do you want to talk to a boring old woman like me?"
Harry smiled, hearing the joking tone in her voice and deciding to return it. "I’d rather talk to you than go to classes."
"I’m flattered," said Miss Anderson dryly. "So. Harry Potter. You live with your aunt and uncle?"
"Yes, ma’am. My parents died in a car crash when I was a baby."
"Is that so."
Harry looked up, a little startled at what sounded like anger in her voice. "Is something wrong, ma’am?"
"No, not at all. I’m sorry. Go on."
"Go on?"
"Tell me about your aunt and uncle."
Harry felt nonplussed. How could he describe them in any way that would both be truthful and not get him more time locked in his cupboard? "My aunt is... thin. And blonde. She likes to talk, and she keeps the house very clean. And my uncle is a big man with a mustache who likes driving his car. And my cousin Dudley — he’s my age — he likes... eating."
Miss Anderson’s mouth twitched. "Yes, he most certainly does," she agreed in a very bland voice. "I think anyone who has to go through doors sidewise likes eating."
Harry stared at her, then realized she was ragging on Dudley. Tentatively, he smiled, and was relieved when she smiled back.
"Do you like living with them," Miss Anderson continued, "or do you think you’d rather live somewhere else?"
Somewhere else. Anywhere else. Harry shrugged. "I don’t know. I never lived anywhere else."
Miss Anderson nodded. "I see. Do you feel that they treat you fairly? Do they let Dudley have more privileges because he’s theirs, or do they treat the two of you the same?"
We’ve never had anything the same. I always get the leftovers, whatever he doesn’t want, and I don’t think he’s ever done chores in his life. "I don’t know. I do a lot of chores, but my aunt and uncle did take me in when I was a baby, so I do owe them for taking care of me. I don’t really mind it."
Miss Anderson got up and went to her desk, picking up a pencil and a notepad. She stood for a moment, her face turned away from Harry, then returned to her chair. "Do you like your aunt and uncle, Harry?"
No. "Yes, ma’am."
Miss Anderson shook her head. "You’re lying," she said, not accusingly, just stating a fact. "The truth, please. Do you like them?"
Harry’s stomach sank. Playing for time, he looked at his fingernails as if they might give him answers. What do I do now?
"You don’t have to worry, Harry. I won’t tell anyone what you tell me here. It’s private. Your aunt and uncle will never know what you tell me. But I need to know the truth."
Twice, Harry took a breath to speak, then closed his mouth again. Something seemed to be telling him to trust Miss Anderson, to tell her everything — but another part of his mind was playing Uncle Vernon’s words back to him, reminding him of the terror of even one night locked in, and asking if he could stand months of that, every night, and every day that he didn’t have school or wasn’t needed to work around the house.
Quietly, Miss Anderson began to hum. Harry almost didn’t hear it at first, but when he did, he stopped thinking about his problem and listened interestedly. It was a quiet kind of a tune, like a lullaby, and he thought he knew the words. He could almost hear them, at the corner of his mind, hovering there — a woman had sung them to him, a long time ago, a woman who loved him very much…
"I don’t like them."
He was almost surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth.
"What do you like, Harry?" asked Miss Anderson gently.
"I like... running. I like to feel free like I’m flying." He looked up at her, meeting her eyes — this was something he could tell. "I want to learn how to fly someday. I have dreams about flying."
"In an airplane?"
"Er... no," Harry admitted. "A different way."
"Will you tell me?"
He felt silly, but she had said she wouldn’t tell anyone. "On a broomstick."
"Does it go fast?"
"Very fast. And I can do anything I want. Turns, loops, dives... those are my favorite dreams, the ones about flying — well, no, they’re not really, but they’re my second favorite..."
Harry trailed off, realizing he’d said too much, and there was only one question she would ask next...
"Second favorite?"
Well, she didn’t laugh at flying on a broomstick. Maybe she won’t laugh at this. "My favorite dreams are the ones where I have a family. But it’s a crazy mixed-up family, so I know it has to be a dream."
Harry’s awareness of being in the room seemed to slip away. He was barely conscious of his listener shifting in her chair. The story seemed determined to tell itself. "I have two mothers and two fathers, they’re married — not all of them, one of the men with one of the women and then the other ones — and there’s me, and another boy and a girl my age, and then a littler girl who always tries to keep up with us, and we have friends who live nearby, and we go out and have adventures with them and then we come home and have dinner and stories and music..."
"You like music?"
Harry nodded. "We went to see Annie a while ago. I really liked it. Especially the one song, ‘Maybe.’ Do you know it?"
"I think so." Miss Anderson hummed a bit of the tune, and Harry joined in, singing the words. She had a nice voice, he noticed, strong and pretty, and it did sound like she’d had training.
They sang almost the entire song together, until the very last lines, when Miss Anderson stopped, letting Harry finish alone.
"Won’t you please come get your baby... maybe..."
"You sing very nicely," said Miss Anderson into the silence.
"So do you, ma’am." Harry decided to take a chance. "How did you get me off the roof?"
"The same way you got up there." Miss Anderson smiled. "Magic."
"Magic?" Harry repeated, staring at her. "Are you my fairy godmother or something?"
Miss Anderson looked highly amused. "Not... exactly. But tell me this. Do you wish your dreams would come true? That you would have a family? Someone to come and get you... maybe?"
Harry looked at the floor. "Yes," he admitted very quietly. "But it won’t ever happen."
"Maybe not. I’m sorry, this is upsetting you. We won’t talk about it any more. New topic. School. What’s your favorite class?"
They talked for quite a while. Miss Anderson was easy to talk to, Harry found — she was a good listener, always interested in whatever he had to say. He was very embarrassed when he caught himself yawning in the middle of a sentence.
Miss Anderson yawned herself, then chuckled. "The darned things are contagious, you know. You can lie down if you like, Harry, there’s no rule that says we have to talk all the time you’re here. If you could use some sleep, you go ahead. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go home."
The couch was very soft and inviting, and Harry hadn’t slept at all well the previous night, with the combination of hunger and the horrid knowledge of being locked in. Also, for some reason he couldn’t quite pinpoint, Miss Anderson made him feel safe. He almost wanted to sleep near her, because doing that meant he was home...
I must be tireder than I thought.
He took his glasses off, set them on the end table beside his cafeteria tray, and rummaged in his schoolbag, coming out with his lion. "I have to have it to sleep," he explained.
"Perfectly all right. I know a little girl who has trouble sleeping if she doesn’t have the family dog next to her."
Harry smiled and lay down, kicking his shoes off. "Thank you, ma’am," he said, closing his eyes.
"You’re welcome, Harry."
Miss Anderson began to hum again, then added words to her song, and Harry felt himself drifting away to sleep, lulled by a song he knew he knew, but couldn’t remember where he knew it from...
Oh my love, you are my child,
Though you bear another’s name,
Wherever you go, all throughout your life,
I’ll love you still the same;
And if you should cry, I’ll hear you,
And if you should call, I’ll come,
For although you were not born to me,
You are my little one...
xXxXx
Harry’s dreams were odd and full of motion. First he was walking, in a sort of half-awake trance, down familiar hallways and stairs. Then there was a ride in a cab, with the driver’s face peering back at him when the cab stopped at a red light. "Your little one, ma’am?"
"Yes, my little Jamie. I’m taking him home for a while to rest up, he’s been ill."
Then a period of waiting with his body lying on a hard surface, but his head on something soft and warm, and then one more walk, up a few steps and down an aisle and onto a seat which wasn’t quite as comfortable as he would have liked, but it was good enough...
That’s funny. I feel like I’m waking up, but this must be another dream. I still feel like the room is moving.
Harry opened his eyes.
The room was moving. It wasn’t a room at all. He was in a compartment on what must be a passenger train, he could feel the rhythm of the wheels on the rails below him — by the light outside, it was still afternoon, not evening yet — his schoolbag sat on the end of the seat he was on, his lion just visible within —
And Miss Anderson was sitting across from him, once again eating her chocolate and reading her book.
This has to be a dream.
Harry sat up and pinched himself.
Ow.
Nothing changed.
"Oh, you’re awake," Miss Anderson said, lowering her book. "Good."
Harry stared at her. "You — you kidnapped me!"
She nodded matter-of-factly. "Yes, I did."
All the stories of child abduction he had ever heard flitted through Harry’s mind. This was not how it was supposed to go...
"Why?" he blurted. "My aunt and uncle won’t pay anything for me — they’d probably pay to get rid of me — and I’m not special. I’m not smart, or handsome, or important, or — anything. I’m... just plain Harry."
"And just plain Harry is exactly the person I want," said Miss Anderson softly. "Three months I’ve been figuring out how I could get close to you. How I could get around the people who were trying to keep you at your aunt and uncle’s. I nearly got myself caught twice. I had to invent a whole new identity, get a flat, make myself believable as a counselor — and then find the time to be alone with you long enough..."
Harry suddenly remembered another part of the stories. "Did you drug me? The food you got me, at the cafeteria, was that drugged?"
"No. It was not. You fell asleep of your own accord. I admit that was a stroke of luck — I didn’t have to convince you to come with me, I just had to help you walk — oh, by the way, there’s a disguising spell on your glasses, so don’t take them off in public." She dug in her bag for a moment, then handed him a mirror.
Harry stared at his reflection. His skin was the same color as Miss Anderson’s. His hair was streaked blond, and the features of his face were subtly different than they had been.
"Why?" he repeated, looking up at her in confusion. "Why do you want me?"
Miss Anderson sighed, looking tired and — hopeful, Harry decided after a moment of thought. "Would you believe that I love you?"
This put Harry’s brain into information overload. "Who are you?" he asked a bit dazedly. "Who are you, really?"
Miss Anderson gave a rather sad smile. "You were closer than you knew when you said ‘fairy godmother.’ I’m not a fairy, of course — fairies are little flying pests, about so big." She measured with her fingers. "But I am a magic user, a witch. And I’m not your godmother, but I would have been if I hadn’t been away when you were born."
"You knew my parents?"
"Yes. I was a friend of your mother’s."
Harry closed his mouth, finding it open.
She was a friend of my mother’s. She could have been my godmother.
And she says she loves me.
It was almost too much for him to comprehend all at once.
"I want you to understand something, Harry," Miss Anderson was saying now. "I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want. So if this is too much, if it frightens you — if you want to go back to your aunt and uncle — just say the word. We’ll get off at the next stop, I’ll buy you a ticket back, I’ll even go back with you to make sure you get there safely—"
"No," said Harry, finding his voice.
"No?"
"No. I don’t want to go back. I don’t ever want to go back. They hate me. They’re — scared of me?" He realized it was true as he said it. "They’re scared of me. Because... because I..."
The pieces were beginning to fall into place.
"How did you get me off the roof?"
"The same way you got up there..."
"Because I have magic," Harry Potter said, feeling his world beginning to change.