Pinky Promise || Wolfstar

Chapter 4

After that night, Harry and Remus agreed to meet four nights a week, to go over legal documents. The wizarding legal system was horribly inefficient; a request to change custody involved at least three different departments within the Ministry, and there were no set rules for how the request would be approved or denied. Then, if the request was approved by all relevant departments, there would be a court date with more paperwork, and finally an inquiry by a social worker. After all of that, if the custody status wasn't updated on all Ministry documents within a month of the approval date, the custody change would be rendered void. Mercifully, the Ministry did have protocol for cases involving neglect and abuse: neither the legal guardians nor the Magical Authority would be involved.

"...and then all we have to do is present that to the Wizengamot, and it'll all be fine."

Throughout Professor Lupin's lengthy explanation, Harry's stomach had been churning. He looked down at his mashed potatoes, and felt nausea roil in his stomach. He couldn't possibly expect Professor Lupin to go through all this for him—it would have been bad enough just giving him a place to live, but Harry could have earned his keep, cleaning and cooking and utilising all those skills he'd learned at the Dursley's. But this much...to repay this much, he could never do it.

"Harry, are you okay? I know it's a lot to take in, but I'm sure we'll manage. I'll make sure you're not stuck back in that awful place ever again."

"I—I really appreciate this, and all, but it's an awful lot of effort for me. I haven't even earned it."

"What do you mean earn—never mind that. Have you seen your situation? It's appalling."

"I mean, yes, but..." Harry sighed. He knew, deep down, that he hadn't done anything to earn anything better. "I kind of deserve it, don't I? I'm a freak, after all." Harry shrugged and shoveled a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Nausea be damned—Professor Lupin shouldn't worry about him more than he had to.

"Harry, you're not a freak. If you were a freak, then we'd all be freaks, too." Harry stiffened at the word 'freak,' not really wanting to flinch at the word. It was stupid, he knew; he could say the word, but no one else could.

"You're not all freaks, but I'm even more different—I've got this lovely scar from the killing curse and I'm an orphan—there are like, no orphans here, have you noticed? And everyone expects me to be good at everything because I'm a prodigy at Quidditch—of all the things to be good at, Quidditch! How useless is that?" Harry could tell he was ranting, rambling, not able to stop, his tone getting increasingly bitter, but he'd been holding this back for so long. "And apparently the Wizarding World has collectively put its safety in my hands—Voldemort clearly isn't gone, but they're all acting like he is, and when he comes back I'm going to be forced to kill him! I'm only thirteen, for Merlin's sake. How incompetent can the rest of the Wizarding World be that a thirteen-year-old is expected to kill a Dark Lord?"

Breathing heavily, Harry sat down, since he'd apparently stood up and started pacing. Sensing that he'd finished, Professor Lupin started to speak. "You are different, Harry—you're extraordinarily talented, and smart, and kind, and generous; and yes, you do have more expectations put upon you than the average wizard, but that doesn't make you a freak—despite the weight of these expectations, despite your horrid home life, you're still here, which shows your incredible strength and courage."

"It's not that bad, at the Dursleys, really—"

"Would you wish it on anyone else if it's 'not that bad'? You don't even call it 'home.'"

"Maybe Malfoy..." An image of Malfoy flashed through his mind—hiding in the cupboard, burning his hands on the stove, getting punched by Dudley—and another wave of nausea passed over him. "No. No, I wouldn't."

"Exactly." Professor Lupin looked mildly pleased. "That's why we're getting you out."

Harry frowned. He wanted to argue, but that image of Malfoy—the person he hated most in the school—in his situation, and the adverse reaction he'd had to it...if he couldn't wish it on his worst enemy, he couldn't wish it on himself, right?

Harry loosed a shuddering sigh, leaning back against his chair. "Alright," he conceded. It's just until you're seventeen, he reminded himself, then you're on your own again. After all, why would Remus feel obligated to him once he was a legal adult?

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"Are you ready?"

Harry shouldered his bag and nodded firmly, though he was still fidgeting with his school robes.

"It's just a simple court hearing," Remus assured him, "and then a meeting with a Ministry social worker—and, Harry?" Remus placed a hand on his shoulder, and Harry looked up at him. "You'll need to tell the social worker everything you've told me, alright?"

Harry nodded again, this time lifting one of his sleeves to indicate he was sans glamour charms.

"Remember, there's nothing to be ashamed of," he assured him, lifting his own sleeve to reveal his hidden scars. "Every scar tells a story; they mean you were stronger than whatever tried to break you."

"Right," Harry agreed, taking a deep breath as he allowed Remus to grip his upper arm, guiding Harry to the floo.

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The witch cleared her throat as Remus finished reciting his reasons for petitioning. "And, Mr. Lupin—" she peered at them from the dais, curling her lip distastefully as she spoke, "how do you expect to care for Mr. Potter, given your... condition?"

"I can take care of myself," Harry said quickly, glancing between Remus and the witch, "during the full moons, I mean."

"You'd leave a thirteen year old boy alone for the forty-eight hours required for a transformation?" She directed her question to Remus, despite the fact that Harry was the one who had spoken.

"With all due respect, ma'am," Harry interrupted, and the witch was forced to acknowledge him for the first time. Remus gave his shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and he continued, "but my relatives—my current 'guardians'—already leave me for hours on end, except I'm—" he paused. Remus had asked him to tell them everything, so if that's what it took... "except I'm locked in a bloody cupboard, without even a means to relieve myself. I understand your qualms, but—" his voice took on an icy tone, "but I can't fathom why you'd favor a guardian with a history of starving their ward over a man with a controlled affliction."

The Ministry officials that were overseeing the hearing exchanged a look, and Harry took the opportunity to make his next statement. "Remus can't help his lycanthropy, but the Dursleys choose to be abusive." He looked to Remus for support, and felt a burst of pride when Remus smiled at him warmly—and Harry realized he'd acknowledged his relatives' abuse for the first time.