Content Harry Potter Sherlock
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Chapter 12

  Questions and Answers

The next morning found Harry and Mr. Weasley up early.   Harry dressed as nicely as possible in his new Muggle-style clothes, and even tried to comb his hair, which, as usual, cooperated for about thirty seconds before becoming an untidy mess.   He gave up in disgust and went down for breakfast, where he found he was too nervous to eat much.   Then he and Mr. Weasley went out into the living room, where Mr. Weasley picked up a folded newspaper from the side table.   "Here, Harry, this has been made into a Portkey for our use in getting to and from Surrey for the next few days.   Deuced few public Floos in that area, and it wouldn't be a good idea to be showing up covered in soot in any event."   They held the newspaper while Mr. Weasley counted down under his breath, and the familiar pull took them off.   They appeared in a thicket of bushes.     They fought their way out through the encircling branches to find themselves in a quiet corner of a park.   Mr. Weasley tucked the paper into his briefcase, and they set off to find the exit.  

                      Ms. Stone was waiting for them in a coffee shop near the police station, where she took charge of Harry.   Mr. Weasley stayed only a few moments and then hurried off to head to work himself.   A short time later, Harry, who was listening for it, heard a sharp "bang!" and knew that he had found a safe place to Apparate from.   Everyone else ignored the car backfire.  

"How are you doing today, Harry?" asked Ms. Stone.   "Have you had breakfast?"  

"Yes, Ma'am."

                      "That must have been a while ago.   Would you like a pastry to hold you for a while?"

                      "No, thank you.   I'm kind of nervous, and I don't think it would sit well."

                      "I can understand that.   Now, here's what will happen today and tomorrow …" She described the procedures the police would be following, the types of questions they would be asking.   "When they took the first statements you gave at the hospital, they were just trying to get an overview of what had been going on, as a place to start.   Today they will be asking for details.   Names, dates, places.   As exact as you can make it. They realize that most of the abuse happened when you were younger, so they will make allowances for your not having every detail down.   They will also try to trip you up, to see if you contradict yourself.   Because if they can find weaknesses in your story, so can a barrister for the defence, and enough discrepancies can ruin your credibility.   Then you become just another vengeful teenager spreading lies about your relatives to get back at them for imagined slights."

                      "Imagined!   I didn't imagine that cupboard or the skillet, or …!"

                      "I know you didn't imagine it.   But that's how the court could look at it.   So be careful, and think about all your answers.   They're going to try to get you angry or confused.   Don't let them.   A few contradictions are normal, and expected, given that human memory is fallible.   Don't try to be too perfect.   But don't let them goad you, either."

                      "Are you going to be with me?"

                      "Yes.   As I said, I'm your advocate.   I'm not legal counsel, but since you're not the one being charged with a crime, that's not necessary.   I won't be saying very much, but if they get into territory that they shouldn't, I can steer it back onto safe ground.   For example, there's no need for them to get into anything to do with your schooling.   They have your records, and that's all they really need to know."   She looked at Harry consideringly.   "Of course, it would be easier to steer them away from ticklish areas if I know what those ticklish areas are.   Is there anything you need to tell me before we go in there?" she asked gently.

                      That was such an incredibly Dumbledore-ish question that Harry just gaped at her stupidly for a second before pulling himself together.   "That's hard to tell without knowing what kinds of questions exactly they'll ask.   Um.   They won't ask if I have a girlfriend and stuff like that, will they?"

                      "They might.   Should I steer them away from that?   Relationships in general?"

                      "If you could."

                      "That shouldn't be too difficult.   If that's all, then?   All right, let's go on in."

                      They stopped in the lobby of the police department building and picked up visitors' badges and a guide.   The police station was one of those municipal buildings that had been built about forty years ago and never painted since.   The walls were a colour somewhere in between beige and pea green, and not as attractive as either.   The floor was worn linoleum.   Offices designed for two desks had four, plus battered file cabinets crammed into them, and the halls were filled with people in uniform and out, so that Harry and Ms. Stone came close to losing their escort through the maze several times.   Eventually they were deposited in a dingy room with a battered table, uncomfortable metal chairs, and an old-fashioned water cooler, where they waited for what seemed like forever before the investigating detectives showed up.

                      Harry recognized one of the inspectors as the one who had taken his statement when he was in hospital and who had been there at Privet Drive when he was released.     "Well, Harry, how are you doing?   You're looking a fair bit better than the last time I saw you.   They're treating you well at your foster home, then?"

"Yes, sir, very well.   Um, if you don't mind, Inspector, I don't think we were really introduced before, and I'm afraid I don't remember …"

"You weren't in much of a state to go remembering things like that, so don't be concerned about it.   I'm Inspector Higgins, this is Inspector Munroe."   The man seemed genuinely pleased to see how well Harry was doing.   His partner, a paunchy individual with a bushy moustache, seemed much less enthusiastic about the prospects of spending the day questioning this teenager.   Ms. Stone had warned Harry about the "good cop/bad cop" routine, and sure enough, Inspector Munroe, who Harry privately dubbed "Inspector Moustache" was generally grouchy, surly, and unpleasant, and seemed to take positive joy in trying to trip Harry up.   He reminded Harry rather unpleasantly of Uncle Vernon, in fact.  

It started off relatively well, with Inspector Higgins going over the notes of the questioning he'd done in the hospital, asking Harry to verify his statements now that he was 'under less stress.'   This Harry was able to do easily.   Then Higgins started to go into the night of the attack in more detail, and it was then that Munroe started in.   "Diving out the window?   Dark room, dark night out, little tiny window?   And managing it without breaking your fool neck?   Are you sure you didn't get down the stairs and just tell us you dived out the window because it was more dramatic?   A good story?"

"I could see the window because there was some light from the streetlights.   Just a little, but enough.   And if your people bothered to take a picture of the garden the next morning, you'd see a big head-shaped mashed spot in the marigolds."

Higgins sorted through the piles of photographs they'd brought in with them, and passed it to Munroe.   "That a big enough head-shaped mash in the marigolds for you, Jake?"   Munroe grunted, and Higgins took over again until they got to the part about the final fight with Dudley.   Here Harry had to be careful not to mention the Stupefy spell, and Munroe seemed to sense that he was hiding something and went after it like a bloodhound.   "So you're on the ground, and this bloody great brute is kicking you, and then he just falls over?   Just like that, and you've no idea what happened to him?"

"No.   I thought … I thought I might have kicked him off-balance … but I don't remember that very clearly."

"You remember everything else rather clearly."

"I'd cracked my head on the sidewalk then … or was it that he had hit me?   It was all happening at once then … and I don't remember much of anything else until I woke up in the Casualty Ward."

"There was a stick in your hand, do you remember that?   Didn't you pick up a stick and whack your cousin with it?   And he fell down then?   Isn't that what happened?"

Inspector Higgins interjected, "You know, Harry, if that is what happened, you don't need to be afraid to tell us.  You were entitled to defend yourself, and if you did hit Dudley, nobody's going to think worse of you for it."

"I didn't hit Dudley.   Once I was down, I stayed down.   My biggest concern was not getting stomped on.   A good Dudley stomp could have split me wide open."

"So why did he fall?"   Munroe again.

"I told you, I don't know.   Maybe he had a stroke or something!"

Higgins sat back.   "You know, that's a possibility.   Given his weight problem over the years, the Dursley kid may just have been heading into stroke territory.   And with the rage he was feeling, it would have driven his pressure way up."

"Come on, the kid is sixteen.   You don't go having a stroke at sixteen."

"Still, we should probably look at Dursley's neuros.   I think they ran some when he didn't wake up for so long."

Harry was just as happy to listen to Higgins and Munroe go at it between themselves for a while; he was trying to keep a firm grip on his temper, and any time they weren't going after him was time he could use to calm down.   Meanwhile, Ms. Stone just sat back and listened, making occasional notes for her own file.   She apparently thought he was handling himself well enough, though once she called for a break and got him a cup of water from the cooler in the corner.   It was unpleasantly warm, but it felt good to his dry lips and throat.  

It took all morning to get through the night of the attack, walking through it several different times, until Harry's head was pounding and he thought he could recite his story in his sleep.   Then there was a break for lunch, and Ms. Stone took him out to a lunch counter where he had a rather pathetic excuse for a roast beef sandwich, especially in comparison to Mrs. Weasley's excellent cooking.   She also took him over to the chemist's and got him a little bottle of aspirin, since his headache showed no signs of going away on its own.

0o0o0o0o0o0

The afternoon was, if anything, even worse.   Higgins and Munroe were now onto the details of daily life at number four, Privet Drive, from the time of Harry's earliest memories through the prior month.   They heard about the frying pan and the poker (with blushes, and Munroe backed off on this particular topic after a consultation with Ms. Stone out in the hall), the slaps and the hair-pulling and the pinching, and the constant yelling.   They heard about how he learned to cook breakfast the hard way, when he was barely tall enough to see the top of the stove.   They learned the various routes he took home from school, with avenues of escape carefully laid out in case Dudley and his gang ambushed him.   They learned about gardening and lawn mowing and car washing and using toothbrushes to clean the grout in the bathrooms.   They learned about bread crusts for breakfast and cold tinned soup for dinner and the best ways to keep Dudley's hand-me-downs from falling off.   They learned about primary school, where his teachers had all been warned about his "behaviour problem" and he sat in his seat and hardly dared breathe for fear of getting a note sent home, and during recess Dudley prowled the playground looking for him.  

By four o'clock, Higgins was showing signs of weariness, but Munroe was as energetically antagonistic as when they'd started.   "These are all wonderful stories we've been hearing, but I find it hard to believe that this kind of thing could go on for so long without somebody noticing it.   Are you sure you're not exaggerating for effect, boy?"  

It was the 'boy' that did it, Harry realized later.   It was said with just that tone of disgust that Uncle Vernon used to have in his voice.   Before he knew it, he was standing, his balled fists resting on the table and he was leaning over to put his face next to that of the seated Inspector.   In contrast to his posture, his voice was low, calm, and even.   "No, Inspector, I'm not exaggerating a thing.   If anything, you're not getting a full picture, because I can't remember every detail of every day for sixteen years.   I can't detail every single beating, every time they yelled at me.   But everything I've said is true.   And if you can't handle it, maybe you're in the wrong line of work!"  

As if to punctuate his sentence, the water-cooler jar exploded.   Broken glass flew in all directions, fortunately not hitting anyone, and the walls, floor, and even ceiling in that corner were drenched.   Some of the water splashed onto the table, and Munroe snatched a box of papers out of the way before they could be soaked.   Ms. Stone helped them move things and got some of the broken glass out of the way, while Harry slowly sat back down.   He'd done it again.   Wandless, out of control, he'd done it again.   He just had to get his wretched temper in hand.

"I think that's a sign from the heavens that we've had enough for the day," said Higgins.   "I know I certainly have, and … Ms. Stone, please leave the glass alone, the Department doesn't want the liability if you cut yourself on it, that's why we have maintenance people.   Would you mind waiting out in the hall with Mr. Potter, please?   Jake, go find some poor slob with a mop."   Munroe muttered something as Harry and Ms. Stone were leaving.   Harry couldn't make out the question, but he could hear Higgins' answer.   "No, this is not going in the report.   It's a stupid accident — that cooler is ninety years older than God anyway, now maybe we'll get it replaced."   Mutter, mutter.   "No.   I don't want this file to disappear like the others.   Now go get maintenance!"   Ms. Stone looked at Harry and raised an eyebrow, while he just shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and tried to look like none of this was bothering him.

On the good side, his headache had disappeared.

Higgins came out of the room a few minutes after Munroe left, having made sure all the paperwork was properly stowed.   "I really do want to apologize for that accident," he said sincerely.   "The equipment around here is a little old, and I guess maybe there was a flaw in the bottle.   But I do think that was as good a place as any to stop.   Harry, I'm sorry if Inspector Munroe went a little over the top at the end there.   He gets like that sometimes.   I hope it won't stop you coming back tomorrow so we can finish this."

"No, sir.   I'll be back.   I just want to get this over with."

"Good lad.   You know, it's been a pleasure to work with you so far.   Usually what we get in here are sullen little thugs.   I think maybe Munroe's problem is he doesn't recognize a decent young man when he sees one.   I'll talk to him about it, maybe see if I can get him to back off you a bit tomorrow.   In the meantime, I'll see you to the lobby, if I may?   Ms. Stone?"

"Thank you for your concern for my client, Inspector.   We'll be back tomorrow.   Same time?"

"If you don't mind."

Higgins led them back through the warren and left them in the lobby.   Ms. Stone used the public phone there to place a call to Mr. Weasley's "office" — he was "in a meeting," so she left a message to let him know she and Harry had finished early, and asking him to come to her office to pick Harry up.   Then they walked the few blocks to her office.   The Department of Child Protective Services was housed in yet another civil-service drab building, but here, perhaps because there were likely to be children about, some effort had been made to make the place a little cheerier; the beige walls were decorated with colourful posters — most of them involving safety tips, but they were better than nothing.   Ms. Stone's office was actually comfortable; in addition to her desk, she had a sofa, low table, and a shelf full of games and toys geared for younger children.   "Welcome to my home from home, Harry.   Have a seat.   It will probably be a while before Mr. Weasley gets here — the traffic out of the City is murder at this time of the evening and the Underground isn't much better.   I was thinking maybe we could have a little talk while we're waiting?   Oh, and would you like some chocolate?   Heaven knows I need some, and you've had a pretty bad day.   Chocolate cures what ails you on bad days."   She winked at him and broke a piece off the humongous Cadbury bar she pulled out of her desk.   Harry just stared at it.   "Seriously, you're white as a sheet.   You're still a growing boy and you need energy and you haven't eaten nearly enough today.   Eat your chocolate."   Harry took it wordlessly and nibbled at it.   Inspector Munroe wasn't in the same league as a dementor, but the chocolate did help all the same.  

                      "You did well today, Harry.   Very well.   I could tell Higgins was impressed, and so was Munroe, despite his attitude."

"It was good it stopped when it did, though.   I wanted to … well, I don't think they'd have thought kindly of my assaulting a police Inspector."

                      "But you didn't.   Thanks to an exploding water jug."

                      "Yeah."   He finished off his chocolate.

                      "That was kind of weird, don't you think?"

                      "I suppose."

                      "You suppose.   Like things like that happen all the time."

                      "Don't they?"

                      "Not to most people."

                      Harry chose not to respond; the subject was beginning to get uncomfortable.   Ms. Stone let the silence stretch for a long moment before changing the subject to something more innocuous.   She asked what Harry had been doing while he was staying with the Weasleys, and he described his birthday party, and shopping trips for clothes and school things, and swimming in the pond, and fishing with no bait on the line just because they wanted to have an excuse to be out in the boat, and all the other delicious summertime things that were basically the same for Muggle and Wizard, and therefore safe to talk about, even if he did have to edit things to put them in Muggle terms.  

                      For all that she was sure he was leaving things out, Agatha Stone was very pleased as she listened to Harry's narrative.   The tone of his voice lightened as he talked, and after the heavy, dead way he'd talked of his time at the Dursleys' during the day, it was welcome to hear him speak the way a young man should.   His face lost its closed, wary expression, and became more open.   It was only when she asked about his plans for the future that he became guarded again.

                      "I really don't know what I want to do," he explained. "For a while I was thinking about joining the police.   Now I'm thinking about maybe teaching, but I don't know what it is that I would be best at teaching.   It's more the idea of teaching itself than any particular subject that I'm interested in.   I'm hoping that I may be able to figure it out while I'm on this American trip."

                      Ms. Stone flipped her file (now quite a bit fatter than when she'd first met Harry) open and found her copies of his "school" transcripts and grade reports.   "Well, you have ten GCSEs, and all of them passing, some of them passing very well.   Your sciences in particular seem to be high, decent maths.   Your history is only so-so … fairly awful in psychology…"   She quirked an eyebrow.   "You took psychology?"  

                      Harry decided that's what his Divination class must have turned into.   "Um, well, I really didn't understand a lot of it.   I mostly did it because a friend of mine did it … turned out it wasn't a good idea."  

                      "With everything that was going on in your childhood, I can see that a lot of things in psychology might have been a bit frightening.   Perhaps you didn't want to understand it because it hit too close to home?"

                      "That … kind of makes sense."

                      "If you do decide to become a teacher, you'll have to have at least a couple of university courses in psychology.   But maybe by then you'll be able to focus on it better.   At least it was a low pass instead of an Unclassified.   I'm assuming that with the American tour, one of your   A-levels will be General Studies.   That will serve you quite well.   What else will you be taking?"

                      "Well, I've got, um, Chemistry and Botany both, some intercultural studies things … maths … pretty much the same stuff as I was doing before.   American History and Literature.   It'll be kind of interesting comparing their view of history and ours …."   Harry felt he might be babbling, but Ms. Stone seemed to consider it all reasonably.  

                      "The American system does teach more courses at the advanced levels, instead of focusing on four or five.   You may have to make up some work in one or more classes when you come back."

                      "The school is going to evaluate us when we come back and help us make up anything we're missing."

                      "The more I hear about this school of yours, the more I think I like it.   It's certainly doing you a world of good."

                      "I believe so.   I think I'd probably be dead by now if I hadn't gone there."

                      "You could be right.   Certainly you wouldn't be in nearly as good physical condition."   Ms. Stone turned away from Harry's academic records, much to Harry's relief, and took up a copy of his medical reports.   "Through most of your early childhood, you were subjected to systematic low-level starvation."

                      "You don't need to tell me that."

                      "True.   I'm sure you remember it quite well.   What you may not be aware of is that malnutrition can have severe long-term consequences.   In your case, it did slow your growth and physical development somewhat.   But it wasn't severe enough that you were badly stunted.   For one thing, your relatives wanted to get a certain amount of work out of you, and that meant they had to provide you with a sufficient amount of food. Your school provided a much higher level of nutrition generally, and you were able to make up for some of the lost time.   Schools out in the country usually include a lot of local produce, whole foods and such in the diet, less processed breads and things, am I right?"   Harry nodded numbly.   "So you got a lot of the vitamins, minerals, proteins and such that you needed to catch up some of the difference, without a lot of the junk city children eat.   And you've always been physically active, that helps too.   You probably won't be as tall or as heavily built as you might have been in other circumstances, but probably the deficit is only around an inch or two — certainly nothing too noticeable.   And there doesn't seem to have been a permanent effect on your mental development.   That's always something to be concerned about.   Had you remained at home, er, with the Dursleys, however, continuing nutritional deprivation would have affected your body and might have affected your brain.   That's not even taking the effects of physical abuse into consideration.   And at that, you can thank your lucky stars that you weren't born female.   Given the dynamics of that household, there's a very good chance sexual abuse might have been added to that list."

                      Harry must have looked slightly ill at that, because Ms. Stone leaned forward suddenly.   "Harry … is there something you haven't told us?   Because if there is …"

                      "No, no.   Nothing like that.   I just … found the idea sickening, that's all."

                      "Can't say I blame you.   I think they're a pretty sickening bunch, myself."   Her face and voice were grim.  

                      "You'll get no argument from me on that count," said Arthur Weasley, breaking into the conversation.   Both Harry and Ms. Stone looked up, surprised to see him in the office doorway.   "I hope you don't mind that I came up directly, it's after five and your receptionist has already gone," he said apologetically.

                      "No, I don't mind, I'm just a little surprised … you must have made excellent time from the City.     Your secretary said you were in a meeting when I called."

                      "Yes, well, I'd left a little early to make sure I didn't keep you waiting too long.   'In a meeting' is what she says when I do that.   I trust everything went well?"   He settled himself in one of the office chairs.

                      "It was rather a long day, but Harry here did very well.   I'm sure he'll tell you all the details on your way home tonight.   There was a little trouble with one of the Inspectors, but nothing he couldn't handle."

                      "Our Harry is a very capable young man," agreed Mr. Weasley, and Harry felt himself flushing at the praise.   "Shall we see you tomorrow at the same time, then?   In that coffee shop?"

                      "That will be fine.   I can't see this going for more than another day.   And then Thursday we'll need the two of you to come directly here, of course."

                      "Of course.   I've already cleared my schedule for that day."

                      "Mr. Weasley … would it be possible for you and Harry to come to dinner with me after everything is done on Thursday?   A celebration, if you will … of a successful resolution to the matter, and Harry's freedom.   What do you say?"

                      "It sounds excellent to me.   Harry?   What do you say?"

                      "At a restaurant?   I've never been to one.   I wouldn't know what to do."

                      "Then I think we definitely should.   The experience will be good for you."

                      "I suppose."   Harry was dubious, both of his own ability to handle it and Mr. Weasley's.   Although the older man had refrained admirably from his usual "what will Muggles think of next?" comments so far.

                      "I'll make a reservation, then," said Ms. Stone.   "And I won't keep you, the traffic will only get worse from here on out."

                      "I know ways to beat the worst of it," said Mr. Weasley, and they took their leave.

0o0o0o0o0o0

                      Less than half an hour later, they were sitting down to dinner at the Burrow.   They did not discuss the day over the table, but Mr. Weasley and Harry went into the study afterwards.   Harry summarized what they'd talked about, and told Mr. Weasley about the incident with the water cooler.   "I'm sorry, I just … the Inspector was so like my uncle, and when he called me 'boy' in that tone of voice, I just … I could feel it building up all day, and then it just … sort of went off.   At least it was just the cooler, I didn't blow him up or anything.   I was surprised not to be buried with Ministry owls again."

                      "If all you did was blow up the cooler, it wasn't a strong enough magic to warrant attention.   Accidents of that sort don't require explanation or reversal, thankfully, since sometimes they happen even without magic, and the Muggles are pretty good at explaining them away.   You're learning control, that's good."

                      "Inspector Higgins did say he thought it was a flaw in the glass.   But I also heard him and Inspector Munroe talking.   They said they didn't want this file to disappear like others.   Is the Ministry in the habit of Vanishing files?"

                      Mr. Weasley frowned.   "We've been known to, when there's something that's too suggestive.   But if the Muggles are noticing it, perhaps we've been doing it too often.   I'll have to bring it up at the next staff meeting.   In the meantime, if you can keep from doing anything untoward tomorrow, it should be fine."

"Can you promise me you won't Vanish mine?   I haven't gone through this just to have everything disappear and let the Dursleys walk after all."

"I'll keep an eye on it.   Was there anything else?"

"Well, Ms. Stone was bothered by the water cooler thing, too.   She picked up some of the glass and looked a little disturbed.   And she gave me chocolate afterwards."

                      "Did she now?"

"Said it would cure what ailed me.   She also said I hadn't eaten enough."

                      "She was probably right.   Muggles know about chocolate's restorative powers, too.   They're the ones who discovered it, after all.   I think we're all right as far as Ms. Stone is concerned.   We'll just have to watch ourselves on Thursday."

0o0o0o0o0o0

                      Wednesday they repeated the Portkey trip into the park and met Ms. Stone in the coffee shop.   Inspector Munroe was much less abrasive this time, confining himself to grunts and the occasional muttered comment.   Today they were going over interviews taken with family, friends, and neighbours of the Dursleys.   Most of it was simply refutations of the more outrageous lies the Dursleys had spread, and by the time they broke for lunch, Harry was beginning to think he was in the clear.   Ms. Stone, too, seemed to be pleased.  

                      But after lunch, everything went straight to Hell and stayed there.

                      "Okay, I think we've covered most of the obvious matters.   Now we have some anomalous material.   Most particularly, the statements of Dudley Dursley and his parents.   Dudley was quite willing to talk about you.   As a matter of fact, we couldn't shut him up.   And he told us some … rather unusual stories about you.   For example, he told us you know how to do magic."

                      "I do what?"

                      "Magic.   Not the sideshow kind, either.   Witchcraft.   Spell-casting.   That sort of thing.   He seems to think you're a wizard of some kind who has been putting him under spells to destroy his entire life."

                      "I'll bet he told you I fly on a broomstick, too," said Harry, trying to put an appropriate tone of disbelief in his voice.

                      "Oh, yes, I think that was on the list."

"Yes, here it is, broomstick," put in Munroe, looking at one of the many reports in the file.   "And according to him, that birdcage was where you kept your … pet owl?"

"Owl?   I had budgies.   They lasted a hot two weeks, if that.   Can you even keep an owl as a pet?"   Harry looked at Ms. Stone in a confused fashion.

"I don't think so.   I'm quite sure you need special permits to keep wild animals, and you can't keep them in suburban bedrooms."

"It would be cool to have an owl, though.   I didn't think Dudley's imagination was that good."

"Neither did we.   But Dudley has told a story of a whole series of escalating events, getting worse every year, leading up to, let's see, an attack on him by monsters last year — which you, for some reason, seem to have both sicced on him and rescued him from — that's not very clear.   Dudley himself seems to have decided things were a little strange after the monster attack, and that's when he got involved with O'Dwyer.   Then he claims he got a message in a dream showing him you getting O'Dwyer arrested.   By other wizards, no less.   He seems to think there's a conspiracy of wizards in Britain whose sole purpose is to make his family miserable."

"That's just … wow.   I don't know what to say about that."

"I don't think I have ever heard a clearer example of a schizophrenic break," put in Ms. Stone.   "The Dursley boy is obviously in severe need of hospitalization."

"That's roughly our conclusion, too.   The problem is that there are some details of his story which are confirmable by third parties.   Just enough to be bothersome, you understand."

"Confirmable?" Harry choked.

"Well, yes.   There's a pattern of anomalies that were reported by various other witnesses.   Most of them involving glass, for some reason.   Let's see, your Aunt Marge reported a brandy snifter exploding in her hand during one visit.   She became ill shortly after that and cut her visit short, but remembers the snifter incident quite clearly.   Do you remember anything about that?"

"I remember, because I had to clean up the mess and I almost cut myself.   She said it was just that she had a firm grip, though."

"Hm.   Let's see, there was a surprisingly high incidence of broken windows and car windshields in your neighbourhood during the summers, going back about six years."

"That was Dudley and his gang.   They liked to throw rocks."

"Not surprising.   Some of it happened at times when you weren't there, anyway, so we can assume you had nothing to do with the rest of it, either.   Was your cousin responsible for the incident at the zoo, also?"

"At the zoo?"   Harry was sure he was gaping stupidly at the Inspector.

"About …six years ago, on Dudley's birthday.   He told it with great detail.   His friend Piers Polkiss confirmed it in almost all details.   He says you were in the Reptile House at the zoo, and you were having a conversation with a snake."

"A conversation?   With a snake?"

"Er, yes.  You were hissing at it, and it was hissing back.  Then you made the glass on the display tank disappear and caused the snake to attack him."

"He was pounding on the glass and broke it.   And the snake fell out of the tank.   I didn't have anything to do with it.   But I got blamed for it, right enough."

"Curiously, according to the zoo staff, no shards of glass were found.   They claim the glass didn't just break, it disappeared.   That one even made the newspapers."

"That can't happen.   He must have broken it."

                      "And, of course, there were the incidents at the hospital the night Dudley attacked you.   At the exact moment you were having your dislocated arm, er, relocated, all the light fixtures and a number of glass bottles in the room you were in exploded.   This was the only incident, by the way, which caused any appreciable damage to other persons; several of the nurses were cut by flying glass and an orderly had to be treated for electric shock."

                      This was the first Harry had heard of that.   "He wasn't … wasn't hurt badly was he?"

                      "No, it was just a mild shock.   They sent him home for the night and he was back on duty the next day."

                      "Good.   I'd hate to think I … that somebody had gotten badly hurt."

                      "Then there was the frog incident the same night, don't forget that one," said Munroe.

                      "Frog incident?"   Harry vaguely remembered Tonks saying something about frogs.

                      "Precisely three hundred and twelve European tree frogs were discovered in the Casualty Ward's waiting rooms.   That's including four that got out into the hall and were squashed by a gurney before somebody realized they were in there and closed the doors.   The animal control people have been very interested in finding the prankster who released them in such a hostile environment."

                      "What happened to the frogs?"

                      "Oh, they found homes in various zoos and aquariums. They're not native to England, so would not have survived if released.   Don't worry about the frogs, Harry," Inspector Higgins said kindly.   "What else have we got?   Oh, yes, a neighbour reporting how he had to loan your Uncle a ladder to get you down out of a tree once when you were five or six.   The lowest branch was twelve feet off the ground.   He had no idea how you'd gotten up there.   And a similar incident, about the same time, with getting you off the roof of a chemist's shop.  And another, when you were on the roof of your primary school. Did you just like climbing things?"

"I climbed a lot of things getting away from Dudley and his little gang.   Their favourite game was Chasing Harry," Harry explained bitterly.   "I don't remember any chemist's shop or any specific tree.   I do remember the school one because I was punished pretty badly for that one."

"Maybe you wouldn't remember all of the times it happened.   You were pretty young at the time of those incidents."

Ms. Stone entered the conversation again.   "Inspector, if I may … I remember when I was young - about that same age, I think - I was being chased by a rather large and vicious neighbourhood dog.   My family had to get me down off a neighbour's garage.   I had no memory of having gotten up there, but someone said they'd seen me go up the drainpipe.   It was not something I'd have been capable of doing normally.   Adrenaline does strange things, however.   Perhaps something similar …?"

"Quite likely.   If the tree had a slender enough trunk, he could have shimmied up it even if it had no low branches.   We also questioned Vernon and Petunia Dursley at length, of course.   Given Dudley's statements, we were very interested in what they had to say about you.   Which wasn't much, actually.   Once they realized that we were interested in them as well as their son, they clammed right up.   But that wasn't before we heard some rather unflattering things about yourself and your parentage.   They also seemed to blame you for everything that broke or was damaged around the house.   Your aunt even seemed to blame you for the way your hair grows."   Higgins flicked a glance at Harry's black mane.   "A little hard to manage, eh?   Well."

"Inspector … it almost sounds like you want me to be a … wizard or whatever it is.   Like you're trying to prove they're right, that I deserved the way they treated me.   I've come to expect that of them, but I hadn't expected it of the police!"

"No, no, you misunderstand me, Harry.   I'm not trying to prove any such thing, or to get you angry."
                     

"Lest you blow up another water jug," muttered Munroe, who flushed a deep red when both Higgins and Harry glared at him.   He obviously hadn't meant his sotto voce comment to be heard.

"Look, statistics show that one person in ten in Britain believes in space aliens, crop circles, and/or the Loch Ness monster.   The fastest growing religions in this country are Witchcraft and the Jedi Knights.   And don't even get me started about Elvis!   And if one of these people gets on the jury, and thinks there's even a possibility that you might be … whatever, then they could hang the jury and your aunt and uncle walk.   So we have to do the legwork now.   Chase down as many of these so-called anomalies as we can and turn them back into the mundane occurrences they undoubtedly were before your relatives got hold of them.   Do you understand me?   So far the only ones I can't explain away easily are the zoo window and the frogs.   I think you're right, I think Dudley just broke the damn window, but we've got three separate people, Piers, your aunt, and the reptile keeper, claiming there was no broken glass.   And when a reputable and independent witness like the reptile keeper goes on record — in print! — as saying something unusual happened, we have to address it.   What happened to the glass?"

"I don't know what happened to the damned glass!   I had nothing to do with it!"

"Inspector, this line of questioning is disturbing my client.   He's denied any involvement, and I don't believe there's any indication that he was, or even could be, the causative agent.   As you've noted, my client was in an examination room, almost unconscious, with five other people at the time the frogs were released; there can be no connection there.   Coincidence, nothing more.   There were a lot of disturbed individuals around that night; perhaps one of them was responsible for the frogs.   And there must be some reasonable explanation for the glass as well.   Window panes don't just disappear.   It's not my client's job to figure it out, though.   He was ten years old when it happened.   Ask the adults, ask that reptile keeper, ask the maintenance crew.   But don't ask Harry.   Now, are you going to find another line of questioning, or are we through?"   Somehow, from being an overweight black woman in a power suit, Agatha Stone had promoted herself to Avenging Fury, and both Inspectors gave up the fight quite abruptly.   Harry thought she was magnificent.

Inspector Higgins seemed to decide that discretion was the better part of valour, and shifted the questioning to what Harry privately called "The O'Dwyer Incident", and Munroe found Harry's hospital records to be fascinating reading.   The rest of the afternoon was spent going over Harry's (carefully edited) version of what happened the night Dudley took him to the O'Dwyer lecture.

And then they were done.   Higgins gave Harry a card, and asked him to drop him a letter if he remembered anything else when he was in America.   "Of course, but I think we've already gone over most of it.   Can I … I assume you haven't actually arrested my aunt and uncle yet?"

"Not yet.   I don't think they're a great risk for flight right now.   If nothing else, they're so convinced their behaviour was justified that they don't see any reason to try to run away.   And they stay close to visit Dudley in the Prison Ward regularly.   We have a few more details to track down, and we'll be making the arrest once we've got the solidest case we can."

"I kind of wish I could be there to see it."

"No, you don't.   You want to be in America, making new friends and enjoying your life without this hanging over you.   Don't take this wrong, Harry, but I hope I never see you again.   Okay?"

"Okay."   Higgins stuck out his hand and Harry shook it, and also shook Munroe's beefy hand, and then he and Ms. Stone left the building.

0o0o0o0o0o0

                      Harry had no after-dinner chat with Mr. Weasley that night.   He had to leave again immediately after delivering Harry home, and didn't return before Harry went to bed.   Instead, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny sat out in the garden, watching the fireflies twinkle in the dark.  

"Dudley told them what?"

"Told them I was a wizard, broomsticks and Hedwig and magic and the whole sodding lot.   And Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't confirm it — how could they? — but they didn't deny it, either.   The only good thing about it was that Dudders went so far over the top that nobody could believe it.   If he doesn't wind up in jail, they'll put him in a mental hospital for sure."

"Fudge is going to have a fit with this one," said Ron.

"I think he already is.   But they can't do a damn thing about it.   They can't Obliviate the Dursleys, because that would basically eliminate sixteen whole years of their memories — might even wipe 'em as blank as Lockhart.   That would be too noticeable.   And they can't get the Muggles to back off on the case, it's got too high a profile now.   I've been in the Muggle papers and everything."   Ms. Stone had given Harry a folder with some clippings from the local papers, and Ron and Ginny were looking through them.   It was the first time Ginny had seen what the Dursleys looked like, and she was appropriately horrified.   Harry had told her about the little piggy tail Hagrid had given Dudley, though, and she thought that piggy ears and a snout to go with it would only have been an improvement.

"And because he can't do anything about it — and probably because it's me — he's going bats on the other stuff, all the side stuff … that probably would just go away on its own if he didn't keep poking at it."

"Well, the part with the police is over now, at any rate.   Maybe the rest of it will just fade away into obscurity once you're safely in America," said Hermione.   "Now you just have all the paperwork to get through tomorrow."

"I will be so glad when all this is over," said Harry, rolling over on his back in the grass and looking up at the stars.  

"Which 'this'?" asked Hermione, and Harry had no answer.

0o0o0o0o0o0

                      Harry was up early again the next morning, and he and Mr. Weasley went from the park directly to Ms. Stone's office.   It was quite crowded, with Ms. Stone, Harry, Mr. Weasley, a Trust Officer from the Bank of England (which understandably had an interest in a fairly substantial sum of money changing hands), a solicitor from the Family Court, and a notary public who'd come with the solicitor.   There was a thick folio of papers on the desk, and by the end of the morning, Harry thought he'd read and signed every one of them, and they were then taken off to be photocopied.   First there were papers to be signed by Mr. Weasley accepting his guardianship of Harry.   Then there were papers, presented by the Trust Officer, to be signed by Mr. Weasley as his guardian reactivating the old trust accounts.   Then the Family Court solicitor questioned Harry to establish his ability to understand what being an emancipated minor entailed, and his willingness to assume that state.   There were papers to be signed by both Mr. Weasley and Harry terminating the guardianship, and then more papers transferring the trusts from Mr. Weasley's guardianship into Harry's name and direct control.   It seemed rather a roundabout way to be doing things, but Harry supposed it was necessary to make sure every step was documented.   Then there were still more papers for Harry's signature alone, transferring part of the trust funds into regular accounts, and he was given a card which would access both accounts and a book of cheques with a folder of instructions.   The notary's sole function seemed to be to put a stamp and seal on the corner of each document anybody signed, and Harry thought that was probably a very boring job to have.   The man from the Bank of England shook hands with everybody, stuffed copies of all of his papers into his briefcase, and left.   The Family Court solicitor took a set to be put into the Court files, and left, along with the notary.   Mr. Weasley and Harry both were given heavy envelopes containing copies of all the papers.   "Welcome to adulthood, Harry," said Ms. Stone with a wry smile.   "As you get older, you'll discover it's all in the paperwork.   Enjoy what's left of your childhood while you can."

With a start, Harry realized that this business had taken up the entire morning, and it was now nearly lunchtime.   With the extra three people gone, the office seemed far less crowded, and Ms. Stone ordered some sandwiches and crisps up for them.   They ate while she explained to Harry how to keep his new chequebook, and gave him a list of recommended books on budgeting and household accounting.   "I imagine Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could give you a hand with that, as well," she said.

                      "Molly would be best at that, she handles most of the household finances," replied Mr. Weasley.   "Or my sons Fred and George.   They may be young, but they've got a better head for money than most and have managed to turn a small investment into quite a healthy business already."

                      "Good.   The bank has an investment advisor you can contact, too.   As I said before, you're not wealthy, Harry, but quite secure for the next few years at least, assuming you don't squander it."

                      "I won't, I promise.   I know where it came from, and what it … what it cost."   Ms. Stone looked at him, pursing her lips, and nodded.

                      "Then let's be off to the next step, shall we?"

                      A short walk took them to an anonymous-looking office building; in a blandly furnished office on the fourth floor, Harry met his solicitor, who took Harry's folio of papers to make copies for his own files, and then explained at length and in great detail the purposes of an estate plan.   It all seemed quite complicated at first, but once Harry understood the basic idea, it was really quite simple.   He made a couple of layers of beneficiaries (since it seemed quite likely to him that if he were dead, there was a great likelihood of Ron and/or Hermione, who were his primary beneficiaries, also being dead —   he didn't explain that to the solicitor, but the man was quite enthusiastic about Harry's "maturity and understanding"), with the money going to a Hogwarts scholarship fund if everybody was dead, which was really quite a depressing thought.   Once he'd got that figured out, though, it only took a short time for the solicitor's quite amazing secretary to ram it all into her computer and produce a final copy on creamy paper.   Harry signed with great ceremony, witnessed by Mr. Weasley and Ms. Stone and the lawyer.   The secretary turned out to be a notary as well, and she put more little stamps and seals on the pages.   Harry also signed a Power of Attorney giving both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley the authority to act for him in those things where he still needed an adult, and to take care of his finances while he was away.   Still more copies of all the papers were made, and the original Will was taken away to be put in a bank vault for safekeeping.  

                      All in all, Harry was feeling quite bewildered by the end of the day, and not at all sure he wanted to try the new experience of going to a restaurant on top of it, but he had very little choice and just hoped he'd manage to get through without embarrassing himself too badly.

                      The restaurant Agatha Stone had chosen was elegant and discreet, and fairly uncrowded this early in the evening, which was primarily why she had chosen it.     She and Mr. Weasley showed Harry how to negotiate the intricacies of the menu, and they discussed food choices, with Mr. Weasley placing the order for all three of them when the waiter came.   They discussed the events of the day until their meals came, when they fell silent with the reverence that truly great steaks deserve.  

                      Over the remains of the meal, Ms. Stone looked consideringly at Harry, and seemed to come to some sort of decision.   "Harry, I do have some final things to discuss with you before we say goodbye tonight.   You're on your own now, and we may never see each other again, so …   I think you know that I think you're a very special young man.   And it's not just because you've managed to maintain your human decency in the face of truly appalling circumstances."   She sipped at her wine delicately.   "Harry … and Mr. Weasley …"

                      "Please.   Arthur."

                      She nodded.   "Agatha.   To both of you.   What I'm about to say is a little unusual, and I could be out of a job if this gets back to certain parties, but I think both of you are capable of handling a few odd concepts."

                      Harry looked sideways at Mr. Weasley, who was merely gazing at Agatha in mild curiosity.

                      "A few more questions, Harry … if you don't mind.   Just to help me get the last few pieces in place.     I know you denied it when you were being questioned by the police, but I could tell that you do feel some personal responsibility for the strange things that they were talking about.   And that the things they knew about were only part of what goes on around you.   When you get frightened, or angry, things happen, and you know it's you causing them to happen, but you don't have conscious control over it.   Am I right?"

                      Harry froze, unable even to breathe, pinned by Ms. Stone's ebony gaze.   "I … I don't know …" and then the water glass at his place began to shake violently.   He grabbed for it just before it tipped over.  

                      Mr. Weasley put one hand on his arm.   "It's all right, Harry.   Calm down."   Harry saw his wand slide into his other hand.   "Agatha, I'm terribly sorry, but …"

                      "That's what I wanted to explain," she said, leaning forward intently.   "Has either of you heard the term 'Recurrent Spontaneous Psychokinesis'?   Or 'Paraphysics'?"

                      Mr. Weasley stopped before he was fully committed to the Obliviation spell.   "Excuse me?"

                      "Paraphysics is a branch of science that studies things which are often considered strange and anomalous.   Hauntings.   Telepathy.     Psychic healings.   Things of that sort.   It's called 'para' physics because we don't understand how they work, exactly.   If and when we do understand them, they'll move into the realm of regular physics or quantum physics.   Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

                      "Er.   No," said Harry apologetically.

                      "Psychokinesis is commonly referred to as 'mind over matter.'   The ability to move — or break — things using mental power only.   'Spontaneous' means it happens in response to stimuli in the environment, not in a planned fashion.   'Recurrent' means it happens more than once.   The phenomena centre around an individual — called the agent — who is often, but not always, a teenager, and usually under some extreme mental or emotional stress.   Where most people express anger by shouting or screaming, an agent represses it and it finds expression through a physical manifestation in the vicinity."

                      Agatha looked down at her plate, poking at the remains of her jacket potato with her fork.   "The day before yesterday, Harry was angry, under stress, when Inspector Munroe, either knowingly or unknowingly, pushed quite a few of his emotional buttons.   Harry exhibited some signs of anger, but not as many as I would have expected under the circumstances.   Instead, the temperature of the water in the cooler began to rise.   Harry, you remember the water was warm when I got you a drink?"

                      "Yes.   I thought the cooler wasn't working."

                      "It was, because I'd gotten a drink earlier and it was quite cold then.   Later, Inspector Munroe triggered your anger to a peak.   Your posture at that time said you were angry enough to strike out, but your voice was perfectly calm.   Then the cooler jar shattered.   When I picked up a piece of the glass, it was decidedly warm to the touch.   And you didn't show the startle reaction Higgins and Munroe and I did.   You just sat down, with that look on your face that said you knew what you'd just done — and knew you'd done wrong."

                      "You're saying … I caused that to happen?" said Harry, cautiously.   He was having a serious sense of dejá vu in this whole conversation.   He'd had a similar one with Hagrid on his eleventh birthday.

                      "Your anger was shunted into the water cooler and shattered it, thereby relieving the stress on you.   If you noticed, you were expressing your feelings more directly yesterday, so there was no collateral damage.   Likely a number of the other instances the police mentioned were the same thing.   The damage you did to the hospital room was impressive, and a direct reaction to the amount of pain you were in at the time.   I don't know about the frogs, though.   I still don't see how that could be connected.   You're one of the youngest agents I've ever heard of, since the documented RSPK manifestations around you go back to early childhood, and also one of the longest-lasting.   Not surprisingly, since your entire childhood was one of great stress."   Ms. Stone shifted her attention to Mr. Weasley.   "Arthur, I've been a social worker for almost twenty years.   In that time, I've met hundreds, perhaps a thousand or more children and teens in untenable mental, emotional and physical circumstances.   Of that thousand, I have met four others who manifested physical phenomena like Harry.   The other four were all girls.   Most agents are female, since girls are not encouraged to express their anger in this culture, and need to find another way.   You can see it's not a very common thing at all."

                      "I've certainly never heard of it before," said Mr. Weasley.

                      "Children who are RSPK agents tend to be extraordinarily hard to place in foster homes, often because the foster families realize on an unconscious level that the child is responsible for a whole string of small disasters; this causes fear and stress for the child, and this results in more problems, until the family rejects the child and she or he goes on to a new home, but the stress level increases so it's practically guaranteed to happen again and again.   I remember one girl — my first RSPK case — who was a firestarter.     Things spontaneously burst into flames around her, usually rubbish bins and the like.   She never caused a major fire, but she went through six foster homes in four years.   I lost track of her when she turned eighteen and went off on her own, but I've often wondered what happened to her."

                      "What usually happens?"

                      "Oh, it's usually quite a temporary thing.   Most agents grow out of it in their late teens to early twenties, perhaps when they learn how to handle stress better, or even just because they leave the stressful situation.  I have great hopes that once Harry is confident that the stress of living with the Dursleys is over and done with, the incidences of RSPK activity will decrease markedly in the long run.   But in the short run, it may happen more often for a while, since any change — even for the good — is stressful.   And I'll admit I'm a bit worried about him going off on this exchange trip by himself.   That's going to be another stressor."

                      "So then the Dursleys were right.  I am a freak."   Harry deliberately kept his voice flat.

                      "No, you are not.   Never a freak," said Ms. Stone with some heat.   "What you are is a sensitive person who has learned how to express strong emotion in a way that's safe for you.   If you'd acted out your fear and anger in front of Dudley or Vernon Dursley as a child, what do you think would have happened to you?   What happened to you on the occasions when you did show it?"

                      "I was usually beaten."

                      "Exactly.   And if something else happened?"

                      "It … wasn't as bad.   They'd just lock me up instead of hitting me.   Because they were afraid then.   Or maybe they didn't even notice it."

                      "So it was a survival trait.   No more than that.   If it's any consolation, children with RSPK tend to be more intelligent than the norm, more empathetic and creative.   That's a good set of traits to have.   And in some cases, instead of losing their RSPK, they can get it under control and use it consciously for their own benefit.   That's also a good thing.   Harry, don't ever be ashamed of who and what you are," Ms. Stone continued urgently.   "You were an innocent child placed in an impossible situation.   And you learned to cope with it by doing something that you didn't know was supposed to be impossible.   And if you hadn't done that, odds are you'd be dead long since.  This is an incredible gift you've been given.   You should try to make the most of it."

                      "Arthur, I brought up the difficulties of placing RSPK agents in homes not to try to warn you about Harry, but because I think, for a variety of reasons, that your home may be the best possible placement for him.   I think that you're already familiar — intimately familiar — with the unusual things that happen around psi agents, even if you're not consciously aware of it."

                      "Are you saying—"

                      "I'm saying that there may be more than one agent in your own family, and that you all are so used to the chaos that a little more won't hurt.   I think at least two of your sons may be agents, although not manifested the way Harry is."

                      "The twins?"

                      "I have never seen more active chaos agents," said Agatha.   "Quite a lot of it is conscious, but even when they're trying to be on their best behaviour, things get very strange around them, true?"

                      "True."

                      "And I think they come by it honestly.   Psi talents aren't always the result of stressful situations.   They also tend to run very strongly in certain families."   Now she was staring at Mr. Weasley, and Harry was glad someone else was at the centre of her attention for a change.   "I have noticed, Arthur, that time and distance are strange around you.   The first time I went to your house, when you were with me, it was perhaps an hour's drive.   The second time, when I visited alone, it took three hours for me to get there, and a lot more mileage on the dial.   I get paid for mileage.  I kept a record, submitted my mileage and petrol expenditures for both trips for reimbursement.   Most people would find it impossible to make a six-hour daily round-trip commute into London from where you live.   But you do it.   Somehow, you chopped four hours off the round trip, and I didn't notice it until I repeated the route alone.   On Tuesday and Wednesday, you brought Harry to meet me, and he wasn't even hungry, although by rights breakfast should have been hours before if you ate at home.   And you managed to be at my office shortly after five both nights, despite the terrible traffic tangle that is London at rush hour.   I'm not sure Harry would even have noticed these things; I don't think he has any idea just how far out in the country you live, or what normal traffic patterns are like."

                      "Ms. Stone …"

                      "Agatha."

                      "Agatha, may I assume that what you've noticed is not general knowledge?"

                      "Absolutely.   I hold everything in the strictest confidence where my clients are concerned."

                      "I am not your client."

                      "True.   But my client's best interests would not be served by taking him away from you, or by exposing the more … unusual … aspects of your home life.   It's not anybody else's business anyway.   I'm just warning you that there might be people who do notice … and who might have less than your best interests, or Harry's interests, at heart.   I am well aware," she said darkly, "that when matters such as this come to public attention, records seem to vanish, even memory fades unexpectedly.   It happened to me, with my young firestarter.   Somehow I managed to forget she existed for five years, until I came across a spare set of records I'd kept.   And this despite the fact that I've had a long-term interest in the paranormal, and the circumstances of her case should have guaranteed that I'd remember her.   So now I keep multiple copies of all my records and notes.   I don't want to find myself forgetting her, or any of the others, or Harry.   These children are too special, they deserve more than that."   She sighed, and rubbed the bridge of her nose.   "There are organizations that study this sort of thing; I can give you some references if you're interested.   They've collected hundreds of case studies over the years.   If I can get your permission, Harry, I'd like to submit yours — it's one of the best documented cases I've come across.   I'd change all the identifying information, of course, so as not to violate your privacy.   For that matter, when you're back in England next summer, I'd like to ask you to take a battery of tests for other forms of psi potential.   Usually where there's one, there's more.   Arthur, that goes for your and your family, too.   Being able to demonstrate a familial link would be a real coup for the researchers."

                      "I'll consider it.   But I must tell you that I don't much like the idea of becoming a rat in anybody's maze."

                      "Arthur, this is on the very cutting edge, where science and magic and spirituality all get mixed together and we really don't know what's going on.   Many scientists don't even recognize that there is something going on, and will fight to the academic death to preserve the status quo.   That's why I said I could lose my job if this got out.   My understanding of paraphysics is considered 'fringe' by others, and RSPK is not an official diagnosis in any psychiatric diagnostic manual.   But if it ever does become accepted as part of the normal scheme of things, it will be because people like you allow yourselves to be tested.   And then people like Harry can grow up knowing they're not freaks, and learn to make the most of their talents.   I think it's important for him and the other children like him.   Please just think about it.   That's all I ask."

                      "I said I would consider it."

                      "On that note, then, shall we consider dessert?   I understand they do a truly spectacular cheesecake here …"

0o0o0o0o0o0

                      "So let me get this straight.   Your social worker thinks you have this Spontaneous Psychohysteria thing and make things blow up from time to time, but she thinks you'll get over it?" asked Fred.   The younger Weasley set had joined Harry and Hermione in the garden, which was rapidly becoming one of Harry's favourite spots, to discuss the day's events.      

                      "Yep.   And the two of you are Chaos Agents, and your dad does weird things with space and time, but that's okay because it's all quantum physics," said Harry.

                      "I knew Muggles tended to rationalize things, but that's ridiculous," said George.

                      "What's quantum physics?   I've heard of Newtonian physics and astrophysics.   What's this quantum thing?"   Hermione seemed upset that an entire new branch of science had popped up without notifying her.

                      "According to Agatha, it's where magic and science overlap," said Harry.   "Of course, she was using it to try to explain me, so it may be more magic and less science."

                      "Well, why shouldn't science be able to explain magic?"   Hermione was pouring herself a refill on her lemonade.   "Maybe the two aren't as incompatible as we've been taught.   Maybe …" she froze, lost in thought, the pitcher still tilted above her glass.

                      "Uh-oh, she's having a brainstorm again," said Ginny, taking the pitcher away from Hermione before the lemonade overflowed the glass.

                      "No, I'm the one that has brainstorms these days," said Ron, not without a touch of bitterness.   "Last night it was ancient Roman military tactics for some reason.   Pretty soon my brain is going to run out of storage space."

                      "Do you actually retain all of that stuff?" asked Harry, curiously.

                      "Not all of it.   I get the gist of it.   But the details come back if I think about it."

                      "Too bad we can't link your brainstorming up with her storage capacity.   You'd be awesome."

                      "I can't deny it's worked well for my schoolwork so far.   I think my summer essays this year are better than I've ever done, and I'm actually finished with them.   For once I won't be scrambling to get them finished while packing for the train at the same time.   But it's a pain having to make sure I'm with somebody who can pull me out of it when I'm done."

                      "I'm sure you'll get control of it sooner or later.   For now, it looks like you'll have to snap Hermione out of it for a change.   She's still thinking about rewriting the laws of magic."

                      "Hey.   Hey, Hermione!"   Ron snapped his fingers briskly in front of her, and she blinked, startled.

                      "What?"

                      "Good.     I was afraid I'd have to slip some ice down your back or something."

                      "You wouldn't dare!"

                      "He probably wouldn't, you'd turn him into something nasty once you're back at school."

                      And the evening slipped away in laughter, and Harry was, for a time, able to forget about what had happened and stop worrying about what might happen, and just enjoy what was.

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