“Why is Voldemort after me?”

“Ah.” Dumbledore shook his head. “The first question you ask is one that I cannot answer.”

Harry scowled. “No, Professor. I cannot accept that.” He sat up a little straighter. “Voldemort is after me. And if you know why, then I deserve to be told.”

“Harry,” said Dumbledore. “I merely wish to ensure that you have the opportunity to remain a child as long as—”

Harry's bark of laughter interrupted Dumbledore. “I haven't been a child since I was two years old.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Dursleys worked me like a slave,” he said angrily.

“Surely, a few chores—”

“It was rather more than a few chores, sir,” said Harry angrily. “They made me do *everything*. I started learning to cook when I was five, because they expected me to do all the cooking. All the cleaning. All the gardening.”

“Harry, this exaggeration doesn't do you credit,” Dumbledore reprimanded him.

“Exaggeration?” He paused. “Have wizards got any way to compel truth? Or to view memories?”

“We do,” allowed Dumbledore. “But most of them are illegal to use on minors.” He considered for a moment, then said, “I have one, however, that could be used…” He stood up. “It will take me fifteen minutes to prepare. In that time, I suggest you meet with your friends, and allay their concerns.”

“This is a penseive,” said Dumbledore, one hand resting on the massive stone bowl. “It allows you to place memories within, and revisit them at your leisure.” He chuckled. “At my age, I find that I have entirely too many memories, and so I often remove them and sort them, and come back to them later if I need them.”

Harry nodded, not entirely understanding. “So with this, you can view my memories.”

“Yes, Harry.” Dumbledore drew his wand. “What I would like you to do is to concentrate on a memory. It doesn't matter which one.”

“Um…can I start with something that happened here in Hogwarts? You know, as a test?”

“Certainly,” said Dumbledore. “We have…well, not all day, but a sizeable portion of it.”

“Okay,” said Harry. He had a pretty good choice in mind.

Dumbledore touched the wand to Harry's head, and pulled it back, drawing out a silvery thread. He dropped that thread into the penseive.

“Now touch the water in the penseive, Harry,” he said.

Harry stretched out a hand, and his fingers touched the surface…and he found himself falling. He started to panic, but then his feet touched the stone floor, and he realized that he was in the Great Hall.

Twice.

As per the memory he'd chosen, he saw himself and Ron eating lunch, and Draco Malfoy approaching.

“I don't recall this incident,” said Dumbledore. Harry turned, to see that the headmaster had landed beside him.

“That's because you weren't here, sir,” he said.

“So I see.” Dumbledore was looking up at the head table.

“Having a last meal, Potter?” Memory Draco had reached memory Harry. “When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?”

“You're a lot braver now you're back on the ground,” retorted memory Harry. “And you've got your little friends with you.”

“I'd take you on any time on my own,” snapped memory Draco. “Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only—no contact. Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?”

“Duelling is not permitted at Hogwarts,” observed Dumbledore.

“I wasn't aware of that, sir,” said Harry.

They'd missed part of the exchange, but the important bit was coming up.

“Midnight all right?” asked memory Draco. “We'll meet you in the trophy room, that's always unlocked.”

This was as far as Harry had remembered; the Great Hall froze.

“I seem to recall Mr. Filch complaining that he'd received a tip about a duel taking place,” said Dumbledore. “But he was unable to capture either of the participants.”

“Malfoy dobbed us in,” said Harry. “He never even showed up.”

“I see.” Dumbledore stroked his beard. “Well, I cannot punish a student for agreeing to duel, especially if no duel ever took place. Can you agree, however, that the penseive works as advertised?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, then. Simply will yourself to exit.”

Harry closed his eyes…and found himself back in the bed in the hospital wing.

“Excellent. Now then…if you could give me a day in your life?” Dumbledore looked a bit sad. “Make it the worst one you can remember,” he said. “If I find it to be as bad as you believe, then we may have to examine some more.”

“Yes, sir.” And he had one in mind. One that involved a round of Harry Hunting, and his Aunt Petunia taking a swing at him with a cast-iron frying pan, and being smacked round by his uncle and thrown into the cupboard.

Dumbledore withdrew the memory, and dropped it into the penseive. “In we go, Harry.”

“All the same to you, sir, I'd rather not live this one again.”

Dumbledore frowned, and glanced at the penseive then back to Harry. “Very well. I shall return momentarily.” He touched the surface of the penseive with his hand, and froze.

Harry leaned back in the bed. He had no idea if time passed faster in the penseive than in real life, but even if it did, he imagined he'd be waiting a bit.

He awoke some time later, to Dumbledore gently shaking him.

“My dear boy.” Dumbledore's eyes were red; Harry wondered how long he'd been in there. “I…I am very sorry.”

“It was pretty bad,” said Harry. “Of course, I was only in the cupboard for a week, but at least they fed me.”

“A week—” Dumbledore recoiled, then glanced down the hospital wing. Harry followed his gaze, and discovered that it was darker than it had been—evening had clearly come on. “Poppy?”

“Yes, Albus.” The mediwitch stepped out of her office.

“Did you check Mr Potter for any signs of physical abuse?”

Madam Pomfrey frowned. “Why—no. Nobody asked me to. And this is the first time he's been in the hospital wing.”

“Please do so.”

Madam Pomfrey pulled out her wand, and walked over to Harry. She flicked it up and down his body, frowning. “I'm showing signs of broken bones that were not properly set…his immune system is not quite up to snuff…he's rather small for his age—you remember that James was quite a bit larger. And…scurvy.” She looked at Dumbledore, aghast. “I've not seen scurvy in decades! Whoever has been taking care of this boy, they've not been doing a good job of it.”

“A bit of an understatement, Poppy.” Dumbledore sighed, and turned back to Harry. “I find myself in a bit of a dilemma, Harry. You see, I placed you with the Dursleys.”

“You did?” Harry's voice was cold.

“I knew that Petunia was…not fond of magic. But I never expected that they would treat you like…this.” His hand waved at the penseive. “This is…monstrous.” He sighed. “But the dilemma is this: While you reside with your mother's sister, the charms on that house prevent any from approaching you with malicious intent.”

“Well, it didn't work,” snapped Harry. “You saw Piers Polkiss attack me—”

“Sadly, it would only affect magical people or creatures,” explained Dumbledore. “That being said, I cannot in good conscience leave you in that house, under the care of those people. But if you do not…then those protective charms will fail.” He paused. “Why were they not feeding you properly?”

“They said good food was wasted on a freak like me,” said Harry. “I got enough to eat—”

“No, you bloody well did not,” snapped Pomfrey. “In fact, you're still not. Odds are good you're reaching for anything savoury or greasy, because I'm not seeing any signs of lethargy, anemia or cognitive delay.” She frowned. “But I do want you to eat more breads and salads. You've got low levels of the vitamin B complex.”

“This does not answer my question,” said Dumbledore. “Your family was sent eighty galleons a month for your upkeep.”

Harry blinked at that. That was a fair amount of money—four hundred pounds or so. He suspected that Dudley's new Amstrad computer hadn't been less than four hundred pounds.

Which made him think again.

“I think I know where that money went, sir,” he said angrily. “My cousin always got many very expensive presents for his birthday and for Christmas.”

Dumbledore's countenance darkened, and Harry quite suddenly understood why Voldemort might have feared him.

“Well, we shall be putting a stop to this,” he said angrily. He stood up. “Harry, while you must still return to your aunt's house, we shall be taking steps to ensure that you receive proper care going forward.” He sighed. “I must deal with this first. After that…I would like you to come to my office. I shall have Professor McGonagall bring you up. And then…I shall answer your question.”