Harry Potter: Multiverse Maelstrom: Chapter 9: The Price of Prejudice

The viewing hall was a tinderbox of raw nerves. The last chapter had ended with Albus Dumbledore’s devastating self-admission, a confession that he had viewed Harry’s suffering as a character-building exercise. The trust between the Headmaster and the Potter-Black contingent was not merely cracked; it was a chasm, wide and seemingly unbridgeable. Lily and James were still flanking their son, a silent, unified front of parental fury, while Sirius and Remus watched Dumbledore with the cold, unforgiving eyes of men who had seen betrayal before.

"A difficult truth to hear, isn't it?" Jack observed, his voice cutting through the tension. "That good intentions can lead to monstrous outcomes." He took a gulp of his drink. "The fallout from Harry's departure continues. The stones he dislodged have just started an avalanche. Let's watch it gather speed."

The screen lit up, focusing on Dumbledore’s office. The alternate Headmaster was pacing, his face a mask of frustration and regret, while his monologue continued to narrate the unfolding disaster.

<Chapter 4 Start>

He was also cross with Minerva. She should have controlled if her students were present after curfew at least once a week in random samples. That would have told them that Harry wasn't sleeping in Gryffindor tower.

Minerva McGonagall, who had been sitting in a state of deep, personal shame, stiffened as if slapped. Her head snapped up, her eyes blazing with a renewed, furious fire directed squarely at Dumbledore.

"He's cross with me?" she demanded, her voice dangerously quiet. "After he admits to seeing a child's suffering as a 'bit of adversary', he has the gall to shift the blame to my administrative procedures?" She stood up, her posture rigid with indignation. "I may have failed, Albus. In this world, I failed catastrophically. But my failure was one of ignorance. Yours was one of intent. You knew he was suffering, and you deemed it acceptable. Do not you dare lay this at my feet."

Dumbledore could only bow his head in the face of her righteous fury. "You are right, Minerva. I have no excuse."

The other three heads of houses did at least that and Severus even controlled each evening if all of his snakes were in their common room once their curfew came. Probably a sound idea if you knew that the Slytherins would otherwise use any chance to manipulate things to their advantage.

Snape felt a flicker of grim satisfaction. To be acknowledged, even by a failed version of Dumbledore, for his superior diligence was a small victory. "Of course, I monitor my students," he sneered. "Unlike some, I do not subscribe to the notion that sentiment and lax discipline build character. I build soldiers. Gryffindor builds martyrs."

The backhanded compliment about Slytherins using "any chance to manipulate things" was taken as a badge of honour by the students of that house. Draco Malfoy smirked. It wasn't manipulation; it was ambition.

Minerva's reaction to the blatant disregard for Harry when she confronted her house had been to take two hundred points from them for breaking the most basic rule of Hogwarts, that being that every member of a house had a right to live in that house and not have to fear that his person or his belongings would be attacked.

The screen showed the alternate McGonagall, her face like a thundercloud, standing before the stunned and resentful faces of the Gryffindor house. The massive hourglass on the wall, filled with rubies, emptied by a significant amount.

"A good start," the real McGonagall said, her voice still hard as flint. "But it's too little, too late. Points cannot undo the damage. They cannot bring him back."

"Two hundred points?" Fred and George whistled in unison. "That's got to be a record." Even in their anger, their appreciation for a truly grand punishment was evident.

He had called all the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix to help with the search for Harry, but so far the boy was elusive. Nobody had seen him and nobody could find a trace of him. The Ministry was also demanding an explanation for why Harry Potter of all people had decided that running away from school was his best choice. It was a major headache for him.

"A headache?" Lily Potter repeated, her voice dripping with venom. "Your chosen one, the saviour of your world, has vanished off the face of the earth because you failed to protect him, and you consider it a headache?"

"The Ministry is only involved because it's a public relations nightmare," Kingsley Shacklebolt observed grimly. "Fudge doesn't care about the boy's welfare. He cares about the headline: 'Boy-Who-Lived Flees Dumbledore's School'."

The scene then shifted dramatically, from the dark, frantic search in the wizarding world to the bright, bustling streets of Muggle London. The alternate Harry, looking happy and relaxed, was walking out of a clothing store, laden with bags.

Harry enjoyed his shopping trip. He needed a good amount of things before he could start muggle school, mainly a fitting wardrobe. He wouldn't be teased for his clothes by his fellow students this time around. So he got some basics like jeans, shirts, pullovers, jackets and shoes. He had finally chosen The City of London School as the one where he would attend. It looked great on photos and he could attend as a day student there.

The sight of Harry, not in robes, but in stylish, well-fitting Muggle clothes—jeans, a comfortable-looking jumper, a smart jacket—was jarring. He looked normal. He looked happy. For the magicals who had only ever seen him as a symbol, it was a profound shock.

"He looks..." Hermione began, her voice catching. "...like a regular kid."

"He looks good," Ron finished, a sad smile on his face. "Happy. He deserves that."

James Potter watched, a lump forming in his throat. He had always imagined his son swaggering around Hogwarts in his Gryffindor Quidditch robes, a champion of the wizarding world. To see him finding his happiness by so thoroughly rejecting it was a bittersweet agony.

He didn't want to ever fear going to sleep again, just because he had to share his bedroom with others. That part had been why he had left the dorm and set up camp in the abandoned classroom.

This line landed with quiet devastation. It wasn't just the bullying in the corridors; it was the fear in his own bed, in the one place he was supposed to be safest. The Gryffindors in the room flinched, the shame deepening. Ron looked at the empty bed next to his in his memory, a place of late-night talks and shared snacks, and felt sick that in another world, it had become a source of terror for his best friend.

Next to giving his wardrobe a makeover, he also gave himself one. He knew that his most distinguishing features were his messy black hair, the scar on his forehead and his glasses. Well, a stylist could dye his hair another, totally different colour, he could see if he could use contacts and perhaps there were ways to hide the scar with make-up.

The screen showed a montage: Harry sitting in a stylist's chair, the familiar messy black hair being covered in dye. Him learning to put in contact lenses at an optician's. A careful application of concealer over the lightning-bolt scar.

"No," Lily whispered, her hand flying to her chest. "No, Harry, don't."

James felt a cold dread creep over him. "He's erasing himself. He's erasing us." The messy black hair was a Potter trademark for generations. The green eyes, visible now without glasses, were Lily's. But together, in this new package, he looked like a stranger.

When the stylist asked what hair colour he wanted, he said, something completely different, but still not being too attention seeking. It ended being dyed a darker shade of blond, which Harry liked. It didn't look like the white blond hair of the Malfoys, but something that any natural blond could look like.

The final image was revealed. A handsome young boy with dark blond hair and startlingly clear green eyes smiled back at his reflection. The scar was gone. The glasses were gone. The Potter hair was gone. Harry Potter was gone.

"I don't recognize him," Remus said, his voice strained. "It's still his face, but it's not... him."

"He had to do it," the real Harry said quietly, though his own stomach was churning at the sight. "To be free. He had to kill Harry Potter."

Draco Malfoy sniffed. "At least he showed some taste. A darker blond is far more distinguished than that dreadful black." His attempt at superiority fell flat in the emotionally charged room.

At an optician's he not only got contacts, but he got ones with a much better prescription than his old glasses. Well, the Dursleys hadn't gone to get his eyes checked after the initial diagnose that he needed glasses. ... he would have been forced to go without or with ones that were totally wrong for him. He couldn't imagine that the Dursleys would have spent any money on him if they weren't forced.

The brief mention of the Dursleys' medical neglect was enough to reignite the fury in the room.

"Of course they didn't," Sirius snarled. "Why spend money on the freak's health? It's a miracle they fed him at all." He shot a look of pure loathing at the Dursleys, who were now trying to make themselves as small as possible on their bench.

The screen shimmered, and text appeared against a black background. FOUR YEARS LATER.

"Hold on," Jack said, raising a hand. "We're about to jump forward in time. The consequences of Harry's absence, of the Chamber being left unchecked... they are not small. Be prepared."

It had been four years since Harry Potter had decided to leave Hogwarts. In those four years a lot of things had happened. The Chamber of Secrets had never been found and Ginny Weasley died down there.

The words were plain. Unadorned. Clinical. And they landed with the force of an exploding sun.

For a single, eternal second, there was absolute silence. And then, a sound of pure, animalistic agony ripped through the hall. It was a sound no parent should ever make. Molly Weasley was on her feet, her face a contorted mask of disbelief and horror, a single, tearing scream erupting from her soul. "NO! NO! NOT MY GINNY! NOT MY BABY GIRL! NO!"

Arthur collapsed back into his seat as if his strings had been cut, his face ashen, his eyes wide and unseeing. Bill and Charlie were frozen, their faces drained of all blood. Percy's glasses were askew, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream. Ron stared at the screen, his mind refusing to process the words, shaking his head over and over again. "No... it's a lie... it's not real..."

And Fred and George... the laughter was gone. The light in their eyes was extinguished, replaced by a shared, hollow devastation. Their little sister. Their Ginny.

The real Ginny, pale as a ghost, reached out and clutched her mother's arm. "I'm here, Mum," she whispered, her own voice trembling. "I'm right here." But Molly was inconsolable, her grief for a daughter lost in another world as real and as raw as any wound.

Harry felt his own world tilt on its axis. He and Ron had saved her. They had gone down into that Chamber and faced a basilisk and saved her. But without him... without him there...

"Because I wasn't there," he whispered, the guilt crushing him. "She died because I ran away."

"No, Harry," Hermione sobbed, grabbing his hand. "She died because in that world, we betrayed you! We drove you away! It's our fault!"

Jack let the raw, agonizing grief wash over the room for a long moment before speaking, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. "In this reality, there was no hero to go into the Chamber. The diary, a dark memory of Tom Riddle, was left to complete its work. Harry's absence had a price. And Ginny Weasley paid it."

The school had nearly been closed, but Dumbledore, after the Board of Governors had sent him back to his post after suspending him on blackmail or threats of Lucius Malfoy, just managed to convince the Ministry to keep the school going. ... after being unpetrified herself, she could inform the teachers what the monster was, namely a basilisk.

Lucius Malfoy looked smug. So, his plan to oust Dumbledore had worked, at least temporarily.

Hermione, meanwhile, was lost in her own personal hell. "I still figured it out," she murmured, tears streaming down her face. "I still got petrified, I still figured it out... but it was too late. I was too late to save her." The weight of that failure, even in a world that wasn't hers, was crushing.

The students had realised, too late, that Harry Potter couldn't have opened the Chamber if he wasn't at school. ... Thanks to finally knowing what the monster was, security measures were taken and crystals that had recorded the crow of a rooster were placed everywhere.

"So they felt guilty after a girl died," Snape sneered, his voice dripping with acid. "How noble of them. Their prejudice only wavered when it was staring at a corpse."

The cheap, reactive security measures were met with scorn. "Recorded rooster crows?" Moody growled. "A pathetic, half-hearted measure. You need the real thing! A living bird! Typical Ministry thinking—all show, no substance."

The escape of Sirius Black in May of the same year was a shock... thankfully nothing bad happened. The Ministry finally decided that he had probably gone to overseas instead of taking revenge against them. Still, it didn't change the fact that for a year they had dementors searching the country for him.

Sirius watched the screen, his heart a leaden weight in his chest. "So I still escape," he said hollowly. "But without Harry... without you and Hermione and the truth about Peter coming out... I'm just a fugitive. Forever." He would never be cleared. He would never have a life with his godson. He would just be a ghost, hunted and alone.

In 1995 there were rumours about Voldemort returning, but nobody really had proof and there hadn't been any incidents that indicated that he was back and active again. Dumbledore tried to convince the Ministry of it by pointing out that the dark mark was back in full force on the arms of the Death Eaters, for example the spy Severus Snape, but the Minister brushed anything like that away, having enough trouble keeping his position after the Black disaster.

The screen showed a brief flash of the graveyard from the Triwizard Tournament, but it was empty. No cauldron. No ritual.

"So, I still return," Voldemort mused, his voice a soft hiss. He was the only one in the room, apart from Jack, who was not consumed by grief. He was fascinated. "But without Potter, my grand return is merely a... rumour."

"You have no proof, Albus," Fudge said, a triumphant look on his face. "Without Potter to tell his fantastical stories, you're just a mad old man shouting at the wind!"

Snape was livid. "He uses my arm as his proof? He parades me before the Ministry like some marked animal? The indignity!"

Dumbledore looked utterly defeated. A student was dead. His chosen one was gone. His most loyal spy was compromised as a political tool. And Voldemort was back, moving in the shadows, with no one to stand against him. The price of prejudice had been the wizarding world's entire future.

The screen went black, leaving the Weasley family to their grief, and the rest of the world to the chilling silence of their own failure.

<Chapter 4 End> was displayed on the screen.