Disclaimer: For entire story here on out, please note: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER! *cries* you happy now?
A/N: This is technically the first snarry I have ever written. Let's see, the first 5 books are relevant. (Yes, that's right, Sirius is dead.) Book 6 never happened. In my universe, the war took place in Harry's sixth year. Voldemort was destroyed and the light side won. Book 7 isn't relevant. My story takes place during Harry's seventh year.
Also, please note that I don't have a beta reader...so if you catch something I didn't, just let me know and I'll fix it! =)
Story:
"Prophet," Said I, "thing of evil." – The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe
"I think," he paused slightly, contemplating his choice of words. "I think maybe Dumbledore's hiding something from us. Something important..."
Harry trailed off, shivering in apprehension as a pair of dark blue eyes peered at him under a shaggy mane of red locks. Shifting in his seat, the small brunette chose then to glance away from the accusing eyes of his once best friend. Harry knew as soon as the words had passed his lips that he had made a mistake. Ronald Weasley had been brain-washed, for lack of better terms, from the moment his parents had begun teaching him about the wizarding world. He'd grown up with specific ideals and notions about the light side and a certain man named Albus Dumbledore. He would never be anything less then Dumbledore's Man through and through. Harry found it to be slightly ironic. He, who was meant to be the Savior of the Light, the-boy-who-lived, The Golden Child of their era, was having second thoughts; especially concerning the Order's esteemed leader.
Of course, there had been a time when he was just as much Dumbledore's Man as Ron. Unfortunately, that illusion had vanished when Hermione had come across a stack of letters that, rightfully, should not have been hidden where they had been. Then again, perhaps it was a rather ingenious place after all, shoved in a dark corner of the secret storage space within the Room of Requirements. The same room used by hundreds of students over the years to hide their treasured belongings. Perhaps it wasn't so far-fetched that a teacher might find use for such a room as well. After all, where better a place to hide something then right in the open? Dumbledore couldn't possibly have known someone would come across the letters. Surely, he could not conceive of a world were a seventeen-year-old, muggleborn witch would be powerful enough and intelligent enough to break the secrecy charms upon those parchments? Except, Hermione was no ordinary muggleborn witch and had been intrigued by the letters the moment her bemused eyes had swept across the blank parchments.
Harry still couldn't decide whether or not he was glad they hadn't been hidden better. On the one hand, they gave him the truth, something that had been hidden from him since before he even had an illusion of freewill. On the other hand, the letters completely warped the treacherous reality he had built for himself, leaving him gasping for air beneath their oppressive words. There was no prophecy. He had thrown away what little childhood he had left for nothing more then a clever ruse by a man who should have been helping to keep that childhood intact. He'd wanted to believe it was a lie, that he hadn't sold his soul to become just another pawn in Dumbledore's wild game of chess. Everything he'd done up to that point was to fulfill that prophecy, to follow his so-called destiny. How could it all be a lie? He had killed for that lie! Had it been anyone other then Hermione delivering the information, Harry would have laughed in their face; or hexed them violently for even joking about something so cruel. However, Hermione was pure logic; she would never jump to conclusions and researched everything down to the last detail, digging until she scratched raw bone. If she truly believed the letters were not faked, Harry couldn't see how he really had a choice but to agree with her.
"Do you really think he's that selfish? Do you really think he'd do something like that?" Harry grimaced internally at the harsh tone Ron was using. Though he wouldn't say it out loud, he truly did believe Dumbledore capable of something so back-handed. In fact, the question seemed rather ignorant once it had been spoken but Harry wasn't going to tell him that. Ronald Weasley wasn't stupid, despite popular belief. After sixteen years, he could cast all of the higher level charms with a practiced ease, he kept up with all of the more mundane classes like History of Magic and Care of Magical Creatures all without ever truly trying. He was no potions expert, true, but then, neither was Harry. Ron had quite the knack for Defense Against the Dark Arts as well; his scores were almost as high as Harry's and neck-in-neck with Hermione's. There were times when the boy could be almost scary smart. Not in the way that Hermione was a genius, but in the way that made people sorely underestimate the red-head and that thought was a very alarming one.
Ron's intelligence was a cunning branch that stemmed from the fact that everything he did was done for self gain. He kept a blind eye to anything that didn't make his life better or make things all the easier for him in the long run. He never did any better then what was expected of him, even if he truly could. He slid under the radar of all his teachers, virtually unaccounted for in his hidden skills. It was his secret Slytherin side, truly, the part of him that selfishly wanted nothing more then to look after 'number one' and to do so in away that left his enemies tripping over themselves with their mistakes. That anyone could believe the students at Hogwarts would ever belong to just one house was absurd, especially once they grew older. The houses were an illusion; the traits of each were spread so thin to begin with that students weren't sorted according to what traits they had but rather, which traits were more dominant. It was the reason why Neville could seem more Hufflepuff at times, why Hermione was so very Ravenclaw, and why Harry could have been quite content within the walls of Slytherin.
"You're right," Harry muttered softly, pretending to brush the thought off as absurd. A strangled laugh escaped his throat, sounding more like a squeak in his apprehensive state. "I really don't know what I was thinking." He attempted a smile then, if only to placate the critical eye of the boy sitting across from him. Ron hummed softly before turning back to the chess board that hovered between them. Harry's heart hammered heavily in his chest and for a moment, he feared Ron could hear every condemning beat. He watched with alarmed interest as Ron's pawn viciously destroyed his knight, sending bits of clay in every which direction. When that heavy gaze settled back on him, Harry felt his body react instantly, freezing up in trepidation. Nervous green eyes flicked up briefly, only long enough to see that Ron appeared to be sizing him up somehow. Whether to gauge the truth of his words, or something more sinister, Harry wasn't sure but both were shaping up to have a rather unpleasant outcome.
"I don't get you." The words sounded truly confused and rather hurt. Harry cringed and looked up from the board. He hadn't really wanted to play to begin with; it reminded him too much of what they'd just left behind. Ron had insisted though, saying, "It's the last chance I'll get to play all summer." He hadn't elaborated further but Harry had heard his unspoken thoughts as if they'd been shouted. Since anyone worth playing with is now dead. It was a cruel notion, but if anyone had lost too much in the war, it had been Ron. The twins had both been killed during a raid on Diagon Alley, their shop destroyed beyond recognition, the same sentiments to be said of their bodies. Ginny, in order to protect Neville, had flung herself in the path of a killing curse during the final battle. In the chaos that ensued, Bill and Fleur had both been mauled by an insanely enthusiastic Fenrir. They had died within minutes of each other several hours later, laid out on crimson sheets in the infirmary; sheets Harry knew had started off white, the color now burned hauntingly into his nightmares. Harry was honestly surprised Ron was still coherent after everything they'd been through; and still so disturbingly calm. In the past, Ron would have been the first to go off, his legendary temper something to be reckoned with and Harry was waiting for the other boy to finally crack. With that thought in mind, he wondered what had possessed him to comment on Dumbledore in the first place.
Oh, yes…that's right. I was under the illusion that he would stand by me through everything. Harry tried to ignore his sardonic inner dialogue, wondering if Ron meant to say anything more or if he would just let his words hang in the air. Finally, unable to take the silence any longer, Harry spoke up.
"I'm not sure I know what you mean," He muttered uneasily.
"You," the red-head growled out, gesturing widely to the compartment around them. The chess game now lay forgotten between them, its pieces waving their own arms in annoyance and muttering about deplorable players. "You've changed." It was spoken as if it was some sort of disease. Harry couldn't help but recoil at the word, knowing it wasn't unwarranted. It was true, he had changed; they all had but Ron didn't seem to think that was the case. Everything was always pinned on Harry. Harry had changed; everyone else had merely adjusted to that change, as if the whole world truly revolved around The-Boy-Wonder.
"We've all changed, Ron." The words were soft, tired in their proclamation and spoken by a voice that had made the same argument far too many times in the past. Harry reached up as if to adjust his glasses before remembering they too had changed; no longer would they be perched on the edge of his nose as he was accustomed to. More manipulations from Dumbledore, and Harry wondered if he would ever get used to the alteration. He'd never wanted to lose his glasses; they reminded him of exactly who he was and what was expected of him. Their weight had been a strange comfort to him and a reminder to be a better person, a better fighter, yet Dumbledore had insisted. How could he fight if his glasses were shattered in battle? It just wasn't worth the risk. But as Harry thought over these things, he realized it wasn't right to hide behind that image. After all, he wasn't truly their savior; that had all been a lie. Why cling to something that would only remind him of that fact? Harry Potter had worn glasses, the-boy-who-lived, not him. He was just Harry and Harry didn't wear glasses anymore. He didn't need to be a better fighter, because there wasn't anything left to fight for. The war had ended and Dumbledore had won at the expense of everyone else.
Harry sat back in the seat, absently wrapping his arms about his torso as Ron opened his mouth to speak once more. "Yea, but not like you! You used to be—" The sudden rattle of the compartment door halted his accusations mid sentence. Ron glanced sharply at Harry out of the corner of his eye as the door slowly slid open. It was his way of saying, we'll talk about this later, and though Harry understood the signal he couldn't help but disagree. He had no plans of letting himself get cornered by the older boy for the remainder of the trip and he'd already made up his mind concerning his final year at Hogwarts.
He wouldn't be going.
He couldn't continue as if nothing had happened when every painting, every classroom and every corridor reminded him of the loss, the pain, the pure agony they had gone through; he had gone through. He couldn't stand by and play the happy broken savior as everyone around him tried to piece themselves back together bit-by-bit. He couldn't be the crutch they leaned on in order to do so. It was selfish, it was cowardly but damned if he truly cared any longer. The Wizarding World may as well of taken his hand outright and simply dragged him, kicking and screaming, to his death. They had taken the word of a senile old man that a baby had destroyed the greatest evil of their world, that said babywould grow up to be a little kid and save them all over again. They were just as guilty of tearing his childhood from him as Dumbledore was. It was ridiculous, yet they had eaten out of his spindly old hand feverously; even asking for seconds.
Harry almost sighed in relief when the door finished opening to reveal an annoyed looking Hermione standing in front of a tangle of blonde hair he guessed to be Luna. He looked on, bemused as Hermione grabbed the girls' slim wrist, tugging her around to face them. The airy Seer looked quite frazzled but only slightly less blissful then was usual. Her eyes were glazed over, sightless despite how she glanced about the room in apparent interest. For, even with the loss of her vision, Luna could See things no one else could.
"Hello, Harry." Luna's voice was soft and melodious though not as distant as it had been in the past, the war having taken its toll on her as well. Harry would never question how she instinctually knew of his presence in a room. It was just another oddity of hers and stretched to a select few individuals, Hermione included. Nevertheless, she often conveniently lost this ability where Ron was concerned. If Ron noticed her lack of greeting regarding him, he didn't show it but Hermione's next words left him scowling.
"Ronald," her tone was lacking inflection as she continued, "you're needed in the Prefects compartment." Ron left without a backward glance, slamming the compartment door behind him. Harry flinched at the loud crack it made as it hit the opposite wall. Flashes of a blood splattered lawn crossed his vision, the cracks of apparition resounding over shouts and curses. A scream of pain from an unrecognizable voice; it could have been anyone in the chaos. Sickly yellow and green lights flashed overhead, more shrieks of agony mingling with a heavy scent of copper. There was no way to save them all, so he forced himself to believe it was just another nameless Death Eater; an enemy, whose death would only help them in the end. He forced himself to forget that each Death Eater had their own families at home, people that would miss them and morn them when their bodies were retrieved in the aftermath. Harry stumbled across the dark slope, slipping across rough terrain and fallen bodies slicked with blood and nameless other liquids he'd rather not think about. The looming shadow of the castle became just another blurred smear across his vision...
"HARRY!" He jerked back against the booth, abruptly remembering where he was and who was with him. Hermione must have called his name several times. The door was now firmly latched, Luna sitting to his left, while Hermione sat across from him, a worried look marring her brow. He lifted his feet off the floor and rested his heals against the edge of his seat, his knees now drawn closer to his chest, though not yet touching.
"Sorry," he avoided her eyes, knowing there wasn't much she could do to help his flashbacks and feeling responsible for the worry he forced into the soft brown orbs at every turn.
"It's alright, Harry." Though for as many times as she said those words, Harry could never agree, try as he might. Nothing would ever be alright again and the guilt was sometimes too much to bear. He glanced over at Luna. She was holding a thin, silver chain in her left hand, letting the minute talisman at its end swing lightly back and forth. It was almost as if she was attempting to hypnotize herself and she somehow managed to follow its path with her blank stare. The pendulum amulet was lovely to behold, despite its small size. The strange amethyst gem refracted the light, bouncing it about the compartment in odd patterns that didn't seem possible for its shape. Dull verdant eyes watched her with a strange sense of amusement and comfort before those feelings were overpowered by that familiar sense of guilt. He was the reason those shining orbs were now dead. Had he been only one second quicker, one step ahead, she would still have her vision.
"Fear not for the future, weep not for the past." The words were drawn out in a sing-song way, Luna's heartfelt mantra from the moment she'd recognized her gift. Her softly spoken declaration brought him away from the guilt for a moment as he met her abnormally silver eyes. Those eyes had seen just as much horror as his had before being silenced entirely and yet, they were just as calm as they ever had been, almost awe filled in their intensity. For a moment, he felt a strange sense of tranquility descend on his own being as he contemplated their unseeing depths.
"Sometimes, the hardest things we endure are the things that bring us closer together." It was amazing how she always seemed to know exactly what he was thinking and just the right way to word things in order to make him feel better. Harry knew through experience that Luna was not a Seer in the conventional way nor was she actually aware of what he was thinking. She was what Divinations experts referred to as a Contingo Clairvoyant. Her visions depended entirely on two factors; circumstance and touch. Without direct contact with the object or persons involved, she could see nothing and she often wore gloves to avoid being overwhelmed in the first place. It was not always clear whether she was seeing the past or the future but only moments with powerful emotions attached ever came through and she felt each emotion as a phantom pain, as if she'd gone through these moments herself. Harry could understand how something like that could come to be overwhelming.
Nodding to the girl, rather pointlessly as he knew she wouldn't see the gesture, he sighed and tugged his legs to his chest, staring out the window. He watched as the scenery flew by in a blur and slowly, the world faded from his view as he drifted into a fitful sleep. He awoke with a jerk and a gasp for air, the last images of his dream still etched into his mind, though they were more memories then dreams of late. Hermione looked up from the large tome in front of her, worry in her eyes though she did not voice them.
"We're almost to the station. You've been asleep for a couple hours now." Hermione informed him. That surprised him slightly. Usually the nightmares would have awoken him long before any amount of sleep could be accumulated.
The rest of the train ride was spent in relative silence. Occasionally, a page flutter could be heard as Hermione leafed through the volume before her. Luna would hum a few notes randomly and kick her feet rhythmically as a child would. At one point, she giggled and informed them that the nargles were quite active in their compartment; she spent a good fifteen minutes thereafter, seemingly following the flight path of some unseen creature with her gaze. It wasn't long before the train came to a screeching halt and what few students had stayed at the school to help clean up, began making their way onto the platform.
Harry helped Hermione and Luna gather their things and met them just at the gates. He scanned the platform automatically, noting how empty it seemed compared to previous years and his heart went out to those in mourning. He tried not to dwell on such thoughts, reminding himself sternly that a good portion of the students had simply went home early and that was the main reason it seemed so empty, but the thought was still there in the back of his mind.
"Seems kind of empty doesn't it." Hermione glanced at him and hurried to reassure him. "Well, no matter. Next year will be as busy as ever!" She plastered a smile on her face. "All the reconstruction plans are already in place and I talked to McGonagall about coming early to help stabilize the wards. She said the new school year should start right on schedule with all the work they have planned." She rubbed her left wrist slightly and Harry couldn't help the small smile at the gesture. It was something she did when she started getting excited about a project. "Professor Flitwick said he'd be more than happy for the help as well and he's going to teach me how to mount the balancing ruins too!"
"That's great Hermione." He said and for once, he was completely sincere. Hermione thrived on busy work. Helping build everything back up would be the easiest way for her to cope with everything that had happened. She wanted to feel useful.
"So, are you going to come early too?" She smiled. Harry felt guilty once more.
"I'm not going back." He looked away then, knowing the hurt look she was sure to be sending him.
"Harry," She sounded frustrated. "Harry, you have to go back." There was a long pause.
"What's the point?" Harry finally asked. For a moment Hermione looked pained but the look was quickly replaced with her signature lecturing front.
"Where would you go? You have no basic knowledge of the Muggle world," when Harry went to interrupt her she continued quickly. "Don't give me that. The Dursley's hardly taught you anything worth any merit. I know at least that much, despite that you never talk about these things." Harry sighed and ran a pale hand through his mop of hair, conceding the point. Hermione sighed as well, her expression becoming less stern for a moment. "Really, Harry. What would you do? You can't live off your parent's savings forever."
"I'll find a job."
"Really," Hermione deadpanned. "What job could you possibly get without a Muggle education?"
"I could get a muggle education. Or baring that, I could be a Librarian." He stated matter-of-factly. Hermione stood speechless for a moment, blinking in her bewilderment.
"A Librarian?" She asked, a hint of amusement coating her words.
"Mhmm, it would be very quiet." Harry's eyes glazed over for a moment before shutting entirely. "I just want it to be quiet." The amusement in Hermione's eyes quickly died and she took a hesitating step forward.
"Oh, Harry..." She trailed off then, unsure what to say. Her teeth worried at her bottom lip.
"Do you understand now?" His voice pleaded with her. "I can't go back there. I don't owe the Wizarding World anything! Why should I stick around? To wait for the next lie to be published in the papers? To wait for the next rumor that leaves me ridiculed and demeaned? To what end?" He gripped his hair for a moment, lost in his rant. "There's nothing left for me there."
"How can you say that?" Harry looked up at the disgruntled reply, alarmed at the distressed look on his best friends face. Harry quickly stepped forward to grasp her hand tightly in his.
"That's not what I meant 'Mione. You know damn well I'd never abandon you," He glanced over at Luna, reaching out a hand to clasp hers as well, "or Luna for that matter. If I left the Wizarding world, the two of you would be the first to know of my location."
Hermione rubbed at her eyes with her spare hand, standing up taller with a sigh. Suddenly, the witch before him was no longer the anxious girl he'd gone to school with for six years but the calm, powerful woman he'd battled alongside for months. "Just, please, think about it Harry." She squeezed his hand slightly. "Just think about it." Harry sighed but leaned forward, kissing her cheek before turning to do the same to Luna who smiled airily. He turned to walk away as his Uncle's car pulled up to the curb but before he could reach it, Luna's airy voice spoke up.
"We'll see you soon, Harry. Try not to be too angry." She smiled softly and Harry shook his head in bemusement.
"You will think about it, Harry?" Hermione asked once more and Harry sighed, his hand resting on the car door.
"Yes, Hermione. I promise, I'll think about it."
..::...::...::...::...::...::..
And indeed he did. Harry thought about it as his Uncle drove him back to Little Winging. He thought about it as the man ranted and raved over how ungrateful his nephew was. He thought about it as he cooked dinner for the people he called relatives, so preoccupied with the thought he ignored the meager portions he'd made for himself. And as he lay in bed that night, he thought about it once more before dismissing it entirely. In barely a month, Harry would be turning seventeen. In barely a month, Harry planned on performing the greatest disappearing act of all time. But as all plans surrounding Harry Potter were wont to do, things just wouldn't turn out the way he'd imagined.
Harry awoke the morning before his birthday with a headache the size of an elephant. He groaned and rolled over, pulling the covers up in an effort to block out the light, which only seemed to be making matters worse. The house was blessedly silent, letting him know his relatives had already left for their daily activities. He had only just begun to dose off when a strange tap jolted him awake once more, pulling him out of the beginning of a nightmare. Blearily, he rubbed his eyes, staring at the ceiling. A frown pulled at his lips as he tried to recall what he'd heard. The tapping started up once more, this time sounding quite insistent.
As coherent thought finally returned, Harry sat straight up, blinking at the barn owl at his window. The little owl replied with a screech, clearly annoyed. The noise had him on his feet and across the room in an instant, the window thrown open to allow the bird admittance. The tawny creature swooped in, dropping its cargo before swooping back out in a rush of feathers. Sighing, he turned to glare at the thick envelope sitting innocently on his blanket. It's too early in the morning for this. He grimaced and snatched up the thick, yellowing parchment, flicking open the seal without much thought as he sat at the edge of the bed. It was a letter from Hogwarts; that much was immediately evident. He scanned the contents of the letter rather quickly at first, stopping about halfway with a frown before returning to the top, re-reading it the second time at a much slower pace. By the time he'd reached the bottom of the page, his scowl could have rivaled one of Snape's quite easily. By order of the Ministry, please note that all students are now required by law to return to school come September First until graduation or otherwise noted. Parents are reminded that for any student wishing to be removed from Hogwarts, the Ministry should be contacted at least a month in advance to start the necessary paperwork and to contact an available Spell Crafter.
Harry almost growled in irritation. Those spells should have been removed ages ago! And indeed, they'd been set to, until one benevolent old man had decided to interfere, convinced it would better the way things were run. The spells in question were a precaution, put into place during the war to prevent death eater children from leaving to join Voldemort. A simple compulsion charm started by placing the thought just at the back of the child's mind, making them feel an inexplicable need to be within the castle. Harry could have easily fought such a spell; its close link to the imperius (though it was not illegal) meant he was invariably immune to its effects. Harry could have easily ignored the entire thing, if the compulsion charm were all they'd implemented. Of course not, that would be too easy.
The compulsion charm acted alongside a far more intricate connection of spells and runes that did the very unthinkable among wizards. It removed the subjects' magic if the connected compulsion charm was not obeyed. The only thing keeping it from being illegal or even condemned by their society was the simple fact that even after the spell took place, it was simply a matter of the child returning to Hogwarts and the spell would automatically end. It was altogether brilliant and Harry suddenly hated whoever had come up with the idea.
Harry paused in his less than kind thoughts and tilted his head slightly, staring past the letter entirely. While he hadn't always looked to them as role-models or even felt any familial connections to them, his Aunt and Uncle were still technically his guardians. The process might be long and messy but it wasn't an impossible task. With that thought in mind, Harry dashed down the stairs, than stopped abruptly on the landing. No one was home; he'd forgotten that little detail.
Sighing, he absently crinkled the parchment still clutched in his hand, making his way to the kitchen on autopilot. A few steps in, he paused and blinked at the odd sight before him. It was not odd in the way that a three-headed dog guarding a trap door might be odd, nor was it something he hadn't seen on numerous other occasions. It was odd for the fact that Aunt Petunia very rarely ever sat at home, virtually alone. Yet there she sat, surrounded by several papers and envelopes Harry guessed to be the morning mail, sipping on a cup of tea.
"Aunt Petunia?" She barely glanced at him over the letter she was reading. Harry walked in further, stopping at the edge of the table. She sniffed once in disdain before setting the note down in front of her and speaking.
"I suppose you want to speak about this?" She glared at the apparently offensive letter. Harry glanced down at it in bemusement before the tidy scrawl finally registered.
"That manipulative bastard..." He whispered, recognizing not only the handwriting but also the green ink of his once adored mentor. He too glared at the offending parchment before addressing his Aunt. "Look, I don't really care what that note says. Frankly, it isn't really relevant. He doesn't have any authority over me while I'm off school grounds." Her pursed lips told him nothing of what she was feeling; it was too similar to every other expression the woman usually wore in his presence.
"You want to drop out of school?" Petunia hissed and if he hadn't known better, Harry would have been waiting for her to spout something in Parseltongue. As it was, he was taken completely off guard by the question. After all, if Petunia cared as little about him as she'd led him to believe all those years, why would him dropping out matter to her? Harry shook his head slightly, pushing the thought to the back of his mind.
"It's not really dropping out. I have all the knowledge I need. I can still take my N.E.W.T.s just like the other students." He argued. "Actually taking the classes is just a formality."
Petunia glared harder at him and Harry wasn't sure if it was the fact that he was arguing with her or that she might not actually know what N.E.W.T.s were. He opened his mouth to explain but she cut him off sharply.
"No." She was no longer looking at him, scanning the letter in front of her once more. "I know how you people run things. My home will be invaded. My normal family will be hounded and inconvenienced. And all so my ungrateful nephew can get his own way." She sneered.
"Please, Aunt Petunia." Harry tried to keep his voice even but the woman was beginning to grate on his nerves. "All you'll have to do is sign a few papers. I won't have to stay here even after you do. I'll leave immediately, I swear." He vowed, but her already drawn expression only deepened further. In hind-sight, he probably should have acquired the papers first. They may have been enough to convince the stubborn gossip to cooperate.
"Why on earth would you want to leave your precious school, anyway?" She questioned. Harry clenched his jaw in irritation. This was not going as he'd planned."Besides, I know enough about that place to know that this Dumbledore man isn't someone to be trifled with! I'd rather not have your kind bearing down my door."
"I think you're giving the man far too much credit." Harry muttered between clenched teeth. Petunia simply huffed at the comment and turned her back on her nephew. How typical. Harry growled mentally. Though he knew arguing any further was a lost cause. Breakfast was now the last thing on his mind as Harry made his way back up the stairs, barely holding back from slamming his door. Such antics were sure to be relayed to his Uncle and Harry had no desire to deal with that on top of everything else.
He turned away from the door angrily, leveling his breathing in an attempt to calm himself down as he headed for the rickety bed. Two steps later found him swaying on his feet, a sharp pain lancing across his vision. His breath caught in his throat as an overwhelming dizziness forced him to clutch at the wall for support. It lasted nearly a minute before finally easing off and Harry slid down the wall with a shudder. What the hell was that?
It was like nothing he'd ever felt before. The pain was intense but wasn't the all over pain he associated with the cruciatus curse nor was it the localized pain Voldemort used to send through his scar. The latter made him feel slightly better; the very thought of that mad man returning after everything he'd been through had Harry coving his face in agony. An odd tingling sensation still lingered behind his eyes as he rubbed at them. Leaning back against the wall, Harry let his eyes drift closed, slowly relaxing and clearing his mind for meditation. If he'd learned one thing over the years, it was that meditation helped with a lot more than occlumency.
The sound of a car door startled him, his eyes snapping open only to blink rapidly in surprise. His room was cloaked in darkness, the tell-tale sign of nightfall. The luminescent numbers of his side clock glowed eerily red, telling him it was already past eight in the evening.
Harry sat forward with a frown, listening as the front door opened and his Aunt's shrill voice began cooing over Dudley. The loud thuds on the stairs and another crash from across the hall told him the large boy had tossed his things carelessly into his room. Really, it was a good thing Dudley hadn't been home earlier, for there wouldn't have been any feasible way Harry could have concentrated long enough to even think about meditating. He grimaced as his cousin's loud voice yelled down the hall.
"When's dinner, mom! I'm starving!" Harry grimaced at the loud thuds that marked his cousins' departure down the stairs. Using the wall as leverage, he pushed slowly to his feet, making his way to the cot and settling down. He rubbed at his eyes before covering his face entirely. His muscles were sore, feeling as if he'd just gotten back from Quidditch practice. Furthermore, he'd somehow managed to meditate for more than twelve hours, something he'd never been able to accomplish in the past. Though it may actually have been a good thing, as it was the closest thing to re-energizing sleep he'd achieved since before the final battle.
He let his body fall back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Though he hadn't eaten all day, he really didn't feel hungry enough to deal with his Uncle's crude insults. His eyes slid shut once more as he drifted; waking each time a nightmare began to surface. A sharp pain at his temples made him wince and roll on his side, the pain got steadily worse as he glanced at the clock, barely noting the time; 12:00 am. What a wonderful birthday gift, Harry thought sarcastically, before the pain became too intense and sucked him into blessed darkness.
A/N: I know...I started another story before updating the last. But I am working on the other story! It's just that my muse...she's so cruel to me...and she threatened bodily harm if I didn't start writing this.
Well...it's very different from my other story as you can see. I hope you all enjoyed what I've posted so far.
Also, despite how it may seem...I'm not bashing Ron...Ron and Harry have a lot of issues to work out, that's true...and they're probably never going to be as close in my story as they were in the books but Harry understands why he's being so distant and hurtful. You'll learn later exactly what his deal is...as a hint though...think about what happened in the ministry with Ron. That's very important.