Harry Potter And The Year Of Trials
Disclaimer: Not mine; all I own is the plot. The rest is J.K Rowlings!
Summary: Harry 6th year in going to be the toughest yet. He has to work through his grief, accept the prophecy, and kill a Dark Lord who seems to have an unhealthy obsession with him.
The storm raged through Little Whinging menacingly, washing out the streets and drowning it in rain. It was a welcome change for many, after the heatwave that had lasted months. The wind gushed and blew, whistling, through the cracks in the houses and brushing the branches of the trees roughly, making them tap loudly against the near windows. The weather was wild and uncontrollable. Dangerous.
Harry Potter, with his head resting in his hands, gazed out his bedroom window, watching in awe at the perfect representation of his world. The wizarding world had witnessed the calm, cherished it, and embraced it for 14 years. Some even, such as Minister Fudge had even tried to hold on to it as it slipped away. But those days were gone, Harry reflected.
The second war had officially begun now. Outside his summer prison, people were dying. People were fighting for their beliefs on both sides. The Light and the Dark, as Harry hesitantly called them. Battles were being fought between them while he sat there, musing.
Harry looked outside again, staring at the purple storm clouds as they poured down buckets of rain, the lightning; mother Natures lightshow, flickered, lighting up the sky with a sinister glow, while thunder clapped deafeningly.
Harry sighed softly, remembering an old muggle saying.: It's got to get worse before it gets better. That seemed to fit. But who knew how much longer the war could continue before, like the storm, it blew itself out. Or rather, how long before Harry could blow Voldemort out or vice versa?
He shook his head firmly, trying to dislodge the thought before it could get a firm hold on him. Harry had to do that all to often these days, but he couldn't let the memories overcome him or depression would set in again.
Abruptly the green eyed boy stood up, deciding to go for a walk, not caring that it was raining or 3am in the morning. He slipped quietly out his door; past all the photos of his 'family' He felt a small pang as he always did when he remembered there was none of him.
He had always known how his family felt about him. That had always been made perfectly clear. Still…that was the only family he had and they had rejected him. Harry would be lying if he had said that that didn't hurt at least a little.
Walking at a brisker pace, he went down the stairs, silently unlocking the front door and sliding through. He breathed a sigh of relief as the water hit him, drenching him instantly. His jet-black hair hung around his face gently, framing it. For a moment, Harry feared that he looked like Snape and self-consciously ran his fingers through it, trying to make it look a bit more normal.
Trying not to run, he turned left and went into Magnolia Crescent to a small park, half hidden away, that only locals knew about. It was very run down. Harry doubted many people came there anymore.
He sat on the old swing and pushed off, just as he had as a young child usually after he had escaped Dudley and his gang or the Dursleys had punished him for another strange occurrence that he now knew was his magic.
He'd sit in the exact same spot and ponder what had just happened. Had he really just turned his teachers wig blue? Or been caught in a gust of wind, pushing him up to the school roofs? Harry had always liked this place. Sitting here swaying forwards and back was calming for him. The air in his face blowing his hair back and the feeling of weightlessness, it was the closest thing to flying the Muggle world had to offer.
This was the first time he'd come here since he'd started Hogwarts though. When this whole mess had started. What would have happened if Harry had have never gone to Hogwarts? What would have happened if Hagrid had never found him on the rock and given him his letter? Harry would have gone to Stonewall High, he expected.
But what about the people at Hogwarts that he wouldn't of met? Would Ron and Hermione have still been friends? Harry didn't think Ron would have gone and fought off the troll without him so would Hermione even still be alive?
Would the stone still be safe or would You-Know-Who have returned earlier than expected? Would Ginny have survived the Chamber? Would Sirius still be in Azkaban? Cedric would probably be alive and the outright winner of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Maybe Lord Voldemort would still be a spirit. Maybe the world would be better off.
But no. In the end, everything linked back to the prophecy. It would have still been at work. Voldemort was determined to get back a body and Harry knew he would have eventually. Then what would have happened to him? He wouldn't be ant problem to pick of. A muggle with no knowledge of magic!
At least this way I might be able to hold my own. Harry said dully before snorting, as if! How was he, an average wizard who wasn't even 16 yet, meant to destroy an extremely powerful Dark wizard with over 50 years more experience then him?
Harry had no idea, but didn't let it hurt his determination. He would do this! Even if it meant killing himself in the process. He would do it for his parents who got themselves killed to keep him alive.
For Cedric, one of the first victims of the 2nd war. Who's sense of fairness and kind nature had gotten him needlessly in harms way.
For Sirius, his only real family who had died to protect him. Who ate rats and stayed inside a house he hated for him. Harry couldn't repay that, but he'd try damn hard.
For he Weasleys, so none of the fears Molly Weasley's boggart showed would come true. He would fight for them because of what they did for him. Let him share their family with him, gave him love, a new feeling for him and made him feel like he might actually be worth something.
For Hermione, one of his best friends, so Voldemort would never get to her muggle parents and make her go through what he had to.
Harry would do it because it was his destiny
HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP HP
Harry awoke the next morning, refreshed. This startled him. All through summer break, nightmares concerning the night in the Ministry of Magic had been plaguing him. He smiled slightly; the night in the park must have helped him more than he had realised.
He had stayed there for more then an hour before going back to the Dursleys house and retiring for the night. Harry was surprised that he'd had the strength last night to mop up the puddles his dripping clothes had made when Harry had stumbled into the house last night. But he was glad he had. Otherwise his Aunt and Uncle would probably have stormed up to his room ages ago, screaming fit to burst.
They'd been better this year then ever before though. Harry guessed that it was the Order's threats that did it. He didn't think Petunia would be able to stand the thought of such abnormal freaks like Moody and Tonks with her pink hair coming up to their door asking about him. Harry smothered a laugh. It sounded like her worst nightmare.
But she didn't really deserve it now. The whole family had once again taken to completely ignoring him apart from when they gave him chores, which were mostly just hard labour outside that Vernon was now to fat to even attempt, such as mowing the lawn and weeding. Harry didn't mind the chores. He was used to them and they kept his mind busy, off the less favourable subjects that his mind kept feeling the need to remind him of.
Dudley was the only one who was making any other sort of communication. He kept glancing at Harry when he thought no-one was looking. It was getting bloody annoying. But in the long run, this was better then if the Dursleys were being their normal obnoxious selves.
Harry really didn't think he could take their insults and jibes.
He felt slightly vulnerable. All the grief that he had been repressing was right under the surface and almost anything could set him off, into a sobbing fit. It made him feel disgusted with himself for being so weak.
He kept reminding himself firmly.
Men don't cry, especially the saviour of the wizarding world.
Harry could see the newspaper headlines if Rita Skeeter saw him crying over Sirius. He shivered. He REALLY didn't need the world thinking he was a psycho nutcase again. Once was enough.
Harry finally got the energy to get up out of bed. He stumbled to the bathroom, turning on the shower taps. He let the hot water wake him up slowly before half an hour later emerging, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around his hips.
Looking in the mirror Harry was pleased to see that for the first time, he wasn't stick thin from living at the Dursleys. Since the Dursleys were no longer starving him or food or withholding it from him for some obscure reason, he was actually looking good.
For as long as he could remember, he'd always been short and scrawny. He supposed that living in a cupboard for the first 11 years of your life could do have something to do with it. In Snape's pensieve, James had been very tall. Maybe Harry was just finally letting those growth hormones from his father kick in.
He tried to estimate his height. He was shocked to see that he looked almost 6ft. Considering that it was only 2 weeks into the holiday and he defiantly no more then 5ft7inches then. Harry smiled ecstatically. He wouldn't be able to be called midget anymore. This was great. Last year even Cho was taller then him. And having Ron a whole head taller then you was never a picnic.
Harry then noticed how tan his body was. He was brown from being in the sun all day, his body was lean and slowly, but surely, muscles were appearing on his arms.
Harry grinned. All the work he was doing was paying off. Harry had insisted that he could buy a weights set for his bedroom. If he was going to try to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named, he needed to be prepared.
With his mood now slightly better, he headed to his room again. He threw on some old random pair of jeans with a belt, that had to be wrapped twice around his waist to get the jeans to stay up. Dudley's diet didn't seem to be doing much. He was just as fat, if not fatter then he was the year before. Harry didn't bother with a shirt. None of them looked any better then rags now. They were very old now. Maybe if he got to go to Diagon Alley this year, he could buy some more. He defiantly could use them. His clothing situation was getting ridiculous.
Turning to his desk and sitting down, he forgot about it and pulled out the Standard Book of Spells Grade Five and began to go over it. He'd learnt all of this stuff for his OWL's but when he really thought about it, he didn't really remember much. He hadn't really been that worried about keeping the info, just getting himself through the exams. All the spells seemed to have vanished. Maybe this reviewing thing was an even better idea then he thought.
Harry read silently for the next hour, occasionally moving only to turn a page or to practice some sort of complicated wand movement. He only stopped reading once that afternoon and that was only to fetch a piece of parchment to copy down a list of spells he thought appropriate to go over with the DA, if they continued it. Would he? Harry pondered. Umbridge was gone now of course, so hopefully they'd have a qualified DADA teacher this year. But still…he liked the DA. And everyone he taught seemed to as well. They learnt well, and he enjoyed teaching. There was something special about seeing a student get a spell right after weeks of practice, knowing that they got it because of you. Like when Neville mastered the Patronus or Dennis Creevey worked out stunning. In the end, Harry knew that the decision came down to Dumbledore. Would he allow it?
This brought Harry to the subject of the Headmaster. For the first few days of vacation Harry felt so mad at Dumbledore from keeping everything from him, but after the initial shock and rage wore off, a little reasoning came in and the anger left.
When Harry thought about it, when Fudge was Minister, Dumbledore had the whole war on his shoulders just as Harry did. He led the Order of the Pheonix, he was Headmster of the best school of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the world. Even though he choose to do so and Harry didn't, the fact that they both did was undeniable. They both have to make hard choices and do terrible things. As much as Harry wish that he had told him about everything earlier so the Department of Mysteries wouldn't have happened, Harry was glad he didn't tell him as a child. His life has never been easy but at least at Hogwarts he was happy for the most part. If the prophecy had been hanging over him at the age of 11, he'd would have never been happy.
"Really, Dumbledore was saying before that he'd put my happiness above lots of random people dying later. If he'd really thought of me as a weapon, he'd have told me as a little child and trained me up as an assassination weapon. But he didn't. He let me; Harry, live.
"Of course, I could be angry at him for making all those decisions for me but that's just stupid. If anything, I should be apologizing to him for destroying his office. When I get out of here and see him, I will say sorry." Harry decided firmly. Harry then shook his head to clear it, and realised for the first time that he was sitting in complete darkness. He glanced at his watch and tried to make out the numbers. It was quarter past 10. Harry was shocked to note that he'd studied for almost the whole day.
I can't wait to see Hermione's face when I tell her. Harry thought smirking. I guess she had to rub off on me eventually.
Harry pulled off his pants so he was in nothing but his boxers and climbed into bed, a slight smile still on his face. He fell asleep slowly, and for the 2nd time in two days, his sleep was uninterrupted with dreams.
Harry was starting to heal.