A/N: This is my new Harry Potter story, as my first one became obsolete with the introduction of the Half Blood Prince. So, I've decided to write about his Seventh Year, and I think it's safe to assume that the real thing won't joyfully interrupt me this time. Hope you enjoy it, I'm not sure how long it will be, but I think it will be rather long.
Disclaimer. Not my toy box, I'm just playing in it, but I promise I'll put everything away when I'm done, (All in one piece, I cannot say, hee hee hee.) Aka, don't sue me; I know I didn't make it up. That happy pleasure would belong to J.K. Rowling, the literary genius herself.
Quiet Birthdays, and Painful memories.
Everything was quiet in the house of Vernon and Petunia Dursley. The sounds of the crickets filled the sultry summer air, along with the rhythmic ticking of the automatic sprinklers misting the already un-naturally green front garden. The street beyond the perfectly manicured path was silent. With the exception of a gray cat ambling lazily along the sidewalk, not a soul stirred. Everyone was asleep, that is all but one.
Sixteen-year-old Harry Potter lay on his back staring at the ceiling of his small bedroom in number four privet drive. The orange streetlamp outside his window cast an ethereal glow about the items in his room. His trunk lay on the floor in the middle of the room, lid open, and items tucked neatly away inside. A large cage sat next to the trunk along side his broom. His wand was tucked, as always, within easy reach under his pillow. His hand brushed up against the brown paper scraps that lay in pieces to the side of his bed and on the floor. His aunt would not appreciate that after he left, but he was rather disinclined to care at the moment. Like everything else in his room, this boy was ready. He had arrived two days ago much to the dismay of his aunt and uncle. That homecoming was rather amusing. He smiled, as he looked into the shocked faces of uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia when the back door to their house opened, by what they could see as no visible means. Uncle Vernon's bellow attracted alarmed stares from Mrs. Number Seven, who had drawn her hand back from her curtains only just in time to miss one of the more peculiar sights a muggle could ever see. He had yelled in fright to see his nephew's head and shoulders floating along in mid air through the back door.
Aunt Petunia on the other hand looked furiously at him, slinging the drapery's shut.
"Fix your cloak, and never wear that again in the house!" She hissed angrily.
Harry's smile sipped, as he looked down at himself to see half his body exposed, the cloak had snagged in the doorframe.
"How'd you now about the cloak?" He thought to himself as he lugged his rather heavy trunk up the stairs. As if his aunt had performed excellent legitimacy, her voice carried to Harry in the stairwell. "His father's Vernon, I saw Lily and him disappear under that thing more times than I could keep track of." He squinted out the window as he passed; if he looked really carefully he could almost see the three order members against the evening sky. He couldn't make out their shapes, or their locations in the sky, as they were all disillusioned very well, but he smiled nonetheless to know that they were there. He looked at the sliver of a moon, his thoughts traveled to Remus, and the package that he had given him not moments earlier. He wished that he didn't have to be here, but he was not going to go against his word to Dumbledore, even if he was…even if he wouldn't know he had. Harry still couldn't bring himself to think about the final moments he had with the great man. He really was the most influential person in Harry's life, and even though he had been angrier with him than he had been with almost any person, he still revered him, respected him, and missed him terribly.
Dumbledore, for better or for worse was the person who understood Harry better than anyone else. He had more knowledge and more power than anyone he had ever known, and he had a sneaky suspicion that he had more power than anyone had ever known. He just wished that he had the chance to learn all that he could from him, and now that chance was gone. He wasn't sure that he ever wanted to see Hogwarts again, maybe someday, but not yet. Not for a long time to come. He deposited his belongings on the floor, and sat at the foot of his bed, ripping the brown paper package open he saw a small gray object, a little silver bowl, about the size to fit a sickle, and that was about it. A small piece of white paper was folded neatly in the tiny bowl. Harry unwrapped it and read the word out loud. "Engorgio" With a small pop the full object appeared on the bed. A large silver basin with ruins carved on the sides.
The object was painfully familiar and yet completely foreign to him. It seemed wrong to be sitting here, the smooth glasslike surface swirling gently below his gaze. Without Fawks beside, sitting on his gilded perch, or even the dark mahogany cabinet in which it rested in that circular office that had plagued his thoughts. He saw his mirrored reflection staring back at him as he stared contemptuously into the shimmering liquid. It was not what he had hoped to see. What he really wanted to see was the clear blue eyes that held so much wisdom, twinkling back at him from behind his half moon spectacles. He really wanted to hear the bark-like laugh of his godfather, and his face returned to its full glory. He longed to look into those astonishingly green eyes, and see his mother staring back at him, not a red scar that was the only remnant of her sacrifice that the world didn't even know about. He wanted to look into his father's messy hair and sarcastically thank him for his contribution to the gene pool.
He shook his head slightly. If there was one thing that he had learned as growing up orphan, no matter how hard you wished and dreamed, the dead stay dead. Unfortunately, the other thing he had learnt so well, that no matter how many times you tell yourself that, you never truly believe it.
Harry brought himself back to the present. He stared absently out his bedroom window. He thought about all that had happened in the past few months. They seemed to go by in a stressful blur these past few years. He remembered walking away from Dumbledore's funeral dragging himself up the steps to his dormitory and falling asleep. He awoke to see his luggage gone, and his classmates queued up in front of the fire in the common room. He arrived at the burrow seconds later. Even though there was a wedding to attend, it was the most somber atmosphere he had yet to encounter in the Weasley household. It seemed as thought the entire wizarding community was reeling in shock at the news of the age-wizened Professor's death.
Harry had laughed bitterly when he read the articles about the former headmaster; they were quite complementary to him now. He remembered a time when no one would even say two nice words to the man who everyone thought to be insane. "Fame is a fickle friend Harry." Those were the only words worth listening to that Lockhart had ever spoken to him, and even they were only half true. He had yet to find a moment when his fame had ever been anything than a right pain in the…Harry was startled out of his sleep by a soft pop that cut the night air. He stole a glance at the clock next to his bedside. He was now, officially of age. Had been for almost two minuets.
He almost jumped out of his skin at the sound of a soft knock on his window. His two best friends were standing outside the glass. He hastily clamored out of bed to the window, and threw the latch. He smiled ruefully at Hermione. "Nice staircase."
"Happy Birthday Harry." They both said quietly. "It's time to go now." Ron said softly. Harry regarded him for a moment. "You know, you don't have to come with me."
Hermione rolled her eyes. Ron gave her arm a gentle shove. "Mate, we're coming with you, not because we have to, but because we want to." Harry smiled gratefully at the pair.
"I'll get my stuff." He said softly. He pointed his wand down at all his possessions. "Reduceo" He muttered and his items glowed gold, and then shrunk down to what could have been fit into a matchbox. He scooped them up and placed them in his pocket. He gazed intently at the pensive that lay at the foot of his bed before uttering the same and pocketing the bowl of memories as well.
"Let's go." Hermione was smart, as always and placed a silencing charm on the room.
Harry, although he hadn't yet passed his apparition test yet, thought Gordric's Hollow all the same, and with a sharp crack he was gone. Ron shifted nervously, he strained his ears to listen for any signs that the Dursley's had heard anything, but all that could be heard were the monotonous snores from uncle Vernon's room. He and Hermione left in quick succession.
"What about the silencing charm Hermione?" Ron asked, a bit confused.
"Oh, don't worry about that, it was timed." She said with a wave of her hand. "It'll were off in about an hour."
Ron laughed slightly; it would never cease to amaze him how smart she really was. He looked around to see if her could spot Harry anywhere in the darkness of the night. He saw in the weak light of the feeble moon, the silhouette of a figure, leaning on a waist high picket fence.
Harry walked as though drawn by a magnet to a small house, in the darkness; it was impossible to distinguish what color the house was. Not that that mattered to Harry. He knew somehow that this was his house. He couldn't explain why, but then he remembered there was nothing special about his magnetism to this very spot, he had a picture of this very place. A picture that took place almost exactly seventeen years to the date. A picture of his mother and father waiving madly from the gate, and in his mother's arms, a tiny bundle could be seen, his very first family photo. Harry tried to keep the bitter thought that it was one of the few he ever had from crossing his mind, but that task seemed elusive to him.
He leaned on the fence for support, as he stared at the house before him, knowing full well that this was where his life began it's downward spiral, that fateful day on Halloween sixteen years ago. The wood that bit painfully into his palms from the pointed fence was a welcome distraction from the emotions that were welling, unbidden by him inside his chest. Harry heard distantly the sounds of his friends apperateing down the street. He heard their approaching footsteps and was immensely relived to see that they made no attempts at conversation. He wasn't sure what to say, and they didn't seem to press him.
Hermione and Ron stood on ether side of their obviously distressed best friend. It didn't seem right to say anything, so they stood in silence. It would have been a bit awkward, had they not been feeling so sad for Harry. Hermione thought about all the losses this war already had on Harry, and could only pray that it would be the end. She would stand by Harry forever, and she knew that Ron would too, but she wouldn't pretend that she wasn't scared of what would happen to her. She knew that the most dangerous place in the world to stand at this very moment was right here, but she wouldn't leave, no matter what. She knew that Ron also would fight with Harry till the end or die trying; she just hoped that it wouldn't be the latter. She watched as wordlessly he turned and walked down the street, She and Ron followed, still in complete silence.
Harry wandered down the street. It was a completely different atmosphere than privet drive. It was calmer, in a way. The grass was a bit longer, and was edging onto the sidewalk just a bit. There were no streetlamps to speak of, and the gardens were as varied as the flowers inside them. It was not the uniformity that he had associated with everything except his world; it was nice. All that he could do was walk. Hagrid had told him long ago that his parents had been buried in the cemetery not far from their home, right on the street they lived. He walked to the end of the street and back again, his friends wordlessly following a few steps behind. Then he turned to them, "The Potter manor." was all that he said, with a look of obvious irritation. He should have known that was what Hagrid had been referring to. He dissaperated on the spot.
A few seconds later he stood and brushed himself off, he never thought that he would get used to the feeling of that. The sensation of traveling in a giant nylon had truly lost all its appeal, and that was saying something, because it never had much to begin with. He took in the grassy slopes for the first time. The meadow that he stood in was overgrown, the tangled grass and weeds all but concealed the wide path that lay under him. He tried to imagine what it must have looked like in the days when it had been occupied. He walked up the path briskly, paying no heed to the fact that he was headed away from the house entirely. There was a time in his life that he would have liked nothing more than to walk the halls of his father's childhood home, but this was not that time in his life at all. Now all he wanted was to see his parents for the first, and last time. He heard the two simultaneous cracks behind him and smiled ruefully. He truly did not envy his friends at the moment. He was behaving an a manner that was slightly reminiscent of Hermione's persistent habit of not informing others of what she was doing, until after a few painfully annoying minuets, or hours, until she decided to let them know. Occupational hazard of being a genius he supposed.
Hermione and Ron looked and found what they were hunting for, not literally of course, but the more they shadowed their best friend, the more it felt like that was exactly what they were doing. They followed him down a cobblestone road; it was a very pretty street, probably not practical for driving, as it would be very bumpy. Hermione told Ron this as they walked. Ron laughed slightly, "Hermione, I do not think the occupants of these estates much care if cars can get through." Hermione frowned slightly before realizing that he was very correct, why she assumed that this was an ordinary muggle neighborhood, she had no idea. Obviously the Potter manor would be where it was as wizarding as you could get, judging by the fact that the Potters were a very old established pureblood family, that happened to be all but dead.
They stopped walking as they saw Harry enter two metal gates, This area was meticulously trimmed, and the flowers, though closed in the night air, still seemed to send out and intoxicatingly pleasant scent. He walked through the rows of markers, it wasn't a particularly large field, but big enough. He had no idea how he was finding the place that he was looking for, but for some reason he knew that he would find it. Harry stopped suddenly and looked down at his feet. There lay two markers. Identical in height, two stately rosebushes kept pruned on either side. Harry gently fingered the tiny closed buds; the velvety texture was such a sharp contrast to the bite of the thorns. He pulled his wand and ignited the tip. A narrow beam of light shafted down to the markers. He didn't even need to read them to know the names that were inscribed on the tow granite markers. He knew that for the first time in conscious memory he was looking at his mother and father. His mind reeled backwards to the night in the last graveyard he had been in. A much less peaceful situation than he was currently in, but not at all less emotional. He had seen them too, more, yet less substantially than they were here now. No, they would not talk to him here, like they had at the end of the third task, but nether would they disappear before his very eyes either. There was a sense of finality here that seemed to almost calm him. The soft hum of the crickets and tree frogs that faded into the distance were soothing, he had never been so confused in his life, and yet what he had to do couldn't be clearer. He had to fulfill the prophecy. Dumbledore was right, as he generally was, that Harry needed to do this, not because he had to, but because he could never rest until Voldemort, all of Voldemort was dead. He needed to finish the journey Dumbledore started, and this was where he would have to begin, where it all began for him. He turned slowly and walked back towards the manor. He knew they would follow. He hoped, although he could never blame them if they didn't want to, that they would always be with him, no matter how bleak things turned out to be.
Ron stared at the patch of illuminated gravestone, it was odd to be here, creepy, and at the same time nothing could be more peaceful and eternal. He tired to come up with something to say to his friend, who he had no idea what was going through his head at this particular moment in time. Words simply failed him. He had no idea what you would even say in this kind of situation. He never had to live with the questions about his family that Harry did. He never had to live a normal life vicariously, knowing full well that your life would never be considered as normal. So, like everything else in this evening, he remained silent. He glanced at Hermione who looked the same as he felt before he noticed Harry was no longer standing by his parent's graves, he was now walking out of the cemetery. Ron didn't know why, but he noticed that Harry's gait was not the wandering slightly dejected pace that it had been, he didn't know what it was, but something had changed.
A/N: So, loved it, hated it? Let me know! I love reviews! I don't mind constructive criticism, I love to hear what I can fix, after all, most of us are aspiring writers, and I could use all the advice I can get. Flames will be used to grill my burgers. Thanks to all of you who read this, I truly hope you liked it.