Disclaimer: I do not own the Potterverse or any of the ideas within it – JK Rowling invented it; I just like to visit every now and again.
Chapter I: Dreading the Dursleys
Sunday, June 30, 1996
Arches of white marble and columns engraved with a flowing illegible script lined the room. Lying in the center of the ring, the surroundings were apparent but just as mystifying.
"Welcome, young one."
The voice was light and airy; spoken almost too softly to perceive, yet resonating throughout the hall. Craning his neck, he looked up into eyes positioned at a seemingly impossible height.
The figure was tall and slender, dressed in long flowing robes. Not the heavy fabrics he was accustomed to, but a fair delicate cloth that seemed to float on a nonexistent wind.
"Why am I here?" he spoke, in a voice that cracked from dryness.
It was not the question he had intended to ask, but it seemed proper once it slipped from his lips.
The being stared down at him with incredible pale eyes, as though waiting.
"You will know when the time has come."
"What will I know?"
"Your destiny…"
He tried to sit up, but the more he struggled the heavier his body seemed to become.
"I already know my destiny," he muttered, the white room becoming dim as his eyes dropped closed.
"That is but a single star in the night sky."
Harry Potter woke with a start, staring blankly at a white ceiling that seemed portentous of a fading or lost memory. Unfortunately, the reality was that Harry was lying on a lumpy mattress in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive during the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
As in summers past, Harry hiding in his depressing notion of a room, wishing he was elsewhere. However, unlike prior summers, he would not be allowed to cut the so-called holiday short and visit with the family of his friends. Instead, he would be forced to spend the entirety of the holiday with his relatives, the Dursleys.
Owing to his antics during the previous school year and the official announcement of He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named's return, Headmaster Dumbledore felt that the most sensible option would be for Harry to remain under the protection of his mother's sacrifice. Harry could think of no worse punishment.
Harry remembered how enjoyable the journey from King's Cross Station to the house had been…
The car ride was moderately uneventful as the vehicle's occupants were silently feuding with the world. The Dursleys seemed to be in shock from the Order's threats and, as such, were studiously pretending that Harry did not exist for the moment. While he was glad for the temporary peace that the Order had provided him with, Harry wondered how long this blessed haiku would endure. After all, the Dursleys had yet to allow Dumbledore and his warnings to deter them. However, maybe this time the threat would stick…
Dudley was sitting as far from Harry as he could, as though he might be contaminated by his cousin's mere presence. Admittedly, the distance between them was further away than it might have been last year- it seemed that the strict diet Smeltings Boarding School forced on Dudley was finally working. Petunia kept sniffing disapprovingly from her perch in the front seat; she looked as though she would spring from the car the moment they arrived at her home. However, Harry knew this passive aggressive atmosphere would not last long; the further Vernon distanced himself from the wizards, the more his foul attitude would climb. Even now, Harry could see his uncle's face beginning to purple as they pulled into the driveway.
The Dursleys all headed straight to the house, without offering Harry a hand with his luggage and ignoring his general presence as usual. At the door, Petunia glanced over her shoulder at the neighbors' houses and called out, "Hurry up and get in here before anyone sees you. And keep that bloody bird quiet!"
She yelled the last bit because, as Harry placed Hedwig's on the pavement to get a better grip on his trunk, her cage tipped over. Harry quickly dropped the trunk and snatched the cage, trying to soothe his agitated friend. He looked up to see Petunia giving him a murderous glare.
"Well, if someone would help me I wouldn't have to jostle her around so much," he mumbled unhappily.
Vernon apparently also thought that Harry would not be able to manage his luggage quickly enough as he begrudgingly sent Dudley out to help. Harry could hear Dudley muttering the whole time as Vernon reminded his son to watch out for the neighbors.
"Here, carry her. I'll get the trunk," Harry offered holding out Hedwig's cage, as the trunk was the heavier of the two items.
"I'm not carrying that thing. It'll bite me!" Dudley whispered vehemently, heeding his dad's warning.
"Fine - take the trunk," Harry sighed.
As Dudley struggled with the trunk, Harry hurried to get Hedwig inside before she started complaining. Once inside the house, he could hear Dudley dragging the trunk up the stairs behind him, banging it unnecessarily hard against each one. Harry signed and wondered why he even bothered bringing the trunk upstairs, as his relatives would probably throw it into the cupboard under the stairs anyway. Finally, Dudley shoved it into Harry's room and quickly stomped off to his own, where the hum of a computer game was soon heard.
"Boy, get down here!" Vernon yelled from downstairs.
Harry knew this argument was coming and had been dreading it. His uncle was now outraged by the Order's warnings, his previous cowardice completely forgotten; in his Uncle's mind, the threats now seemed empty and absurd. Knowing it would be worse if he dallied, Harry hastily headed to the family room.
Upon seeing Harry standing in the doorway, Vernon began his rant.
"This summer you're going to have to earn your living. That means no lazing about and leeching off my hard-earned money. You'll have a list of daily chores: helping your aunt about the house and doing the yard work. If you don't complete these simple tasks, you will be severely punished. Understand?"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry responded in a monotonous voice.
"Now, we're letting you keep your school things, so you can't complain to those people in your letters. And you had better write to them every three days because I will not tolerate those freaks under my roof."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he said once more, though wondering how Uncle Vernon could possibly prevent the Order from coming if they so chose.
Suspicious of Harry's lack of defiance, Vernon eyed Harry a little longer until he seemed satisfied that the boy would not retaliate.
"Good. Dinner's at seven, and if you're late you won't get any. You should be grateful we're even allowing you to stay here. Now, go to your room."
Harry turned quickly, thankful to escape.
Back in his room, Harry lay down on his bed, letting his mind drift freely. He contemplated everything that had happened over the past year, and with nothing to distract him, his thoughts strayed to his godfather and the man's abrupt death.
The curse flying from Lestrange's wand…
Sirius' stunned face as the spell struck him…
The laughter still in his eyes as he fell from the platform…
Trying to push the images aside, Harry shoved off his bed and looked around the room, to distract himself, only to notice the emptiness surrounding him.
"Well, since I have all my stuff, I might as well unpack and give this room some life," he reflected.
Harry pushed his earlier thoughts to the back of his mind, where they would hopefully remain, and focused on rearranging his home for the next nine weeks. Harry unloaded his possessions from his trunk and began imagining the best places to arrange them. When he finished, he was pleasantly surprised to see that the space looked slightly more inviting; instead of giving off the impression of a storage area, the bedroom actually looked inhabited. Dudley's old clothes were folded neatly in the dresser, alongside Harry's school robes and Mrs. Weasley's hand-knitted sweaters. His broom was leaning beside his desk, which now held his broom servicing kit and the many books he had received over the years.
Scattered about the room were photos of family and friends, placed in a few old and tarnished picture frames he found in the bottom drawer of the dresser. On the nightstand beside his bed was a picture of his parents dancing in the snow - one of his favorites from the scrapbook book Hagrid had given him. On top of the dresser was one of the entire Weasley family, minus Mr. Weasley who took it. They were setting up for a picnic, while Bill and Charlie charmed two tables to bash into each other over the family's heads. This battle of furniture seemed to a Weasley family tradition, as Harry remembered one such incident while visiting. Another photo was of his parent's wedding. James and Lily had their arms around each other, while Sirius, the best man, slapped James on the back, and the maid-of-honor hugged Lily.
Harry realized that he did not recognize the woman embracing his mother. He briefly wondered at asking his aunt who it was, but had visions of flying sauce pans and decided against it. However, he made a mental note tot as someone the next chance he got.
On the desk were two photographs of Harry's friends. One was the infamous trio sitting in front of the common room fireplace. Ron and Harry were playing a game of chess in which Harry was losing fantastically. Hermione was curled up in a chair reading a book and occasionally giving him hints, which tended to lose him a chess player. The other picture was taken during one of the DA meetings. Harry was demonstrating a spell for Neville, while Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Ginny watched. With a start, Harry realized that the photo contained only those who had went with him to the Department of Mysteries. Unfortunately, this brought his thoughts back to Sirius. Not able to divert his attention, the memories and accusations he had shoved to the back of his mind came rushing forward.
Everything was his fault - Cedric's death, Voldemort's rebirth, and now Sirius' death; and each time there was something he could have done to prevent it. He should have realized the Triwizard Tournament Cup was a trap and warned Cedric to protect himself at the graveyard. He knew Voldemort was there, and yet he even allowed Wormtail to get a hold his wand. He should have listened to Hermione when she tried to warn him about Sirius, but instead he listened to Kreacher. There were so many signs and forewarnings, he should have easily recognized the traps, but instead he decided to play the hero each and every time.
Why did he have to act so foolishly? The only reason he was still alive was someone or something always interfered to protect him and prevent his death. At this rate, Voldemort would kill him and all those he cared about - even without the prophecy.
The only way to save the ones he loved was the actively protect them, not just hope Voldemort would not attack them.
"No one else is going to die because of me," Harry thought harshly to himself.
Suddenly his scar seared with pain and he heard a voice echoing in the room.
"But how are you going to do that. I am impossibly stronger than you."
Harry fell from his bed with pain, but still tried to open his eyes, scanning desperately across the room.
"I'm right here, Potter - in your mind."
"Voldemort," Harry acknowledged feebly.
"That's right; your mother protection can't hide you anymore. Even here your mind is like an open book to me."
"Get out, get out, get out," Harry began thinking as hard as he could. Pushing fiercely with his mind, against the foreign being, he felt Voldemort's presence start to recede.
"This isn't the end, Potter, our connection growsss ever ssstronger…" he heard the maniac hiss before he was gone.
Shaking like a leaf from the lingering pain, Harry pulled himself onto his trunk beneath the windowsill. Resting his forehead against the glass, he thought about what just occurred.
It did not mean Voldemort knew where Privet Drive was or could access it, but the blood protection was definitely weakening. And the link between them seemed to be growing stronger. Probably something else Voldemort gained from using Harry's blood to revive himself. It seemed Dumbledore was wrong once again; now not only was Harry here against his will, he was not even safe and nor were the Dursleys. He would not have their deaths on his hand too.
Harry knew he should write to the Order and tell, but did not know what good it would do. Dumbledore would probably not believe him enough to allow Harry to live someplace else; no, he would probably just double the guard and make his life even more miserable. He would just send it in his mandatory letter tomorrow. Even though he was angry with Dumbledore, he would not make the same mistake as the old man and withhold information. He would not repeat that mistake.
Going over the encounter once more, Harry realized he had achieved occulmency to some degree. He had managed to expel Voldemort from his mind, but whether that was completely his own doing, he was not sure. He managed to get Snape out, but this was not the same. Voldemort was connected to him, not through a spell but through his scar. It seemed more likely that as it hurt Voldemort to possess him, it pained him likewise to enter Harry's mind. Of course, Harry had no means of practicing occulmency. Snape would refuse to teach him, even if Harry wanted him to…which he did not. He would have to try to study it himself, if it was at all possible.
Exhausted from the shock, Harry curled up against the window and drifted into a fretful slumber.
Harry stood in the center of a vortex surrounded by the faces of all those he knew and cared for. He spotted Cedric's face in the turmoil, but a flash of green light blinded him and the face disappeared. He spun around searching for a way out and spotted Sirius's outline.
"Help me, Harry," he cried, "before it's too late!"
There was another flash, though, and his image vanished.
s
The vortex gathered speed and soon Harry was barely catching glimpses of the faces before the light enveloped them. A high-pitched laugh began sounding in the distance and the vortex became only a cyclone of green light.
"Help us," he heard Ron yell from the madness. He could perceive the rest of the Weasley's pleas joining the commotion, but he felt rooted to the ground. Harry only just made out Hermione's face in the glow before he heard her screaming. She briefly came into focus and called out, "Harry, please, hurry!"
She stretched out her hand, and Harry tried to reach for her. He attempted to run but the windstorm shifted with his motions.
In the background, the cruel laugh escalated and Hermione gave a last desperate cry. Harry threw his body forward, but her form shrank further into the storm of green light.
"Potter, how can you hope to save them," Voldemort scoffed as he came into view, right beside Hermione.
Harry watched Voldemort slowly raise his wand and aim it at her terrified form. Harry yelled and lunged, but he was too late as he saw the curse envelop her in its light. Voldemort laughed once more before disappearing completely. Suddenly the vortex inward and Harry was engulfed with the cries of those he loved.
"No!" he yelled blindly into the darkness. He looked around frantically but saw only the dreary walls of his room, drenched in the light of the moon. Luckily, his shout did not wake up any of the Dursleys. Harry stood and walked to the desk that held the pictures of his friends. He carefully raised the one with Ron and Hermione.
"I will not let anything else happen," he silently swore silently to them. "Even if it means losing you, I won't let you die."
Harry gently replaced the photo and lay on his bed. Afraid of revisiting the nightmare, he lay awake trying to think of some way to avoid his inevitable fate - death.
Monday, July 1, 1996 - 6:00 am
Harry did not wake again until the sun began to stream through his window. He remembered lying awae in bed from some reason but the only dream he could recall were filled with the faces of his friends and a splintering green light. Trying to put the images from his mind, he threw on a pair of Dudley's old shorts and a t-shirt, and left the house to begin what was to be part of his daily routine. This was a piece of his strategy to better prepare himself - improve his physical condition. The unforgivable curses had no counter curse, so the best way to avoid them was to dodge them, and he would have the advantage if he could tire is opponent out. Maybe he could finally defeat some of the death eaters without having to put others at risk.
His circuit ran around the housing complex through the park and back again - approximately four miles in total. When Harry was almost to the park, he was already having problems maintaining his brisk jog; but with only a few meters more, he picked up his pace.
Once he finally reached the playground, he sat in one of the swings and allowed the gentle breeze to drift him back and forth. Harry focused on catching his breath back as he was panting heavily. Having not played quidditch for the majority if the last two years was really showing - he was terribly out of shape. Looking around the park Harry saw there was little there besides the swing set: only a merry-go-round, a slide, and a sandbox. Around the edge of the park were some bushes and miniature trees, which he incidentally felt left him an open target. He wondered if there was an Order member trailing him now, or if his early run had thrown them off. Wondering what he would do if there was an attack, Harry though about what else he could do to train himself. Of course, he was not allowed to practice magic now, but he could at least learn the wand movements and the theories behind the spells.
"Hello," a voice sounded cheerfully behind, disrupting Harry's musings.
Harry nearly fell off the swing, as he tried to turn around and get a grip on his wand at the same time. Harry had been so caught up in his thoughts he had not heard the stranger approaching. He saw that standing before him was a girl, about his age, holding out her hand. He eyed the hand warily without taking it, looking for anything suspicious. She lowered her hand slightly and tried not seem embarrassed. Harry noted, in the back of his mind, she had crystal blue eyes and dark brown hair.
"Well, I'm Sam Buchanan. My family and I just moved here yesterday from America."
Harry relaxed the grip he had on his wand a little, realizing that he was probably being paranoid, but still not releasing his grasp.
"Hello, I'm, err, Peter…Peter Smalltree."
"Do you mind if I sit here," she asked indicating the other swing.
Not really up for a conversation, but not wanting to be rude, he simply shrugged and began examining his shoes.
"Since we just moved here, I don't really know anyone," Sam said trying to start a discussion.
"Hmm," Harry replied unenthusiastically.
"Do you live near here?"
"Uh-huh."
When Harry noticed the girl was watching him, he began shifting uncomfortably and smoothing the hair over his scar. He wondered what excuse he could use to leave soon.
"I'm sorry to be bothering you, but have you seen a white cat with cream colored patches? Sunsweet went missing while we were unpacking and we haven't seen her since," she asked a little less friendly.
"No, sorry," he said looking at her for the first time.
She frowned slightly and muttered something about continuing her search. Harry simply nodded and got up to return to Privet Drive. Finally, panting more heavily than before, Harry ran up the drive and shuffled into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia was bustling about making breakfast in her dressing robe, and he could hear Uncle Vernon and Dudley watching the telly in the sitting room. He managed to make a glass of water before his aunt absentmindedly threw a spatula at him and ordered him to finish the eggs. The utensil was aimed at Harry's head, but he snatched it out of the air and placed it calmly on the counter.
"No," Harry stated looking directly at his aunt.
"What?" she gasped, pausing mid-step in surprise and glancing towards the sitting room nervously.
"I will not be ordered about like a house el-servant this summer."
Luckily, Harry caught his slip before he finished the phrase. Disobeying Aunt Petunia and referring to magic in the same sentence would be very unwise. Petunia was visibly flustered and did not know how to handle this uncooperative side of Harry.
"Leave," she commanded, gesturing towards the door. She pointedly turned her back on him and began stiffly tossing the eggs with a wooden spoon.
Harry left rather surprised she had not argued more. He sat at the table and waited, wondering how long it would be until he was punished for his outspokenness. This defiance was part of his plan; he was not going to be pushed around by anyone, including the Dursleys. He could not afford to be weak any longer, and his relatives were a good place to start.
After a few minutes, Vernon and Dudley joined him at the table, once they turned on the other television. His uncle eyed him suspiciously and was about to speak, but was interrupted by Petunia serving breakfast. She gave Vernon and Dudley plates heaping with food, but presented Harry with a shriveled piece of bacon, a miniscule amount of overdone eggs, and a burnt slice of toast. He could hear Dudley snickering as he eyed Harry's apparent breakfast. Unfortunately, judging by the sheer amount of food his uncle and cousin were eating, there was none left in the kitchen. Slowly munching on his ration, Harry listened as Petunia whispered furiously at Vernon, both of whom were throwing angry glances in his direction. Harry could tell the reprimand would be something terrible as Vernon's face purpled with each passing second. Finally, the man exploded.
"What is the meaning of this, you ungrateful swat! I already told you, you would be helping you aunt. And what HAPPENS! You refuse to do anything! After all these years -"
"I am not a servant and I will not be treated as such," Harry interrupted in a firm, even voice.
Dudley's eyes looked about to pop out of his head a sickly grin spread over his face. It seemed his favorite show was coming on: Harry Bashing.
"You can't…why you…you freak!" Vernon sputtered. His uncle's voice dropped to a whisper, as he stood and stalked towards Harry. "So you think we mistreat you, do you? Well, ponder this!"
With that statement, Vernon backhanded Harry across the side of his face. Harry felt himself leave the chair and tumble to the floor. He uncle seized his arm and began dragging him backward towards the stairs. Harry managed to clamber to his feet and looked to see expression of confusion and shock on Aunt Petunia and Dudley's faces. Harry tried to wrench his arm free, but Vernon had a terribly strong grip on him. The man was at least twice Harry's size, so his efforts were futile. After being painfully heaved up the stairs, Vernon threw open the door to Harry's room and hurled him with such force that Harry collided with his desk beside the window. Harry's vision blacked out for a second as his head smashed against it.
"I am going to work now and when I get back every one of the chores I assign you have better be done," Vernon snarled.
He turned to leave and saw the picture of Harry's parent on the nightstand. His eyes bulged in his head and swept his arm out, sending the photo crashing to the floor.
"If you mention this incident to anyone, you'll wish you had never been born."
Vernon slammed the door closed, but Harry did not move; he could not comprehend what had just occurred. Harry knew his uncle detested him, but never did he imagine the hatred had developed to such an extent. He had expected the man to yell and confine him to his room, like previous summers. Obviously, he was wrong. How was Harry supposed to follow his plan if he could not even stand up to his muggle uncle? Dazed and confused, Harry pushed himself to his feet and heard the car pulling out of the driveway. Shaking with pain and hate, Harry watched Uncle Vernon leave.
Pulling himself together, he walked to his bed and began gingerly picking up the glass from the broken picture frame; this had been the only one with any glass remaining at all. The photo itself now had a large crease done the center. He placed it back in the frame, hoping he could fix it at Hogwarts. He gathered all the photos and personal items he had carefully placed about the room and returned them to his trunk, along with his clothing. Until he could protect himself and his belongings, he could not afford to leave them lying about. He pushed the trunk into the corner between the wall and his dresser and threw his invisibility cloak over it. There was a chance that his uncle might find the loose floorboard under his bed, but the man would not think to feel around in an empty corner. With a resigned sigh, Harry headed downstairs to discover what his chores were. Until he knew what to do, Harry would have to obey his crazed uncle. With this thought, Harry's eyes lost their brightness and took on a dead quality.
In the kitchen Harry addressed his aunt quietly, "Aunt Petunia, do you know what chores I'm supposed to do?"
"There's a list pinned to the notice board beside the phone," she answered just as softly, without looking up from washing the dishes.
Seeing the paper, Harry quickly glanced at it before heading outside.
Weed the flowerbed
Trim the roses
Water the flowers
Pick up the sticks
Mow the lawn
Wash the dishes
Clean out the cupboard under the stairs
Organize the canned goods in the cabinets
Clean Dudley's room (don't break anything!)
Harry guessed that he would be able to complete the list as long as he did not take any breaks, which meant he would not finish. Not wanting to waste anymore time, Harry headed outside and began weeding the garden. Thankfully, Aunt Petunia was always meticulous about the house's appearance to the neighbors, so the weeds were not horrible. Regrettably, though, the sun was fierce and he could feel the back of neck burning. There was no relief as shade and even a slight breeze were practically nonexistent.
Harry decided to start by trimming the couple of rose bushes bordering the garden. He found a pair of shears in the shed he set to work. The trimming was one of the simpler tasks as only a few sprigs peeked out here and there. In fact, after only a few minutes of inspection, Harry felt he had the shrub in an acceptable state. Tossing down the clippers, Harry got down on his knees amidst the garden and talked the weeds. Judging by the slightly overgrown condition of the weeds, Harry expected his aunt had allowed them to multiply in anticipation of his return. Harry fumbled with a spade as he jabbed into the earth to remove the first offensive plant.
"Just something my relatives would do to spite me," Harry thought morosely.
After an hour or so of working, Harry noticed a commotion in the distance; there was a group of people standing in a circle, laughing and jeering at something in the center. He wanted to ignore it but the more he tried, the more he felt compelled to interfere - due to, as Hermione would, his hero complex. From what he could tell, it was Dudley and his gang, and Harry well remembered being the source of their entertainment. After a couple more minutes, he got to his feet. Once he was closer, Harry could easily recognize Dudley and someone he remembered as Piers. Nobody noticed him, as they were too engrossed in their activity.
Peering between two boys, Harry saw that in the center of the ring was a small animal with a sock over its head. The gang was pelting it with rocks and hooting with laughter as it jerked around. Fearful and sightless, the poor creature was scampering around in circles trying to escape, but every time it reached the edge, someone kicked it back. Over the rest of the voices, Harry could hear Dudley's voice encouraging everyone the loudest. Feeling sick to his stomach, he could not take anymore.
"Oy! Stop it!" Harry yelled just from the edge of the group.
Everyone jumped at his exclamation and Dudley spun around faster than Harry thought possible for his cousin.
"And what're you going to do to stop us?" snickered Piers.
"I think your parents would find it highly interest to know that you lot beat up little children and defenseless animals."
Some of them squirmed slightly, but no one seemed intimidated by the threat.
"Like they'll believe someone who goes to St. Brutus's," someone called.
"Oh, I think they'd believe if there were given the right incentive," Harry said raising his eyebrow at Dudley and reaching into his pocket. Harry knew if he could frighten Dudley, their leader, the rest would follow.
"But you can't…" Dudley began, a little fear starting to show in his eyes.
"Who said they didn't change the rules?"
Dudley's eyes grew large as he realized the implication, while everyone else looked bewildered by their peculiar exchange. Looking nervous, Dudley suddenly pointed off into the distance and shouted, "Cop!" Everyone scattered randomly. Harry slowly walked up to the animal, which had collapsed, and saw that it was a cat - white with cream-colored spots.
He crouched beside the poor creature and eased the sock off her head, while petting her back gently. Once it was free, the cat tried to get up but swayed slightly. Harry caught her and carefully cradled her in his arms. He walked toward the park, hoping the girl, whose name he could not remember, was still there. The only thing Harry knew about nursing for animals were the basics taught in Care of Magical Creatures class, the keyword being magical. Harry was not at all sure how to treat a domestic cat without any magical remedies or spells. At the park, Harry noticed that the cat was purring and rubbing her head against his chest. He smiled a little and wondered why anyone would want to hurt the little thing. He searched the park and the surrounding area, but could not find the girl anywhere.
Harry headed back to Privet Drive wondering what he was going to do with Sunsweet. He could not just let her go in fear that Dudley and his gang found her again. However, if he brought her to the Dursleys they would throw her out. As he walked up the drive, he spotted the greenhouse in the backyard; it was as good a place as any other was. He laid her down inside and she tried to get up, but only mewed pitifully when she was too weak.
"Don't worry, I'll be back," Harry said as he stood. "I'm going to get you some food."
He snuck in through the back door, and went to the kitchen; luckily, no one was there. He remembered watching a show about cats when he was younger, so he knew they were lactose intolerant and could not drink milk. He filled a small bowl with water and got some deli meat out of the fridge. He returned to the green house to find Sunsweet in the same position he left her in. Once she saw him, she immediately began purring again. He placed the shallow bowl beside her head and she began to lap the water thirstily. When she had her fill, Harry picked her up and fed her small bits of turkey. Looking her over, he did not see any wounds one her; it seemed the gang had not hurt her too seriously. The cat must not have eaten for a bit because she woofed down half of the meat Harry brought. Soon she fell asleep, purring in his lap. He delicately picked her up and placed her in a bed he made from old towels. Leaving the water and pieces of mean, he headed back to the garden to finish his chores.
It did not take long to water the garden or pick up the sticks, only about an hour, but when he went to mow the grass, Harry could not get the lawnmower to start. He looked at the motor and it seemed the battery was dead. He searched the shade, but could not find an extra battery or a charger. Knowing it would be useless to ask his aunt, he kept searching in the disorder and eventually found a very, very old mower. The long hand was made of wood and the part that was supposed to cut the grass was of metal. He got it to turn, but it was hard work pushing it back and forth across the yard, especially with no sort of motor or wheels.
He was only about halfway done when his vision started getting blurry, but Harry knew he could not stop. He had been working for about two and half hours, and realized that if he wanted anytime to himself that day he needed to push on. Besides, if he did not finish the chores in what the Dursleys considered a timely fashion, they would probably give him even more. Harry worked for another hour before he really began to feel the side effects of getting little sleep and eating a measly breakfast. He felt another bout of lightheadedness coming on and waited for it to pass but instead it steadily worsened. Harry tried to shake it off, but the sharp movement caused everything to go black and he felt himself falling.
Slowly, Harry became aware of his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was that his shoulder ached horribly and that his skin felt as though it was on fire. His eyes snapped open, but he was forced to close them due to the glare of the sun overhead. Squinting, Harry gingerly tried to lift himself up but felt a tug at the sleeve of his short. He looked to see his shirt tangled in the blades of the mower. Harry tried to tug it free, but the material ripped causing his shirt to hang off one shoulder. Harry saw that he was dreadfully sun burnt - the red contrasting horribly with the whiteness of his skin where the shirt had been. Frustrated, he picked himself up and shoved the mower forward. Harry knew he should go inside, but did not favor the idea of giving the Dursleys another insult to throw.
By the time Harry finished, he knew he was dehydrated, but at least he could work inside in the cool air, now. His skin seemed to crinkle with each movement, and though he could not feel it at the present, he knew it would hurt horribly the next day.
He walked into the kitchen to see a ham sandwich and a tall glass of ice water. Not positive it was intended for him, but hoping it was, Harry looked at the chores list for his next task. Surprising the entire kitchen was already clean. He remembered Aunt Petunia doing the dishes, but had expected her to stop and leave him the remaining ones, not clean the rest of the kitchen as well. He opened that cabinets and saw that these had been cleaned and organized as well. Not wanting to think about it, Harry sat at the table and ate the food; if the sandwich was for someone else - oh well. Noticing his right shoulder was starting to sting slightly, he rubbed the muscle slight trying to ease the ache. When he removed his hand, he saw that it was covered in blood. Figuring he must have cut it when he fell, Harry went to the sink and began washing the gash with soap and water. Once it was clean, Harry could feel that the cut was pretty deep and still bleeding, so he wanted to wrap it but did not know where his aunt kept the medical kit. Making due, Harry tore a strip of his shirt off, which was falling apart at the seams already and tied it around his shoulder. This staunched the blood for the most part, but there no hope for the remainder of the shirt; so Harry tossed it into the garbage.
Feeling a little better thanks to his break, Harry went to clean out the cupboard under the stairs. Harry supposed he ought to be afraid of the closet or, at least, resent it, but he did not. It had offered a safe haven when the Dursleys were angry with him, which he especially appreciated looking back. His uncle had always viewed sending Harry there as a punishment as it was cramped and dark, but to Harry it meant he would not be screamed at or be beat up by Dudley. To him, it was a natural part of his childhood, even though many would label this as bizarre, at best.
Now, Harry noticed, his aunt used it as a place for her multitude of cleaning products, even the cot he had once slept on was gone. Once more, Petunia's constant cleaning proved helpful, as she did not allow the cupboard to fall into disarray. Everything was pretty much in order and all Harry needed to do was straighten up a bit and dust the shelves that had been installed. Due to all the extra paraphernalia, Harry doubted he would have fit into the space now if he wanted to.
According the list, he had only one more job to do for the day - clean Dudley's room. If he could manage to finish in two hours, which was admittedly unlikely, he might have an hour to spare. Unfortunately, the Dursleys gave Dudley free reign in his room, which, of course, it was a complete disaster. Harry knew that Dudley himself would never cleaned his room and Aunt Petunia only made an effort when it was absolutely necessary, claiming she did not want to invade his privacy. If Harry's uncle was ordering him to clean it, it meant the disorder was reaching a point of no return. Climbing the stairs, Harry could hear music coming from his cousin's room.
"Brilliant," he thought, "My dear cousin is going to gloat while I do his dirty work - just bloody brilliant."
Before he went to work, Harry grabbed a shirt from his room and threw it on. He opened the door to Dudley's and stopped dead in his tracks. The bed was made, even if it was a bit shoddy; clothes were no longer strewn across the floor, though he could see a mound growing in the closet, and Dudley himself was sitting on front of the TV organizing his many videos and computer games.
"Err, Dudley, what are you doing?" Harry asked, staring incredulously at Dudley.
"Cleaning," the other boy grunted unhappily.
"Not to say this is a bad idea, but…why?"
"Cause."
"Do you need any help?"
"Sure."
Shaking his head, Harry walked to the bed and began making it in a more orderly fashion. Except for the music playing in the background, which would not be Harry's first choice to listen to but it was not horrible; the two worked in silence. When the bed was finished, Harry arranged the many knickknacks laying about the room. After about thirty minutes of working, there was really nothing left to do. Still confused as to why his cousin had the sudden urge to clean his room, Harry posed the question again.
"Isn't it obvious," Dudley said, looking at Harry as though he was daft. "Mum was pretty shocked Dad hit you, so we're trying to make sure he doesn't do it again. We don't like you much, but we're not out to kill you."
"Oh, well…thanks," Harry replied rather distractedly. He had actually thought they despised him enough to ignore Uncle Vernon's behavior; it was welcome to know otherwise.
"But don't expect special treatment or anything. I still don't like you," Dudley stated glaring at Harry.
Harry sighed and walked out the room muttering, "You're not the only one."
Harry had two hours now to relax and start making some progress towards learning new spells. He could do his summer work, but he had not written it all done, nor did he really see the need. It was not as if writing some potion's essay would help him in defeating Voldemort. He had little time to focus completely on training, so he was not about it waste it doing schoolwork.
Before he started working though, Harry wanted to change the makeshift bandage on his shoulder. He could already feel the blood starting to drip down his back, and did not want to ruin this shirt. He found one of the shabbiest shirts he owned, and proceeded to the bathroom. He tried to take the cloth off his shoulder, but it stuck somewhat due to the caked blood. He took a wet washcloth to ease the wrapping off and cleaned the wound. He ripped a strip off the shirt he had brought and tied it around the wound, hopefully this time it would stem the bleeding.
In his room, he removed the invisibility cloak from his trunk and pulled out some of the defense books he had received for Christmas and his birthday. He did not have many, but it was a start. Unfortunately, after skimming through them for almost two hours, they turned out to be useless. They focused on the general ideas of how a wizard war progressed and ended and did not provide sufficiently detailed facts to give Harry an idea how the dark wizards and witches were defeated.
He tossed the works back into the trunk and spied an old Daily prophet newspaper. Pulling it out Harry searched through it, vaguely remembering seeing a section about owl orders. Luckily, his memory proved accurate and he soon found an order from for Flourish and Blotts. There was a complete list of all the books in the store, but there was no rhyme or reason to the organization. Groaning, he settled on the bed, and began to read.
After about thirty minutes, Harry had compiled a list of seven books:
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Magick Moste Eville by Musidoro Drakule
Olde and Forgotten Bewitchmentes and Charmes by Charmanda Swick
Barriers Within: Building an Impenetrable Mind by Bulkus Occullus
Common Magical Ailment and Afflictions by Saucanda Whisp
Hairy Snout, Human Heart by Romulus J. Lycant
Curses and Counter-Curses (Bewitch your Friends and Befuddle you Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More) by Vindictus Viridian
Harry hoped that the first three books would have some valuable information and spell he could utilize, and the least he simply wanted because he remembered the title from his first trip to Diagon Alley. The medical book would be good to have, just in case, and the occulmency reading would hopefully be more useful than Snape had been.
When he spotted the book on werewolves, Harry knew he had to buy it. Remus was not only a friend of his parents, but also him, and yet Harry had never taken time to actively learn about Remus' condition. The only time he had ever learned anything was during Snape lesson, but he had not exactly been paying attention. Maybe if he found out more, he could help.
Reading over the order form, Harry jotted down the address and other necessary information. He doubted that Voldemort did not already know where he lived, so did not see the harm in provided this information. Wondering how he was supposed to pay, Harry noticed the fine print at the bottom of the document.
Once an order is received, notification will be sent to the Gringotts indicating that a withdrawal is necessary. A verification notice will then be sent form the bank, in which the purchaser will provide a signature and vault key with the secure return owl. The transaction will then commence and the purchase, along with the vault key, will be owled back within a week. This network is ensured to be secure by both this management and Gringotts. Should any mishaps occurs, please contact Flourish and Blotts manager, Mr. Tume, or the Head of Owl Order Transactions at Gringotts, Mr. Taxeowle.
Rolling up the order form and list, Harry woke a napping Hedwig, who hooted at him sleepily, and she her off with the papers. He still had thirty minutes until Uncle Vernon returned home, so he wanted to enjoy his time. However, all the reading was causing Harry's head to pound something fierce. In one way, he almost welcomed the pain because it was not connected to his scar whatsoever. Even so, he did not want to waste his time nursing a headache.
Sticking his head into the kitchen, Harry saw Aunt Petunia cooking at the stove. Not really wanting to get into another confrontation with her, he tiptoed in and began silently looking into cabinets and drawers for some medicine. As he opened one drawer, it rattled loudly, causing his aunt to let out a screech and send her wooden spoon flying.
"What are you doing," she yelled in surprise, spotting him standing by the offensive drawer.
"Just looking for some medicine for my headache," Harry replied trying to act normal, in hopes of putting off her temper.
"Well, why didn't you just ask? There's some in the cabinet just beside your head."
With this, she abruptly turned back to the stove and ignored him. Harry fumbled through the cabinet, before finding a bottle labeled "Migraine Formula" and a couple of pills out. He had grown so accustomed to potions that it seemed rather strange to swallow a simple pill. It was a shame Madam Pomphrey could not condense her remedies into such tasteless forms - it would make them a great deal less repulsive. Throughout this process, he saw his aunt kept glancing nervously at him and opening her mouth, obviously wanting to say something. Not wanting to hear what would probably be a reprimand for being an inconvenience, Harry turned to leave.
"One of those creatures left a letter," his aunt said, pulling out a small piece of paper. "They insist that I give you my cell phone number. You are to keep it on you at all times, but only use it in case of an emergency."
She held out the paper, holding it tightly as though giving it to Harry was the last thing she wanted to do. Did Dumbledore really thing he would have time to call the Dursleys in case of an attack. Harry could see it now - civilly asking the death eaters to pause in their attempts to kill him, so he could use the telephone.
"Sorry, Aunt Petunia, but you'd better not come home right now. Voldemort's death eaters decided to pay a visit, and I don't think you'd enjoy their company much."
Sighing, Harry stuffed the number into his pocked, next to his wand. He could tell his aunt was relieve to have gotten that over with, was she began cooking with a renewed vigor. Harry walked out the backdoor, hoping the medicine would kick in soon.
He went to the greenhouse, with the intention of checking on Sunsweet. He felt bad, having left her alone while she was hurt, so he wanted to make sure she was okay and still in the shed. He opened the door to see the cat curled up asleep in the bed of rags. Although, she woke up as the door creaked faintly. She gazed at him warily with golden eyes, looking undecided between darting out the door and staying. He closed the door quickly and turned on the light, before kneeling beside her. Harry held out his hand and she sniffed it before butting her head against it. He smiled and began petting her, and soon she was purring in delight. Harry noticed that she still had some water left, but that all the meat was gone; he would have to get some more if he could not find the owner tomorrow.
Soon Harry heard Vernon's car pull into the driveway, and exited the greenhouse, not wanting to give his uncle a reason to think he was doing anything suspicious. Uncle Vernon would not need much cause to punish Harry.
"Boy, get down here," his uncle called.
Harry slowly walked inside, not wanting to face the inevitable argument. Harry did not know if his uncle was still fuming, but hopefully he would just be sent to his room and ignored. Entering the kitchen, Harry could Uncle Vernon standing at the bottom of the stairs, staring impatiently.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry said, startling the man.
His uncle started, and turned to squint at Harry through his pig eyes suspiciously.
"Everything done on the list I gave you," he finally barked.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
"All of it? You cleaned the kitchen and Dudley's room?"
"They're both clean," Harry stated, trying to avoid saying he had help.
"How long have you been done?"
"I just finished, really."
"Fine, Get Dudley, it's time for supper."
Harry watched his uncle shuffle to the kitchen and sit down at the table heavily. The man pulled out a notebook and pen from his pocket and began writing down what Harry assumed was his list of chores for tomorrow. Harry could not believe he was letting his whale of an uncle win. He hated himself for it, but knew it was just a matter of time. Begrudgingly, Harry walked upstairs and knocked on Dudley's bedroom door, through which sounds of gunshots and screeching tires were emitted.
"Dudley," Harry yelled and banged on the door, trying to be heard over the din, "come eat!"
He distantly heard his cousin yell back, and assumed it was in the affirmative. Back in the kitchen, Vernon took one look at him and demanded, "What did you do to Dudley?" He seemed to think, as Harry was first, something must have happened to his son.
"Nothing, he coming down," Harry sighed.
Sure enough, pounding footsteps could be heard coming from the stairway. Harry tried to sit down, but his uncle ordered him to go and help Aunt Petunia. She already had the plates of food ready, so she just instructed him to take a couple of them to the table. Harry grabbed the two with the least amount of food and placed them at his and his aunt's seats. Surprisingly, he noticed that although he did not have as much as his relatives did, a fair amount of food was on his plate. Wondering if his uncle would try to force it away from him, Harry quickly sat and began eating. The table's other three occupants were alternating eating, talking, and watching the telly; Harry ignored them and only focused on eating his food. He had not realized how hungry he was until he put the first bite of pork chop in his mouth. Also, on the plate were peas and carrots, and a jacket potato. He could hear his cousin complaining about how the food was rather healthy, and Aunt Petunia explaining that Dudley still needed to diet some, to improve his physique. Dudley just huffed in annoyance and returned to the television.
Suddenly Vernon's voice boomed out above the conversation. Harry looked up to see the man staring at Dudley, who seemed to be confused, but a look of comprehension was slowly dawning on his face. Vernon turned to Harry, his face already purple with anger.
In an almost normal voice he said, "Dudley just told me how he found a new video game today…while SORTING THROUGH HIS THINGS!"
By the end of his sentence, Vernon was screaming and spitting across the table.
"I told you to clean that room, not my son. Dudley is a perfectly normal boy, and has every right to live here. You, on the other hand, are a worthless freak, and HAVE NO SUCH PRIVALEGE!"
"Dudley was showing me how he wanted them organized," Harry said thinking quickly and hoping his cousin would go along.
Vernon seemed to deflate at this and looked at his son, who nodded a bit hesitantly. Vernon grunted something unintelligible and everyone began eating again, silently. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, in which only the drone of the telly could be heard, Aunt Petunia announced it was time for dessert. Harry excused himself, saying he was full, even though he had not even finished his plate.
Uncle Vernon had become unbelievably violent since Harry had returned for the summer. Dudley's simple little statement had sent his dad off his rocker, looking fit to kill Harry. Harry knew he should probably report his uncle's change in behavior, but did not know what good it would do. Dumbledore would not relocate him, and if they talked to his relatives, it would only anger Vernon more.
Entering his room, Harry saw an unfamiliar owl perched atop the back of his desk chair. It was dark brown with wispy bits of feather extending from it forehead, a horn owl if Harry remembered correctly. Harry had left the window open in anticipation of Hedwig's return, but she was still not back. The horn owl hooted impatiently upon seeing him and stuck out its leg. There was a roll of parchment and a small leather bag attached. Harry removed them carefully and began reading the letter.
Mr. Potter,
It has come to our attention you wish to exact a withdrawal from your account in the amount of fifty-eight galleons. Please confirm by signing below and providing you vault key with the secure return owl.
- Taxeowle
Harry had totaled the amount of galleons the books would cost beforehand and this sum matched this amount, so he just found some ink and a spare quill and signed the parchment. It took a few minutes, but he was eventually able to find his vault key stuffed in an old sock. He put the key into the pouch, and attached it and the parchment to the waiting owl. The bird ruffled it feathers importantly and immediately flew out the window.
Glancing at the alarm clock on his nightstand, Harry saw that it was 6:30, much too early to consider going to bed. He rummaged through his trunk and pulled out the set of defense books Remus and Sirius gave him last Christmas, which he had yet to look at. Harry felt saddened just be the recollection, but quickly opened the first book and began reading.
There were two books in the set, titled A History of Dark Witches and Wizards, and Protection against the Dark Arts, respectively. Neither was very thick and by reading the first Harry saw that the author only provided brief outlines of each of the people.
Neither surprisingly nor comfortingly, the use of the Dark Arts by witches and wizards to gain power dated back to ancient times. The book provided the title each person claimed, their actual names (if known), the dates during which they reigned, who defeated them, and through what method. The manes of some of the earliest ones were lost in time, but the evils they accomplished were not. Harry skimmed through until he reached the section on Grindlewald. He recognized the name and vaguely remembered that Dumbledore was supposed to have defeated him. Read the segment, he saw that the dark wizard was killed using an extremely powerful killing curse. This surprised him slightly as he could not imagine his headmaster doing something so cold.
In the back of his mind, Harry knew this was the most basic way for a witch or wizard to kill another, but Harry had never grasped that he might be forced to use the curse too. Glancing at the clock again, Harry realized that he had been reading for almost three hours. After changing into his pajamas, he lay down and tried to "clear his mind." Harry lay completely still and tried to focus on his breathing. However, every time he felt he might be close, some wayward thought darted into his head. Frustrated, Harry gave the effort up as a lost cause. Eventually, he drifted off to sleep, wondering why Dumbledore had forced him to receive utterly useless lessons from Snape.
Monday, July 1, 1996 - 11:00 pm
She always volunteered to watch over him during these periods. Everyone else claimed to have precious engagements, or some such nonsense. Remus could not control the changes that ripped through him ever month. Moreover, with the potion, he was supposed to keep his mind - he was not a danger, anymore, really. Nevertheless, Remus still insisted on being locked up. Ever since the accident at Hogwarts, he feared something would happen, so he locked himself in the cellar, and she always stayed to make sure nothing did happen.
However, tonight something seemed wrong. All the other times she had stayed, he made relatively little sound, but now it sounded as though he was trying to break free. If he did, she had no way of protecting herself, not without hurting him. Tonks needed help. She sprinted upstairs to the study and frantically threw some floo powder into the fire. She quickly stepped in and cried, "Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore's Office." Tonks tumbled out of the hearth and fell ungracefully onto the ornate carpet below. She scrambled up and hastily began explaining her suspicions to Dumbledore.
"And…and, I think the potion must be faulty," she finished at last, gasping for breath.
She looked up to see Dumbledore watching her with a rather apologetic expression on his face.
"Faulty," she heard Severus Snape snap from the doorway. Looking down the length of his nose at her, he stated, "I assure you there is nothing wrong with the potion. The imbecile must have forgotten to take it."
Tonks was about to retort, her face screwed up in a very unladylike fashion, when Dumbledore interrupted their bickering.
"Calm down, Nymphadora." The mention of her given name caused Tonk's hair to change from deep purple to bright red. "I'm sure there is a plausible explanation for this, as it is both unlikely that the potion is flawed or that Remus failed to take it. Let the three of us go check on him."
"The monster is probably wreaking havoc on headquarters by now. I'm not about to wander in, and wait for him to attack," Severus stated, reaching for the door.
"Ah, but Severus, we may be in need of your expertise, if your assumptions are proven accurate."
"How can I be of any service? No potion can control him now - it's too late."
"Nevertheless, I feel it would be beneficial for everyone if you were to come," Dumbledore calmly insisted.
Seeing he would not be able to convince Dumbledore otherwise, Snape reluctantly followed the two through the grate to Grimmauld Place.
It was obvious from the uproar emerging from the basement that something was indeed amiss. Every few seconds an earsplitting howl would rise out of the commotion. Dumbledore hurriedly walked down the stairs and opened the rusting door that led to the cellar. At the noise, the werewolf stopped his incessant thrashing about and looked through the bars at the three of them. His gaze was full of such intense grief Tonks gasped and felt tears prick her eyes. Snape merely gritted his teeth and watched the beast with narrowed eyes.
"My dear," Dumbledore whispered addressing Tonks, "I do not believe this is a matter of the potion failing, but rather of Remus' emotional barriers being stripped away."
With this, the wolf let out another howl filled with sorrow and pain. They watched, unable to ease the agony of the tortured soul.
"Oh, Remus," Tonks cried out, gripped the bars tightly, as he began throwing himself against the walls of the cellar, once more.
