Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any other piece of copyright material referenced in this work.
Chapter 1
To say that Uncle Vernon was angry was an understatement. His face had turned the puce that it normally became after dealing with wizards, and spittle flew out of his mouth as he muttered a rant about "freaks" trying to "push him around" under his breath.
As Harry's small family came to their car, Uncle Vernon opened the driver's door and got in, as did Aunt Petunia. As Harry couldn't store his trunk in the boot of the car and get in as quickly as they could just get in, it wasn't long before Uncle Vernon was screaming at him.
"Hurry up, boy!"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
After Harry got in the car, his Uncle peeled out of the parking lot quickly, getting on the highway as quickly. The tension in the car began to mount, with Uncle Vernon nearly foaming at the mouth, and Aunt Petunia sitting in stony silence. Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Not far into the journey, Uncle Vernon directed his comments to Harry directly.
"Listen here boy. There's no way I'll let your freak friends tell me what to do. You will write that letter to them every month, I don't want them coming and bothering us."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
"When your not doing your extra chores this summer, you'll be in your room, quiet."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
"You'll only be allowed to keep that ruddy bird in my house because otherwise you won't be able to send the freaks your letter. I'll be making sure you write one once a month, and that thing won't be allowed out any other time. Got that?"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
"You'd better. If I find out that the freaks are coming to bother us, you'll be lucky if they get here in time to find you."
Harry gulped, and Aunt Petunia stiffened a little. However, the conversation, if one could call it that, was obviously done, and Uncle Vernon had deflated a bit, apparently having found his mood lifted after contemplating how he was going to get out of dealing with freaks all summer.
After a thoroughly uncomfortable trip for everyone involved, the car pulled up to number 4, Pivet Drive. Harry got out, bringing Hedwig's cage with him. He moved to open the boot, trying to get his trunk. However, his Uncle cut him off.
"Oh no you don't, boy. I'm locking this thing up myself. Give me that stick, and get on up to your room, I don't want to see you for the rest of the night."
Harry, having surrendered his wand, retreated upstairs, his Aunt right behind him. His last view of his Uncle for the night was of Vernon, red-faced, lugging the trunk in the direction of the broom cupboard.
Harry went into his room, still holding Hedwig's cage, and closed his door. Immediately, his Aunt locked it, with the locks that had been installed last summer. Harry put Hedwig's cage on his desk, and collapsed on his meager bed. He hadn't been able to think about Sirius's death since he got off the train, as he was too afraid in the presence of his angry uncle. Now, however, the thoughts poured in.
It was all his fault. If Harry hadn't run into danger headfirst, or had at least remembered the bloody mirror that now sat, broken, at the bottom of his trunk, then his godfather wouldn't be dead. It crossed his mind that Bellatrix deserved her share of the blame too, but she seemed like a force of nature. Like a disease, it could be eradicated, but it couldn't take responsibility for what it killed. Bellatrix was going to kill, that was her nature, and there couldn't be anything done about that. However, to put his godfather in harm's way was a horrible idea.
After a while, Harry's depressed musings caused him to view the scene of his godfather's death in his mind. He could see the look of shock on Sirius's face as he realized that he was going to fall through the veil of death, the ghastly look of triumphant glee on Bellatrix's visage. Soon, these visions morphed into the nightmares of an uneasy sleep.
Harry was woken up by a sound. He could tell that it had been a couple of hours, as the room had gotten darker, and the light streaming in the windows had a definitive reddish hue. Harry looked around for the source of the sound that had waken him, and found a tray with a bowl of soup and a piece of paper on it laying on the floor, next to the cat flap that had been put there for just that purpose. Harry took the tray to the desk, setting next to Hedwig. He picked up the spoon that was sitting on the folded piece of paper, and began eating the tomato soup. It was hot; that was more than he expected after his Uncle's threats earlier.
As he ate, he opened the piece of paper that was on the tray. It was a list of chores that he was expected to do this summer. It looked as if his family really was planning to win that lawn competition this summer, as well as several gardening ones. Not only that, but it looked as if his Uncle planned to have a new shed build this summer.
Harry gave the piece of bread that had been on the tray to Hedwig. It wasn't as good for her as a rodent would be, but it would keep her from starving if she could only go out once a month this summer. Hopefully, he could convince his family of that soon, and Hedwig would be allowed to go out and hunt.
After eating, Harry undressed and fell back onto his bed. He didn't have much else to do, as all his stuff was in the cupboard downstairs, no doubt padlocked. Even if it wasn't, Harry himself wasn't able to get out of his room without the use of magic, and his wand was downstairs as well. He soon fell back into his uneasy sleep.
The next morning, he was woken as his Aunt unlocked the door. "Get dressed boy, you need to do your chores."
Harry rolled out of bed, and put on some of Dudley's over sized hand me downs. The belt, as usual, was wrapped several times around to hold up his pants. He went ahead and used the bathroom before heading downstairs.
As Harry went through the kitchen to get to the back door, he saw his Aunt cleaning up after breakfast. She stopped him, however.
"Go ahead and make my breakfast, I didn't have time to eat this morning. I went ahead and left the ingredients there."
Harry's eyes widened. His aunt never ate that much food! And there were two plates sitting out for him to serve on.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia."
Harry went ahead and fixed them both a breakfast of eggs, scrambled with cheese, green onions, and bacon, served with toast and Orange Juice. His Aunt seemed to be pretending not to notice as he sat down across the table from her to eat himself, instead opening that day's Telegraph to the gossip section. After eating, he washed both their dishes and went outside to begin working on his chores.
Harry began by weeding the garden. It was obvious that nobody had done so all year, and it took him several hours to weed the back garden. When he was done, it was nearly time for lunch, and his Aunt called him in to make lunch for her as she sat, reading her latest trashy romance novel, at the kitchen table.
Harry, not sure if what happened at breakfast could be repeated, made her a sandwich, with ham and mayonnaise. She didn't object when she saw him making a second one, and she pretended once again not to notice when he ate. He cleaned up after both of them, and went back outside to continue his work.
A few hours later, his Aunt once again called him in. "Come on inside, boy. And go take a shower, you smell horrible. When you're done with that, go ahead and head to your room. I'll give you some soup for supper."
Harry headed up to the bathroom near his bedroom and closed the door. Once inside, he stripped, and turned on the shower. After a couple of minutes, it was warm enough to step into, and he did just that. He scrubbed himself clean, feeling more than slightly puzzled as to his Aunt's behavior that day.
After his shower, Harry headed to his room and shut the door. Soon enough he heard it lock, and he didn't expect to see any of his family for the rest of the day. He desperately wished that he could see his friends, but he wasn't even allowed to send them mail. His uncle wouldn't even consider him having writing material of any sort, afraid that he'd tell "the freaks" something that would make them come running. Even a journal or diary was out of the question.
It wasn't long until Harry saw his Uncle's car come up the drive, and the walrus himself come storming in. He heard the door downstairs slam, and his Uncle bellow.
"Where is that damn boy! The bloody chores aren't done!"
Surprisingly, Petunia's voice rose in opposition. "He worked hard all day, Vernon. I sent him upstairs for the night."
"I don't care how long or hard he worked, Pet. The freak can't even meet his goals. His free riding days are over!"
Harry was staring at his bedroom door right now, wide-eyed, as he listened to the fight his guardians were having. If his Aunt Petunia didn't stop his uncle, Harry's life was sure to be even more uncomfortable soon.
"What are you planning to do to him, Vernon?"
"I'm going to beat some obedience into him, that's what I'm going to do!"
"Vernon, if you do that, the neighbors might notice! And the freaks certainly will. I'll watch and make sure he works all day, hard as he can, don't you worry."
There was a pause in the conversation here, and the tension in the air was palpable. After a few moments in which Harry was sure Uncle Vernon was grinding his teeth, he heard what he swore had to be some of the best words in the English language.
"Alright, Pet. We don't want the freaks coming here and messing in our lives."
"Don't worry, Vernon. He won't freeload, I'll make sure of that."
With that, Harry heard the sound of his relatives go to get themselves dinner. At precisely 6:30, he received a bowl of soup and some bread, which he shared with Hedwig. Soon after eating, Harry fell back into his bed and into his normal, nightmare ridden sleep.
The next several days went by similarly. Harry's Aunt seemed to be nicer to him then normal; she allowed him to eat full meals with her, and while she watched over him working between breakfast and lunch, she wouldn't keep a strict eye on him after lunch, often going off to take a nap for two to three hours in the afternoon.
That Saturday, he wrote his first letter to the order. It was a very simple note. "Hello everyone, doing well. I'm very busy, I'll be sure to write within a month, though. Signed, Harry". This was quickly approved by his Uncle, who wanted to deal with him as little as possible, and Hedwig flew off to the north, where Hogwarts lay.
The next week proceeded much like the one previous, with Harry mostly working outside, except for cooking meals for himself and his Aunt Petunia. As Harry worked, quickly the outside work got done, and he realized that soon he wouldn't have a reason to spend much of his time out of his Aunt's watchful view anymore.
On Wednesday, with much of the work done, Harry decided to take a chance. His Aunt hadn't poked her head outside since lunch, and it was near two o'clock already. She would likely be taking a nap soon, and Harry figured that he would get out of the house.
Even with how much he hated this neighborhood, and the shallow, cardboard like people who lived there, Harry found he much preferred to be able to walk around like this. It wasn't long before his feet found themselves walking to the small park not far from Pivet Drive, about five to ten minutes walk from his house.
Reaching the shady park, Harry found that it was all but deserted. There was a teenage couple down on one end, and on the other was a small playground, which hosted a swing set, a merry-go-round, and a small jungle gym. Surprisingly, there were no children here today, probably because it was the hottest day so far this summer. Harry decided to take advantage of the relative silence and took a seat in one of the swings.
His thoughts soon turned to Sirius Black. One of the few nice consequences of the large amount of work that his family had given him was that it kept his mind off of the fight at the ministry, leaving that for his dreams.
He sat there for a while, not really keeping track of how much time had passed. After a while, he heard some feet crunch in the gravel that littered the ground surrounding him, and he looked up from his thoughts about Sirius to see a girl, about his age, approach him, and take a seat on the swing next to him.
She, like Harry, didn't swing, but simply sat there. She had straight, black hair, and appeared to be maybe a year or two older than Harry. The stranger thing was that Harry didn't recognize her. He had attended school with everyone from this area until he turned 11, and he thought that he knew all of the people around his age who lived there. Not like he had any friends that lived there, or anything. Just, he knew them.
'Oh, well,' he thought. 'I suppose she could have moved here in the five years since I started going to Hogwarts. I've not exactly kept up with the neighborhood gossip.'
Just as Harry's thoughts were starting to leave this girl that sat next to him, and return to the fight at the ministry ('I wonder how Hermione's doing? She was injured pretty badly...'), the girl next to him spoke, and for some reason it was the last thing he expected her to say.
"Hello, Harry."
He should have expected it really. He really should have. The Order of the Phoenix would be keeping a watch on him, and it wasn't exactly like there weren't hundreds of other wizards – death eaters, say – that would love to see him unprepared. Although, Dumbledore's wards were supposed to cover this park, at least enough to keep a dark witch from just walking up to him.
"... Tonks, is that you?"
"No, who's that?"
Well, that put an end to that theory. The shape shifter was full of surprises, he was hoping it was her. Especially since he didn't have a way to defend himself, what with his wand being locked in the cupboard under the stairs and all.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Rhiannon. You are Harry Potter. It is nice to meet you."
Something of her speech pattern reminded Harry of Luna; this put him further off his guard. He didn't like that, and the moment he caught himself dropping it, he increased it twofold.
On another note, the Welsh accent should have given away the fact that it wasn't Tonks. There were many things that Tonks wasn't, but by golly, she was English.
"A pleasure, I'm sure. Can I ask why you are here? Did Dumbledore send you?"
"Dumbledore? No, don't be silly. I am not part of his group."
"Then what are you doing here? Are you one of Voldemort's?"
"Now you're just being crass! No, no, I'm from a different group entirely. Tell me, you know now that there are two worlds: the normal, muggle world, and the wizarding world living right under the muggles nose, weaved in with their cities like some sort of strange cloth. How many other worlds do you think there are?"
"Er..." Truthfully, he hadn't thought about it. It made sense that there might be others, but he was happy with just the two that he had – crappy though they may be. After an awkward beat, he spoke.
"I didn't really expect to be quizzed. Especially from somebody who has yet to tell me why she's here!"
She laughed, a cool, clear sound. "How do you expect me to explain if I don't know what you know? Though it seems as if you know nothing of my world, so I suppose I shall explain.
"As you know, the wizarding world is run by a group of people called the wizengamot, mostly hereditary seats, but sometimes given out for exceptional work, as is the case for the current supreme mugwump, Albus Dumbledore. It's rather similar to the muggle's house of lords.
"It is also run by people who rely on one understanding of magic. One theory of magic, but more importantly, on only certain ways of accessing that magic: through wand work and potions. Do you understand so far?"
Harry nodded yes. Most of this made some sort of sense, though he had never really thought about it before. He had heard of other ways of doing magic, wandless and the like, but he had always heard them referred to as the hardest to do, and with not much result; a wizard without a wand was little better than a muggle.
"Now, that didn't happen out of nowhere. The type of magic that is most common in Britain, and indeed, in Europe and much of the world, is Roman style magic, though it had it's beginnings in ancient Greece. With the Roman takeover of Britain came the magical rule of those who practiced Roman magic. However, there were others that had their own styles of magic, and they didn't all convert.
"Instead, many of them went underground. In much of Britain, and parts of mainland Europe, the native styles of magic were Celtic style, and all share some heritage, though they do differ somewhat. Irish wizards don't cast spells in the same ways that Scottish warlocks do.
"Putting the subtle differences of the different Celtic magical traditions aside, their common heritage allowed them to live in the woods, and among the muggle people, in a way that the Romans couldn't. So we began to have our own, smaller communities, on the edge of the muggle world, much closer to it than the Romans did.
"Over the years, many others have left magical society for reasons of their own. Some were politically against the system that the wizarding world put them into: royalists, anarchists, and the like. Some muggleborns end up finding us too, and they are welcomed in a way that they are not in either the wizarding or muggle worlds. There are many other reasons."
Harry nodded slowly. The information was quite a bit to take in. However...
"Alright. But that doesn't explain why you are here."
"Then I shall continue. The terrors of the one you refer to as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' or 'You-Know-Who'..."
"His name is Voldemort."
Rhiannon smiled, warmly. She seemed genuinely glad to hear him say that. "Alright then, Voldemort. His has spilled over into our world. Right now, the ministry and the wizengamot are perfectly happy to turn a blind eye to those protected by our community. Pretend that we don't exist, so to speak. Not that we are appreciated or recognized, but they have no wish to stop us currently.
"However, Voldemort wants every magic user under his rule, and every muggle under theirs, or not alive at all. Those of us that don't accept the wizarding world will be converted or eradicated. So, a small group of us have banded together to work against him."
"How small?"
"Currently, there are less than ten of us."
"That few? How big is your community?"
"Not that small, but it is several orders of magnitude smaller than that of the wizarding community. However, you must recognize that we are a mostly decentralized community; there may very well be more groups like ours."
"Alright. So, you claim to fight Voldemort. You still haven't told me why you are here."
"Ah, yes. You see, our reasoning goes as such: you are obviously at the center of this war. You are important to both sides of the war: Dumbledore wants to protect you, and Voldemort wants to kill you. It appears that both believe that you are significant to the war effort. So, you might benefit from knowing something that not many others do."
This struck Harry. Knowing whatever art this girl's group could teach may very well count as "the power he knows not". However, the timing seemed almost too serendipitous, almost suspicious.
"How do I know that you're not working with Voldemort? I wouldn't put it past him to lead me into a trap."
"If I was, why wouldn't I have subdued you already? You don't have a wand."
That stumped him. There really was no good reason he could think of.
"I don't know. But that doesn't make me trust you any more." Okay, so he fibbed. Though, he didn't really trust her more, so much as he distrusted her less. So it wasn't really a lie.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I can give you a portkey that leads you right back here. Here, I'll even show you." She took out a small river stone, and with the words "little whinging park", she disappeared, only to reappear climbing out of a small cove of trees nearby, to where she had presumably been transported, out of sight.
"I also have a hotel key for you, payed through the summer, and a portkey to the hotel itself. You can have all three." She handed him a key and a small stick in addition to the river rock that she had before. As she was touching it with her bare skin to hand it to him, he decided that the likelihood that it he would disappear the moment he touched them was low. And, much to his relief, he didn't, as he noted, stuffing the items in his left hand trouser pocket. He looked up and found that Rhiannon was now handing him some papers.
"The receipts. For the hotel room. Even if you decide not to trust me, you have a place to stay away from here."
"Thanks," Harry said sincerely.
The strange girl grinned. "Very good. Now, let's go get your wand."
She took off with a purpose towards street, intent on heading to Harry's relatives house. After a few moments of shock at her sudden assertiveness, he took off after her. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea, my Aunt's home."
Rhiannon never broke stride. "That won't be a problem."
"You're not going to hurt her?" Harry exclaimed, eyes wide.
"Not at all." Rhiannon seemed slightly surprised at the idea. But it didn't cause her to break stride.
They were silent for the rest of the walk there, though Harry almost had to jog to keep up with the determined Welsh girl, who seemed to be humming a little under her breath. She walked up to the door, reached out her hand, and twisted the doorknob without bothering to knock. She walks right in, ignoring Harry's spluttering about being rude and how his Aunt and Uncle were going to kill the both of them.
Once inside, Rhiannon had him point out the cupboard under the stairs, and then headed straight there, where again, she opened the door without bothering to unlock anything. The slide lock burst open as she was reaching for the door. Harry glanced into the kitchen, and he could see his Aunt drinking tea and reading the newspaper, not seeming to notice the girl who was now listing the items she was stacking outside the cupboard quite noisily.
"Why doesn't Aunt Pet-"
"She won't notice us. As far as she's concerned, we're not here. Now, is this everything?"
Harry looked at the small pile of stuff there. There was his trunk, and the broom that meant so much more to him now then it had not even two months ago: the Firebolt that Sirius had given Harry in Harry's third year.
"Almost. Hedwig's cage is upstairs."
"Hedwig... Your bird?"
"Yes, a snowy owl."
"Alright, run upstairs and get it. And don't be to long. He may not be able to see us, but I don't want to dodge around your uncle."
Harry was already bounding up the stairs before she said this last sentence, but that made him move even quicker. However, he did take the time to steal a sheet of paper and jot down a note to his family explaining that he had met some new friends and not to expect him back anytime soon. He ran back down, and placed it on the coffee table just as Rhiannon was picking up his Firebolt. Grabbing the handle of his trunk, Harry headed out the door after her.
The two headed down the street, looking for the edge of the wards. Feeling them pass, they stopped, and Rhiannon reached her hand out to grab Harry's arm. As soon as they disappeared, Harry swore that he saw his Uncle's car turning on the street.