I flew.
No matter how many times I did it, the feeling never changed. The tangibility of the wind drafts lifting me up, whistling through my feathers. The adrenaline and excitement pulsing through my veins. The perception that I could do anything.
Focus, I told myself. While thinking during such an amazing experience was hard, it wasn't impossible. So I focused.
I was flying toward the boy I've been watching for the last couple of weeks. He led a boring life at the moment, but people tell me that he was pretty epic. Evidently, that epicness vanished during the summer. Nonetheless, it was still surprisingly interesting to watch another person go through his everyday life.
His name is Harry Potter.
I was watching him because I'm part of the Order of the Phoenix.
Well, technically, I'm not, but I do currently live at their headquarters. I'm a relative of Sirius Black's (His father's brother's daughter, or in simpler terms: cousins), but my father is dead, so I lived with another uncle (Sirius's father's sister's husband) until I found his dead body a month ago. A Killing Curse had killed him. Nobody had any idea who it might be, since he had plenty of enemies, nor the motivation. Whatever the reason, though, nothing else happened, so the case was finally dropped.
Nobody knew that I was an animagus. Everyone at headquarters thought that I was on a walk. Only my uncle knew, and he's dead.
Speaking of dead guardians, I now didn't have anyone to homeschool me. Sirius certainly didn't have the time, and I didn't have anyone else. Not from this world, anyway. But I'll tell you about that later.
I will be going to Hogwarts this year. Truth be told, I was beyond excited to go there. My uncle had a library, but I've read all the books many times over. The Hogwarts library is supposed to be huge! Not to mention the castle itself. It has seven (known) floors, a hundred and forty two moving staircases, and- well, I won't bore you with all the other details, since I may or may have not memorized the entire Hogwarts, a History.
I descended toward the ground. In the distance, I saw a couple of people pointing at me. They were probably excited to see such a big hawk in such a boring place like Surrey, Little Whinging. I flew over the identical suburban houses, their cars dusty and their normally polished gardens brown because of draught. As I circled of Potter's house, my sharp eyes spotted him lying in some bushes, just underneath the open living room window. He was listening to something.
Fluttering down and landing on a tree nearby, I overheard what Potter was listening to.
The news.
If I had eyebrows, I would've raised one. How much more boring could you get?
I tried to put myself in his place. His friends haven't been writing to him (Dumbledore told them not to, because of 'reasons'). He must've been getting the newspapers, but from what little I learned from watching him, I got the idea that he wasn't the most patient of people. He probably just skimmed through the papers, I realized. Maybe even just looking at the headlines, thinking that if Voldemort returned, it would most certainly be on the front page. He most likely had no idea o the political situation.
I shook my head, knowing I looked odd doing that in my hawk form. He should know better than that. Ah, well, nothing I could do.
Thinking about helplessness, I was reminded of camp. I had to go home early this year. I had received a message from my uncle to get home right away, but by the time I had gotten home, it had been too late. He had laid stone cold surrounded by destruction, his stiff fingers gripping his wand so tight that I had to pry them apart. Not that I was overly sad that he was dead, but that's another story. Anyway, I had to cut camp short. I had only been there a few weeks, so I was mad him for dying so early in summer. I know, I sound glacier cold, but it's the truth.
I was startled out of my thoughts by a crack! coming from under the car across Potter's house. A yowling cat sprinted out from there. Instantly, I jumped out of the tree, transforming in the process. In a second, I had an arrow pointed at the car, bow string taught, before I realized that the sound was from someone Dissapparating. Potter had wizards watching him. This was probably the end of his shift. I sheathed the arrow and momentarily shifted back into a hawk.
I swiveled around, searching for a shocked expression on Potter's face, but he was too out of it to notice me. He had evidently hit his head while standing up. I would have sighed in relief if I had been in human form.
Then I frowned (well, as much as hawks can frown). That was way too close. What I did was idiotic, though instinctive. I should've drawn my wand, not my bow and arrows. Well, old habits die hard. The things I learned at camp would stay with me for the rest of my life. I had, after all, gone there since I was six.
If you're wondering what sort of camp taught you to draw a weapon when startled, then the answer is Camp Half-Blood, and it's the best place in the world. It took in only a certain kind of people and taught them - us - how to survive.
Those certain kind of people aren't even fully human - they're half god, half mortal. Half Greek god, to be exact. The official term is demigod, though half-blood also works. I stifle a laugh. Even in the wizarding world, I was still a half-blood.
I had ignored Potter since the transformation, so I turned to see him talking to his aunt and uncle.
"Why were you lurking under our window?" His aunt Petunia was asking suspiciously.
"Yes - yes, good point, Petunia!" Mr. Dursley exclaimed triumphantly. "What were you doing under our window, boy?"
"Listening to the news," said Potter in a resigned voice. His aunt and uncle exchanged looks of outrage.
"Listening to the news! Again?"
"Well, it changes every day, you see," said Potter. I stifled a chuckle.
"Don't you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you're really up to - and don't give me any more of this listening to the news tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot . . ."
"Careful, Vernon!" breathed Mrs. Dursley, and her husband lowered his voice so I could barely hear him, ". . . that your lot don't get on our news!"
"That's all you know," said Potter. The Dursleys goggled at him for a few seconds, then Mrs. Dursley said, "You're a nasty little liar. What are all those -" she too lowered her voice so that I had to lip-read the next word, "- owls - doing if they're not bringing you news?"
"Aha!" said Uncle Vernon in a triumphant whisper. "Get out of that one, boy! As if we didn't know you get all your news from those pestilential birds!"
Potter hesitated for a moment.
"The owls . . . aren't bringing me news," Potter said tonelessly.
"I don't believe it," said the horse-faced woman at once.
"No more do I," said Mr. Dursley forcefully.
"We know you're up to something funny," said Mrs. Dursley.
"We're not stupid, you know," said Mr. Dursley.
"Well, that's news to me," said Harry, his temper evidently rising, and before the Dursleys could call him back, he had wheeled around, crossed the front lawn, stepped over the low garden wall, and was striding off up the street.
I took flight and followed him. He walked around for a while, getting angrier and angrier. He looked around resentfully, spotting a deserted, steadily darkening park. He vaulted over the gate and strode through the yellowing grass before settling on the only unbroken swing. He stayed like that, staring moodily at the ground.
As I perched on a tree, the sound of voices interrupted his glaring and he looked up. The streetlamps from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them was singing a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along. I recognized them. After so much time watching Potter, they would be etched into my memories forever. And not in a good way, either.
The figure in front was unmistakably Potter's cousin, Dudley Dursley, wending his way home, accompanied by his faithful gang.
Potter watched the dark figures crossing the grass, glowering at them. He didn't, however, call after them, though he seemed to have difficulty keeping quiet. When they were out of sight, he stood, stretched, and headed, scowling, home.
Harry stepped into the shadow of a large lilac tree and waited.
". . . squealed like a pig, didn't he?" Malcolm was saying, to guffaws from the others.
"Nice right hook, Big D," said Piers. "Same time tomorrow?" said Dudley.
"Round at my place, my parents are out," said Gordon.
"See you then," said Dudley.
"Bye Dud!"
"See ya, Big D!"
Potter waited for the rest of the gang to move on before setting off again. When their voices had faded once more he headed around the corner of the street and by walking very quickly he soon came within hailing distance of Dudley, who was strolling along at his ease, humming tunelessly.
"Hey, Big D!"
I was circling above them, trying not to giggle. Big D. Sounded like a bra size.
Dudley turned.
"Oh," he grunted. "It's you."
"How long have you been 'Big D' then?" said Harry.
"Shut it," snarled Dudley, turning away again.
"Cool name," said Harry, grinning and falling into step beside his cousin.
"But you'll always be Ickle Diddykins to me."
"I said, SHUT IT!" said Dudley, whose ham-like hands had curled into fists.
"Don't the boys know that's what your mum calls you?"
"Shut your face."
"You don't tell her to shut her face. What about 'popkin' and 'Dinky Diddydums,' can I use them then?"
Oh, gods. My ribs are going to burst from held in laughter.
Dudley said nothing. The effort of keeping himself from hitting Harry seemed to be demanding all his self-control.
"So who've you been beating up tonight?" Harry asked, his grin fading. "Another ten-year-old? I know you did Mark Evans two nights ago -"
"He was asking for it," snarled Dudley.
"Oh yeah?" "He cheeked me."
"Yeah? Did he say you look like a pig that's been taught to walk on its hind legs? 'Cause that's not cheek, Dud, that's true . . ."
I made a small sound. Thankfully, neither of them heard it.
A muscle was twitching in Dudley's jaw. It seemed to give Potter enormous satisfaction to torture Dudley like that.
They turned right down the narrow alleyway which seemed to form a shortcut between one street and another. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Their footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.
"Think you're a big man carrying that thing, don't you?" Dudley said after a few seconds.
"What thing?"
"That - that thing you're hiding."
Potter grinned again. "Not as stupid as you look, are you, Dud? But I s'pose if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time. . . ."
Potter pulled out his wand. He saw Dudley look sideways at it.
"You're not allowed," Dudley said at once. "I know you're not. You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."
"How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, Big D?"
"They haven't," said Dudley, though he didn't sound completely convinced. Potter laughed softly.
"You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Dudley snarled.
"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"
"He was sixteen for your information," snarled Dudley, "and he was out cold for twenty minutes after I'd finished with him and he was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Dad you had that thing out -"
"Running to Daddy now, are you? Is his ickle boxing champ frightened of nasty Harry's wand?"
"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Dudley.
"This is night, Diddykins. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this." I made another noise of laughter, unable to stand it, but they were too wrapped up in their argument to notice.
"I mean when you're in bed!" Dudley snarled. He had stopped walking. Potter stopped too, staring at his cousin. From what I could see of Dudley's large face, he was wearing a strangely triumphant look.
"What d'you mean, I'm not brave in bed?" said Potter, completely nonplussed. "What - am I supposed to be frightened of pillows or something?"
"I heard you last night," said Dudley breathlessly. "Talking in your sleep. Moaning."
"What d'you mean?" Potter said again, but his expression changed in his expression. He looked queasy, and almost... rather nervous.
Dudley gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched, whimpering voice. " 'Don't kill Cedric! Don't kill Cedric!' Who's Cedric - your boyfriend?"
"I - you're lying -" said Potter, seemingly automatically. I knew who Cedric was, though. He was the guy that was killed in front of harry the night Voldemort had risen.
" 'Dad! Help me, Dad! He's going to kill me, Dad! Boo-hoo!' "
"Shut up," said Potter quietly. "Shut up, Dudley, I'm warning you!"
" 'Come and help me, Dad! Mum, come and help me! He's killed Cedric! Dad, help me! He's going to -'Don't you point that thing at me!"
Dudley backed into the alley wall. Potter was pointing the wand directly at Dudley's heart. I could see years of hatred coming to the surface, blazing through his eyes. He wanted to hurt him, maim him, to strike him with a jinx so powerful -
"Don't ever talk about that again," Harry snarled. "D'you understand me?"
"Point that thing somewhere else!"
"I said, do you understand me?"
"Point it somewhere else!"
"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"
"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM -"
Dudley gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though he had been doused in icy water.
Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch-black and lightless - the stars, the moon, the misty streetlamps at either end of the alley had vanished. The distant grumble of cars and the whisper of trees had gone. The balmy evening was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. They were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding them.
And I felt it - even in animagus form, I could feel their power, sucking, leeching off me. Dementors. I shuddered in the air, then aimed to the ground, shapeshifting in midair and jumping to the ground, unnoticed in the shadows. I had to help, but I had been told that Potter can cast a Patronus. That decided it, then. I would wait to see if he manages to cast one. If he fails, then I would help him.
Dudley's terrified voice broke in my ear.
"W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!"
"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"
"I c-can't see! I've g-gone blind! I -"
"I said shut up!"
Even in the dark, I could see perfectly - a gift from mother. Dudley was hugging the wall behind him. Harry was looking around blindly, trying to see the dementors. There was one about 10 feet in front of them, and another just arriving, gliding down through the dark sky.
"I'll t-tell Dad!" Dudley whimpered. "W-where are you? What are you d-do - ?"
"Will you shut up?" Harry hissed, "I'm trying to lis -" But he fell silent. He had heard the same thing I did.
Something was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths. And he had a pretty good idea what it was.
"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"
"Dudley, shut -"
WHAM!
Dudley's fist connected to Potter's head, lifting him off his feet. I winced. That really hurt. I know from experience.
"You moron, Dudley!" Harry yelled, his eyes watering with pain, as he scrambled to his hands and knees, now feeling around frantically in the blackness. He heard Dudley blundering away, hitting the alley fence, stumbling.
"DUDLEY, COME BACK! YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"
There was a horrible squealing yell, and Dudley's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, I felt a creeping chill behind me. That could mean only one thing. I turned around and spotted another one. Oh, gods. Potter was definitely going to need help.
"DUDLEY, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!" Potter muttered frantically, his hands flying over the ground like spiders.
"Where's - wand - come on - Lumos!"
A light appeared a few feet from him. I jerked, surprised. I had read that wands made of a phoenix feather sometimes acted on their own, but I had never seen it before.
Potter finally saw the towering, hooded figure that was gliding smoothly toward him, hovering over the ground, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came. Stumbling backward, Potter raised his wand.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A silvery wisp of vapor shot from the tip of the wand and the dementor slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; tripping over his feet, Potter retreated farther as the dementor bore down upon him.
I gave him one last shot; if he didn't manage to make a Patronus, I was taking over.
A pair of gray, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the dementor's robes, reaching for the boy.
"Expecto Patronum!"
It was even weaker than the previous; that was it. As Potter sank to his knees, I stepped in front of him. He looked up, dazed, as I cast the spell.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
An enormous wolf erupted from my wand. Its head was a foot above mine; he was at least 12 feet long, from head to tail, shining with an unearthly silver light. He snarled at the dementor, then pounced. The Patronus drove his opponent back, foot by foot. Finally, it swooped away pathetically, defeated.
"THIS WAY!" Harry shouted at the wolf, finally having stood up. Wheeling around, he sprinted down the alleyway, holding the lit wand aloft.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Potter bellowed, and his Patronus joined mine.
"DUDLEY? DUDLEY!" He had run barely a dozen steps, me following, when he reached them: Dudley was curled on the ground, his arms clamped over his face; the second dementor was crouching low over him, gripping his wrists in its slimy hands, prying them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its hooded head toward Dudley's face as though about to kiss him...
"GET IT!" Harry bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver stag and wolf came galloping back past him. The dementor's eyeless face was barely an inch from Dudley's when the silver antlers caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, was chewed up by the silver wolf; it then soared away and was absorbed into the darkness. The stag cantered to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist. My Patronus, however came back to me and let me scratch him behind his ears (though I had to stretch to reach them), before he, to, dissolved.
Moon, stars, and streetlamps burst back into life. A warm breeze swept the alleyway. Trees rustled in neighboring gardens and the mundane rumble of cars in Magnolia Crescent filled the air again. I stood quite still, all my senses vibrating, taking in the abrupt return to normality.
I suddenly became aware of a person watching us. Tensing, I shifted slightly to the left and spotted Mrs. Figg. I relaxed. She would know not to tell anyone. I smiled at her; her expression staying serious, she winked at me.
After a moment Potter seemed to become aware that the person who saved him was standing next to him.
"Who are you?" he demanded after a few seconds of staring at me.
I winked. "You're welcome, Harry Potter. No need to thank me so nicely."
He flushed deeply, but didn't backed down. "Thank you," he said grudgingly. "But really; who are you?"
"Oh, I imagine you'll find out soon enough," I answered with a grin. "But do me a favor - please don't tell anyone about me; just for the moment. I promise we'll be seeing each other real soon."
And without another word, I sprinted away into the darkness.