Disclaimer: Not mine Yadda Yadda
A/N: Sorry about the formatting the first time i uploaded it but i was on my way out the door for schoolies (Aussie end of Yr12 Celebrations) when i posted it. I was kinda in a hurry. This is hopefully paragraphed and easier to read.
As much as it was strange to say it Harry Potter was glad to be home. Not as in Hogwarts home but as in the prim and proper walls of the Dursley's house. It was the first time that he had ever actually thought of the house as a haven, a place of respite. But then Harry had never before gone through what he had in his fifth year. Call it hormones, call it teenage angst if you will, but Harry was depressed. And after the events of the last year, and in fact most of the events before that, life in the Wizarding world did not help along his emotional state. With barely enough time to begin the mourning process over Sirius, and Dumbledore had shipped him off back home, back to his life of complete isolation from the wizarding world, and his friends. And for the first time he was grateful. He was sick of the press asking questions like 'Do you feel relieved that you contributed to the death of he same man that killed your family and almost you?' or his favourite 'How does it feel to be manipulated by The Dark Lord?'. Even worse was the look that the school students gave him, the one that even some of the teachers gave him, and recently his closest friends. That look of wariness, that they expected him to blow up at any minute. And the looks of pity from those that knew about his connection to Sirius.
He didn't want them to look at him... at all. At least at home he could study what he liked in peace, without their constant inquiries as to his feelings, and his motives. He hadn't told them but he wanted revenge, pure and simple. He wanted to chain Voldemort to a table with razor wire and watch him struggle as he removed his organs one by one, making sure he was alive for as long as possible. Perhaps he would make him eat them.
Or he could just use the much cleaner Cruciatus curse until Voldemort spasmed so bad that he would break his own back. Despite this Harry knew he could never do anything like that. But the thoughts did quell his rage sometimes.
So his plan this summer was to study, anything and everything he could. Voldemort had been the top in his grade and so to beat him Harry would need to do a lot of catch up work. He damned his previous years of idleness and realized that by not learning to the best of his abilities, he could have condemned the entire wizarding community to its horrifying end. Harry had learned to appreciate that one spell could make or break a war.
It shocked Harry when upon arriving at home he hadn't needed to fight to retain his textbooks and his trunk. Vernon Dursley had watched him take it to his room without a word, and at dinnertime, he had not been called to cook. In fact none of the Dursleys spoke to him at all. He would have to bet that Mad-eye Moody would have something to do with that and although the action was inspired by pity, he appreciated it. At six o'clock he wandered down the stairs after reluctantly leaving his Transfiguration textbook to the enticing smell of a roast being served. However when he entered the kitchen He got nothing but a stare from Vernon as Petunia said 'come down later and get something to eat boy'. It was the first thing she had said to him in 12 months. He looked at the three plates served and took the hint, walking back to his room with a shrug.
He resumed working and after finishing all his transfiguration and charms homework, he set down his quill and tiredly made his way down the stairs again, surprised at how late it was, the Dursleys already sleeping soundly in their rooms. He grabbed some cold roast out of the fridge and, not risking the microwave for fear of waking them up, took it to his room and ate it cold as he went over his essays and made adjustments. Eventually, he had finished eating and his essays were beyond improvement, he allowed himself a rare smile and slowly went to bed with his alarm clock reading 3 o'clock in the morning. His last thought was of Hermione, and how she could manage to do this every night and still manage to stay awake the next day.
That night Harry dreamt of Voldemort. Of Sirius and of tattered black curtains flapping in the wind. Hundreds of glittering balls lining a never-ending passageway. Red slitted eyes seared into the back of his skull and a horrifying menacing laugh echoed around his head.
'You... its all your fault potter' it repeated over and over, it's gravelly voice making his teeth hurt, until it eventually turned into Dumbledore, faces merging as one in a grotesque mixture. Then Sirius's wailing voice could be heard. 'Why Harry? You were like a son. I loved you...Why?' The sequence repeated again and again, each time Harry's pleas for innocence became weaker and weaker until nothing but hoarse breaths came from his mouth.
He awoke early the next morning covered in sweat with his sheets tangled around him in knots. His thoughts lingered on Voldemort. Was it him that had sent the dream to him? Was this another tactic to make Harry falter, to give up his revenge?
As he got out of bed he began to wonder. Why had Dumbledore let him go if he knew that Voldemort still had the power of legilimency at his command? So many questions confused his mind, but seeing no immediate respite from them he tucked them to the back of his thoughts and got up to resume his studying. He would leave the room as little as possible this summer, though he vowed to at least go for a jog or something every morning, if only to keep fit and not let down his team mates. He was no longer afraid of attack out side the house. He knew he wasn't safe out side, but quite frankly he didn't care. At least then it would be over. Harry wasn't suicidal or anything... no true Gyffindor would take the coward's way out, but in his mind his own life didn't seem that important anymore. A bit of a paradox considering he was the last hope for the magical community.
Lost in his thoughts he quietly made his way down to the kitchen and drank a glass of milk for breakfast. He wasn't really hungry. After glancing at the clock, which read 7 o'clock, he realized that the Dursleys, being the sloths that they were, would not be awake for another two hours, perhaps more, so pulling on his shoes he walked out the door and onto the quiet street in Little Whinging. He wore what he had slept in, a singlet top and shorts, quite acceptable for a jog, though after half an hour he had worked up a sweat and peeled of his singlet. At least it would give the neighbours something to talk about. A teenage delinquent fresh out of disciplinary school, running half-naked around the streets.
He ran around his old school and began making his way home, taking note of the pinched faces, adorned with hair curlers and collared by frilly nightclothes staring out at him as the suburb began to awaken. He smiled. Petunia would hear about this by noon. Not that he cared because she wouldn't do anything with the threats of Mad-eye, Tonks, Lupin and Dumbledore hanging over her head. Besides the neighbourhood already blamed him for the vandalism that Dudley's group did around the place, despite the fact that it still happened even when he was at 'St Brutus's'.
He reached home at 8 o'clock on the dot and headed to the shower. Then he wrote to Hermione and Ron, and of course Lupin to assure him that the Dursleys were treating him ok (if flat out ignoring him was ok) and not to send Mad-eye over to demolish things.
Then he started on his potions homework, surprised at how easy it was without any distractions. He had found a loophole in the system that said that even if you didn't meet the O.W.L requirements for N.E.W.T level studies you could ask to sit an entry test to be accepted. Harry knew he hadn't scored an O or E level in Potions and knew that this would be his only chance to do advanced potions. He would not only pass the test, he would get top marks... not that he would be competing against anyone, no one in their right mind would willingly take part in a test to rejoin Snape's class. He would show Snape that he was worthy of even his excessively high expectations. And Harry knew that it wouldn't be easy.
He finished the essay by noon but didn't finish revising it until one, when his stomach began to growl. He took no notice of it however and immediately started on History of magic, getting his two worst subjects out of the way in one day. Again it was after midnight before he got something to eat. He was so absorbed in his studies that he didn't even hear Petunia and Vernon ranting in the sitting room about his morning gallivant all afternoon, nor did he hear Dudley kick his door muttering insults as he walked heavily to bed.
He just kept on repeating, in his mind, 'I'm doing this for Sirius' over and over, each time his resolve to learn more hardening until it was an unstoppable force. His work consumed him and he consumed the knowledge as though it was his life force. No time for self-pity or loathing when you're learning.
That night he dreamed of horror again.
A/N: Sorry about the formatting the first time i uploaded it but i was on my way out the door for schoolies (Aussie end of Yr12 Celebrations) when i posted it. I was kinda in a hurry. This is hopefully paragraphed and easier to read.
As much as it was strange to say it Harry Potter was glad to be home. Not as in Hogwarts home but as in the prim and proper walls of the Dursley's house. It was the first time that he had ever actually thought of the house as a haven, a place of respite. But then Harry had never before gone through what he had in his fifth year. Call it hormones, call it teenage angst if you will, but Harry was depressed. And after the events of the last year, and in fact most of the events before that, life in the Wizarding world did not help along his emotional state. With barely enough time to begin the mourning process over Sirius, and Dumbledore had shipped him off back home, back to his life of complete isolation from the wizarding world, and his friends. And for the first time he was grateful. He was sick of the press asking questions like 'Do you feel relieved that you contributed to the death of he same man that killed your family and almost you?' or his favourite 'How does it feel to be manipulated by The Dark Lord?'. Even worse was the look that the school students gave him, the one that even some of the teachers gave him, and recently his closest friends. That look of wariness, that they expected him to blow up at any minute. And the looks of pity from those that knew about his connection to Sirius.
He didn't want them to look at him... at all. At least at home he could study what he liked in peace, without their constant inquiries as to his feelings, and his motives. He hadn't told them but he wanted revenge, pure and simple. He wanted to chain Voldemort to a table with razor wire and watch him struggle as he removed his organs one by one, making sure he was alive for as long as possible. Perhaps he would make him eat them.
Or he could just use the much cleaner Cruciatus curse until Voldemort spasmed so bad that he would break his own back. Despite this Harry knew he could never do anything like that. But the thoughts did quell his rage sometimes.
So his plan this summer was to study, anything and everything he could. Voldemort had been the top in his grade and so to beat him Harry would need to do a lot of catch up work. He damned his previous years of idleness and realized that by not learning to the best of his abilities, he could have condemned the entire wizarding community to its horrifying end. Harry had learned to appreciate that one spell could make or break a war.
It shocked Harry when upon arriving at home he hadn't needed to fight to retain his textbooks and his trunk. Vernon Dursley had watched him take it to his room without a word, and at dinnertime, he had not been called to cook. In fact none of the Dursleys spoke to him at all. He would have to bet that Mad-eye Moody would have something to do with that and although the action was inspired by pity, he appreciated it. At six o'clock he wandered down the stairs after reluctantly leaving his Transfiguration textbook to the enticing smell of a roast being served. However when he entered the kitchen He got nothing but a stare from Vernon as Petunia said 'come down later and get something to eat boy'. It was the first thing she had said to him in 12 months. He looked at the three plates served and took the hint, walking back to his room with a shrug.
He resumed working and after finishing all his transfiguration and charms homework, he set down his quill and tiredly made his way down the stairs again, surprised at how late it was, the Dursleys already sleeping soundly in their rooms. He grabbed some cold roast out of the fridge and, not risking the microwave for fear of waking them up, took it to his room and ate it cold as he went over his essays and made adjustments. Eventually, he had finished eating and his essays were beyond improvement, he allowed himself a rare smile and slowly went to bed with his alarm clock reading 3 o'clock in the morning. His last thought was of Hermione, and how she could manage to do this every night and still manage to stay awake the next day.
That night Harry dreamt of Voldemort. Of Sirius and of tattered black curtains flapping in the wind. Hundreds of glittering balls lining a never-ending passageway. Red slitted eyes seared into the back of his skull and a horrifying menacing laugh echoed around his head.
'You... its all your fault potter' it repeated over and over, it's gravelly voice making his teeth hurt, until it eventually turned into Dumbledore, faces merging as one in a grotesque mixture. Then Sirius's wailing voice could be heard. 'Why Harry? You were like a son. I loved you...Why?' The sequence repeated again and again, each time Harry's pleas for innocence became weaker and weaker until nothing but hoarse breaths came from his mouth.
He awoke early the next morning covered in sweat with his sheets tangled around him in knots. His thoughts lingered on Voldemort. Was it him that had sent the dream to him? Was this another tactic to make Harry falter, to give up his revenge?
As he got out of bed he began to wonder. Why had Dumbledore let him go if he knew that Voldemort still had the power of legilimency at his command? So many questions confused his mind, but seeing no immediate respite from them he tucked them to the back of his thoughts and got up to resume his studying. He would leave the room as little as possible this summer, though he vowed to at least go for a jog or something every morning, if only to keep fit and not let down his team mates. He was no longer afraid of attack out side the house. He knew he wasn't safe out side, but quite frankly he didn't care. At least then it would be over. Harry wasn't suicidal or anything... no true Gyffindor would take the coward's way out, but in his mind his own life didn't seem that important anymore. A bit of a paradox considering he was the last hope for the magical community.
Lost in his thoughts he quietly made his way down to the kitchen and drank a glass of milk for breakfast. He wasn't really hungry. After glancing at the clock, which read 7 o'clock, he realized that the Dursleys, being the sloths that they were, would not be awake for another two hours, perhaps more, so pulling on his shoes he walked out the door and onto the quiet street in Little Whinging. He wore what he had slept in, a singlet top and shorts, quite acceptable for a jog, though after half an hour he had worked up a sweat and peeled of his singlet. At least it would give the neighbours something to talk about. A teenage delinquent fresh out of disciplinary school, running half-naked around the streets.
He ran around his old school and began making his way home, taking note of the pinched faces, adorned with hair curlers and collared by frilly nightclothes staring out at him as the suburb began to awaken. He smiled. Petunia would hear about this by noon. Not that he cared because she wouldn't do anything with the threats of Mad-eye, Tonks, Lupin and Dumbledore hanging over her head. Besides the neighbourhood already blamed him for the vandalism that Dudley's group did around the place, despite the fact that it still happened even when he was at 'St Brutus's'.
He reached home at 8 o'clock on the dot and headed to the shower. Then he wrote to Hermione and Ron, and of course Lupin to assure him that the Dursleys were treating him ok (if flat out ignoring him was ok) and not to send Mad-eye over to demolish things.
Then he started on his potions homework, surprised at how easy it was without any distractions. He had found a loophole in the system that said that even if you didn't meet the O.W.L requirements for N.E.W.T level studies you could ask to sit an entry test to be accepted. Harry knew he hadn't scored an O or E level in Potions and knew that this would be his only chance to do advanced potions. He would not only pass the test, he would get top marks... not that he would be competing against anyone, no one in their right mind would willingly take part in a test to rejoin Snape's class. He would show Snape that he was worthy of even his excessively high expectations. And Harry knew that it wouldn't be easy.
He finished the essay by noon but didn't finish revising it until one, when his stomach began to growl. He took no notice of it however and immediately started on History of magic, getting his two worst subjects out of the way in one day. Again it was after midnight before he got something to eat. He was so absorbed in his studies that he didn't even hear Petunia and Vernon ranting in the sitting room about his morning gallivant all afternoon, nor did he hear Dudley kick his door muttering insults as he walked heavily to bed.
He just kept on repeating, in his mind, 'I'm doing this for Sirius' over and over, each time his resolve to learn more hardening until it was an unstoppable force. His work consumed him and he consumed the knowledge as though it was his life force. No time for self-pity or loathing when you're learning.
That night he dreamed of horror again.