I am not the owner of Harry Potter, just trying to get some writing practice
Harry Potter was happy.
It was not a joyous kind of happy, full of laughter and smiles. No, this was a quiet, mellow thing. A secret thing, no smile graced his lips. No one would ever know. What he felt was a calm satisfaction of being done, complete with the bone deep aching weariness. This kind of happiness came from knowing that the work, the pain, was over.
For the first time, in a long time, Harry had a serene sense of clarity. He could enjoy the little things around him. As he sat on the sill of his bedroom window, he listened and watched. The sky was the bluest blue with only a few white fluffy clouds passing by. A gentle breeze blew in from the north, cooling him off. A couple of birds sang sweetly to each other in a nearby tree. Not to mention the fact that house was currently Dursley free.
Harry tried not to think about why he was happy, he needed to focus on being. Just for a little longer, he said, just for a little longer.
Then he would never have to worry again. It would all be over. Things would change. Harry did not know what the result of this would be, but the knowledge that everything would change was enough. There would be no more fear or pain. There would be no more madman after his life and soul There would be no relatives alternating between acting like he did not exist and how to cause him the most pain. There would be no professors blaming the son for the father's sins, imagined or not. There would be no more fickle mob that could not make up its mind whether he was a hero or the wizard version of the antichrist.
There would be no more loneliness.
It gave him hope in a terrible way, but humans cling to hope, cherish it. This was not a hope that something could last forever, but hope that something could change, could end. He knew it would change things, he hoped it would end the darkness of his life. Such is hope.
He picked up a piece of polished holly and looked at it lovingly. This little thing opened up a whole new world for him. There was pain there, but also moments of wonder. He was grateful for latter, even if he could no longer abide the former. His life before Hogwarts and magic had been one solid mass of gray, punctuated only the tender care of his relatives. Now he had seen things, done things, that most of the world would think impossible. Harry had even found friendship, something long denied to him.
A ghost of a smile crossed his face as he thought of his precious friends. He knew they probably wouldn't understand, but this was for them as well. How could they not be happier, without someone like him, dragging them down and into trouble? They would certainly be safer. That was enough. He hoped they would forgive him, eventually.
Harry rolled the wand between fingers, feeling the smooth grain of the wood. Magical foci like this one were strange things. They were not alive, sentient, but they also not exactly not alive. They reacted far more than an ordinary object could. In this case there was something akin to sparks between the two. The wand wanted to feel alive, to have magic running through its core, needed it. He could understand a need like that. At least one would get their wish, if only for a little while.
Grasping the wand, he placed the tip under his chin. He closed his eyes and thought of the spell he needed. This spell had two requirements. The power he had. The other requirement was that you had to hate utterly the object of the spell. He had that too.
Harry's words come out as a whisper, yet were resolute and unwavering.
"Avada Kedavra."
Number 4 Privet drive exploded in storm of light and thunder.
Not too far away, Hermione was perusing the Granger family library. Only the day before, she had finished her summer's worth of homework, plus some unrequested extra credit. As a reward for her latest academic conquest, today was to be a lazy day. While her classmates would no doubt deny that she knew how relax, she was well acquainted with the need to unwind. To that end, she was choosing a selection of books to enjoy in her favorite arm chair.
Hermione sighed happily just thinking about that chair. The piece of furniture in question was a worn leather wingback chair. The leather was well cared for and cradled her perfectly. She had long since decided that she would never find a feather bed nearly as comfortable as the chair. Humming quietly to herself, she daydreamed of the lounging in that perfect chair, thumbing through a stack of books.
As she passed in front of window, she stopped to pet Hedwig. Harry's owl often came by during the summers and was currently perched on the arm of said chair. Hedwig seemed to like it too, or at being close. Either way. Her fingers caressed downy feathers as she tried not to think of why the owl was here. Harry never seemed to catch a break. Trouble found him like iron filings to a lodestone. No matter what anyone did, his school years were plagued by bullies, diasters, and monsters, literal monsters. The last year alone had included dragons, giant spiders, and some mutant hybrid made by Hagrid. To top it all off, he had to spend summers with those horrible people! She was smart enough to noticed at least some of the telltale signs of an abused child and socially awkward enough not to say anything. She snorted, and Harry thought she was brave.
Hermione frowned, now Dumbledore had forbidden anyone to contact Harry. Something about not disturbing him, letting him grieve in peace. Now that was without a doubt the biggest steaming pile of horsesh...Hedwig snapped her bill as fingers became too rough.
Hermione sighed dramatically. This was why she needed some R and R, relaxation and reading.
She had already three books in her arms, a new science fiction novel, a history book covering the life of roman legionaries, and her school transfiguration text. No point in falling behind after all. Hermione was now perusing the classics bookcase. She needed something time-tested and well-loved to round the days reading list. She had thought briefly of reading some Shakespeare, perhaps the Tempest. There was always Dante or Milton, though perhaps not the Inferno. She wanted something a little more positive. Hell was not positive.
Her fingers paused on Frankenstein before moving on. She was almost to the HG Wells shelf when something went wrong, deeply truly wrong.
Her heart stopped, without warning or cause. Her chest seized up and all the breath vanished from her lungs. The world was suddenly tilt...and unsound. Books clattered to floor as they fell from unfeeling hands. There was an emptiness growing in her soul, a blank space that wasn't there before. Something was gone, something she needed. It was gone!
It hurt. It ate away at her, leaving only the emptiness.
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she began to sob. Hermione looked around wildly, trying to find what she had lost. There was nothing, only old paper and very concerned owl. She did the only thing she could think of, she screamed and every window in the house broke with her.
Far too the north was a man whose brain was full. Albus Dumbledore thought endlessly. His mind was full of memories, ideas, fantasies, schemes, plans and socks. He tried very hard to watch and manage everything he could, all for the greater good. The world as a great chess board and Albus attempted to guide their movements of every one towards the betterment of all. He had grand plans, some that required much of those involved, but all were meant to help.
So detailed were his observations, knowledge, and plans that he was rarely surprised anymore. Pity. Surprises are to be cherished, like sweet piece of candy. Albus treasured when life gave him a surprise in his old age.
However, no one is infallible, nor omniscient. Human eyes can only see so far. Human minds can only do so much. And time wears on us all. It was bound to happen that one day Dumbledore would be wrong. One day all of his planning and scheming would be turned upside down.
Also, not all surprises are good.
His office was filled portraits, books, and gadgets. These gadgets did many things, or nothing. There was a brass gyroscope whose rotations increased and decreased with the barometric pressure, a handy tool for monitoring weather. A crystal ball that would laugh randomly and loudly during silent stretches. To the left was a particularly complicated model of the solar system, including minor planets and a few comets. Nestled in the center was a clock. It told time.
Unbeknownst to anyone, there was a very special gadget with a very special purpose. It was a series of brass rings wrapped around a stone column. Each ring was carved with thin delicate symbols written in an archaic language. Within the column was a single drop of blood. The outer rings spun as an indicator of that person's well-being. That person was, of course, Harry Potter.
Currently, Albus was scribbling down notes on a piece of parchment. During summer holiday, he would often try to combine the muggles' quantum mechanics with wizards' magic. Sadly, both subjects had proven to be inscrutable separately and monstrous together. He had to resign himself to writing down guesses and hypothesis that the rest of the world would probably never see.
Not far from his desk, his phoenix familiar dozed on his perch. The phoenix, Fawkes, then suddenly woke with a start and gave out a low, sad, trill. Albus spared a moment to observe this. Fawkes was looking all around the room as if searching for something. The bird almost looked upset, or worried. With his mind still buried in wheeler's foam, the old wizard thought little of this. "Give me a moment to finish this page and we will both go down to kitchens for some a treat," Albus said as he returned to his notes.
The phoenix ignored him, now hiding his head under his wing.
Brass rings seized and ground together with a teeth-rattling screech. A quill fell as the old man jumped from his seat. He turned just in time to see one of the brass rings crack and plummet to the stone floor. Albus froze, a million theories running through his already crowded neurons. Slowly but surely, he removed the more ridiculous ideas and narrowed down the more grounded ones. None of them were good.
Worn fingers reached down to pick the largest piece of the fallen ring. Pushing up his half-moon glasses, he examined the runes written upon the metal. They represented Harry's magical core and the relationship between his body and soul. It had shattered, very few things could have done that. In fact, only one.
Albus fell back into his chair, and suddenly felt every one of his years.
A/N: This is intended to be a multi-chapter fic if there is any interest, and I can focus on writing on it long eno…squirrel!