The longest, hottest day of summer was drawing to a close. The sunburned
residents of Privet Drive abandoned their parched lawns and withdrew,
complaining, into the cool mercy of air-conditioned homes. Evening shaded
into night and the street lamps began to glow, casting Privet Drive beneath
a blanket of light and shadow.
The residents of number four were gathered in the parlor. Vernon Dursley was complaining, as usual. Tonight, it was about how the British population didn't know a good drill when they saw one. Petunia was grousing about her poor, dying gardens and about the hosepipe ban. Their son, Dudley, was moaning about everything and nothing. They all pointedly ignored the teenage boy sitting by the stairs, not taking part in the group griping.
Weary of the Dursleys' whining, Harry walked upstairs to his room and threw himself onto his bed, looking about dispassionately. At the foot of his bed lay an open trunk, empty. Sets of robes hung neatly in the closet. A broomstick lay on a shelf, a servicing kit hanging from the handle. A cauldron sat in a corner, an empty birdcage on top of the dresser. Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, was out hunting at the moment. A stack of books were placed by his bed.
On top of the pile lay an open photo album. This album, like the other books, was as unusual as the rest of his room, for the pictures were moving. A man and a woman were waving at him, beaming. Harry ignored the images of his dead parents. He focused instead on the man who stood with him.
He was handsome, waving and laughing. The man had no idea that his life would take a dark and treacherous road, beginning with the death of the couple beside him. That same road would come to an abrupt end because of that couple's son, one Harry James Potter.
Sirius. Harry's heart twisted with grief even as he burned with guilt. For a moment, it felt as though some huge, horrible beast within was clawing at him, and hot tears came to his eyes. Finally, he regained control, slamming the album shut as thought it caged the monster. Harry had to control his emotions, had to stay calm.
It was his emotions that had led him to the Department of Mysteries. There, he had led his friends into danger and his godfather to his death. Never again, he vowed silently. Never again would he allow his emotions to rule him. He wondered if such a life was worth living. No happiness, no joy, just existence. However, there would be no grief, guilt, or pain, either. If he had done this from the start, then Sirius would still be alive.
Snape had been right all along, Harry thought bitterly. Snape had told him that fools who wore their hearts proudly on their sleeves would find themselves easy prey for Voldemort. Harry had not listened, had not heeded. In consequence, he had found himself horribly easy prey, indeed.
Harry frowned suddenly. If he kept brooding, then he would dream tonight. He had found that if he worked hard during the day, he was less likely to dream. So far, Harry had cleaned Hedwig's cage, dusted the shelves, and done his homework three times over. He had drawn up some Quidditch plays that he was looking forward to showing the next Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, planned a syllabus for the DA, and studied from advanced Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions texts that he had sent for by owl order. He laughed to himself, picturing Ron and Hermione's reactions if they knew how hard he had been studying. Hermione, he knew, would be thrilled.
"Oh Harry, I knew you'd come around. I was worried that you wouldn't start studying until next summer!" she would beam, and then drag him off to the library for research.
Ron, however, would be less pleased.
"Harry, have you gone round the twist? Term hasn't even started yet. I knew Hermione would corrupt you." he would say, incredulous, and then drag Harry off to play Quidditch.
Harry sighed, shaking himself out of his daydream. He resumed his search for something to do. He briefly considered helping Aunt Petunia clean up. Two days ago, he had weeded the garden (it seemed that the only things flourishing during the drought were weeds) and helped clean the house.
The Dursleys, far from appreciating his help, interrogated him, and then watched him as though waiting for him to blow something up. They had treated him oddly so far. Most of the time, Uncle Vernon pretended that Harry didn't exist, although his face colored whenever he saw him. Aunt Petunia treated him like a bomb that might go off without a moment's notice. Dudley refused to be anywhere near Harry, as if he would be attacked by dementors if he so much as looked at Harry. Although this treatment was improved over last year's (he now could watch the news without interruption), it had become quite depressing.
Finally, Harry's gaze landed on his broomstick. McGonagall had sent it the night after he returned to Privet Drive, along with a note that his lifetime Quidditch ban had been lifted. Harry had not even touched it. Sirius had given the Firebolt to Harry, and it was his pride and joy. Now he thought of Sirius whenever he saw it. Harry took the Firebolt from the shelf and began to polish the mahogany handle, trimming the streamlined birch twigs.
There was a swoosh of wings and Hedwig soared through the open window, followed by a sleek barn owl and a handsome screech owl, who carried a thick packet in its beak. Recognizing the seal, Harry took the parchment. The letter was from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which Harry attended. He began to read eagerly.
Dear Mr. Potter,- Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain in his wrist. The barn owl pecked him again, clearly anxious to deliver its letter. Harry remembered when he had ordered Hedwig to peck Ron and Hermione until they wrote back to him. He had a sneaking suspicion that this owl would continue to nag him until he read the letter currently tied to its leg. He took the letter and watched as the barn owl preened its feathers in a self-congratulatory way and soar off into the night. Rubbing his wrist, Harry dropped his eyes to the parchment and read.
Harry, something's happened. Tonks, Mad-Eye, and I will be there in half an
hour.
Pack all of your things; we're taking you to London. Be ready
-Moony
A cold, icy feeling settled into Harry's stomach. Remus Lupin was the last of the Marauders, a group of trouble-making friends consisting of Remus, Wormtail, Sirius, and James, Harry's father. Of course, Wormtail still lived, but Harry hardly considered the traitor who sold Harry's parents to Voldemort a Marauder. Lupin had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in Harry's third year and continued to be a sort of mentor to Harry. The fact that Lupin was a werewolf (hence his nickname, Moony) did not matter in the slightest. Harry packed his things as quickly as he could without using magic, tucking the Hogwarts letter in his trunk. Then he picked up his Firebolt, stuck his wand in his pocket, and lugged his trunk downstairs. The resultant thuds made the Dursleys look up. Dudley lumbered from the room as quickly as his legs could carry him. Uncle Vernon's face turned purple, a common occurrence whenever he saw Harry. "Where do you think you're going, boy?" barked Uncle Vernon. His tiny, vicious eyes bored into Harry like one of his drills.
"I'm going; they are coming to pick me up." said Harry. There was no need to explain who "they" were. Uncle Vernon remembered the meeting at Kings Cross all too well. Uncle Vernon paled, and then turned puce.
"Don't get anyone else killed then, like your nasty, layabout, convict godfather." he said nastily, turning back to the television set.
Harry froze, staring at him. Something was beginning to move within, rage seared through his veins. The inhuman calm Harry had displayed all summer shattered as Harry exploded.
"HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT! HE WAS A BETTER MAN THAN YOU'LL EVER BE, DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT!"
Shaking, Harry drew a breath. The Dursleys stared at him, stunned. Uncle Vernon didn't know what to make of Harry. He could cow the small boy, bully the insolent teen, but not a young man was screaming at him and glowing faintly.
Harry could barely see properly, he was so furious. All thoughts of controlling his emotions had gone up in flames. Everything he had ever wanted to say to the Dursleys, all the hate and contempt he had held for them for the past fifteen years came boiling to the surface. He was nearly choking on his fury. He was dimly aware that he was glowing slightly and guessed that that was why the Dursleys weren't giant slugs or something.
"YOU ARE HORRIBLE PEOPLE, NEVER A KIND WORD, SNIVELLING BULLIES, GITS." Harry trailed off.
He felt as though he was seeing his relatives for the first time, and perhaps he was. During his self-imposed isolation this summer, he had done a great deal of thinking. He had sent short notes to the Order as promised and horribly cheerful notes to Ron and Hermione. Harry had become so skilled at building his own façade that he could see the facades of others.
Now he saw the Dursleys as they were, without the masks they wore to face the rest of the world and to face themselves. In the Dursleys, Harry saw only ignorance, fear, and jealousy. Vernon Dursley hated because he feared. He feared magic because he did not understand it. He hated Harry because Harry was a living representation of the magic he feared. Aunt Petunia despised Harry because he was a reminder of her sister, Lily. Lily, who had shone so brightly that she forever cast Petunia into shadow. Dudley hated because he had been taught to hate. His mind was clay, shaped by Vernon's fear and Petunia's jealousy, with all of their hate. Harry suddenly felt as old as Dumbledore. He was still angry, but felt a stab of pity. His voice became quieter, but no less forceful. Harry would not tolerate any slurs on Sirius. "Sirius was like a big brother, best friend, and father. Don't you EVER talk about him." A soft knock on the door caused him to wheel around. In his temper, he had forgotten about Moony's impending arrival. He raised his wand and moved to the door, noting that he was no longer glowing. The Dursleys, still in shock, stayed in the parlor. "Who is it?" he called, wanting to be sure. "Harry, it's Moony." Came the swift response. "Password?" Harry asked, grinning. There was a moment's silence before Lupin replied. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
Harry opened the door, wand still at the ready. Lupin, Moody, and Tonks stood there, etched in light from the street lamps. Harry smiled; glad to see the members of the Order of the Phoenix, the resistance group Dumbledore had recalled two years before. Tonks, who could change her appearance at will, currently had blindingly neon yellow hair and wore an equally bright yellow "Weird Sisters" shirt with baggy, artfully ripped jeans. Harry suspected that she was trying to stir up as much trouble for the Dursleys as she could and still get away with it. However, there was no enthusiasm in her "wotcher, Harry!" and her eyes were red like she had been crying. Mad-Eye Moody eyed him with his dark, beady eye. His fake eye, a vivid electric blue, was busily scanning the neighborhood. "Nice one, Potter. Clever idea to set up that password." remarked Moody. The Ex-Auror was notoriously paranoid and a fanatic of "Constant Vigilance!" Remus Lupin was smiling at Harry. He was very pale and looked tired and ill, his hair almost completely gray. His face was lined and grave. Moody's badly scarred face looked as wooden as his leg. "Get your trunk, Harry." said Lupin quietly. Harry obeyed quickly. The Dursleys were not in evidence. Harry knew he would pay dearly for his outburst, but didn't care. When he returned, they went out into the garden. Tonks harnessed Harry's trunk to her broom and waited for Harry. As he mounted his Firebolt he felt a twinge of panic. He had not flown for so long and the weather was getting rough. He pushed off hard, and his worries and cares remained on the ground behind him, this freedom was wonderful. After a few moments, he concentrated on keeping his broom steady into the wind. What with the wind and frequent detours (dictated by Moody as protection against a tail), the flight was even longer than last year's. Harry was shivering and his hands and ears ached with cold when they finally touched down outside Grimmauld Place.
The neighborhood had not changed. The stereo in number eleven was booming, and number thirteen was silent. Harry stared at the tiny space between the two houses. His throat felt constricted. This was Sirius's home, number 12, Grimmauld Pla-
Suddenly a front door appeared between houses eleven and thirteen. A house swiftly followed, shrugging the others aside. The muggles who inhabited number eleven didn't notice a thing; the stereo blasted on. Harry slowly went up the walk and entered number twelve, Lupin's hand on his shoulder.
The hall had changed enormously. Gone were most of the Dark objects, included the house elf heads that had once decorated the passage. Harry stiffened, he had forgotten about Kreacher, the mad house elf who had betrayed Sirius to the Malfoys. "I'm so glad that thrice-blasted umbrella stand is gone." muttered Tonks, inadvertently distracting Harry from thoughts of bloody revenge. Harry was hard put to suppress a grin. The aforementioned umbrella stand had been Tonk's bane. The clumsy Metamorphagus had always tripped over it and set off the portraits. The portraits glared balefully at them, but did not speak. They had clearly been put under a Silencing Charm and were very unhappy about it. There was the clatter of running footsteps and Hermione burst into the hall. Harry had a blurred glimpse of bushy brown hair before she threw her arms around him and began sobbing unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry began to panic, what had reduced Hermione, wise, self-possessed Hermione, to tears? He looked for Ron, frantic. Ron was standing just beyond Hermione. "Good to see you, mate." he said hoarsely. "Lets go." he led the way upstairs. The trip upstairs was silent. Harry's heartbeat drummed in his ears. When they reached Ron's room, Harry wheeled to face his best friends. "What's going on?" he demanded. Ron exchanged glances with a sniffling Hermione, and she told him. Hagrid was dead, killed on work for the Order. Harry reeled as his world collapsed around him. Hermione began to weep again, and Harry and Ron hugged her. Together, they let their tears fall.
The residents of number four were gathered in the parlor. Vernon Dursley was complaining, as usual. Tonight, it was about how the British population didn't know a good drill when they saw one. Petunia was grousing about her poor, dying gardens and about the hosepipe ban. Their son, Dudley, was moaning about everything and nothing. They all pointedly ignored the teenage boy sitting by the stairs, not taking part in the group griping.
Weary of the Dursleys' whining, Harry walked upstairs to his room and threw himself onto his bed, looking about dispassionately. At the foot of his bed lay an open trunk, empty. Sets of robes hung neatly in the closet. A broomstick lay on a shelf, a servicing kit hanging from the handle. A cauldron sat in a corner, an empty birdcage on top of the dresser. Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, was out hunting at the moment. A stack of books were placed by his bed.
On top of the pile lay an open photo album. This album, like the other books, was as unusual as the rest of his room, for the pictures were moving. A man and a woman were waving at him, beaming. Harry ignored the images of his dead parents. He focused instead on the man who stood with him.
He was handsome, waving and laughing. The man had no idea that his life would take a dark and treacherous road, beginning with the death of the couple beside him. That same road would come to an abrupt end because of that couple's son, one Harry James Potter.
Sirius. Harry's heart twisted with grief even as he burned with guilt. For a moment, it felt as though some huge, horrible beast within was clawing at him, and hot tears came to his eyes. Finally, he regained control, slamming the album shut as thought it caged the monster. Harry had to control his emotions, had to stay calm.
It was his emotions that had led him to the Department of Mysteries. There, he had led his friends into danger and his godfather to his death. Never again, he vowed silently. Never again would he allow his emotions to rule him. He wondered if such a life was worth living. No happiness, no joy, just existence. However, there would be no grief, guilt, or pain, either. If he had done this from the start, then Sirius would still be alive.
Snape had been right all along, Harry thought bitterly. Snape had told him that fools who wore their hearts proudly on their sleeves would find themselves easy prey for Voldemort. Harry had not listened, had not heeded. In consequence, he had found himself horribly easy prey, indeed.
Harry frowned suddenly. If he kept brooding, then he would dream tonight. He had found that if he worked hard during the day, he was less likely to dream. So far, Harry had cleaned Hedwig's cage, dusted the shelves, and done his homework three times over. He had drawn up some Quidditch plays that he was looking forward to showing the next Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, planned a syllabus for the DA, and studied from advanced Defense, Transfiguration, Charms, and Potions texts that he had sent for by owl order. He laughed to himself, picturing Ron and Hermione's reactions if they knew how hard he had been studying. Hermione, he knew, would be thrilled.
"Oh Harry, I knew you'd come around. I was worried that you wouldn't start studying until next summer!" she would beam, and then drag him off to the library for research.
Ron, however, would be less pleased.
"Harry, have you gone round the twist? Term hasn't even started yet. I knew Hermione would corrupt you." he would say, incredulous, and then drag Harry off to play Quidditch.
Harry sighed, shaking himself out of his daydream. He resumed his search for something to do. He briefly considered helping Aunt Petunia clean up. Two days ago, he had weeded the garden (it seemed that the only things flourishing during the drought were weeds) and helped clean the house.
The Dursleys, far from appreciating his help, interrogated him, and then watched him as though waiting for him to blow something up. They had treated him oddly so far. Most of the time, Uncle Vernon pretended that Harry didn't exist, although his face colored whenever he saw him. Aunt Petunia treated him like a bomb that might go off without a moment's notice. Dudley refused to be anywhere near Harry, as if he would be attacked by dementors if he so much as looked at Harry. Although this treatment was improved over last year's (he now could watch the news without interruption), it had become quite depressing.
Finally, Harry's gaze landed on his broomstick. McGonagall had sent it the night after he returned to Privet Drive, along with a note that his lifetime Quidditch ban had been lifted. Harry had not even touched it. Sirius had given the Firebolt to Harry, and it was his pride and joy. Now he thought of Sirius whenever he saw it. Harry took the Firebolt from the shelf and began to polish the mahogany handle, trimming the streamlined birch twigs.
There was a swoosh of wings and Hedwig soared through the open window, followed by a sleek barn owl and a handsome screech owl, who carried a thick packet in its beak. Recognizing the seal, Harry took the parchment. The letter was from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, which Harry attended. He began to read eagerly.
Dear Mr. Potter,- Suddenly, Harry felt a sharp pain in his wrist. The barn owl pecked him again, clearly anxious to deliver its letter. Harry remembered when he had ordered Hedwig to peck Ron and Hermione until they wrote back to him. He had a sneaking suspicion that this owl would continue to nag him until he read the letter currently tied to its leg. He took the letter and watched as the barn owl preened its feathers in a self-congratulatory way and soar off into the night. Rubbing his wrist, Harry dropped his eyes to the parchment and read.
Harry, something's happened. Tonks, Mad-Eye, and I will be there in half an
hour.
Pack all of your things; we're taking you to London. Be ready
-Moony
A cold, icy feeling settled into Harry's stomach. Remus Lupin was the last of the Marauders, a group of trouble-making friends consisting of Remus, Wormtail, Sirius, and James, Harry's father. Of course, Wormtail still lived, but Harry hardly considered the traitor who sold Harry's parents to Voldemort a Marauder. Lupin had taught Defense Against the Dark Arts in Harry's third year and continued to be a sort of mentor to Harry. The fact that Lupin was a werewolf (hence his nickname, Moony) did not matter in the slightest. Harry packed his things as quickly as he could without using magic, tucking the Hogwarts letter in his trunk. Then he picked up his Firebolt, stuck his wand in his pocket, and lugged his trunk downstairs. The resultant thuds made the Dursleys look up. Dudley lumbered from the room as quickly as his legs could carry him. Uncle Vernon's face turned purple, a common occurrence whenever he saw Harry. "Where do you think you're going, boy?" barked Uncle Vernon. His tiny, vicious eyes bored into Harry like one of his drills.
"I'm going; they are coming to pick me up." said Harry. There was no need to explain who "they" were. Uncle Vernon remembered the meeting at Kings Cross all too well. Uncle Vernon paled, and then turned puce.
"Don't get anyone else killed then, like your nasty, layabout, convict godfather." he said nastily, turning back to the television set.
Harry froze, staring at him. Something was beginning to move within, rage seared through his veins. The inhuman calm Harry had displayed all summer shattered as Harry exploded.
"HOW DARE YOU TALK ABOUT SIRIUS LIKE THAT! HE WAS A BETTER MAN THAN YOU'LL EVER BE, DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT!"
Shaking, Harry drew a breath. The Dursleys stared at him, stunned. Uncle Vernon didn't know what to make of Harry. He could cow the small boy, bully the insolent teen, but not a young man was screaming at him and glowing faintly.
Harry could barely see properly, he was so furious. All thoughts of controlling his emotions had gone up in flames. Everything he had ever wanted to say to the Dursleys, all the hate and contempt he had held for them for the past fifteen years came boiling to the surface. He was nearly choking on his fury. He was dimly aware that he was glowing slightly and guessed that that was why the Dursleys weren't giant slugs or something.
"YOU ARE HORRIBLE PEOPLE, NEVER A KIND WORD, SNIVELLING BULLIES, GITS." Harry trailed off.
He felt as though he was seeing his relatives for the first time, and perhaps he was. During his self-imposed isolation this summer, he had done a great deal of thinking. He had sent short notes to the Order as promised and horribly cheerful notes to Ron and Hermione. Harry had become so skilled at building his own façade that he could see the facades of others.
Now he saw the Dursleys as they were, without the masks they wore to face the rest of the world and to face themselves. In the Dursleys, Harry saw only ignorance, fear, and jealousy. Vernon Dursley hated because he feared. He feared magic because he did not understand it. He hated Harry because Harry was a living representation of the magic he feared. Aunt Petunia despised Harry because he was a reminder of her sister, Lily. Lily, who had shone so brightly that she forever cast Petunia into shadow. Dudley hated because he had been taught to hate. His mind was clay, shaped by Vernon's fear and Petunia's jealousy, with all of their hate. Harry suddenly felt as old as Dumbledore. He was still angry, but felt a stab of pity. His voice became quieter, but no less forceful. Harry would not tolerate any slurs on Sirius. "Sirius was like a big brother, best friend, and father. Don't you EVER talk about him." A soft knock on the door caused him to wheel around. In his temper, he had forgotten about Moony's impending arrival. He raised his wand and moved to the door, noting that he was no longer glowing. The Dursleys, still in shock, stayed in the parlor. "Who is it?" he called, wanting to be sure. "Harry, it's Moony." Came the swift response. "Password?" Harry asked, grinning. There was a moment's silence before Lupin replied. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."
Harry opened the door, wand still at the ready. Lupin, Moody, and Tonks stood there, etched in light from the street lamps. Harry smiled; glad to see the members of the Order of the Phoenix, the resistance group Dumbledore had recalled two years before. Tonks, who could change her appearance at will, currently had blindingly neon yellow hair and wore an equally bright yellow "Weird Sisters" shirt with baggy, artfully ripped jeans. Harry suspected that she was trying to stir up as much trouble for the Dursleys as she could and still get away with it. However, there was no enthusiasm in her "wotcher, Harry!" and her eyes were red like she had been crying. Mad-Eye Moody eyed him with his dark, beady eye. His fake eye, a vivid electric blue, was busily scanning the neighborhood. "Nice one, Potter. Clever idea to set up that password." remarked Moody. The Ex-Auror was notoriously paranoid and a fanatic of "Constant Vigilance!" Remus Lupin was smiling at Harry. He was very pale and looked tired and ill, his hair almost completely gray. His face was lined and grave. Moody's badly scarred face looked as wooden as his leg. "Get your trunk, Harry." said Lupin quietly. Harry obeyed quickly. The Dursleys were not in evidence. Harry knew he would pay dearly for his outburst, but didn't care. When he returned, they went out into the garden. Tonks harnessed Harry's trunk to her broom and waited for Harry. As he mounted his Firebolt he felt a twinge of panic. He had not flown for so long and the weather was getting rough. He pushed off hard, and his worries and cares remained on the ground behind him, this freedom was wonderful. After a few moments, he concentrated on keeping his broom steady into the wind. What with the wind and frequent detours (dictated by Moody as protection against a tail), the flight was even longer than last year's. Harry was shivering and his hands and ears ached with cold when they finally touched down outside Grimmauld Place.
The neighborhood had not changed. The stereo in number eleven was booming, and number thirteen was silent. Harry stared at the tiny space between the two houses. His throat felt constricted. This was Sirius's home, number 12, Grimmauld Pla-
Suddenly a front door appeared between houses eleven and thirteen. A house swiftly followed, shrugging the others aside. The muggles who inhabited number eleven didn't notice a thing; the stereo blasted on. Harry slowly went up the walk and entered number twelve, Lupin's hand on his shoulder.
The hall had changed enormously. Gone were most of the Dark objects, included the house elf heads that had once decorated the passage. Harry stiffened, he had forgotten about Kreacher, the mad house elf who had betrayed Sirius to the Malfoys. "I'm so glad that thrice-blasted umbrella stand is gone." muttered Tonks, inadvertently distracting Harry from thoughts of bloody revenge. Harry was hard put to suppress a grin. The aforementioned umbrella stand had been Tonk's bane. The clumsy Metamorphagus had always tripped over it and set off the portraits. The portraits glared balefully at them, but did not speak. They had clearly been put under a Silencing Charm and were very unhappy about it. There was the clatter of running footsteps and Hermione burst into the hall. Harry had a blurred glimpse of bushy brown hair before she threw her arms around him and began sobbing unrestrainedly into his shoulder. Harry began to panic, what had reduced Hermione, wise, self-possessed Hermione, to tears? He looked for Ron, frantic. Ron was standing just beyond Hermione. "Good to see you, mate." he said hoarsely. "Lets go." he led the way upstairs. The trip upstairs was silent. Harry's heartbeat drummed in his ears. When they reached Ron's room, Harry wheeled to face his best friends. "What's going on?" he demanded. Ron exchanged glances with a sniffling Hermione, and she told him. Hagrid was dead, killed on work for the Order. Harry reeled as his world collapsed around him. Hermione began to weep again, and Harry and Ron hugged her. Together, they let their tears fall.