After the War: Chapter two. Hiding Away
By the grace of whatever powers that be, the apperation worked. Though he was left feeling lightheaded with his body aching so much that it felt like he'd just played three games of Quidditch. A quick glance confirmed to Harry not only had he managed to apperate without splicing himself (a possibility that probably should have crossed his mind sooner), ha had also reached the correct destination: Number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Home to Harry's aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley. One of the last places Harry thought that anyone would think to go looking for him at. The contempt he held for his relatives thanks to a lifetimes worth of neglect was well known to both Ron and Hermione, and he just hoped that once his friends discovered his absence, just knowing his history would be enough to deter them even thinking that Harry might use the place as a possible refuge.
Harry would admit, that hiding out with his relatives was…. Less than ideal. But in the seconds before he'd disapperated from Grimmauld place, all he'd been thinking of was finding somewhere safe, and familiar. Logically, he probably should have gone somewhere else. Anywhere else. In his rush to get away, he hadn't really given much thought to where he would go, he just knew that he would need a place where he could hide for a bit. At least until he could come up with a better plan that consisted of more than just running away.
In all honesty, upon the realization that hiding out at his Aunt and Uncle's would mean having to actually spend time with his Aunt and Uncle, he debated turning tail and running in the opposite direction. Not that he didn't want to see his relatives… more so that he really didn't want to see his relatives -let alone have to deal with coming up with an explanation for his arrival. He had no doubt in his mind that they would have just as little desire to see him, as he did to see them.
At this point in time, however, Harry really didn't have anywhere else he could go.
The only other places he'd ever felt safe (or at home) at, were the Burrow, and Hogwarts. Both of which were a most definitely out of the question. The Burrow, for the obvious reason that a) going there would mean having to deal with all of the Weasleys again, and the empty space he felt in Fre- his- absence. And b) even if Mrs. Weasley welcomed him with open arms, there was still the matter of Mr. Weasley being in league with Kingsley, and the plan to send him away. And as for Hogwarts… The final battle had left a majority of the place un-inhabitable. And even though both Professor McGonnagall and Neville had assured him that repairs were well underway, Harry didn't think hiding out in a school for the rest of his life would work out very well.
Not that he'd be hiding out for the rest of his life… Right? Just for a little while. Until came to their senses and realized that he didn't need their help with this. That he was fine. Given the circumstances…
Merlin.
What the hell was he going to do?
Harry shook his head. This wasn't helping. Whatever he ended up doing. Wherever he ended up going. Right then he was too exhausted to attempt to make any (more) life altering decisions.
The only thing he was going to do, was push down and anxitys he had, and hopefuly, convince his Uncle to let him stay for a while.
O
Marching up the Dursleys driveway Harry began to get the feeling that something was… off. In the deeming lights of the sunset Harry began to notice a few things about the place that set off a flashing sign in his head that read "WRONG". The first was the lawn. For as long as Harry could remember, his Aunt had prided herself on it. She always had to have the greenest, most well-kept yard on the block. She would spend hours watering, trimming, and weeding it into sheer perfection; No weed nor rogue flower dared to show their leafy face in the lawn of Petunia Dursley. Looking at it now, however, Harry could hardly belive it had ever looked so nice. There several large patches of dead grass mixed with even larger areas overgrown and covered in a multitude of weeds
It was as though the whole yard had come right out of gardener's nightmare.
There were a few other things that were off as well. The slight peeling of the paint at the very edges of the shutters, and the mud-crusted 'Welcome' mat in front of the door- a few missing shingles off the roof. All this leading Harry to wonder one thing: Where were the Dursleys?
There was no way they were home. Not with the yard in such a state. They wouldn't have stood for it. So, where were they? Or better yet, why hadn't they come back? The war was over, they could come home anytime they wanted- And then, like a slap to the face, it hit him.
His relatives hadn't come back yet because they had absolutely no idea that the danger had past.
With an almost guilty sense of amusement Harry let out a sharp laugh. For all the Dursleys knew, they still needed to keep running for their lives, watching their backs at every corner- just waiting for the freakish wizards to come after them with their evil magic sticks and odd fashion senses!
Harry knew that it really wasn't as funny as his mind was making it out to be, and he really shouldn't laugh at his relatives' misfortunes- But the thought of the burley walrus of a man that was Vernon Dursley spending all these months in hiding, jumping out of his skin at the slightest rustle of the wind; paranoid as one of Mrs. Figg's cats on bath-day- sent another laugh bursting forth from Harry's mouth before he could stop it.
For a moment, it was almost enough to make him forget his reason for returning here in the first place. Almost.
As he stood there, in the middle of the Dursley's lawn, laughing to himself, he realized something else. Something that probably would have come to his attention much sooner, had he not been as exhausted as he was-
He was no longer wearing his invisibility cloak.
Frantically, he started looking around for it. It was with a great sigh of relief that he spotted it laying in the grass not two feet away from him.
Quickly attempting to pull himself together, he shoved his wand into his pocket and then went to gather the cloak in his arms, dusting it off before folding it into his pocket as well.
Realizing that the longer he stayed outside, in the late hours of the day laughing to himself like a lunatic, the greater of a chance there was that he'd be noticed by someone. Such a well-meaning (or simply nosy) neighbor who'd take in his unkept appearance and immediately call the police on him- leading to the likely questioning of not only his identity, but also as to the current whereabouts of the Dursleys.
Definitely not something he wanted to get into at this moment.
Then there was the possibility, that by this point his friends would have noticed his disappearance, and there would already by ministry spies out looking for him. Though Harry had been confidant in his choice of hiding places, the possibility of being seen by Mrs. Figg or some other lookout from the wizarding world would be grater so long as he stayed sanding around on the Dursleys lawn.
Not wanting to risk exposure any longer than necessary, Harry walked up to the door and turned the knob. To his surprise, it was locked.
Of course. Harry thought. One of the order must have locked it before- before we left that night… before Moody. Before Hedwig. Back when Fr-
Back when Fred was-
When he was still al-
Focus.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket, held it up to the door knob, and said: "Alohomora"
It didn't work.
A few pale-yellow sparks lit up around the lock, then fizzled into nothing. Harry tried the spell again. This time nothing happened at all. No sparks. No flashing lights. No magic.
The door remained stubbornly locked.
"Shit."
Out of the corner of his eye Harry noticed movement. Breath hitching slightly, Harry banged the wand against the bricks surrounding the door frame.
"Alohomora! Alohomora! Why won't you work!" Each attempt was getting more frantic than the last. No wonder he felt so tired, apparating must have left him magically drained. That was a thing. Maybe.
From somewhere behind him, there came the sound of twigs snapping. Harry froze. They found me. He thought. They realized I was gone and now they're here to lock me up. Running out of options, he then, using his own body as a battering ram, slammed into the door in an attempt t to break it down. But, while once, he might have been able to use his weight to possibly shove it open, he was much more physically weak than before. And even with all the strength he had, all he got for his efforts was a sore side and a door that didn't even budge an inch.
There were more twig snapping sounds that couldn't have come from more than a few feet behind him. They found me and they're going to take me. Harry thought again, though he wasn't quite sure who 'they' was supposed to be. The ministry? Kingsley's men? Or maybe some rouge Death Eater who'd managed to avoid arrest; they never did catch Lucius Malfoy, though not for lack of trying.
Whatever it was- Whoever it was, there was nothing Harry could do now but face them. Nowhere he could run, not when his only option was a locked door. Clutching his wand in his fist, Harry zipped himself around, his back pressed firmly against the door, now facing the drive- his heart pounding in his chest his breath coming out in short gasps; only to find himself face-to-face with…Nothing.
Absolutely nothing. The Street was empty. No Death Eaters. No aurors. No Wizards of any kind. The only movement Harry could see came from the rustle of the leaves in the wind, and the flapping of a lone plastic bag that was caught in the upper branches of one Mrs. Figg's Pine trees.
It's just the wind. That's all. No Death Eaters. No ministry spies. It's just the wind.
Repeating this mantra over and over in his head, trying to will his heart into slowing its pace, the adrenalin that had pumped through him not seconds ago, was now quickly seeping away. Leaving him both worn, even more exhausted than before. Not to mention the ache in is side from his failed try at breaking door was making it difficult to remain on his feet.
Exhausted and in a bit of pain, Harry slid down against the door till he was sitting on-top of the Dursley's 'Welcome' doormat, pulling his knees against his chest and wrapping both his arms around them. Just trying to quell the panic was on the verge of over-taking him.
It's just the wind. That's all. No Death Eaters. No ministry spies. It's just the wind…
It's just the wind. It's just the wind. Everything's fine. It's just the wind. I'm fine. I'm fine. It's just the wind. I'm fine.
After a while, a few hours or maybe only a few minutes- Harry hadn't really been keeping track- he eventually calmed down as best he could. With his face in his hands wracking his brain trying to figure out what to do next.
Obviously he's not going to be able can't use any spells to get in anytime soon, And there's no way he's breaking the door down- if only he had a one of the Dursley's keys- a key! Why hadn't he thought of that before? Petunia insisted that they kept a spare hidden beneath one of her flower planters after Dudley accidently locked himself out for an entire night once a few summers back. Said planter, was currently sitting not three feet away from Harry. Blaming his lapse in memory on his tired state, he walked over to it and was relieved to find a slightly rusted silver key, tucked safely underneath. Pulling himself to his feet, Harry shoved the key into the doorknob, and stumbled into the house- re-locking the door behind him.
O
Harry did not sleep well that night. Moments after entering the house, he had found that none of the lights would turn on. Thinking about it, it made sense. Seeing as the Dursley's hadn't been home in months, there was no need for them to pay the electricity bills- leaving Harry stuck in the dark. Too tired to bother with heading up the stairs and into an actual bed, he crashed on the Dursley's hideous flower print sofa, falling asleep almost as soon as he shut his eyes.
He spent most of the night tossing and turning, startling awake at even the slightest creak- the growing force of the wind outside didn't help. Then, at around five in the morning- if Harry's internal clock was accurate- a loud clatter came from outside the front window, the sound echoed throughout the otherwise silent house, startling Harry off the sofa and onto the -thankfully- soft carpet floor.
Bumbling around trying to stand up as quietly as possible and failing miserably. The curtains were all drawn shut effectively shrouding the entire room in darkness. Unable to see two inches let alone two feet in-front of him, Harry accidently stumbled into-and directly over- his Aunt's antique coffee table, and from the sound of it, effectively breaking at least one of its legs and shattering two or more of the stained-glass plates that covered the top. Whenever his relatives returned, Harry knew that Petunia would be devastated. Then furious. Then probably a tad murderous.
The table had been one of her favorite pieces of furniture for nearly a decade. Ever since the day Vernon bought it off a co-worker nearly a to replace a previous table that had ironically, been damaged by Harry. It hadn't been his fault that time. He'd been trying to get away from Ripper- the evil beast of a dog that belonged to Vernon's elder sister Marge, when he'd tripped over his cousins conveniently stretched out leg (He'd gotten two weeks locked in the cupboard for that). For years after, Petunia had delighted in regaling the members of her book-club with the tale of how Vernon's grandfather had the table brought over on a cargo ship from the Americas during the first world war, recued it from the home of a foreign diplomat that had lost his life in a fire. A wondrous load of crap if there ever was one. However, the listless women in her book club always seemed to eat it up. Oh well. Harry thought. She'll get over it.
Outside, there was sort of scratching sound at the door. It must be whoever was out-front earlier. They've come back! Harry reached for his wand, dismayed when he remembered that he had set both it and his glasses on the coffee table before he'd fallen asleep. He frantically felt around for both items, managing to only locate his glasses- Thankfully un-scathed- and a few shards of broken glass that imbedded themselves into the palm of Harry's left hand.
Trying not to cringe from the sudden pain, Harry abandoned his search for his wand in favor of grabbing the broken table leg to use a weapon if the need to defend himself should occur. It reminded Harry of a time so many years ago, when his uncle had moved them all to a live in an old hut as an effort to prevent Harry from getting his Hogwarts letters. If Harry recalled correctly, Vernon had been prepared to use a shot-gun to defend himself against any wizards that dared enter. To Harry, it was sort of like bringing a knife to a gun fight- with gun, in this instance, being the knife. The idea of someone using a gun to fight a wizard had become a laughable thought. Utterly ridiculous.
And yet, here Harry was, with less than that. Wounded from both his hand and the lingering ache in his side, exhausted beyond all reason, with only a broken table leg to protect himself.
How ironic.
Carefully, holding the table leg under his chin, and using only his good hand, he crawled his way over behind the sofa and waited.
And waited.
Ten minutes later the scratching continued, and yet, no one attempted to get in. The rational part of Harry's brain decided that if whoever was out there was a wizard, they'd no doubt would have just use magic to get in. And if they weren't a wizard, and they wanted in bad enough, they'd probably just pick the lock. But, as time passed, the sounds outside persisted, and yet, no one- wizard or otherwise- tried to get in. Eventually, Harry made his way over to the door, after glanced through the peep-hole and seeing nothing -and no one- in front of it, he unlocked, and then opened the door.
O
The sight that greeted him was not the one he had been expecting. On the corner of the patio, the planter that had earlier hidden the spare house key, was now on upside down; dirt and broken chunks of blue ceramic were scattered round it. But most surprising, was the fact that it was moving. Jerking back and forth, and ramming repeatedly into the wall. Obviously, Harry realized with a sigh of relief, some sort of animal must have been messing around and accidentally tipped it over. Which explained both the clatter that woke Harry, and the scraping sounds that had followed. Harry felt a sense of relief wash over him. I'm safe. They didn't find me. At this point, whatever had managed to trap itself was now franticly trying to escape, nearly pulling the planter off the patio and into Petunia's garden. Tossing the coffee table leg back into the house, Harry rushed over to prevent the planter from falling over. Lifting it up slowly to reveal a small black furred cat. Both thin and covered in dirt.
Though Harry's knowledge of felines extended only to his interactions with Hermione's cat Crookshanks, and the days he'd spent around Mrs. Figg's tabbies as a kid, he figured that due to its size, it was more than likely still a kitten. Bending down, Harry reached out his hand in an attempt to pick it up, only to be met with a hiss and the barred teeth.
"Don't be like that, I just saved your life!"
The kitten hissed again.
"Fine. You want to stay out here, be my guest."
Harry pulled himself up, careful not to put any weight on his left hand, that not only still had shards of glass in it, but was now also covered in darkened splotches of blood. Wonderful. As the adrenalin from earlier started to ware off, Harry found that he was becoming acutely in tuned with the pain of each cut on his palm.
Leaning heavily on the door frame, Harry looked back down at the kitten.
"D'you want to come in or not?" He asked it.
For a moment, Harry thought, it looked as though the kitten was truly giving his offer some serious consideration. Its head was tilted slightly to the left, showcasing the large chunk that was missing from the tip of its right ear. It's dark eyes regarding Harry with scrutiny- as if it was trying to decide whether it should go ahead and try to bite him again or not. Ultimately, it seemed, the kitten must have reached the conclusion that being inside -where it was warm, was preferable to the porch- where there was still an evil planter that might try to trap it again- and it rushed passed Harry though the door, disappearing into the kitchen.
"I can see where your priorities are." Harry mumbled, as he locked the door behind him. He followed the kitten into the kitchen, where with the moon light streaming in through the window he could see it was now perched on the edge of the dining room table. Walking over to the sink, Harry knelt onto the ground with his wounded hand held tightly against his chest, and pulled open the cabinet beneath it. After a minute or so of carefully rummaging around with his good hand, he pulled out a box of matches as well as two emergency candles. Using one of the matches to light the first candle he placed it on the counter, lighting the second he carried it with him to the upstairs bathroom, and set it bedside the sink.
Harry turned on the faucet (thank Merlin the water was still on). He grabbed the Dursley's First-aid-kit from medicine cabinet. Gently holding his hand under the running water, using the pair of tweezers that came in the kit, he started pulling the larger shards of glass out of his hand. Piece by piece. Drops of dark red blood falling slowly into the white porcelain basin. He wasn't a doctor, and it wasn't like they taught first aid in Hogwarts, but looking at the torn-up skin of his palm, the deep gashes that opened to reveal layers of his own skin that no human should see- he was fairly certain that (By Muggle standards at least) he'd need stitches. For a passing moment, he really wished Hermione was there. She knew healing spells, she could- No! She was going to let them send me away. I can take care of this on my own.
After he had gotten the last of the glass out, he used some of the kit's gauze to wrap up his hand. It wasn't much- But it was as good as he was going to get. It was probably going to scar. It didn't matter though, it'd go with the one on the back of his other hand. I must not tell lies. Just looking at it brought back the unpleasant memories of his detentions with Umbridge. There were other- more pleasant, recent, memories as well. The ones from these past weeks. Ginny. His hand lightly held in hers. Her thumb rubbing circles softly over his knuckles- Her kind voice-
Harry shoved the first-aid-kit back into the cabinet and slammed it shut. The mirror on the outer side of the door leaving him with nothing to look at but his own reflection.
It was not a pretty sight.
His face had become thin, his cheek bones more prominent than he'd ever seen them before. Large dark circles were shadowed under his tired, blood-shot eyes. And a short layer of patchy stubble covered most of the area from his upper cheeks to the end of his chin His hair was undoubtedly the finishing touch on his mock-plague victim appearance. Over the past months he'd neglected it so much so that it had grown long enough for the ends to just barely hover past his chin- it wouldn't be long before is reached his shoulders. It was also, thanks to a lack of personal grooming, unbelievable greasy. So much so that if Harry didn't know better, he'd wonder if he was perhaps in some way a relative of Snape's. It was no wonder some many people had insisted he needed to take better care of himself: He looked, for a lack of a better analogy, like he'd been on the receiving end of more than one dementor's kiss.
Well he thought only one thing to do.
O
One long overdue shower and a shave later and Harry exited the bathroom feeling more like an actual a living human being, and less like a lifeless human shaped shell. He went into his old room and grabbed some of his old clothes to change into. A pair of work pants and a soft blue T-shirt that Aunt Petunia had bought him a few years before to wear while he worked in her garden. They were old and worn. The work pants had rips across both knees that ran down the edges or the seams, and the shirt, which was decorated with a series of small holes around the hem and collar, was baggy on his thin frame. But seeing as almost all Harry's other clothes were back at Grimmauld Place, he would make do.
For now.
All things aside, it was better than seeing if there were any of Dudley's clothes packed away somewhere. Despite having lost a fair amount of weight in the past few years, Harry's cousin had still been at least twice his size last Harry saw him and therefore, if Harry were to go around wearing just about anything that used to belong to Dudley, it would most likely resemble the times when small children play around in their parent's clothes.
From somewhere down below, there was a crashing sound.
After a brief moment of panic, Harry remembered his four-legged furry house-guest and headed back down the stairs and into the kitchen. Greeted by the sight of the kitten, thin, damaged ear, whiskers lightly bent- covered from head to toe in flower, Harry rolled his eyes.
"You're going to give me a heart attack" He told it as it stalked out of the room, leaving a trail of tiny white paw-prints in its wake.
Not feeling like dealing with his own messes (Such as the broken coffee table in the Livingroom) let alone the kitten's, he opted to instead scavenge for food. Looking around his first instinct was to check the fridge. He conveniently forgot that, not only would anything the Durley's left in it more than likely be expired by now, all power in the house had also been out for an indistinguishable amount of time. He opened the fridge door, got one whiff of the rancid smell it excreted, and slammed closed again.
Unsurprisingly, most of the food that the Dursley's had left was in a similar state. A loaf of bread sitting on the counter was green with mold. And all of the cereal left in the cupboards had gone stale. Everything else seemed to have been packed up and taken with the Dursley's when they had gone into hiding.
Eventually, he found a stash of cans hidden in the very back the pantry behind Aunt petunia's empty wine-rack. There was an assortment of about forty cans in total, mostly peaches, olives, green beans and tuna; A selection that Harry felt quite frankly would have appalled Ron. A can of peaches in hand, Harry grabbed a fork from the kitchen and made his way into the dining room and plopped himself onto one of the chairs. Opening the peaches, he dug in.
It wasn't much, and he knew that he'd need to eventually go shopping if he intended to stay long- for both food and clothes, he had muggle money somewhere, right? - but, for now, he'd make due.
Not long after Harry sat down, there was a flash of black and white running into the room. In there was the kitten; jumping up on the table stopping right in the center to staring silently at Harry, head tilted as if to ask; "where's my food?".
"What?" Harry asked it "You think I'm gonna share?"
The kitten continued to stare.
Harry stared back. And though he might come to deny it later, Harry blinked first.
"Fine!" he said, shoveling the last of the peaches into his mouth then slamming the empty can down on the table. Grumbling about freeloading menaces, he got up and stalked back into the pantry. Coming out a few seconds later with one of the cans that contained tuna. Cats like tuna, right? After opening it, he slid it across the table to the kitten immediately started chowing down. Harry watched it eat for a few minutes, and when it looked like it was staring to get full, he hesitantly reached out a hand to try to pet it.
His efforts were met with two sharp teeth digging into his finger, not hard, but enough to make him jerk his hand back quickly.
"This relationship is never going to work if you keep trying to bite me!"
It promptly hissed and ran off.
Harry was vaguely reminded of Crookshanks.
(Authors note: So, I'm not too happy with the ending of this chapter... but seeing as I've rewritten it half a dozen time already, I figured I'd just go ahead and post it. If anyone has any ideas/advice I'd more than welcome at. Also, this chapter is un-betaed, so all mistakes are my own.
Anyways, thank you all for reading this! And a special thanks to those who Commented/watched/favorited!
I hope you all liked the chapter!)
