A/N: Short and to the point: The end of this is when stuff starts happening, I just took a real long time to set the scene, sorry!
Disclaimer: Nope, no HP rights here. Maybe that's because I don't own any of the Harry potter characters, but we all know that's just a cruel lie J.K's spreading to get back at me.
Back to the Phoenix
Flying and Fame
When Harry had returned from his meeting with McGonagall Ginny, Hermione and Ron pounced on him. They had been just as disappointed and confused when Harry showed them the broom. Ron had suggested that maybe it was an incredibly fast broom, specially enhanced by Dumbledore who had, after all, been a genius. They were going to test it out the next day to find out, but Harry was not optimistic. Still utterly nonplussed, he had gone to bed.
Dreams were troubling him again, dreams of flashes of green light, high cruel laughs, and the faces of dead people. The shadowy masked figures in a graveyard. The lifeless face of a young boy. A fluttering curtain in an archway with someone waiting just on the other side. A dark tower where he watched, unable to move. A small grave behind a cottage. Bodies lain out in a hall, row after row. A hooded figure reaching towards him with withered hands, sucking the happiness from him, taking away his soul…
And the words whispered to him, the ones that always found him, that dredged up what always lurked in his heart: It's your fault. You should have saved them, you weren't strong enough and now they blame you. They all blame you. They're gone because of you…
Conscious, he was able to push these thoughts away, but it was in sleep when his darkest fears found him. Part of him burned with the truth of the words, another screamed that they were wrong, because if they weren't he knew he would be unable to take it.
He woke with a figure shaking him awake, the way he always seemed to end his dreams. He found the words still on his lips as he thrashed in the tangle sheets: "It's all my fault." Ron stood over him, worry in his eyes, Dean and Seamus, who, after sharing a dorm with Harry for six years were used to a couple of nightmares, rolled over and went back to sleep. To Harry's horror, he realised his was crying, sobs wracked him silently as he looked down at his mattress, ashamed that Ron was seeing him like this.
But then Ron did a very un-Ron-like thing, a testimony to how the War had changed even him. After he had left them in the forest, and realised what he had done, he had vowed that he would never leave neither Harry nor Hermione again if they needed him. So he sat down next to Harry, whose head was bowed, leant over and pulled him into a gruff hug.
Harry was at first shocked, but he had always been better at expressing his emotions than Ron, and quickly returned the hug, collapsing against his friend's chest, still shaking a bit. Ron began to speak, awkwardly.
"It's-er-it's not your fault, mate."
Harry sniffed, "What?"
"I heard you before you woke up-you were-er-shouting, 'it's all my fault,' and-and it's not, okay?" Ron seemed desperate to get his point across, but couldn't quite manage the words. Therefore he was particularly relieved when he felt the younger, raven-haired boy, nod against his chest.
--
It was breakfast and Ron was telling Hermione about the night before whilst Harry caught up on lost sleep.
"So what did you do then?"
"I, erm, hugged him and told him it wasn't his fault."
Suddenly Ron found a set of arms around him and a set of lips on his. He emerged very red but grinning. A couple of Gryffindor boys who had been watching wolf-whistled and clapped.
"What was that for?" he asked, looking down into his cereal.
Hermione was breathless and pleased with herself, and, he could not help notice, not at all embarrassed. "For being so sweet. Honestly Ron, you should go around hugging other boys more often, it brings out the best in you," she said matter-of-factly, before returning to her breakfast. Ron almost choked at the thought of 'going around hugging other boys more often' but remained silent.
--
That day Harry found the whispering and staring and out-right admiration just as bad, and was relieved when they found a notice up on the wall in the Gryffindor common room that meant he would be able to get away from it for a little while. "Great, a Hogsmeade trip!" Ginny pointed out happily.
"I wonder why their having one so soon?" Hermione asked.
"It'll be to make up for lost ones I expect, they didn't have any last year, and hardly any the year before, right? I think they must think we deserve a trip out after all we've been through."
Later they took the broom out for a spin and discovered that it was no faster than a normal Cleansweep, without much surprise. Afterwards he, Ron and Ginny had flown round the pitch a couple of times in the shadow of the castle formed by the setting sun. Hermione had predicatively brought a book, and was quite happy sitting there for a couple of hours. When it got too dark to read or fly they headed back, still burningly curious about the broomstick and why Dumbledore could've thought Harry would need it.
Harry however, was also refreshed from the trip to the Quidditch pitch. It had been great it just being him and the air. No dreams to worry about, no staring or newspaper articles. Just the wind in his hair and the broom beneath him, that was where he felt most at home.
As a result of this he found himself on the pitch and on his broom frequently. In fact, any spare moment he got he could be found out there, practising particularly dangerous stunts or trying out moves he had found in Quidditch Weekly. Whilst his new-found obsession had caused speculation in the Daily Prophet about whether he was pursuing the career of a professional Quidditch Player, his friends and girlfriend were increasingly worried.
"There's got to be something wrong, all he ever does is fly on his own out there." This was only partially true, Harry was now followed reverently by a gaggle of admirers wherever he went and was therefore forced to ignore their presence whilst he zoomed up and down the pitch in his quest for solitude and peace. Ginny would have been jealous, if she didn't know Harry so well.
"He's obviously got something on his mind." Hermione speculated over her lunch, where Harry had quickly finished his meal and headed off to they-all-knew-where, swiftly followed by his entourage. Ginny sighed, "I'll talk to him, I'm his girlfriend after all, if he's going to confide in anyone I'm going to make it me."
Harry finished a particularly daring Wrongskei feint when Ginny strode across the pitch, recognising that red hair anywhere, he quickly came to ground. He pulled her into a hug that she returned with surprising force and caused a lot of muttering from Harry's onlookers.
He turned and glared at them (something that made Ginny feel warm inside) before facing her with a questioning look on his face. She bit her lip and then decided to take a more forceful approach. She hit him. Not hard, on the arm, but it was hard enough to make Harry jump with its unexpectedness. "What was that for?"
"For being do damn mysterious and making us worry about you." His brow crumpled. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, you're spending every moment out here and not telling any of us why or why you've suddenly developed this taste for solitude. I'm your girlfriend, you're supposed to talk to me about stuff that bothering you."
He sighed, "I'm sorry. It's just been nice being able to (here he glanced at the group shadowing them) almost being able to get away from it all. I don't know why it's affecting me this much, I've dealt with worse, I just guess I had this whole idea about how this year was going to be and now can't get over the fact that it's nothing like how I planned."
Ginny felt a surge of sympathy for her boyfriend. Harry could never have life just as he wanted it-normal-and her heart throbbed for him. She wished desperately she could save him from his fame; somehow make him and everyone forget he was the boy-wonder, even if just for a day. Instead she didn't know what to say.
She kissed him instead. "Come to Hogsmeade with us this weekend, it'll be fun." He smiled a small smile at her and nodded as they made their way back up to the castle, in their own temporary bubble of happiness, oblivious to the students tailing them.
--
They wrapped themselves up against the cold September air as the four of them walked down to Hogsmeade. There were few students bothering to make the cold trip down to the little town as most of them were still too busy catching up with their friends about their summers.
Harry had decided that Dumbledore's gift might hold something he wasn't seeing and was going to post it to the Burrow to see if Arthur or maybe even Bill could come up with anything. Ron insisted however, that they visit Honeydukes first and after they had emerged from there, pockets bursting, they decided that they should get some butterbeers first before making their way to the other end of the town where the post office resided.
All agreed that this was all they really had time for as they had set out late as it was, held up by Hermione unable to find her purse and Ginny insisting on dropping off her Herbology essay before they left. It was for this reason that the sun was already low in the sky when they entered the warm and cosy pub.
Harry soon realised that his belief that the Hogsmeade trip would take his mind off his new persona as the saviour of the wizarding community was sadly mistaken. The reaction to his appearance was exactly like that at the station, as every conversation paused and every head turned towards him and his friends standing in the doorway. Harry felt very self-conscious and cursed himself for bringing along the big cumbersome broom-shaped package he now held in his hand, which probably only served to attract more attention.
Madame Rosmerta beckoned them over to the bar where she insisted they sat. Harry would much rather have sunk into the ground, or, using the best alternative, taken a seat at a table in a corner. His embarrassment and discomfort grew further when his money was refused and they were given four butterbeers on the house. He could feel the stares burning into the back of his neck and tried to ignore them.
"Well mate, we'll have to start taking you places more often if this how we're going to be treated." Ron tried to diffuse the sense of tension in the air with a lame joke, but Harry appreciated it all the same. Madame Rosmerta had started recounting some old stories, leaning across the bar to talk to them, though she really only seemed to have eyes for Harry.
"Oh, I remember when we used to have your father in here; he was handsome just like you, always cheeky with me, trying to get me to sell firewhiskey and that. And there was that gaggle of boys always with him. Sirius Black and him were thick as thieves and were just as troublesome at times."
Harry stared at her, the mention of his father and his dead friends was hardly serving to lift his spirits and yet he could not dispel the small sense longing he felt when their names were mentioned. It depressed him no end, but he still wanted to hear more.
"I always said to them, "I'll sell you some firewhiskey when you two befriend a werewolf and kill a vampire" they laughed no end at that." Harry glanced at Hermione in confusion, "It's an old wizarding expression," she explained, "And not exactly very appropriate anymore," she added in a disapproving voice under her breath.
"And he was always mooning after that Lily Evans. He always used to sit here 'why won't she go out with me Rosmerta?' he used to ask and I always used to say, 'She'll come round dear' and what do you know, one day he comes in here with huge grin on his face and says that she finally said yes. Beside the lake, he had been sitting in a tree and she had sat underneath it…or something like that and she had said yes.' I told him, Rosmerta always knows."
This was the first time Harry had heard how his parents had gotten together, the first time he had ever wondered about it if he was honest. The idea of his parents finally getting together at Hogwarts, being around his age, and having no idea that in a couple of years they would die to save him…their son sent pangs of sadness through his heart. He stared down into his butterbeer. After a couple more memories served up by Rosmerta they finished their drinks and headed outside. The group had fallen quiet, mostly watching for Harry's reaction.
"You guys head back, I'll just quickly go post this." He held up the wrapped up broom. The others looked between each other, and seemed to agree this was fine. He hated how they were always watching him, wondering what he was going to do next, he knew it was because they worried but it felt like they thought he was some kind of time-bomb that could go off any moment. "That's fine Harry, we'll see you there." They turned and disappeared into the darkness up the hill to Hogwarts.
Harry turned for the post office and realised with yet another plummeting of the heart that he would normally be attaching this package to Hedwig and a couple of other school owls. Suddenly he was angry, why did everything he did remind him of those that were dead because of him? He couldn't turn without being faced with memories of his father and his friends, the absence of a much loved pet, the reason for the sadness he always saw in Molly and Arthur Weasley's eyes, the missing twinkling eyes at the staff table at breakfast.
It was pretty dark by now, and the lights were beginning to dwindle as he left the centre of Hogsmeade. He muttered a spell under his breath, "Lumos," and saw his wand illuminate. He could not help but notice that the streets were eerily lacking in people now. He clutched the long package closer to him and peered around. There was a rustling behind him, and he spun around. Berating himself he turned back on his way, it was dark, he had heard a noise, how clichéd could things get? It was like a scene from a bad muggle horror movie.
That was when he saw the Deatheaters.
--
They were masked and their eyes were wild. There were half a dozen of them, bedraggled and filthy looking from their months on the run. They were clearly the worse for wear, but that did not mean they were unable to pin his arms behind his back, pulling him into a dark alleyway. One of them pulled out a wand and held it at his throat.
Harry could feel his heart beat with a familiar mixture of adrenaline and fear. His head was pulled back at the hair by one of them. "Finally!" One of hissed with triumph, they looked desperate and mad, haunted eyes suddenly filled with insane glee. The masked figure with their wand to his throat leaned closer. "My you do look like your father, don't you?" It seemed that they were confident enough to gloat before they killed him.
"That little set's finished now though isn't it? Daddy's dead, the wolf and the dog, and even that little worm-you almost did the dark lord a favour with that one." The eyes behind the mask glinted maniacally and the wand was dug into Harry's throat further. Harry's mind was working in overdrive, the Deatheaters were desperate and frantic, sure to make mistakes. He realised his legs were free and kicked out. Hard.
His foot connected with something vital and the wand at his throat was dropped with a howl as the hands holding him loosened with surprise. He wrenched his arms from the Deatheaters' grasps and made a dash for the end of the alleyway, where his dropped wand lay next to the broom, just in sight. He ducked red and green flashes of light as curses and unforgivables were shot after him.
He skidded to a halt as he reached the street he had been walking on, the footsteps of pursuit too close for comfort. Working on instinct he grabbed his wand off the pavement and jumped onto the broom. His mind only allowed one thought as he rose into the air and curses followed him: The thought of his father and the dead friends that the Deatheater had so easily mocked.
There was a loud BANG that reminded Harry of the night bus and the Deatheaters, the street and Hogsmeade disappeared.
