Title: The Rise and Fall

Author: Kary Starr

Rating: PG-13/R (yaoi)

Summary: Harry is on his way to beginning his fifth year at Hogwarts but must confront all trials of doom and anguish; however, when he realizes his feelings from a certain someone, everything falls apart…

Pairings: Draco/Harry, Ron/Hermione

Email: sailorfreak6@yahoo

Categories: Angst, Romance

The Rise and Fall: Chapter One

"Escape"

~*~*~*~

Harry stood by the door, his insides jumping around in his stomach. The Dursleys were bustling down the hall, making their way to the car.

Vernon was the last one out. "Listen boy, this house had better be here when I get back. Any messes—any at all—and you'll be out of anything to eat for the next week!" Harry stared back at him. He'd already been without proper food for the last three months.

Harry said nothing, and Vernon walked out the door, slamming it behind him. Harry waited until they were out of sight before he rushed upstairs and dragged everything out of his closet. He opened Hedwig's cage, and spoke to her briefly. "Hedwig, I'm going to go to London. It will already look odd if I come there with you, so you can go now. I'll—I'll be there." He hoped.

Hedwig gave an affectionate nip at his finger and lifted her wings, flying out the window. Harry did not watch her go, though. Shoving Hedwig's cage in the trunk (which was empty of the books he required this year) he pulled out his wand. Making heavy and loud noises, he got the trunk to the bottom of the staircase.

He stuck his wand inside the pocket of his jacket. He stuck a long piece of metal inside the ends his trunk (he'd managed to forge two holes on each side of the ends of his trunk last night, with a steak knife that he'd picked up after washing the dishes). Then he stuck two wheels at the end (from Dudley's scattered old toys lying about his room), and his found that the old fashioned trunk could roll.

Opening the door, he stepped cautiously outside. It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. Closing the door behind him, Harry made his way down the driveway, and with the tieback from his bathrobe, rolled the trunk into the street.

It would have been more convenient if Harry had some Muggle money; a taxi could take him to London in no time. Harry laughed inwardly. Muggle money—it'd been a very long time since he'd seen any of that.

What else could he do? Harry touched his chin thoughtfully, and continued to walk down the street. He let his mind drift…until he came to what he'd thought of the night before. What about the Knight Bus—could he use that again? How did the Knight Bus work, anyway? Did it pick you up, just at night? Was he required to do any spells? The last time he used "Lumos!" But Stan, the driver's friend, had only spoke about sticking your wand out.

Harry hesitated a second. It was closing afternoon. Would anyone see him? Harry decided to wait until night fell before he'd test his theory. The last thing he needed was for some Muggle to see him pull out his wand, and get expelled from Hogwarts.

With the tieback in hand, Harry dragged the somewhat light trunk down the street. Melancholy and despair washed over him. The elated feeling of escaping close hell had ebbed away. Now there was fear. What if he couldn't find a way to make it to Hogwarts in time? He could have posted Dumbledore, his headmaster, of his situation but then he realized that maybe, he shouldn't bother him.

About this time tomorrow, he'd be on his way to Hogwarts. Harry felt another pang of anxiety. The train picked him up at eleven o'clock in the morning. By the time he'd arrive there, that would mean he'd have about two hours to get all the school things he needed. And that included a stop at Gringotts, the wizarding bank in Diagon Alley. Harry sighed in frustration. It was going to be a close call.

It was edging into six o'clock now. Harry wondered what the Dursleys would say, once they found their house empty of one certain nephew. He doubted they'd even noticed, except now they'd have to get up and do things themselves.

He was entering the small town the Dursleys lived near. Sighing, he rolled his cart through the near-deserted town and continued his way down the street. Everyone was inside; it was, after all, Sunday afternoon before the first day of school. However, those that were out gave him odd looks. Used to this, of course, Harry just trudged his way through the town, determined to stick it out until nightfall.

While he was walking, though, he was in very deep thought. Harry never liked to be caught deep in thought these days, because usually his mind drifted over to a peculiar green light that had a tendency to suck the life out of people; for instance, the once that killed his parents, and the one that killed Cedric last summer. No, finally his thoughts were drifted over to something a little more positive.

He was finally out of the Dursleys, and no doubt he was finding himself in a better position than he was before. He still couldn't take deep breaths (the welt across his chest must have broken a rib or two) but he knew that it was going to get better, to say the very least. Trained up for Quidditch, the sport played on broomstick that Harry found himself to be very good at, was no problem. The Dursleys starving him kept his weight down (albeit, even Harry doubted his ribs were supposed to stick out like they did) and all the physical labor he was put to kept him in right shape. The envelope that was tucked in his bag held the little shiny badge of becoming a Prefect, in which Harry was very much proud of (although he would never admit this to anyone). Hermione, of course, was the other Prefect this year for Gryffindor—Harry had no doubt of that.

The sun was finally setting over the horizon, sending a blood red line of sky into the fading light. Harry found himself becoming more tired with each step (he'd been traveling for a long time now) and realized that, if he did not find a way to get to London fast, there was very little chance that he'd be catching the train tomorrow.

He reached inside his jacket, and extracted his wand. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple, he'd carried this wand since he got it in Ollivander's just five years ago. Directing his luggage to the side, Harry stuck out his wand, and waited. He felt a bit silly, standing there, hoping that the Knight Bus did not need to require more when Harry heard a loud crack and there was a flash of light, causing him to shy away, covering his eyes.

When he opened them, the door was open to the Knight Bus. It was, however, not the Knight Bus he'd ridden before. This one was a purple color with stars and moons painted in white all over the sides. Beneath the first floor of windows were the words in a glittering shade of gold "The Knight Bus," and in the corner, "698." It was very well kept at least, Harry noted.

"Where to?" the voice from inside said. Harry looked in, and saw it was covered in a shade of deep maroon carpeting, very neat and clean. He pulled his trunk up to the door and stuck his head in, looking for the source of the voice.

"London, please," he said clearly. "Diagon Alley."

There was a yanking force from behind him as someone came around to take care of his luggage. "I'll take that," the young man said kindly. "Step aboard please. We've got a ways to go." He was dressed in a tidy purple robe, and wore a nametag that said, "Calvin."

"Thanks," Harry said, watching him roll off with his light trunk. Turning, Harry reached in and grabbed the brass rail, hoisting himself in. He stepped up the three stairs and looked around.

Neatly in two rows were seven beds that lined the length of the bus, each one complete with a small night table that was bolted securely to the floor, as well as the beds. Each bed had a flawless white sheet with a purple blanket at each end. There were only three people occupying the beds, however; a young woman roughly his age, next to another girl, only slightly older, both sleeping soundly and a middle-aged man whom Harry felt he ought to know but couldn't place who exactly he was, also sleeping.

"Quiet night," the man at the wheel said. "What can I do for you, laddie? Diagon Alley, you said?" He was a thin man with balding hair and a stately nature, wearing the same color robe as the other worker Calvin and peering at Harry through small circle spectacles.

"Yes, sir," Harry said. "How much is that? My money—it's in my trunk."

The man waved his hand. "You pay when you get off. It'll be fourteen Sickles for the trip, but fifteen for a cup of something warm with it." He pointed to the bed across the aisle one of the girls. "That'll be your bed, son. Say, what is your name, anyway?"

Harry turned to the man. "It's Harry—Harry Potter."

The man smiled widely. "Is it now? Well, that's something." Calvin, the other worker, had just arrived back, and took a seat behind the driver.

"Sorry 'bout that Daniel," said Calvin quietly, picking up the paper that was lying on his seat and flipping it open. "One of the other bags from that girl," he pointed vaguely to the redhead fast asleep, "flew open down there, and her belongings were all over the place."

"No problem, Calvin," he said, putting the bus in gear. "You might want to take a seat, Potter," the driver said. "This is one of the better buses, but it'll send you flying if you're not seated."

Harry nodded, knowing only too well how the Knight Buses act, and walked over to his bed, sitting on the linen sheets. He felt the hard jerk forward, and then the bus fell into a steady rhythm.

Finally, he was going to get to Hogwarts. Even the Dursleys couldn't stop him now, like they've been trying to do all summer. Harry smiled, leaning back on the comfortable bed. Unlike his bed at the Dursleys, there was no springs poking out at odd angles, and the sheets were not threadbare. It was a pleasant change.

The bus's clock rang gently eight o'clock. The rocking of the bus and the chimes of the wall clock lulled Harry to sleep, who finally dreamt not of Voldemort, but blissfully of nothing else.

~*~*~*~

"Diagon Alley, next stop," Calvin said, shaking Harry awake. "Wake up, sir."

Harry opened his eyes, feeling groggy and disoriented. "Wha—?" he said softly. "Already?"

"Yes, sir," he said, handing Harry a steaming mug of cocoa. "This is for you."

Harry, who was still on top of the sheets, shifted so he was sitting up, leaning on one elbow. "How much longer have we got until we reach London?" asked Harry quietly. He saw they've must have stopped a couple of times. The middle-aged man was gone, and the girl next to the redhead was gone as well.

The remaining person, however, was sitting up and sipping something steaming warm. She looked well rested, and was dressed to go. Since Diagon Alley was the next stop, Harry assumed she might be going there, as well.

"Not long, sir—about fifteen minutes. Do you want your drink, Mr. Potter?" Calvin said, still holding out the glass. Harry looked up at him, still out of it. It'd been a while since he'd had such undisturbed sleep.

"Yes," he said, sitting up properly. His stomach began to protest again, and Harry fought the urge to smack himself to hide the loud noise that was embarrassing him. "Er, thanks."

"No problem," said Calvin, bowing slightly and moving swiftly away. Harry was still in his jacket and very overlarge clothing, with his hair tousled more than ever and his glasses slightly askew. He slipped off his jacket and took a sip of the hot drink. It was very delicious and just what he needed. Sighing, he looked out the window and saw the scenery fly by quickly in a blur of green, yellow and blue.

"Mr. Potter?" a young voice asked, thick with a heavy French accent. Harry turned around, and saw the girl was sitting across from him. "Zat means to say, you are Harry Potter, aren't you?" She eyed the thin, lightning bolt scar on his forehead that was reminiscent of the fight with Voldemort when he was very young.

Harry flattened his bangs. "Yes, I am," he said quickly, fixing his glasses and sitting up straight.

"Why are you riding ze Knight Bus, then?" she inquired curiously.

"Because," said Harry, who was feeling slightly irritated to have to explain himself (why else would anyone want to ride the bus except to travel somewhere?), "I need to catch the bus to Hogwarts tomorrow."

"Oh," she replied quietly, and was silent for a moment. Harry suspected his reply was a bit harsh.

"Sorry," said Harry quickly. "I'm not used to random questions about where I'm going."

She waved her hand impatiently at him. "Never mind zat," she said, grinning. "And, my name is Penelope Grenier. I am from Beauxbatons Academy, by ze way."

"Ah," Harry replied, taking a large gulp from the drink in his hand. "Were you at Hogwarts last year, for the TriWizard Tournament?"

"Ah, but I was one year ze junior of ze age," she said, hanging her head.

"Diagon Alley, next stop, five minutes. Could you please make sure you have all of your belongings?" Calvin said politely, walking over and signaling them by tapping his watch.

Penelope smiled. "I 'ave all of my belongings," she said.

Eyeing Harry's jacket, Calvin nodded at the two of them. "All right, then." He bowed and moved swiftly away.

"They are much nicer here than on the other Knight Bus I've ridden," Harry spoke suddenly. He took a long drink from his mug and then sat it down on the night table.

"Zen you can't 'ave ridden many buses," Penelope replied politely. "Zey are always like zis." She stood up and walked over to her bed, and put all of her belongings on the top, looking through them so that she had everything with her.

Harry pulled on his jacket and picked up his mug, which was nearly empty. Calvin came around once more, and asked him to move to the front of the bus, taking Harry's cup and waving his wand, making the cup disappear.

He felt the bus jerk around as it slowed down in front of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry and Penelope waited patiently as the bus came to a complete stop and Daniel opened the door. Calvin had already disappeared into the back of the bus and was waiting outside with Harry's trunk when Harry stepped out of the bus.

Penelope waved at him, and told him good luck on the coming school year as she headed off into another direction. Calvin waited patiently as Harry dug the money out of his trunk to pay him, then walked off and got on the waiting bus. Harry, standing by the makeshift portable trunk, watched the bus depart before moving.

Rolling the trunk to the Leaky Cauldron's entrance, Harry opened the door and stepped in. Tom hadn't closed up for the evening yet; he was serving two witches a cup of something deep red. Harry walked in awkwardly, and waited for Tom to finish.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Potter?" He asked politely, turning his full attention on him.

"Do you have a room I could use for tonight?" Harry replied quietly. "And could you tell me when the shops open tomorrow?"

"Yes, I do have one room available," said Tom, looking underneath the counter top for a key. He handed the small gold key to Harry after unhooking it from the counter. "And the shops--they open around seven. Why?"

The Hogwarts train sets off at eleven, Harry remembered quickly. That would leave him a precious few hours to buy all of his school supplies. Seeing Tom waiting for his answer expectantly, he said, "Curiosity, Tom. I needed to pick up some things."

The shopkeeper nodded. "Please, follow me," said Tom, opening the door at the other end of the small room behind the counter. He appeared and took Harry's trunk from him. "Your room is room five," Tom informed him, leading him down a small corridor. They reached a door at the end, and the number "5" was placed on there very crookedly. Tom opened the door, and walked in, setting Harry's materials at the foot of the well-kept bed.

"There you are, Mr. Potter," Tom said, stepping back. "Room number five. You can pay me in the morning," he added, eyeing Harry's look to move to the trunk. "Good night."

"Good night, Tom," Harry replied. "And thank you. Could you wake me up at six thirty tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," Tom said, waving his two fingers at him, saluting his goodbye. He stepped out of the room, and closed the door. Harry was finally in Diagon Alley. He'd gotten a room, and he was on his way to Hogwarts.

Then why did he have a feeling of impending doom? Harry sat on the old comforter and thought for a little bit. Mostly, he planned on what he was going to do tomorrow. He would have to get down to Gringotts early--and get his money--then he would have to hurry about until ten thirty, when he needed to be getting down to Kings Cross Station. He supposed he could take a walk, but how far away is Kings Cross Station from here? In his third year, Mr. Weasley, Ron's father, had a couple of Ministry cars for him. In fact, Harry supposed, he thought it rather odd that he hadn't heard from either Mrs. Weasley, or from Mr. Weasley. Surely--surely--they didn't forget about him? Harry kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket, setting it at the end of his bed by his trunk. "I probably shouldn't worry about that," he thought absentmindedly. "It's not like the Weasleys are my own parents. And, with what Fred and George going into their last year, it's awfully selfish of me to automatically think they'd invite me." The Weasleys had their plates full already…and Harry probably shouldn't bother them like he has.

He wiped his brow, amazed at the heat of the day lingering into the night like this. Still in the jeans he'd worn all day long, Harry took off his shirt and let the breeze from the open window to his left cool him down a little. He leaned back and shifted into the cold sheets. He could take care of himself. And he needed no one else…this summer proved that.

"Even still," Harry thought as he took off his glasses and closed his green eyes to sleep, "it's not like anyone else cared in the first place."