Harry Potter and the Year he Broke Free

Chapter Twenty-Three: Bones

Sirius and Harry talked some more before the latter left to get something from the kitchens. Mostly, they just discussed Harry's first week back, and what he had missed when he was away. Not much, apparently. Voldemort was staying hidden - which of course did nothing to help persuade the public he was back. But at least everyone was still safe and sound, if insulting and discrediting Harry at every chance they got.

Being fifteen, Harry was forbidden to join the Order (he heard all of the other kids complained too) but Sirius still filled him in with snippets of information. Voldemort appeared to be hunting for something; something he didn't have last time. That was as far as his godfather got before shutting his mouth and refusing to explain anything else. Harry suspected it was a weapon: or maybe, someone? They had to be very powerful, or whatever he was planning to use.

This was when Harry wished he had Ron and Hermione around the most. Sometimes having a second opinion or different perspective really helped things. However, their relationship was still very rocky. Hermione shoved her nose into her book whenever he walked past so she didn't even have to glance at him, and Ron just flat-out ignored him. Hopefully their uh... drinking session may have healed things a little, because Harry certainly had a lot of fun joking around with his old dorm-mates like the past year hadn't happened. Part of him wished that things could go back to the way they were before all of the Triwizard Tournament crap.

Harry was also invited to spend Christmas at Grimmauld Place. He had planned to spend it at the Shack, but... it's Christmas. A time to be with friends and family, a department which Harry was severely lacking in. Sirius was the only person he'd really consider family (the Weasleys' were close, although recent events with Ron could complicate matters) and he wanted to spend as much time as he could with him before he was snatched away. Well aware of Sirius' status as an Azkaban escapee, Harry was constantly in fear that he would be found and shipped back to that place. And Harry wasn't sure if his godfather could survive another round in there.

Nonetheless, he wasn't a complete moody sod who wanted to spend Christmas alone. That's just sad. Plus, presents, you know? Harry wasn't going to say no to some free gifts. If he needed presents to hand out, he could just nip down to Hogsmeade using some of the secret passages.

One part that worried him was how the hell Harry was supposed to hide his nightmares from everyone. Being up at all hours of the night isn't exactly normal behaviour - neither is screaming yourself awake and then smashing up your room. Oh well. A few silencing charms and potions should sort that out. Hopefully.

When Sirius had asked about the Ball, Harry had told him about his date, Cho, which he found utterly hilarious.

Sirius had clapped him on the back. "Good man, Harry! Is she pretty?" he had said.

Harry's cheeks reddened. "Um... yeah. I guess."

"You're just like your dad. He clammed up whenever dating came into the conversation." Sirius laughed, a faint twinkle in his eyes.

"Really? What about my mum?"

"Not so bad. I mean, they hated each other till around seventh year." Harry's eyes widened.

Sirius chuckled again. "Yeah. I remember one memorable afternoon she said she'd rather date the Giant Squid before him. To be fair, Lily was very angry because we were picking on Snivellus." he spat out the cruel nickname for the potions professor with disgust.

Harry frowned. "Why did you hate him so much?"

"Well, he was a weird, greasy-haired, slimy, sneaky swot."

Harry grinned. "Very descriptive."

"Accurate too," added Sirius. "Around the beginning of sixth year, Lily fell out with him, I think because of his death-eater pals and he called her a- mudblood." He shrugged, jaw clenching a little. "That and he was a complete weirdo."

He just nodded. Now he could understand why they all hated each other so much, well, sort of. Harry wasn't stupid enough to believe that was the full story, especially considering how loyal Sirius was to James. It wouldn't be too much of a stretch to imagine how his godfather could twist the story to make his best friend sound better. People tended to do that, sometimes consciously, sometimes sub-consciously. He would have to look into that; confirm Sirius' tale. That being said teenage Snape's behaviour would not be unexpected of him, considering the man he turned into.

Actually, Harry now had quite a list of little things he wanted to research. A trip to the library was definitely overdue.

By the time Harry finally left McGonagall's office (Sirius having left via the floo moments ago) everyone else had gone. Her office was completely empty, so he assumed she left for the staffroom, or maybe her private quarters. Smiling to himself, Harry hummed off-key under his breath as he made his way to the kitchen. Talking with Sirius had put him in a better mood than usual; it just felt so... normal. The two laughing and joking together like the past year had never happened. Sirius hadn't brought up anything about Cedric, or the argument they had on the hospital wing the night before. He also left Harry's disagreements with various teachers and students alone, which he was grateful for.

They would have to talk about it eventually, but Harry was just glad it wasn't today.

Dobby greeted him enthusiastically as always when he reached the kitchen.

"Master Harry has come to visit Dobby!" he squeaked throwing his arms excitedly round his waist. Harry could swear he saw tears in the elf's eyes.

Harry slid out of Dobby's grasp, and settled down into a nearby bench. "Hey, Dobby. Any chance you could get me some dinner, please? I skipped tea, and I'm pretty ravenous."

The elf obliged, and scurried off to fetch some untouched plates of food that were still left out from dinner. Harry noticed a few of the other elves shooting him some filthy looks, but Dobby was oblivious. Or just talented at ignoring it. The plate slid in next to him, chicken pie and roast potatoes sat on the white porcelain expectantly. Drowned in a stupid amount of gravy, of course. The Dursleys' had never let him have more than a drop of the stuff, so Harry now used liberal amounts to make up for lost gravy, a habit of Harry's that Dobby had grown accustomed to.

He tucked in immediately, but noticed that Dobby's ears were drooping slightly, and his eyes dimmer than usual. Harry swallowed his mouthful, then stared at the elf thoughtfully.

"Dobby? Are you alright? You seem a bit off."

Without warning, the elf started weeping hysterically. Harry put down his fork and placed a hand on the elf's back, then rubbing it in circles. Hermione did that a lot - she always said it comforted people. Hopefully her methods worked on house-elves.

It seemed to, because after a few moments Dobby stopped crying so emphatically, instead opting to gulp uncontrollably. Tears were still leaking out of his huge, glassy eyes but they were less frequent. The other house-elves had conveniently vanished, so Harry suspected it was something to do with them.

"Hey, Dobby," he began soothingly, still rubbing circles on his red jumper. "You alright?"

He sniffed loudly, and Harry could even see globules of snot being shot back up his large nose. "I is okay, Master Harry. Dobby is a bad elf for crying during his master's dinner!" Dobby shot up like a rocket and sped over to the sharp knives on the edge of the counter, glinting dangerously.

"No! Dobby, it's okay!" Harry yelled as he tried to get there first. He bundled up the utensils and placed them up on a high shelf, out of his reach. Dobby changed course and headed to the fire where hot pokers where spitting furiously in the fiery heat.

"Hey! Stop!" Harry bellowed again. This time he used magic to levitate them out of his reach, the white-hot rods floating in mid-air above their heads. The house-elf balled up his fists and pulled it back, aiming for his own face. Sprinting, Harry ran over and set his hands firmly on Dobby's shoulders, stopping him from moving. He was probably digging in so hard it hurt, but at least Dobby couldn't hurt himself again.

The creature in front of him began to sob again. "Why doesn't master Harry let Dobby discipline himself? You does it - I's seen you." he choked out his words quickly, and looked back at Harry, great grey orbs still copiously leaking tears.

"I- you can't do that, Dobby. It's okay to get upset sometimes." Harry told the small elf, bending down on one knee to get on his level.

He laughed weakly. "House-elves aren't supposed to gets emotional, especially when they's on the job. Not supposed to have friends too."

"Everyone gets emotional sometimes. Just come and talk to me, alright? I am your friend, after all. Doesn't mean you should go hurting yourself." Harry nodded at the elf, and grinned at him until he got a smile in return.

Dobby looked at him curiously. "Then why does you do it?"

Harry felt his smile stop short. He got up, and looked away from the small elf's clear, round eyes. "That's... different."

Both of them were silent for a while, Harry unconsciously skimming his fingers over the scars on his forearm. He was wearing a long-sleeved top, so they were hidden, but sometimes Harry just ran his hand over them. It was a habit of his, like running his hands through his hair.

The teenager turned back to the elf. "So, Dobby, what was wrong anyway?" his usual smirk had returned.

"It's- well, it's the..." he trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"I won't tell anyone, Dobby." Harry tried to coax the small elf.

"It's the other house-elves. They- they doesn't like me wearing clothes." He gestured to his somewhat strange composition of clothes: a posh purple hat with a feather sticking out of it, like one belonging to the three musketeers; a puffy, yellow bomber jacket; dangly green clip-on earrings hanging from the top of his ears; a traditional kilt, and finally, feet jammed into the same Gucci slides as before. There was also a choker hanging around his neck with a small gem hanging off the front. Quite a contrast to the other house-elves plain teatowels with the Hogwarts crest stamped on the front.

"A-also, they doesn't like me getting paid."

Harry cocked his head to the side. "How much are you paid?"

"One galleon per month," said the elf with a nervous grin on his face, almost like he was afraid to say it. "Oh, and I's also got one Sunday off per month, too." Dobby giggled ecstatically. "Dobby is very lucky."

"Is- is that all?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"Yes. I's not- not a slacker. Dumbledore offered me ten galleons per month, and every Sunday off, but that's too much." Dobby shook his head.

"And did he tell you to... punish yourself if you did something?"

"Oh, no, that's an old habit of mine." The elf stroked his ears nervously. "Master Dumbledore doesn't mind what we do, as long as we keep the students safe and well-fed. He said- he even said we could call him a barmy old codger if we likes," Dobby giggled.

Harry sighed in relief. "At least he's done something right."

The elf cleared his throat awkwardly. "That's another reason the other house-elves doesn't likes me," Dobby stared determinedly at the floor. "Because of you."

Harry felt a wave of shock crash over him. He was the reason the other house-elves were alienating Dobby? Harry had driven the poor elf to tears? Again, everyone else's troubles were his fault - it always was, in one way or another. People had tried to protect him, but were all eventually hurt.

"They's seen me talking to you a lot, and they think you's crazy," Dobby whispered.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since I got here, almost." Dobby's ears drooped again.

"And it all got too much?" Harry guessed. From the way Dobby's green eyes scanned the floor frantically and avoided his gaze, he knew his suspicious were correct.

"Well, Dobby," and he got down on one knee again, "You can come and talk to me, you know."

"But I doesn't know where you lives, master Harry." The house elf flicked his eyes back up to meet his, like giant tennis balls staring at him.

Harry grinned down at him. "Oh... about that, I've been using the Room of Requirement you told me about, or the 'coming-and-going room' as you called it. Is that okay?"

At once the elf beamed. "Good, good! That's a very secure place - a very nice choice of home indeed." he nodded solemnly.

"Thanks, Dobby. You can drop by anytime. The password's Hedwig, by the way." Harry had set this up when he told Fred and George: saying the word to the wall would reveal the door, but only Harry could let them in. The room was almost like an entity, or like Harry was staying in someone else's home. It was a weird feeling, but one that made him feel safer, that there was a competent force watching over him. It could almost read his mind, answering to every need he had. Apart from that time his blade got too blunt, and he needed another one. Normally things would just appear, but Harry had to go out and buy a new one himself. He guessed the room didn't like his... habits.


Soon after, (when Harry had eaten dinner) they bid each other farewell, Harry reminding him that friends did not call each other 'master', and he was able to tick another thing off his list. Sort things out with Sirius - check. Catch up with Dobby - check. And he'd thoroughly enjoyed both. Above all he was glad he could help Dobby, even if it was just a little. He had even managed to clear his plate, a feat that had remained unattainable for more than a few days. The food felt settled in his stomach, and Harry could feel himself warming from the extra energy. Potions just didn't cut it sometimes, and paled in comparison to proper food on many occasions.

It was nearing eight'o'clock, and Harry decided he would head to the Gryffindor common room again. Being separated from the people he called family for the past five years was a hard adjustment to make, and one he was still indecisive about. Would they even accept him back? Did Harry even want to go back? They were all good questions, and ones he hoped would be solved quickly. Being on the fence was annoying; he'd rather have his feet planted on one side. But which one would he pick?

Reaching the fat lady, Harry flashed her a mega-watt smile that would make even Lockhart faint, and after uttering the password she let him in. If it all came to the worst, he did have an excuse to be in there; Harry had left his jumper in the dorm. When he clambered through the portrait-hole, however, a completely different scene to what he imagined met his eyes.

Ron was standing in the middle of the room, eyes wide from the excitement and speed he was talking at. Crowds of people were huddled round him, clearly hanging on his every word. The unmistakeable slightly stale after-taste of a party still hung around the common room; from the dozen or so butterbeers still clustered on a table to the empty cups and wrappers still littered around the sofas and tables. It seemed like most of Gryffindor were down there, some people were studying, or playing exploding snap together.

It was a few seconds before anyone noticed that Harry was there. He managed to hear "and you'll never believe what he did in old McGonagall's office-" until Ron stopped short.

"Oh, uh... hey, Harry."

It was quite obvious from the incessant fidgeting that they were all talking about him, and his ex-best-mate was currently head of gossip central. Very impressive, for him at least. "Hi, Ron."

Another awkward pause. "Um, what're you doing here?" Ron was tugging on the sleeves of his jumper anxiously, but his expression was oddly blank. This surprised Harry - normally he was easy to read, like an open book. Maybe he wasn't the only one that had changed.

Harry shrugged, resuming his customary bored expression. "Just fetching my jumper."

"Well, go on then," said Ron, folding his arms against his chest.

Narrowing his eyes, Harry scoured his face as he crossed the common room and sped up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The faster he could get out of there the better. Luckily, the dormitory was empty (Harry assumed everyone was downstairs listening to Ron spouting bullshit) and he spied his jumper peeking out under a blanket. The room stank of alcohol and bedding was all over the flipping place. Neville wasn't kidding when he called it a nest.

Harry sprinted back down the stairs, but before he got to the bottom decided to disillusion himself. That way he could really see what Ron thought about him - what he said when Harry wasn't around.

Sure enough, when he glimpsed Ron in the centre of the group he was shooting his mouth off.

"Oh, thank god he left. You would not believe how self-centred Harry could be, really, really." the crowd tittered excitedly, chattering and gasping at the fresh gossip. Ron's grin spread even wider, and he continued. "You know last year, when those articles about him by Rita Skeeter came out? He asked her to lie and overexaggerate, to get more attention. I have to tell you, I don't really doubt what the Prophet's saying is entirely untrue."

Harry could feel his fury bubbling to the surface, magic thrumming through his veins in a rage-filled haze of power. He wanted to throw Ron out of the nearest window for spreading such utter crap. Did he think these things all last year, when they were supposed to be friends? Sure, they had fallen out, but Harry though they had gotten over it. But you could almost smell the toxic jealousy coming off Ron, or at least Harry could tell. The people gathered round him were lapping up every word, probably because of Harry and Ron's (ex) status as best friends.

"Yeah, I know right? How weird." Ron nodded and agreed with some questions thrown his way. One question seemed to catch him off-guard completely though.

"Do I- do I believe he's back? You-Know-Who?" Ron dithered about with this question, face reddening slightly as the crowd egged him on to share his true feelings. "Well, um..." Surely, thought Harry, Ron wouldn't go as far as to deny the return of Voldemort, especially not when his entire family was fighting for the cause. "Looking at what he's said in the past, I can't be too sure... I mean, it's probably just another desperate plea for attention."

That was it. Harry snapped. He felt the charm flying off as he stormed over to the ginger-haired boy. Ron squeaked when he saw an utterly pissed-off Harry looming towards him, every stride promising more and more violence and torture. Harry was completely silent, jaw tight and set as he marched over. Ron's blue eyes went wide as he watched Harry's fist drawing back and connecting hard with his jaw, sending him spinning to the floor in an undignified sprawl.

"Nice to know how much you value our friendship, Ron." Harry snarled, glaring down in complete disbelief and disgust at the boy crumpled at his feet. Ron looked quite dazed and was rubbing his cheek angrily. He shot up, still a few inches taller than the boy with messy, coal-black hair standing in front of him.

Ron frowned, fist twitching at his side. "What in the bloody hell was that for?"

"You're fucking joking," Harry laughed coldly. "You just called me a fucking liar in front of everyone, you jealous prat! It's you that wants the attention!"

"SHUT UP!" Ron roared.

"NO! I FUCKING WON'T! I WON'T LET YOU STAND HERE AND GOSSIP ABOUT ME BEHIND MY BACK! AT LEAST HAVE THE DECENCY TO SAY IT TO MY FUCKING FACE!"

"FINE! I WILL!" Ron squared up to him, looking down his freckled nose at the other boy. "YOU DISAPPEAR FOR MONTHS, AND AS SOON AS YOU COME BACK, START GOING ON ABOUT HOW WE'RE ALL CRAP FRIENDS WHO DON'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU! YOU'RE THE ONE WHO DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT!"

"OH, REALLY? WHO SAVED YOUR ARSES MULTIPLE TIMES, HUH? YOU JUST-"

"NO!" Ron exploded. "YOU ALWAYS FUCKING GO ON ABOUT THAT! ALL THE SHIT YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH, BLAH BLAH. WE ALL FUCKING KNOW YOUR PARENTS ARE DEAD OR WHATEVER, AND YOU'VE FACED VOLDEMORT MUTLIPLE TIMES-"

Ron was interrupted by the butterbeer bottles shattering, shards flying in every direction. People screamed and ran away, taking cover under sofas and tables. It didn't stop the confrontation, though.

"SO WHAT? I AM PAST CARING, HARRY!"

Harry glared at him forcefully, green eyes igniting into terrible emerald fires of anger and betrayal. How could he? Five whole fucking years of friendship, all gone, just like that. The glistening shards stopped in their paths and span about in mid-air, glinting and sparkling in the light. Harry could feel his magic itching to reach out and hurt something, no - someone. His magic, ebbing in high-octane waves from his very core and into the common room made the air much, much colder until Harry could feel his breath rising in front of him in cold blasts of smoke. The windows fogged up, ice trickling its way up the glassy surface and splintering. Everyone began shivering violently, Ron especially.

Harry was fine though. Everything was so clear now - the shards of sharp, cutting glass stopped spinning and all aimed like daggers right at Ron. All he was focused on was hurting him like he did to Harry, crushing any sense that they might still have a redeemable friendship. Harry felt his power and magic, and embraced it, donning it like armour. His very soul seemed to shine, turning his eyes into beacons of emerald fury. Harry could feel everything in the room trembling and shaking; stacks of books toppling to the floor and being joined by vases, candles and other knick-knacks.

"H-Harry, what are you doing? Calm-calm down, okay?" Ron's voice shook and trembled, understandable considering the hundreds of pointy shards of lethal glass aimed right at his head. This struck a chord with Harry - taking him back to the nights he had dreamed of killing his best mate. Was- was this why he had dreamed it? To build up to when he actually did kill him? Harry wasn't a killer. Or, at least he didn't think so.

The glass dropped to the floor like an ungainly shower of hail, clinking against the wooden tables as they made their way out of the air.

Ron stood frozen, face pale and white. He was trembling and seemed barely able to stand, desperately trying to inch away from the terrifyingly powerful and angry person standing in front of him. Harry's eyes were wide and still retained a slightly ethereal feel to them, like they were drowning in green currents. He was still so confused - millions of questions flowing through his head. Was he a killer? What was that? Did his dreams hold the future? And why had Ron said those things?

All Harry knew was that he was still so, so angry. He needed an outlet - a way for it to spill out before it consumed him whole. For the second time, he drew back his fist and slammed it into the side of Ron's face, hearing the satisfying crunch as his jaw was dislocated. Magic always made him stronger.

"Pathetic," he spat at the heaving pile on the floor that was Ronald Weasley, tears leaking from his eyes as he cradled his aching jaw, crumpled against the carpet.. Harry had never seen Ron look so defeated. With that, he spun on his heel and swept out of the common room, feeling the glass crunch beneath his trainers like broken bones.


*I don't own any characters, all rights to J.K. Rowling.

**Hey guys! I felt like Dobby needed some more scenes. He is such an underrated character. Thanks, Tea33 xx.

***Thank you all for the constant support! I value every review, favourite and follow.