Chapter 3: Inauspicious Happenings
The happiness and peace that Harry had felt on the night of his birthday did not last long.
Despite throwing himself headlong into reading his parents' books, Harry was growing restless, unable to sit still. He found himself constantly looking out his window, scanning for threats.
The flashes of paralyzing panic happened more often, leaving him shaking and breathless, heart pounding erratically as memories swam before his eyes. His nightmares were worse than ever, the Stone of Serenity helping less and less.
As the days dragged on, Harry found himself wishing that he could run away from his own mind.
He wanted nothing more than to think nothing at all.
He tried to empty his mind, tried to restore a measure of calm, tried to control his rebellious thoughts.
Nothing worked.
His inability to clear his mind made working on the Animagus transformation nearly impossible. Achieving the transformation required one to meditate on their Inner Animal with a perfectly clear mind. His father's notes explained that the boys, finding it impossible to keep a Mandrake leaf in their mouth for an entire month without it falling out or them being caught, had decided to follow the less popular, but equally effective, meditation method. The method was less popular only because it required a lot of mental discipline. It could take months or even years of meditation to discover your Inner Animal.
After that, the process required enough concentration to complete the transformation using only your mind. Just thinking about the process made Harry's brain feel like a limp noodle. He was determined to become an Animagus, but meditation was nearly impossible right now. He couldn't keep his eyes closed for longer than a minute before he would panic, sudden terror rising up in his chest.
He had better luck with his Mum's book. She'd clearly been a very insightful Potion-maker. Her changes to the written Potions were clever, and her new inventions were delightful. There was one that, in concert with a charm, would turn a lily into a goldfish and back again when the lily was soaked in the potion. Harry had never heard of anything quite so beautiful. He could imagine his mother setting a tiny white flower into a little fishbowl and watching it turn into an equally tiny fish.
He wished he could have seen her face the first time the Potion worked.
Harry was so grateful for the books, but he couldn't ignore the emotions they brought up. He'd gone years without grieving for his parents, but the graveyard had brought old sorrows back to the surface. He'd seen their ghostly forms, heard their voices. It brought the loss back all over again.
Harry spent three agonizing days trying to drown himself in the books, trying to silence his mind with distraction. No matter how much he read, he couldn't escape the feeling of dread.
He took to pacing about his bedroom at all hours, nervous energy fueling his steps.
He needed to get out of this room.
He needed to go outside.
The universe seemed to sense his need to get out because in the late afternoon of August second, Aunt Petunia unlocked his door, disgust distorting her face as she glared at him.
"You're beginning to make Dudders nervous with your pacing," she said, wrinkling her nose at the state of his bedroom. "Get out of the house. Be back before dark or you'll regret it."
Harry wasted no time in shoving on his trainers and bounding down the stairs.
He pulled open the door and raced into the fresh air. It was horribly hot, but Harry had never felt better. He felt like a child as he broke into a run, sprinting down the street toward the park.
It felt so good to run again.
He arrived at the park, settling onto one of the swings.
It was so peaceful here, so quiet.
He shoved his feet back and forth a bit, picking up speed. As he began to lift off the ground, Harry felt truly free for the first time since returning to Privet Drive. He kicked his legs harder, pushing himself away from the ground, hot air swirling around him as he rose into the sky.
"Hey, Potter! Trying to fly away from your problems?"
A jeering voice startled him, shattering the calm of the afternoon. Harry scuffed his feet on the ground, forcing himself to a stop. He stood up, turning to face Dudley and his band of cronies.
"Well, Dudders," Harry retorted. "At least I can actually get myself off the ground."
Shock momentarily flashed across Dudley's face, anger quickly growing to replace it. Not wanting to appear weak in front of his gang, Dudley stalked toward Harry, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him hard.
"Take it back," Dudley hissed.
"No, I don't think I will," Harry said in a slightly sing-song voice.
He didn't care how bad of an idea it was. He loved messing with Dudley.
Just as Dudley appeared about ready to punch him, something changed.
The heat was suddenly sucked from the world, an icy chill descending in the blink of an eye. The sky grew dark, menacing clouds looming on the horizon.
The members of Dudley's gang, seeming to sense the evil in the air, took off running. Dudley looked at Harry accusingly, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Whatever you're doing, you'd better stop! I'll tell Dad!"
Harry, knowing that they had to get out of there, told Dudley the truth. "I'm not doing anything. We need to run! NOW!"
Dudley, displaying a shocking amount of common sense for him, did as he was told and took off running behind Harry. They had just made it to an underpass when two black-cloaked figures descended, bony fingers reaching for them.
The cold was bone-deep, freezing Harry's blood. As the Dementors drew closer, the voices started, the horrors of his past reaching out to drown him.
"Kill the Spare"
Flashes of green light overtook his vision, horrible laughter filling his ears as his lungs constricted. His breath was coming too fast. Where was the air?
He couldn't breathe.
"Not Harry"
His mother's voice, desperate and pleading. She was another person who had died for him. Because of him.
The Dementor came closer, beginning to lower its hood. Harry wondered what would happen if he just let it suck out his soul. He could just end it all now, let himself be free of this world.
He almost let it happen, but something stopped him. It wasn't just his life at stake.
Dudley would die if he didn't intervene. Dudley had a family. Harry wouldn't let another set of parents lose a child because of him. He just couldn't.
His sudden resolve to save a family was enough to break the Dementor's hold on him, allowing him to reach into his back pocket and pull out the stick of holly.
Thinking of Sirius, Harry shouted the familiar incantation, calling for a savior. "Expecto Patronum!"
The brilliant white stag burst from his wand, driving off the Dementor closest to him before galloping toward the Dementor that was bent over Dudley, forcing it away.
As the Dementors disappeared, Harry could feel the air regaining its warmth, could see the sky lightening back up, sunlight streaming through the clouds.
What did not go away was the feeling of despair that had wrapped around him like a blanket, heavy and stifling.
Struggling to ignore the feeling that he might never be happy again, Harry dragged himself over to Dudley's prone form. Stuffing his wand back into his pocket, Harry bent down to his cousin. Dudley was muttering under his breath and appeared slightly cross-eyed, but he hadn't been kissed.
Just as Harry managed to pull Dudley into a standing position, Mrs. Figg rounded the corner. Harry was just about to start pretending that this was a perfectly ordinary situation when Mrs. Figg spoke.
"Keep your wand out! They may not be as gone as you think!"
All Harry could do was gape at her. Why did Mrs. Figg, his old babysitter, know about wands?
As they walked back to the house, some of Harry's questions were answered only to leave him with so many more. There had been people watching him all summer. Mrs. Figg knew about magic but hadn't told him in all the years she'd known him. She'd let him believe he was the child of two drunks. She had lied to him.
Dumbledore had told her to lie to him.
Harry felt confused. He felt betrayed.
He could still feel the Dementors all around him.
The Dursleys pulled him from his thoughts quickly enough. As soon as he entered the living room with a nearly comatose Dudley, all hell broke loose. When Dudley indicated that Harry had been the one to cause his condition, Uncle Vernon did something he hadn't done in years: he hauled off and punched Harry. Hard. The blow caught Harry totally off guard, causing him to stumble backward and slam into the staircase railing.
The subsequent owls proclaiming Harry's expulsion then "un-expulsion" and disciplinary hearing did not help his Uncle's temper any. Muttering profanities under his breath, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's bicep in a vice-like grip and practically dragged him up the stairs. He shoved Harry's door open before throwing his nephew over the threshold and onto the floor. Ignoring Harry's gasp of pain as he crashed into his wardrobe, Uncle Vernon slammed the door and locked him in.
Harry lay on the floor, gasping for breath, despair hanging around him like heavy smoke.
He wondered if maybe the Dementors had got his soul after all.
He thought maybe it would have been better if they had.