New Horizons
PRISON-BREAK! NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL SIRIUS BLACK ON THE LOOSE! £10,000 REWARD!
On the Halloween of 1981, the mentally unhinged Sirius Black made a break for it after he committed an act of arson on a home belonging to a still unidentified family of four, resulting in the tragic death of a loving mother, father, and their two children. To this day, their bodies remain missing.
Even more tragic was that Sirius Black was not finished with his violent escapade. In a messy and rushed escape, unknown and secretly planted explosives were detonated, resulting in the death of a dozen people. Not much more has been revealed about the exact circumstances of Sirius Black that night. He was anything short of subtle, however, and law enforcement quickly got hold of the dangerous criminal.
Not anymore.
Sirius Black has escaped from his cell at Alding Prison, and he is once again on the loose. Some officials suspect bribery, but no one is sure just how the man broke free. With no leads...
Harry didn't like this feeling. The tension, the nervousness – the trepidation that had returned to the forefront of his mind after getting the letter from Peter Pettigrew. And if the Ministry was desperate enough to contact Muggles, then Pettigrew was telling the truth.
Harry wasn't exactly under the impression that Pettigrew's invite was a trap, but he thought Pettigrew wanted something from him. Whether that was just to build a bond with the last living connection to his old friend (supposedly), or something else, Harry had no clue.
"What do you think, Regila?"said Harry. "Is it safe?"
"I do not know, Sspeaker Potter," she hissed softly. "Perhaps if you allow me to examine the letter, I may detect something unusual."
Reluctantly, Harry pulled Pettigrew's letter out of his back pocket and put it on the ground near Regila, who encircled the parchment multiple times, hissing unidentifiable noises and even running her fangs over it, which glowed for a moment.
"Nothing of worry," said Regila, though wary, "But I cannot detect this letter's origin. It is rather odd…" Regila encircled the paper once more, and if a snake could frown, this was it. "Whoever wrote this is hiding under powerful magics. Yet the writer offers you to write back to him ."
"Magics that even Parseltongue can't circumvent?" Harry ignored the other part of Regila's analysis – it was common knowledge among Wizards that one could hide the origin of a letter and receive them elsewhere. Harry didn't blame her, of course. She was a snake, not a wizard.
"It does not matter, Young Sspeaker," said Regila. "Even if that was our situation, we certainly can't do so. Some legends speak of our tongue bypassing all kinds of magical protections, the tracking charm you bypass, for example, or runic inscriptions – your kind refers to them as wards, but most of them are just that – legends. "
"You also didn't tell me you could cast wandless magic," Harry frowned at the serpent, who shifted slightly.
"It wasn't casting the way you know it, Sspeaker," Regila replied. "My kind with a profound sensitivity for magic, and thus, magical detection. It is casting in only name."
"How?" questioned Harry immediately. He was more than welcoming of the distraction from Pettigrew.
"Us serpents and magical creatures have a – magical core, of sorts. Like the one in your wand, Sspeaker," Regila flicked her tongue towards his Holly wand. "For us snakes, our core develops the more we speak our tongue, so it is only natural we channel magic the same way."
"And do we humans have this… magical core, as well?" asked Harry, discretely eyeing his wand. Regila immediately shook her head.
"No, you do not." Regila elaborated. "True, naturally occurring magical cores can only be found in magical creatures for one reason – they are predictable."
Regila continued, seeming to enjoy Harry's fascination, even if it was a little forced. "You can always trust a serpent to hunt and feast upon a rat in a time of hunger," Harry swore Regila was frothing at the mouth already. "You can always trust a serpent to defer in the presence of a Sspeaker like yourself. A Nundu will always act in its self-interest. A Dragon will always protect its young."
"Humans, on the other hand, cannot be trusted in that capacity. Their sentience is unlike that of any other creature, a free will that my or any other kind would not be able to comprehend, and that is if they can comprehend. Thus so, their magic is unpredictable – ever-changing and sometimes unstable."
Harry nodded agreeably, taking in what Regila had told him. It made sense, he supposed – but then again, he did not understand how his apparent sentience was different from that of a serpent like Regila, which her words seemed to imply. It was interesting to think about, but it did get Harry's head spinning.
Harry and Regila bid a formal goodbye after he picked his letter back up and signalled a dismissal – Harry was finally getting the hand of the oddly intricate serpent culture, and the Boy-Who-Lived was once again left to his own devices.
He twirled his Holly wand through his fingers, and Harry let his mind drift to the one other thing that could distract him – the Reductor. The final fourth-year spell he could dig out from the books he owned.
Then again, perhaps Harry's intrigue stemmed from the fact that Pettigrew's letter had mentioned Black pulling off a blasting curse so strong it tore the man's finger off.
Harry strongly doubted that a spell one could dig from a standard-grade DADA book had the power to blast a finger off, let alone kill someone, so he suspected there were blasting curses more potent. Harry, however, had refrained from even attempting to cast Reducto, considering there was no way to cast it and not cause a scene, but more importantly, there was no way he could trust himself to. Not with his prior experience with Diffindo, that was.
"Rictusempra, Rictusempra, Rictusempra, Rictusempra, Rictusempra!" Harry chained the highest-level spell he could, firing off the tickling-charms in a barrage that seemed to make even the weeds he was aiming at shake and wiggle.
'Oh,' thought Harry weakly, feeling light-headed and dizzy, just barely coming to register the ridiculous amount of spells he fired in a row. Harry tripped forward, his cloak barely keeping on himself before catching his breath.
"Is that it?" grouched Harry to himself, between pants. It didn't matter to him that he almost passed out, now that he could think clearly again. "Tickling charms?" he wanted to laugh.
And yet, there was that same voice in his mind, telling him that he had no right to be frustrated when he was refusing to cast the severing charm again or try the Reducto.
Disgruntled, Harry began to trek through Privet Drive and Little Whinging – as he often did these days – and found that it was bustling. He could not help but relish in the ruined reputation of his relatives once he overheard some of the gossip between families and sometimes even their children, now wary of No. 4 – hell, some were even wondering about him!
"Reckon somethin' happened to the poor boy out working those gardens all day?Don't see 'im around no more…"
Harry considered for a moment trying to ask for one of the families' help, but quickly reasoned that these were the same families who had done nothing when they saw him performing, for all intents and purposes, slave labour day in and day out from the age of 6, and Harry wanted nothing to do with them.
After practising and nearly perfecting almost every spell he'd learned since he'd got to Hogwarts, Harry was reluctant to admit it – but he had nothing to do except learn how to chain all of them, and there was no way Harry was teaching himself in any efficient capacity.
It didn't help that he'd set himself the goal of being able to chain a barrage of Incendios followed up by a stunner without having to pause.
After learning of spell-chaining, however, Harry's imagination when it came to possible spell-combinations, even with the limited amount of spells he knew, was boundless.
Spell barrage after spell barrage, combination after chain, Harry made up in his mind – he could cast none of them, at least not yet, but it got so out of control that Harry had decided to take a piece of parchment and began writing them all down.
Reducto, Incendio, Stupefy…
Flipendo, Incendio, Rictusempra, Serpensortia, Stupefy…
None of this, however, was able to sufficiently distract Harry from the Pettigrew problem. One week was nearing, and Harry had to think fast. He could simply deny and start a back-and-forth exchange with the man, but that would rob him of an opportunity to visit Diagon and get the answers he so desperately wanted.
So, Harry decided that there was no more time to stall. There could be no more time to stall. He let his mind run with a plan he had let fester in his mind for the past day or so – and began writing.
Mr Pettigrew, Harry had begun with his quill, parchment against a smooth enough wall making his handwriting somewhat legible, and he wondered if the address was too formal, but he decided (more hoped) that the man wouldn't take it personally.
I would like to say thank you for reaching out to me… no one connected to my parents has, not even my professors. I think I'd like to meet you in person, so I'm happy to accept your invitation. Harry hesitated as he wrote, but continued all the same.
I'm afraid, though, that I won't be able to meet you at your scheduled time, but do you think that maybe we could meet in about two weeks time instead? I'm a little busy with my relatives around this time.
Sincerely,
Harry
Of course, the excuse was complete bullshite. The real reason Harry had come up with to delay the meeting was so that the Serpent's Duel could pass, and by then, Harry would've guilted the entire contingent and told them that protecting him when travelling to Diagon to meet Pettigrew would help regain their lost honour.
His original plan involved allowing the duel to pass, and only stopping it before either snake duelling died. In hindsight, it was a pretty silly idea to try and trick Regila, given there was no point. Guilting snakes and offering them a chance to regain their honour would be far more effective as long as he showed proper respect to serpent custom.
Harry would have to be careful, though. His offer to delay the meeting would mean a new portkey, and the Portus revellio had not left his mind. Besides, he wasn't about to pretend he had a clue how portkeys were made, and how much effort went into one. Harry hoped it wasn't much.
He did not expect Pettigrew to decline – if the man was in hiding, and was looking for the opportunity to connect with the last living memory of his friend, what would one week more a wait be?
Harry hoped Regila's friends (were they?) and challenger were more than just smooth snakes with barely a bite and little venom. That would not do for a good layer of protection.
Merlin, this was painful. Not planning was what had gotten him into so much trouble and pain the past two years – and instead of alleviating that risk, Harry's new attitude appeared to only make him aware of even more possible dangers.
Nonetheless, the Boy-Who-Lived told himself everything would be just fine.
Harry gave a rare smile once he saw Hedwig flying towards him in the middle of the night, having shifted his cloak over his shoulders so that only his head was visible. The owl, however, was already used to it by this point.
She gave a quiet but happy hoot, and Harry fed her what he could from the Dursleys' kitchen. Harry had not seen the bird in a few days since the morning after he released her, so his enthusiasm was genuine.
"I have a letter for you, Hedwig," said Harry, pulling out the letter he'd written to Pettigrew in his back pocket. "Can you take this to Peter Pettigrew?"
The bird hesitated for a moment – peering at the letter and himself, and whether or not she was doubting her ability to deliver it to Pettigrew, or scared to, Harry wasn't sure. He inwardly groaned for a moment – the bird Pettigrew had left him with had flown off after his many hours of indecision.
He'd spent most of the daylight pondering on the letter, coming close to even rewriting it once or ignoring everything altogether, but Harry was in Gryffindor for a reason, after all.
That alone to Harry seemed like such a childish way of looking at things now, though… if it were before the Chamber incident, it would've seemed perfectly normal. But after that, Harry wasn't exactly viewing himself through the prism of arbitrary Hogwarts houses. Or maybe he was, just differently.
'Not worth thinking about,' Harry eventually convinced himself.
"Fine," he murmured after Hedwig still hadn't taken the letter out of his hand. "Are you scared for your safety, Hed? Is Pettigrew dangerous?"
Hedwig shook her head.
"Then what's the problem?" he asked gently.
Hedwig stared at him blankly. Harry figured he'd have to be more specific.
"Is where Pettigrew's hiding dangerous?"
Hedwig tilted her head upwards as if to say, 'I don't know.' Then bent her head back down and looked at Harry as if he'd gone mad.
"Okay…" said Harry slowly, not sure what to think. Secretly, he was glad that Hedwig had refused – he didn't like the thought of his bird in any sort of danger.
"There was another owl here," Harry began again, slowly, and not to any of his surprise, Hedwig adopted a menacing look, and he raised his hand to placate her. "She delivered the letter. Do you think you can find that bird?"
Once again, Hedwig adopted that dead stare – before nodding ever-so-slowly. After asking whether finding said bird would be dangerous and receiving a firm no, Harry was comfortable finally letting Hedwig go with the letter.
A big, relieved sigh escaped his mouth. His mind was scattered, all-over-the-place recently and Harry struggled to focus – before he eventually recognized just what he was feeling.
Anger.
He was angry – angry at the fact that he was still stuck at Privet Drive, angry at the fact that he wasn't progressing as quickly magically, angry at how the Chamber had changed him and how he felt as if he lost his friends thanks to his outburst in second year. It was getting harder and harder to stay upset at them, now.
But he had no will to express it. What was the point when the last time he did, it cost him his friends?
He had a little parchment left, and his quill was just fine – and so, for the final mentally draining task of the week (for once, it wasn't magical, Harry noted to himself), he wrote. Dear Ron & Hermione…
But he stopped. And then he began writing. And then he stopped. And then he began writing again. And Harry stared on blankly at the pitiful apology letter in front of him.
No – he would not be telling them of the Chamber, Harry wasn't ready, and he knew it. He wasn't in the wrong for thinking they were being jerks for pressing, was he?
'I just want my bloody friends back.'
He continued to write and rewrite, to no avail, of course.
I'm sorry…
I didn't mean…
How? How could he tell them he was sorry and tell them again he still would not budge when it came to the Chamber?
What would Regila say? Harry found himself asking – and even then, he did not know. What would Dumbledore say? 'Something really eloquent that I'd take three weeks to come up with.' Then again, he supposed he did technically have three weeks…
Harry snorted.
They are your friends, after all.
"Thanks a lot," Harry murmured sarcastically, before noting that his newfound habit of talking to himself was likely not a sign of anything good. He wondered if he'd changed much after being around a snake for too long. Harry hoped not - as cool as snakes were, he enjoyed being a human, thank you very much.
"Maybe I'm just tired," said Harry to himself – it was past midnight and he hadn't exactly been sleeping much, even with the Dursleys accessible to him. A tired, emotionally distressed mind wouldn't write a good apology letter, no matter what.
That was it, he decided. He needed to sleep. Tiredness and vigilance did not go together, and he needed to be rested if Harry was going to take things seriously, as he promised himself.
It was inevitable he would give in, anyway. The drowsiness which had to be on his face how tired he felt his limbs, how mentally exhausted he was all made for a very tired Harry Potter.
Harry tightened his invisibility cloak around him as he snuck into the Dursleys' for who-knows-what time, and quietly tip-toed across, scowling as he noticed what had to be Dudley's crumbs on the floor. Up the stairs he went, and unto the tiny, dirty, and broken spring mattress he leapt, before slowly drifting off.
This chapter felt rather subpar to me – nonetheless, it's necessary for the story. Criticism, especially for this chapter, would be greatly appreciated.
Thanks for reviews & feedback, everyone!
.