A Meeting At Midnight

Dudley paraded about the house in his Smeltings uniform, which Harry privately believed had been created solely for the purpose of training people to look pompous despite the fact that anyone they met would laugh uncontrollably. He couldn't imagine any other reason for the mix of colour and styles, unless the first class of Smeltings had just gotten a really good deal on boater hats and orange knickerbockers.

Two more weeks had passed since his conversation with the Hogwarts professor in the park, and Harry's cupboard had been upgraded with sliding bars and a padlock. His bedtime was now 'the minute the dinner dishes are done' and he was no longer permitted breakfasts, but on the whole he felt he'd gotten off well. The meeting had been worth it, worth every hungry morning and early imprisonment at night.

His rusty nail could not move the bars, and he certainly had no way to reach the padlock. However, he had a new hope now.

Magic. Professor Quirrell had said it could be done wandlessly accidentally or intentionally. Harry knew the feel of it now, knew the extra layer of power that lived within every bit of him, he just had to figure out how to bring it to the surface without the amplicative abilities of a wand, break open the bars, and get away.

Despite starting the moment he was locked in for the night and not stopping until he was too tired to carry on, in the two weeks since his last escape his progress had been decidedly disappointing. No amount of wishing, willing, desperate hopes, or quiet meditation had been sufficient.

Wandless magic was hard, and he didn't even really know what he was doing. If not for Quirrell's word, he would have given up. But he was determined. He would get away again.

He had questions, whole nests of them. Slytherin was a House at Hogwarts, one of four - what were the others? The professor had been sidetracked and never actually told him what 'Sorting' was, or how it was important. Where was he to get a wand? When would the school year at Hogwarts begin? How would he get there, did he need to buy a plane ticket or something? Why had he been sent to live with muggles who hated him if he was so rich and famous? Surely someone in the wizard world had wanted him?

That thought always flatlined his eager curiosity. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of his cupboard. Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world, unwanted and foisted off on muggles who couldn't be rid of him because they were his relatives and there were laws. The wizards wanted a legend, not the nuisance of a boy.

"Am I unwanted?" he whispered to the brown snake that lay half-asleep on his stomach. He had always known before that he wasn't wanted, but that one night in the park he'd been so full of hope and imagination, so sure that any day a wizard would come whisk him away to a safe place where he was celebrated.

But if they cared so much, why hadn't they come before now?

"We want you," the snake replied simply. "If you speak of your own kind, we do not know. Master-not-master wants you, but cannot have you because of the interference of The Watcher."

"The Watcher?" Harry asked, leaning forward. He had asked before what the 'not-master' part added to Quirrell's serpent name meant, but the snakes only said that was who he was and they could not call him otherwise. He'd never heard this term before, was it someone who could hear snakes and not speak to them perhaps?

The snake rolled its body in what Harry had come to interpret as a shrug. "Master-not-master calls the one who controls you The Watcher. It is The Watcher who keeps your home concealed from master-not-master, why he cannot come to you here and you must instead go to him."

Harry relaxed back. "That makes sense," he said quietly. "He mentioned that my affairs were legally under the control of another wizard."

He turned his head, concentrated on the bars outside. The padlock. He tried to will them away, to make them vanish like the glass at the zoo had. He tried to pull up that feeling in his mind, throughout himself, to let the magic suffuse him.

Nothing. Nothing.

He tensed with frustration, wanted to scream, wanted to smash his fists against the door. But that would be disruptive to the Dursleys' lives, and he would be punished more. He pressed his eyes shut tight, screamed inside his mind instead. Days upon days of fruitless effort, the pain of desperation and constant failure compiled together into a dark rush of despair and self-loathing.

Harry trembled with the emotional power unable to find an outlet, screamed silently against the injustice of the world.

Harry shook with suppressed sobbing, tears stinging his eyes.

A surprised hiss came from the snake on his chest, it slithered away as though affronted.

Harry pushed himself onto his elbows, watched the snake's movement. He was angry at himself for scaring his friend away, but noticed the slight shift in the light through the crack in the cupboard door.

The bars were gone.

He sat up straighter, pressed his ear against the door. The house was quiet. He slid the simple latch up, then pushed the door open. The padlock hung on the bar, which simply stopped before reaching the cupboard door. The other end was still there as well, but the center section where it actually blocked the door was just gone.

Harry's frustration completely vanished in a burst of adrenaline and ecstasy. He had finally done it!

He restrained his excitement, not wanting to betray himself with the slightest noise. He needed to get away from the house, and be able to get back in. Dudley wasn't out, so all the doors would be locked. He didn't know the code for the security system. That left the basement window. He could leave the basement door unlocked without anyone being alerted, Uncle Vernon had been unwilling to pay for security on a door that wouldn't pose a threat because everyone would believe he had security on all entrances.

Harry tiptoed across the kitchen, pulled slowly and carefully on the latch. It let out a tiny squeak. It made him jump, but he was standing close enough he didn't think it would be noticed upstairs. He pulled the door open a centimeter at a time, slow, gradually, agonizingly slow, but he forced down his excitement and maintained the steady pace. Once it was open enough, he slipped through and pulled it shut behind him just as slowly and carefully. His heart was racing with excitement and worry.

The latch barely clicked as he let it fall back in place.

Letting out a breath, he started down the stairs. The eighth one creaked the moment he put weight on it and he froze. Silence. A single quiet drip of condensation from a pipe. Silence. He leaned the rest of his weight on the step, which groaned quietly, but it wasn't nearly as loud. He moved very slowly down the steps, testing each one before moving forward.

He had no idea of the time, two days into his trials at wandless magic he had stopped counting in favour of devoting full attention to his attempts at bringing the magic out.

Harry reached the window, but it was several feet above his head. He stood on his toes and still couldn't reach it. He looked around in the darkness. The faint illumination from the streetlight outside didn't show much besides the outline of the window painted on the floor in light. It didn't reflect enough to show the contents of the basement.

He had been down enough times to be familiar with the general layout, but not recently. The Dursleys were not fastidious about rooms which did not entertain guests, and Harry worried that if he moved about carelessly he would trip or knock something over. Any sound he made would destroy his chances utterly. Uncle Vernon would think of an even more intricate way of keeping him in, and he didn't know if he'd be able to use wandless magic the same way again. His previous incidents had always been at least ten days apart, and none of those were focused or deliberate.

He couldn't afford to think about that yet. He would get away, he would return before anyone knew he was gone, and he would somehow reverse whatever magic he had done on the bars. Or at least he hoped it was reversible. If he couldn't change it back, he could imagine the Dursleys' wrath. They would know he had done something unnatural.

Harry went down on his hands and knees, felt his way forward across the basement. The worn carpeting was rough against his hands, faintly damp with the night air. He found a pair of laundry baskets, but he knew they wouldn't support his weight without crumpling or breaking. Next he reached a collection of short boards from Uncle Vernon's attempts to improve the house against snake intrusion. They would be perfect to build a step stool, but Harry had neither the time nor skills for such a project.

Behind the boards, Harry found his uncle's toolboxes. He ran a hand blindly along the first, testing the give of its lid and the weight of the material. It was hefty, meant to carry significant weight without bending. He stepped tentatively onto it, guessed he would need three to make a step and reach the window. They were heavy, but Harry was used to doing hard things without complaint or argument. He felt around the toolboxes and tried to memorize where they were stacked. He had to put everything back as close to the exact same position as he could. No one could know he was sneaking out.

It took him probably twenty minutes to drag the toolboxes over to the window, then stack the third atop the other two to make a step. The box was too heavy for him to fully lift to the top, so he had to put one end up and lever it from there. And of course the moment he lifted the edge, all the contents shifted with a clatter.

Harry froze, terrified. He wanted to drop the toolbox and run back to his cupboard, but he was in too far to go back now. He waited, heartbeat racing in his ears, straining for the sound of his uncle storming down the stairs in search of the intruder. . .

No sound. No reply. If they had heard it, they must have discounted it as coming from a neighbor's house. Harry lifted the end again, the clatter softer this time as most of the tools had already shifted, set it atop the other two, levered it into place.

He carefully climbed up, wary in case his weight shifted anything or made the pile unstable, but his ascent produced no response from the stacked toolboxes.

Harry reached up, wiggled the window open. He could get his arm out to the elbow if he stood on his toes. It took a good ten minutes of straining and wriggling, but he finally rolled out the window onto the yard outside.

He lay there for a long minute, staring at the stars, exhaling his exhaustion. Climbing up out a window used completely different muscles than he was used to employing in his chores or daily flights from Dudley.

Once Harry had recovered, he crept down the drive, painstakingly slowly, until he was out of sight of Number Four's windows, then broke into a run.

He didn't run as fast or recklessly as he had the first time, maintained his outrunning-Dudley-without-exhaustion pace the whole way to the park.

It was dark, long since empty of any visitors. He crossed to their bench, shivering against the night chill. The Dursleys had confiscated the cloak the professor had lent him, and knowing them had probably burnt it or torn it into rags. He glanced around, then leaned down to the ground.

"Nagini? Are you around?"

He waited a few minutes for a reply, then stood again and set off down the pathway. He paused every few minutes, quietly called out for the professor's snake friend, but neither Nagini nor her master were in evidence.

Harry's heart sank. All that effort, all that time, and he had come too late. If he stayed through the day, waited to meet them the next evening, there would be no concealing his absense. The Dursleys would know what he had done, and how he had escaped. They would lock the basement door with a padlock, board up his cupboard door each night, seal the window so it couldn't open fully. . . he couldn't stay. Even if he was caught trying to escape his cupboard, he couldn't let them know how he could leave the house.

"Does anyone here know Nagini?" he whispered, low to the ground. There were few snakes out this time of night, but one did slither toward him.

"Nagini and master-not-master send message for master," the snake hissed. "Master-not-master and Nagini needed for long time. Not able to come back, The Watcher is suspicious."

Harry had thought his hopes couldn't be dashed any farther. He'd been wrong. He shivered again, tears blurring his eyes. "They're not coming back?" he asked, tremulously. He realized that he'd been speaking in English, switched to parseltongue to repeat the question.

"Master-not-master is sorry, he knows it hurts you for him to leave. But it would hurt you both if The Watcher knew you had met. He says he will meet you in diagonally, send word to him when you are to purchase your school things and he will be waiting for you in town."

The word 'diagonally' was obviously a mistranslation, but Harry didn't have context to place it properly. There were too many alternate possible words, and he still didn't entirely understand how snake minds worked.

"Thank you," Harry said, his voice as dull and empty as his heart. He had risked so much, worked so hard, and he had missed him. "How long ago was master-not-master here last?"

"Two mornings ago he left this message for you in the north. We would have brought it to your nest in another morning, but you came here first."

Harry nodded numbly. Two days too late. One day too early. He would have gotten the message without needing to sneak out. The whole thing was for nothing. Another tear dripped down his cheek. He shivered, hugged his arms across his chest, and began running back to Privet Drive. He didn't try to stop crying, at least out here alone he could give voice to his anguish. He'd been this way enough times with Dudley he didn't need to look where he was going. Once he was nearer home, he'd have to return to being silent and meek.

He found that beneath the fear and despair, there was something else building quietly within him. Anger. Whoever this Watcher was, he had a lot to answer for. If he was in charge of Harry's affairs in the wizard world, why hadn't he come around? Why hadn't he taken Harry away from here? Why was he keeping away the one person in his life who actually seemed to care about Harry's life?

In a way, it was worse than never having anyone. Hope had been extended, a promise of aid. And then this Watcher had to ruin everything. Keeping his one advocate away from his home wasn't enough, now he had to prevent their meeting at all?

Harry's sobs quieted, his fists tightened. Professor Quirrell had promised that this other wizard wanted him at Hogwarts too, so at least this school year he would be free of Dudley, free of the Dursleys, away where he could learn to control his true power. Wasn't that hope enough? A boarding school for wizards, someplace he could make friends without them fearing retribution from his cousin and his thugs, someplace he could find who he really was when not suppressed and hounded.

That was enough. He didn't need more. He didn't need answers to everything from his professor before the term began, once he arrived at Hogwarts there would be plenty of time for the two of them to talk.

Reason wasn't enough to stifle his deep disappointment completely, but as he ran he felt the cool night air whipping against him shift his perceptions. He could survive a few months more, and then he would be away, away for so long it might as well be forever.

He rounded the corner to Privet Drive and nearly collided with Mrs. Figg.

"Oh, there you are, dear," she said softly, catching his shoulders as he nearly toppled over in shock. "Are you feeling alright?"

Harry blinked up at her in confusion. "What are you doing out this late?" he asked, puzzled.

"I just got an owl, someone was worried about you."

"An owl?" Harry asked incredulously, unsure what this had to do with anything. He'd always thought Mrs. Figg was a bit mad, with her house smelling of cabbage and her obsession with cats.

"Yes, dear. Do come inside."

Harry wriggled away from her hands, backed up a step. "It's very late, I should be getting home."

Mrs. Figg's lips tightened, as though she were displeased. "Harry," she said softly. "I want you to know that you're always welcome to come over. I have watched you grow up and. . . well, it isn't my place to criticise, but you have not had a very happy childhood. I give you my word, I will allow no harm to come to you if it is in my power to prevent it. If you ever need a safe place for a few hours, for a few days, my door is open to you."

Harry blinked. He was confused and a bit taken aback by this.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

Mrs. Figg shook her head. "It would be better if we got indoors out of the cold. It's only just midnight, you've hours yet before your aunt and uncle wake up. I have a letter for you, and there are some things I can tell you now that you know the truth."

Harry felt an eager shiver go through him. He knew immediately what 'truth' he now knew, the truth about the wizard world hidden alongside the muggle reality he'd always known. It could be nothing else.

"Did Professor Quirrell contact you?" he asked. "Is that who was worried?"

Mrs. Figg nodded. "He said you would probably be running past my house within the hour, that I should invite you in and explain as much as I could. It's not a lot, mind, I am very out of touch with. . . well, come inside first, then we can talk freely."

"Are you a witch, then?" Harry asked in a whisper.

Mrs. Figg shook her head, a sad look passing across her face. "No, dear. I'm a squib. It's what we call non-magic people born into a magic family. It's not a common affliction, thank goodness, but it is mine. I've never quite fit into either world."

She opened her front door, ushered Harry into its inviting warm interior, and for once he didn't really mind the smell of cabbages. She hung up her coat, set her handbag on a waiting table with the exact same steps she always used. Harry smiled faintly at that, strangely reassured by the familiar movement of his oft-babysitter. She was the same confusing woman whether she knew about wizards or not.

Harry slipped off his shoes as she changed out of her boots, followed her into the sitting room. Ornamented frames lined the mantle, pictures of her many cats over the years arrayed in careful precision. Though much of the house had thin layers of dust covering everything and rooms frequently had wisps of only partly removed spiderweb hanging from the corners, the mantle was always freshly dusted.

It made Harry sad, thinking about Mrs. Figg being as unsuited for the muggle world as he, and not even able to escape to the wizard world. No wonder she had only her succession of cats for company.

She picked up a thick envelope from the table. "There you are, dear. Once you've read it, I'll be happy to answer any questions you might have as far as I'm able."

The envelope was addressed simply, 'Harry Potter', no street name or box number. He accepted it almost reverently. He had never gotten mail before, not even a solicitation. He might as well not have existed as far as the rest of the world were concerned.

The envelope was of a thick parchment-like paper, probably the most expensive paper he'd ever seen. The letter inside was the same material, Harry was disappointed to find it was only a single page. The thickness of the envelope was all due to the weight of the page.

Both the envelope and the paper inside were addressed in bright green ink, shimmering slightly as though it hadn't quite dried yet, but it was not wet nor did it smudge when he ran a finger over it curiously.

He held the folded letter for a long minute, staring at it. Mrs. Figg set about making a pot of tea, weak nasty stuff that he'd always thought tasted like hay. She didn't interrupt his reverie, humming to herself in a quiet voice that only made him feel less alone.

The letterhead was a shield crest divided in fourths, a different creature in each. Snake, badger, lion, raven. Harry placed a finger lightly on the snake. He knew what that represented. Slytherin, his legacy. He stared for a long moment, then moved on to the letter's text.

Harry,

I'm sorry I couldn't meet you in person. I'm sure you had a beastly time getting away, and I wish I didn't have to disappoint you like this. As you may have heard, I've been unavoidably detained with school affairs and legal matters. It also seems some have taken issue with my attempts to contact you, and any future trips to your area would be detected and monitored. For your safety as well as my own, we must now conduct our affairs at a distance until you arrive here in September.

Arabella is trustworthy, she has been positioned as your gatekeeper for many years now. As any attempt to contact you at your relatives' house is diverted either by your muggle guardians or the spells placed there by your magical watcher, I will send any letters for you to her and you can reply through her as well.

If there is anything you need, anything at all, tell me and I will do my best to get it to you. I can't do anything about your relatives, unfortunately. The magical law is firm upon where that decision lies, and your custodian is adamant that their home is the best place for you. I strenuously object to such base treatment of a wizard before whom your relatives would barely rank as capable slaves, much less guardians, but I am in no position to change the state of affairs. Again, you have my sincerest sympathy and I only wish I could do more.

Harry had to stop reading for a moment. Though he'd thought himself through with crying for the night, he felt tears of relief in his eyes. He wasn't forgotten. Someone cared about what happened to him.

He accepted the handkerchief Mrs. Figg silently dropped beside him as she walked past with her tea, brought himself under control, turned the page over and resumed reading.

I look forward to teaching you this year, I have an advanced curriculum drawn up in case you're interested in individual tutoring. Since most wizarding children have the advantage of growing up in our world, there is too much to tell you in a letter, or even in a week of discussion. I had hoped to catch you up to the present before the school term began, but I'm afraid you'll have to get by on your own until September.

Remember, you are famous and powerful in our world. Everyone will know you, accept their gratitude with dignity and poise. Try not to let it go to your head. Try to see past the fawning to who can be a genuine help to you in future and who would just ride your coattails in hopes of your greatness somehow rubbing off on them by association.

Speak vaguely when possible, try not to promise anything to anyone until you know exactly what you are committing to. This is important, more so to a wizard. Your word must be your bond, you must act with care, and you must not lightly promise things now that may come back to entangle you in future years.

I wish I could teach you in person, you can't imagine how sorry I am not to be able to see you again for so long. Until then, be strong, be cunning, and stay in touch.

Your friend,

Professor Quirinus Quirrell

Harry found new tears slipping down his cheek, one dripped onto the letter but the ink didn't smudge even then.

Your friend. No one had ever said those words to him before.

Harry held the letter tight to his chest, wiped his eyes with the handkerchief. He looked over to Mrs. Figg, who was pouring out the tea for the two of them.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Oh, it's no trouble at all, dear."

He didn't mean the tea, but he couldn't put his thoughts into words just then.

He took the warm drink, sipped at it, and found its weak grassy flavour somehow pleasing today. As though the unexpected glow of happiness within him made everything around him better by association.

Author's Note:

I've been a bit stuck in this story for a while, apologies for the update delay. I'm tentatively scheduling Shadow of the Past updates for the 14th and 28th of each month moving forward, but the chapter lengths will probably be wildly varied due to various things.

I'm still in rough-draft zone, and I must remind you all that there is a good chance that in the next couple years this whole thing will have a drastic overhaul. In the meantime, of course, please let me know what you like or dislike. This is my first serious HP fic and I want to do it well. :)

News on Heir of Darkness as a whole: I have expanded my original ideas to include an eighth book after Harry graduates, which I remind you that I am not actually promising to write. Also, due to timeline conflicts, what was originally Book Two had to be switched with Book Three. I don't know how that will shift around the plan, if such a vague notion could be called a plan. But that's a problem for another day; right now I need to figure out my very very broken book one here. :p

I'm having a hard time moving forward; this month and last month are always hard creatively. I think I've started to get my focus back, but as you may have noticed if following me instead of this project, that focus was redirected in a singularly bizarre direction.

This week I'm planning to work mostly on my KotOR fics, specifically Double Blind which I have no backup chapters left for. After that, we'll have to wait and see.

General query, though: Do you prefer more frequent/shorter updates, or infrequent/longer updates? Ideal chapter length for you as a reader?

Thanks for reading!