Chapter 1: Return To The Dursley's
"I hate being here!" Harry growled in frustration as he roughly threw his trunk into a nearby corner. After enduring a nearly silent ride "home" with the Dursley's, Harry was finally back in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive. The size of the pitiful room did nothing to stave off Harry's dismal mood. He truly hated being here. The walls were a true reminder of how he'd never truly been free and on his own. Everything around him was controlled by someone else. And, because of who he was, he had to listen, to not question, and to be a good boy.
"What am I supposed to do?!" After the struggles of his tragic 5th year at Hogwarts, Harry was more than ready to simply disappear. But that was the very problem, being a Gryffindor meant that he had to have some type of courage. "But is it courage if it was already predetermined for you to do?" Harry asked aloud to himself. He didn't receive an answer, which served to only frustrate him further.
"These are the times that I need Mom, or Dad, or Sirius." Harry thought, with the last thought bringing forth a new range of emotions from sadness to despair, but mostly a great rage. He hurt of course, and he even felt responsible for the death of his Godfather, but he had an all-consuming rage for the person that pulled the trigger, so to speak. He wanted to cause her harm.
"But would that make me any better than any of the Deatheaters, or her, or him?" These were the thoughts that plagued him as he had endured the last few days at Hogwarts. On the train back, he was quiet and reserved and kept his gaze to the countryside; not truly looking at anything. His thoughts had wandered to whether or not he could kill another person. His very existence, and most of the troubles in his life, stemmed from the fact that someone had tried to kill him. Could he raise his wand, speak two words, and watch the green light travel across the distance to strike another person? Could he bear to see the life literally leave their eyes, and to know that it was he that had caused it? He didn't know.
He did know that he would fight like hell to stay alive. Yet, he knew, that unless he truly defeated Voldemort, he would never be able to simply live his life. Furthermore, he understood that if he were to fail in fighting Voldemort, none of his friends would survive the onslaught.
"What would my parents think? How can I tarnish their memory by becoming a killer? They, and many others, have already been killed because of me? Does that make me a killer already?" With so many unanswered questions, there was plenty for Harry to ponder about. He had to come to terms with everything.
Yes, there was a prophecy. But, that very same Prophecy was made by a laughable seer named Trelawney. True, she had made one in his Third Year that had come true, but that was different wasn't it? He knew that Voldemort believed in the Prophecy. After all, he had hunted the Potters after only hearing the first few lines. That meant that he at least feared the possibility that the prophecy could be true. Then again, he had marked Harry in his attempt to kill him, further cementing that the prophecy had some legitimate claims.
Harry took a seat on the edge of the bed, thinking of the words that had been seared into his brain. He could never forget them. He would never allow himself to forget them.
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."
Obviously, he was born at the end of July, but so was Neville. "But Voldemort chose me! Why?" That, Harry believed, was probably the most important question to ask. Why had Voldemort chosen to mark him? What was special about him at the tender age of 1 that scared the Dark Lord so terribly?
"No, it couldn't have been me specifically, at least not directly. Could it have been something to do with my family? Which, I don't even know much about to be honest." There was a slim chance, a laughable one mind you, that Voldemort had simply flipped a coin and chose one family over the other. But, Harry knew that deep down inside, Voldemort was far smarter than that. He knew something about Harry that Harry didn't seem to know himself. Who else could possibly know anything about him that he himself did not know, besides his parents of course. His first guess was immediately Hermione, but he cancelled that on the belief that she would've told him already. Sirius could've known, which meant Remus would know as well. Why had no one told him?
In that mindset, why would no one feel the need to tell them? Was it a great secret for his protection, or the protection of others? Did any of them benefit from him not knowing? It was hard to speculate out of thin air, but surely there had to be reason for the hiding of what could be important information. Were they forbidden? Did they swear an oath? That question, then, led to who would these people have faith in if told to do something against their wishes? "Dumbledore!" The name came to Harry's mind unbidden, and yet fit perfectly.
"So Dumbledore knew, or knows, something about me. He probably told my parents, which was why they were so willing to go into hiding. Of course, being best friends, my dad would have shared all of this with his best friends. How big of a secret was this? Did Wormtail tell Voldemort, or did he even know? What's a secret if everyone knows?" Harry spoke aloud as he stood to pace his small room. This was quite the conundrum. Dumbledore, apparently, had kept a lot of information from him, and he needed to know. It wasn't fair.
"I've lost my parents, my childhood, my happiness…but why? To that end, why should I fight? Why me, and no one else? I could leave this all behind. Apparently, I have enough money to do so. But, I will not believe that my parents have died for nothing. I need answers now." Harry continued to do his pacing, feeling his magic brimming beneath the surface of his emotions. Thinking on his arrival again did nothing but serve to make him angrier.
The car ride here had been insufferable. He and the Dursley's hated one another equally, that was a fact. They however, didn't seem to realize when enough was enough. Vernon had only been mid-way through his second threat before Harry gave him a glare that froze his blood. He, Harry that is, had been a ticking time bomb the past few days he had spent at Hogwarts. His relatives were the first of what would be many to feel his wrath.
"Shut up you stupid man. I do not have time to listen to your petty, pathetic, and childish rants. You say one more insult about my parents, and I will show you just how much of a freak I am!" Harry spoke, vehemently. The heat from his words made the summer temperature pale in comparison. The car seemed to get hotter by the second, the leather seats a fiery trap that made the Dursley's squirm in order to not get burned.
"Dad -" Dudley started, but Harry roughly cut him off.
"You can shut up too. I am no longer doing any of your chores. You WILL feed me, or the Order of the Phoenix will be the least of your worries. Do I make myself clear?" Harry spoke, holding Vernon's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Now see here boy -" Vernon tried again.
"No you see here! My existence in your miserable house is the only reason you even live. Without me you're dead. Remember that the next time you think to raise your hand or your voice at me! I won't put up with this any more." Harry spoke again, silencing his fat uncle.
Harry had stared at the man until he pulled off from the station. He had hoped that this would be the last of his arguments with his relatives. He really didn't have the patience any more. Besides, he had far more important things to worry about. The remainder of the car ride was handled in a tense silence, thankfully. Harry wasn't sure how he'd respond if his uncle decided to speak another word to him.
All that changed in the blink of an eye. His "family" had beat a hasty retreat into the house after pulling into the driveway, leaving Harry to drag his unusually heavy trunk into the house all on his own. Maybe, just maybe, this summer would be very different than what he was used to from the Dursley's. How difficult could a summer of no magic, no friends, no extended learning, and muggles be? 'It'll be just like every other boring, hot, and lonely summer.' Harry thought. Except, this summer, he had more information. He needed to prepare. He was going to fight, he didn't have much choice in the matter. He did, however, have a choice in how effective he would be in a fight. The books that he nicked from the library should help, otherwise, he'd have to make a trip to Diagon Alley. He set the thought aside and continued towards to front door.
Walking into the house, he set his trunk down and turned to close and lock the door as was his habit of sorts whenever he walked into the house. Before he had completely closed the door, his internal instincts screamed at him.
'Duck!' A voice, vaguely familiar, screamed into his thoughts. Without hesitation, Harry dropped his small frame as low as he could go while still staying on his feet. He felt, more than heard, the wind rush past the top of his head. Realizing that he would be soon trapped into a corner, he side-stepped away from the door and turned to see his attacker. It was Vernon. The portly man looked livid as he clenched his right fist in his left hand. Apparently, and evident from the dent in the door, he had completely missed Harry and hit the front door. Also apparent to Harry was the fact that Vernon was livid, as he didn't let the pain of the punch bother him too much and set his sights back onto Harry.
Harry knew he had to respond, but his wand was in his trunk. There were no Order members around, and if they were they would only get there too late to actually help him. As a last resort, he could probably use magic as long as his life was threatened, but he didn't want to push his luck with his the current administration. He was sure he could avoid his uncle long enough to retrieve his wand, but Harry didn't want to press his luck. Before he could truly decide on a course of action, his Uncle rushed him. Everything seemed to slow down for Harry.
The human body is incredible. The flight or fight response has been well documented by science over many years. As such, plenty of people were aware of what would happen when their body responded to an attack. Normally, the body pumps more blood, shuts down unnecessary functions and prepares to run as fast as possible, for as far as possible, and until they were safe. In another instance, the body will do the same, but instead, prepare for a fight. Normally, a 15 year old teenager would be no match for the might of a fully grown man, who was also filled with rage and adrenaline. However, the fight or flight response system did not factor in the power of magic, or the audacity of a fed up teenager, that would no longer be pushed around.
Harry barely felt his breathing become more rapid. Nor did he feel the blood pumping furiously into his legs and arms. He did however, feel the sense of peace that overcame him. He felt untouchable; a predator in his natural environment. He, inwardly, knew he wasn't much of a fighter, but he also knew that at some point in time, one simply had to fight back. Though he was not a fighter, he was a survivor, and in some situations, his body simply reacted. His body, sensing his predicament, and still tensing from the argument in the car responded for him.
Unknowingly, Harry's eyes seemed to glow as his side-stepped the hulk of his uncle, and calmly stuck a foot out. His uncle, completely unprepared for his nephew to respond, had no time to move out of the way. As a result he, quite surprisingly, literally flew through the air and landed face first on the staircase. Harry, hearing footsteps, turned around just in time to dodge a punch from Dudley. His cousin, more dangerous than his uncle, wisely decided against running toward him. Instead, he crept forward with his both of his fists raised.
Harry, thinking fast, took two large steps forward and faked a left punch, that, while badly thrown, forced Dudley to attempt to to dodge, only to fall in line the right hook that Harry sent his way. Fighting seemed to come naturally to the young man that wanted no more physical abuse. Dudley, surprised by the strength of the attack, even more so than the person that was attacking him, fell to the floor in a daze. Harry took a step back to keep the two males in his view and looked at his tearful Aunt.
"When they wake up, you remind them of what I did to them without my wand. The next time, I will not be so lenient. I will destroy this house and everyone in it. Mark my words." Harry spoke, still pumped from the entire ordeal. The last time he had actually got into a fist fight had been against Malfoy on the Quidditch pitch. Maybe he needed to do it more often. Magic was one thing, but it felt good to dish out some old school punishment; especially to Vernon and Dudley. He smartly grabbed his trunk, drew his wand from within and proceeded up the stairs. He was almost out of sight before he turned, and looking at his Aunt in disgust, whispered a single sentence. "You're pathetic."
As Harry lay in bed reminiscing on his arrival, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of anger. Ron would never know just how much Harry envied the fact that he had a family, while Harry had relatives. Ron would never understand, that while his vault wasn't lacking, and he received attention, all he really wanted was to be appreciated, respected, and loved. It may sound like a corny idea to the outsider, but for Harry that was enough of a foundation to build a bright future upon.
Just thinking about what he hadn't experienced, only served to anger Harry even more. Thinking of his parents led him to think about their deaths, and the person that murdered them, Voldemort. In turn, thoughts of Voldemort led to his being vanquished, only to be resurrected by the pathetic human that was Peter Pettigrew. Going down that path, as dangerous as it was, led him to remembering how he stopped Remus and Sirius from killing him, and speeding up time, to how he himself, had been instrumental in Sirius's death.
The last few weeks at Hogwarts had passed by in a blur. He had felt as if he had been productive since the night of the Ministry. He had hardly talked to his friends, certainly, but he had studied a bit, snuck some books from the library, and had been able to practice a bit of magic as well. By practice, it had been him going through every dangerous spell in his arsenal and destroying anything that the Room of Requirement had created for him. Once done, he's study more of the books, darker magic mind you, that the Room provided and practiced those spells until he was too weary to move any further.
What puzzled him now, as he reminisced on the past few weeks was the strange longing that he felt. Almost as if he were missing something. The feeling, should he dare to call it that, had only started once he had walked outside of Hogwarts gates. He had, at the time, only noticed a slight feeling that he couldn't place. Now however, he was very much aware of the absence that castle usually filled. He had no idea what it meant, though he had tried to puzzle it out.
On one hand, he did feel as if Hogwarts was his home. He knew plenty of the secret passages, and certainly he had helped to protect the castle in some instances. This led him back to previous thoughts when he considered the possibility of Hogwarts being sentient, but magic couldn't create life could it? At least, that was what he had always been told. It was too complex of a matter for his exhausted brain, so he wisely focused on his Occlumency shields that he had worked on after his rampage. He couldn't truly afford to lose control, ever. He needed to be aware of everything around, even within the "safety" of the Dursley's home. This thinking had led him to dusty sections of the restricted section of the library.
He had read, much to his excitement, that there was a link between your magic and the magic of other users, and with that link you can actually learn to feel the magic in others around you. Though difficult to comprehend, he had really stuck on the phrase, "when the relation of the magic and user are in sync, more details about the surrounding magic begin to manifest." It wasn't hard to figure out, at least to him, that once you start to figure out your own magic, you'd be able to understand magic in general. Seemingly, it appeared, that would help one with the execution of magical techniques. He wished now, that he had paid attention to his 1st year classes, and he could vaguely recall them going over the beginning principals of magic.
There had to be a link between that magic and the magic of Hogwarts and it's surrounding areas. He simply couldn't recall the information. There was something missing to connect the pieces.
"Hermione would certainly still have her notes." Harry spoke aloud, startling himself with the break in the silence. The Dursley's, strangely, were extremely quiet. Which, if he were being honest with himself was a blessing, but he didn't trust them at all. He needed to know what they were up to at all times.
Hedwig hooted from her spot near his small desk. He had almost forgotten that he had sent her home ahead of him. She had probably sensed his mood, being one of his first true friends, and was likely concerned for him.
"I'm ok girl. Just a bit fed up with everything right now." Harry said softly, getting off the bed walking towards the large white owl. She really was a spectacular creature, and far smarter than she should be. "I have some fighting to do soon Hedwig, and I don't know if I'll make it. I don't know if I'll even survive, and if I do survive, will I want to?"
Hedwig cocked her head at an angle, staring at Harry with a deep gaze, almost penetrating him to his very core. Then, softly, she nipped at his finger.
"Thanks girl, I love you too." Harry smiled. He decided to get some reading done. He had a few spells he wanted to look at. He was sure that he could ask Fred and George to perform a series of spells that he thought would leave him immune to the Ministry's tracking, but he had to be sure. He refused to spend another summer bored out of his mind. He had a new purpose, and a new reason for being. In honesty though, he really didn't have a choice. He couldn't run and hide from his problems. Voldemort wouldn't give him that opportunity.
For his study session, he chose the book Battling the Adversary by Richard Downings. Apparently, this was one of the same books that Auror commanders studied in order to prepare for battle. Not only did it include handy tips and general "rules" for battle, but it had a host of spells that could be very effective, both short range and long range. Harry began to commit them all to memory.
In the past few days before everyone left Hogwarts for the summer break, Harry had been sparsely seen around Hogwarts. His friends, recovered and released by Madame Pomfrey, had speculated the he was simply grieving. The general population of the school, on the other hand, thought that he was up to something. Both parties were, in effect, correct. Harry was grieving, but in a constructive way. It wasn't that he had just lost his Godfather, but that he had just lost his Godfather and he had found out the reason his parents had died while he was a child. He had, ultimately, found out that he had a much bigger role in the grand scheme of things that he had previously thought possible. The prophecy, something he had recited to himself every morning , had changed everything for him.
The first few hours in the Room of Requirement had been filled with his exploring the depth of his rage. In that time, he had seen just how small his arsenal of spells was; and he had also realized that he was rusty in some other areas. One of the first things he had done was read through some of his older Charms books he had kept in his trunk for some reason. Spell by spell he increased his knowledge and his chances of success. Though, he knew that practice in the Room was far different than an actual battle, he understood the need to get himself familiar with the spells that he was learning. Once he started with the some of books, he had, naturally, pursued further information. In some cases, knowing how the spell worked, and why it worked, helped him to use it better, and understand the strengths and weaknesses of those spells. In the few short days that he had had at his disposal, he had managed to revamp his study habits, set some summer goals, and distract himself from the pain of losing his Godfather.
Now, back amongst the muggles, Harry had to distract himself from completely destroying them. They, he had rationalized on the train, would not understand the constant strain that he was under. He would treat them with indifference. He snorted as he thought of just how long it had taken him to lose his cool with them.
"I guess I can't truly blame the Dursley's. At some point, though, I knew I needed to put my foot down." Harry thought, taking a break from his reading. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't even remember falling asleep, with the dying light of the sun accompanying him.
