Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co.
Summary: After one very eventful night ten years ago, Voldemort was destroyed and Harry disappeared. Where did he go? What happened that night? Only one man knows the answer: a teacher named James. And as the tenth anniversary of Voldemort's downfall draws near, Ron and Hermione are thinking more and more about their friend.
Author's note: This chapter might be a little graphic, I think, depending on what you think is graphic. Anyway, Harry gets hurt, 0( but he ends up happy. 0)
Chapter 3: Resolutions and New Friends
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Harry shakily stood up. "Now guys..." he tried to reason with them. He backed up as the men kept advancing on him. Some of them had evil, drunk smiles on their faces, some of the more sober ones just looked determined.
Harry tripped over a fallen chair as he was backing up to the door. The men kept walking. Harry could feel more power beginning to rise inside of him. Harry looked at his choices. He could have his power save him from the mob by turning them all into beetles, but then have the Ministry of Magic show up to give memory charms etc. to the beetle-men and clean up the mess, then start looking for the person who cast that spell (which would mean that the ministry would start chasing after him), or he could take the pills and get killed by the mob.
Some wizards from the ministry were probably already on their way to make sure that no muggles got hurt from Harry's accidental spell towards the guy who had the knife. So Harry chose to take the pills and run, preferring to be killed than to face the past.
Still sliding towards the door, Harry searched his pocket for his pill jar. Once he found it, he grabbed someone's old beer, still half-full, turned around, stood up, chugged down several pills, threw down the beer bottle, and ran out the door.
The group of men ran after Harry, shouting at him. Harry felt the pills take effect inside him, pushing the power back to its source, wherever it was inside him. Harry kept running blindly, having no idea where he was going. He was too drunk to recognize which street he had come down to get to the pub, and for that matter, too drunk to recognize the sky from the ground. The only thing that kept him going was the fact that if he stopped he would be killed immediately, while if he kept running, he would be killed later.
Harry ran across a street, causing several cars to honk at him and swerve. Harry tripped and fell, but looking behind him, crawled forward, stood up, and kept running. He ran towards the snowy woods on the other side. The mob was close behind and starting to throw things. A piece of wood hit Harry's back, but he kept running. The mob started throwing heavier objects. A brick hit Harry's arm, and made him fall.
Crying out and cradling his bloody arm, he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the men come upon him. He heard shouts of triumph as the group found where he fell, and started beating him.
Harry wanted the pain to stop. He wanted the men to stop. He body grew numb with pain. Harry couldn't understand why the men kept hitting him, kicking him, hurting him. Why did they do it? Did they really want to kill him? Couldn't they see that he was clearly in pain? Or was it just that they were blood crazed, that as soon as there was a fight, all reason whatsoever left them?
Dimly, Harry heard sirens, and could see flashing lights through his closed eyes. The group of men scattered. Harry did not want to be found by the police, either.
He slowly rolled over on to his stomach, and crawled behind a log. There was snow everywhere, and Harry knew it would get well into the negative degrees at night. He was only wearing pants and a long-sleeve shirt, which were very ripped. He remembered that he had left his coat and scarf in the pub. At least his shoes were in tact. And it was incredibly lucky that his pills were in his pants pocket. Mr. Westin put a charm on that pill jar so it would always be with me, just like how it never becomes empty, Harry thought to himself.
The police were apparently satisfied with breaking up the loud group and left the scene. Slowly it dawned on Harry that he would become frozen to death if he kept lying on the ground. He forced himself to get up, to stand up. It took a while; his body was so sore, and was bleeding so much that his did not doubt that he could very well die from loss of blood, too.
He kept thinking, though, about his resolution in the bar. He would make a difference, if only in a small way. He did not expect to find the cure for the common cold, or for AIDS, or for cancer, or to find intelligent life outside Earth, nor did he expect to solve world hunger. He just wanted to do something small. Save animals. Give clothes and food to the homeless. Clean up neighborhoods. Be a good person.
With these thoughts in his head, he started walking. He walked for hours. He fell some times, but always got back up.
He was walking through the woods, his feet carrying him to some mysterious destination. The moon was full. It was huge, and white, and clear as a picture. He could see so many stars. And there were no clouds to obstruct his view. The sky was not black, but a deep navy blue, or was it a deep purple? He could see the tops of trees, their silhouettes dark against the sky. The moon cast an eerie light around the forest, making everything look silvery-gray. And he kept on walking.
He walked until he thought he was dreaming, and he was still a boy, and it was Christmas morning. He was running down the stairs, amazed that he had presents under the house tree. His two best friends were smiling, and laughing with him. He was safe, and there was no real danger. Indeed, the biggest danger then was potions class.
A while later, Harry opened his eyes and saw a light in the distance. He altered his course a little and headed for the light, having nowhere else to go, and wanting a goal to take his mind off the pain and the cold.
As he came walked closer to the light, he could tell that he wasn't going to make it. He was feeling extremely faint and was shivering violently. Just a bit more, he told himself, Almost there. He thought more about what he would do to make a difference in the world. My parents have not died in vain, he thought fiercely, I am Lily and James Potter's son, and I will make a difference, I will help, I will make something of my life.
Harry forgot why getting to this light was so important, but for some reason he knew he had to get there; it was his goal. "I am Lily and James Potter's son, and I will make a difference," he said out loud. He kept repeating this over and over, intent on getting to the light.
Finally, he saw that it was the light to a house. There was an electric lantern outside the back door of a house. Harry smiled feebly. He made it.
He went up to the door, knocked, and fainted.
When Harry awoke, he noticed that he was lying in a bed, in a hospital gown. A nurse came over to him when she noticed he was awake.
"Are you feeling alright?" she asked.
"Yes," said Harry, "Where am I?"
"The hospital. You had some very bad cuts on you and were almost frozen to death."
Harry looked at his arms. He had a few stitches on his left arm, and his right arm was in a cast. It mast have been the brick that broke the bone.
"You fainted in front of the Harding's house, and luckily someone heard you and brought to here," the nurse added. "Just in time, too, you had a lot of blood loss."
Harry stayed at the hospital for another day, and then was free to go, as long as he came back in a week to get the stitches taken out. He had nowhere to stay, but the Hardings kindly offered to let Harry stay with them for as long as he needed.
Mr. and Mrs. Harding must have been the kindest people in Canada. They had three children, all adults, two boys and a girl. Ryan was the oldest, then Peter, then Olivia. It was Ryan and Peter who found Harry. Mr. and Mrs. Harding made breakfast as soon as Harry came to their house.
"So," asked Ryan as soon as they started serving themselves and eating, "Did you say your name was James Potterson?"
Harry gulped a piece of food he was chewing and tried to figure out how Ryan got that idea.
"Your name," tried Ryan again, "You were mumbling when we found you, something about being James Potterson and making a difference."
"Uh, yeah," answered Harry, "Yeah, that's my name." Well, now I can get rid of my distinctive name, thought Harry, now James.
"More eggs, dear?" asked Mrs. Harding.
"Sure, okay," answered Harry. "Thank you very much."
"Are you British?" asked Olivia.
"How did you know?" said Harry stupidly.
Olivia giggled a bit. "Your accent. It sounds British."
"Oh, yes, of course." The new James mentally slapped himself on the head. "Yes, yes I am British." He blushed to think he was being so dumb.
They ate in silence for a while, until another question was brought up.
"So when did you leave England?" said Mr. Harding.
"About six months ago, I think. In late May. What city is this?"
"Calgary. December 16."
"James, dear, are you done?" asked Mrs. Harding.
"Yes, thank you."
"Here, let us take you to your room," said Mr. Harding. "You will be sharing with Peter. Will that be alright?"
"Oh, yes, thank you."
Mr. Harding, Peter, and James went upstairs.
"I would have carried your bags up here, but you don't seem to have anything that isn't ripped except for that pill bottle you were holding onto in the hospital," said Mr. Harding.
"Oh, where is it?" asked James, panic rising in his voice.
"Don't worry," laughed Mr. Harding, "It's downstairs in the kitchen."
James breathed a sigh of relief.
"Well, I'll leave you guys alone for a bit," said Mr. Harding, "Peter, help James get situated, and then come downstairs to help me bring in the Christmas tree."
"Sure thing," answered Peter
Mr. Harding went downstairs and James and Peter were left in an uncomfortable silence.
"So, do you have a job around here?" asked Peter, after a while.
"Well, no, not really," said James.
"Hm, let me see. You could always help me out at my bakery. Or my brother Ryan can see if there's a job open at the dentist's office he works at. Although, you need a bit of medical training to work there. Oh, and my friend Jacob works at the elementary school, and they desperately need a teacher."
"Really?" There, thought James, A teacher. That's where I could make a difference. I'll make a difference in those kids' lives, if only small.
"Yeah," continued Peter, glad to hear some interest coming from James, "You don't need to have any previous teacher experience. They'll take you to some workshops over the break, which started yesterday, and you can begin in January. The pay's not great, but enough to live off of."
"Sounds great!"
Over the next months, James became good friends with the Hardings. He applied to be a teacher and was accepted. He started teaching a fifth grade class, whose teacher in the fall had quit. He took out a loan and rented a small apartment, paying with his teaching money. He had finally made a life for himself, and was very happy.
----(end flashback)----
Peter was obviously also remembering when he met James, because he was also quiet for a few minutes, deep in thought.
"Well," said Peter, suddenly, "Are we just going to stand here all day, or are we going to make some éclairs?"
"Let's do it."
"Yeah, and with the amount of time we've let those clowns work on the éclairs," Peter joked, "They've probably made a grand total of three."
James looked behind him to where Sarah, Emma, and Jacob were having a flour fight.
"C'mon, let's show them how it's done," said Peter.
Peter and James each grabbed a handful of flour from the nearby barrels, and joined in.
Authors note: Sorry I got no Ron and Hermione in this chapter. Promise in the next one! Really!
And thank you thank you thank you:
RicaSieg(aka Blossom)
Bayleigh Ford
twirlgirl04
ME!;p
Chochang913
Nicky
Dreamweaver
Thanks a bunch for reviewing!
Love you all,
Adah