18. Close Calls and A Bad-But-Not-So-Bad-Considering Day
Harry looked at The Aurors Handbook, Volume 3: Dueling and Combat in frustration. Harry was mystified that he ever thought that he could learn it all from books – he was no Hermione, after all. He never imagined how difficult it would be to train himself. Sure, he accepted that it would go much faster and he'd probably learn more from an experienced wizard, like Moody, but Harry thought that with the books he purchased and all the time he had, he could make do. He was wrong. There's no substitute, he found, for hands on experience. He could practice and master all the spells in the book, but he couldn't recreate the sensations of a duel: the danger, the cunning of an opponent, and yes, even the thrill of the battle. Part of Harry had believed that he would be able to find a self-defense teacher, much like there were many self-defense places in the Muggle world. Apparently, the wizarding world didn't approve of teaching dueling to the general population, and not for the first time, Harry regretted his decision to leave Hogwarts. He wasted as much time rereading his texts to understand a concept that a teacher could have taught him in minutes as he did wasting his time in Herbology or History of Magic. But he knew that he really had no choice but to leave.
Although his anger towards Dumbledore had faded somewhat, he still didn't trust the old headmaster. Too often, Harry felt like a pawn in Dumbledore's grand chess game against Voldemort; nothing but another piece on the chessboard. Harry didn't feel comfortable entrusting his life in Dumbledore's hands when he honestly didn't know Dumbledore's intentions or motives.
He had forgiven his friends long ago; in fact, he had never really been angry with them in the first place. He knew Ron could be a jealous git sometimes, but he always stood by Harry in the end. And he could hardly be angry with Hermione for wanted the very thing that Harry desired – a normal life. If anything, Harry felt that he was the bad friend to her. Harry couldn't even begin to count the number of times Hermione clutched his arm in fear because of something Harry got the two of them into. Based on their last meeting in the astronomy tower, Harry felt certain that if he sent Hermione an owl today, she would rush over and help him (he wasn't sure if Ron was over the jealousy yet). But that would mean putting her in danger, and Harry would never, ever, forget the panic and guilt he felt when she was struck down in the Department of Mysteries. If anything every happened to Hermione, to either of them, because of Harry…
So, as always, Harry reassured himself that he made the right decision despite his difficulties. Harry was able to do one thing himself: develop his new-found magical potential. Once safely back at Hogwarts after being kidnapped, Harry had been curious about his ability to summon the Death Eaters wand without one of his own. His curiosity led him to the library, and after poring through many books, Harry believed he found the answer in Psychology and Magic. The book explained that a traumatic event often has a serious impact on a wizard's magic. Additionally, there were reported cases of child abuse that left a young wizard or witch without access to their powers. This explained a lot. Although there was never any physical abuse, Harry could certainly see how his time at the Dursley's could be considered as emotionally abusing. And that could explain why Harry could master certain advanced spells (like the Patronus) while at the same time be utterly Neville-like when it came to simple transfigurations. Harry also believed that the emotions he felt while tied up in the Forbidden Forest broke through the emotional scars that the Dursley's inflicted, giving Harry access to his true potential. Much like that story about the mother who lifted a car when her child was trapped underneath, Harry believed his emotions allowed him to tap into that potential and, in a moment of emotional stress, perform wandless magic. So, in addition to practicing spells, Harry spent hours each day focusing on his magic and tapping into the previously unused portion of his power. He found an immediate improvement in Transfigurations and Charms, but he was not quite up to Hermione's level. Yet.
Harry looked at the book, his eyes blurring as he read the same lines over and over again. Studying was never a favorite pastime of his, and without any teachers or tests looming over his head, he had little motivation to stick with it. He wished, not for the first time, that Hermione were with him, to explain whatever nonsense he was trying to understand. He sighed. Harry struggled through the book and felt triumphant as he turned the last page, signifying another book finished. He read to the end of the page and groaned loudly. Part one of two?!? "AARGH!" Harry cried out. Shouldn't it have been called The Aurors Handbook, Volume 3a or something so Harry would've known to look for the second part? Harry procrastinated for a bit in self-pity before getting dressed and heading for Harrogate to complete the set.
Harry browsed through the shelves of Harrogate's largest bookstore. Apparently, it wasn't large enough, as part two of that most boring of books was nowhere to be found. Harry considered his options. He could owl for the book, as he had for what turned out to be only part one. But there would be a wait, up to a month. Or, he could go to Flourish and Blott's and see if they carried a copy there. Harry looked at his watch; it was a little past lunchtime, and he really didn't have anything to do today. He decided to grab a bite in Harrogate and then port over to Diagon Alley; a side-trip to Fortescue's or Quality Quidditch Supplies might be fun. It was the third week of January, and Harry figured Diagon Alley wouldn't be too crowded.
Harry took the portkey to Diagon Alley and stopped off at Quality Quidditch Supplies first. He spent a good hour in there, marveling at the latest in brooms and the newest Quidditch gear. He purchased two Quidditch books for light reading, and then headed off towards Flourish & Blott's. It was a veritable mess in there. Harry was used to finding chaos in F&B, caused by countless students purchasing their books at the same time. He'd expected that in the downtime, F&B would be neat and tidy, much like the bookstore in Harrogate. He was sorely disappointed. Despite help from the staff (a very polite young witch), it took Harry another hour of his time to find volume two. He was pleased though; he'd rather spend an hour searching then waiting a month for an owl delivery. As Harry headed towards the check-out counter, his eye was caught by a book lying on a shelf. He paused, and then looked at the book, fingering its spine. Hogwarts: A History. He smiled, indulging in a few moments of happy memories. Shaking his head, Harry turned, and then stopped. Giving in to his impulse, Harry plucked the book from the shelf and walked to the front of the store. After purchasing the two books, adding them to the bag containing his Quidditch books, Harry walked outside and decided to stop at Fortescue's before the long port home. All of sudden, he felt his arm being grabbed, and he was spun around with surprising force.
"Harry!"
Harry could not believe it. Hermione! How did she find him? How did she recognize him? Was his scar showing through? Once his initial shock wore off, Harry had an almost overwhelming urge to gather Hermione in a hug. He hadn't seen her or Ron in such a long time, and seeing her right in front of him, he realized how much he missed her. Before he could act or say anything, Hermione muttered an apology and ran off. Harry fought the urge to call out to her, calling out for her to come back. Instead, he watched as she disappeared into the crowd. Somewhat shaken by the experience, Harry decided to forego his trip to Fortescue's and port home.
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Harry stumbled into his flat, grumbling angrily under his breath. He had had a very, very bad day. In fact, he would consider it the worst day of his life where no one died, was injured, was tortured, was attacked, was locked in a cupboard without dinner, was accused of being a lunatic or a Dark Wizard, etc. Indeed, if one doesn't count those kinds of days, then yes, this was definitely one of the worst days of Harry's life.
It began, as most bad days do, with Harry oversleeping. His enchanted little alarm clock decided that Harry could use an extra hour of sleep since he stayed up late the previous night reading. When Harry hit the snooze on his alarm clock, he closed his eyes and settled deeper in his bed to enjoy his small reprieve from awakening. Then realization hit him, and his eyes popped open, looking at the clock in disbelief. Harry set an all time record for getting ready, thankful for once that he didn't need to spend any time on his hair. Predictably, it was a dreary day outside, rain pouring down. Splashing his way to the portkey station, getting his socks wet in the process, Harry had just missed the morning rush. That meant the portkey activated once every hour, and not every fifteen minutes as during the morning and evening rush. So, despite his efforts to ready himself quickly, Harry ended up having to wait forty-five minutes to port over to Harrogate.
Once he finally got to work, Harry received a quick lecture from Dave for being late, but overall Harry was grateful he didn't suffer anything greater. Dave was rather sympathetic, and Harry's past performance had been excellent thus far. Harry had hoped for a quiet day at work, but as soon as he knocked into the display in the front of the store, he knew it was not to be. Unfortunately, the display was rather complex; no simple Reparo would bring the display back to life. Instead, it was a painstaking process, each individual part of the display needed to be reassembled by hand then restored with his wand; it caused him to stay an extra hour after work to finish the job. Then, of course, he had to deal with his least favorite customers. Mr. and Mrs. Baker were just so…Malfoy-ish. They were rich, powerful, and pureblood, as they loved to remind Harry and Dave (and everyone else, for that matter) quite often. Harry, a polite smile plastered on his face, succeeded in maintaining his composure, but it was a mighty struggle. Finally, Harry was finished, and he ran back to the portkey station hoping to make the evening rush. Predictably, Harry missed the last port since he had to stay that extra hour, and he spent the time waiting for the next port to Boroughbridge feeling rather sorry for himself.
Things at home didn't go much better. It was still raining, so Harry couldn't take a fly on his Firebolt, his usual remedy when he was feeling depressed. Harry also painfully struck his shin against the cocktail table, as he rushed to prevent his dinner from burning. Not only did his dinner burn anyways, but he had a nice bruise on his shin. Today was definitely a bad day.
Harry sat on his couch, the remains of his burned dinner on the cocktail table in front of him. He rubbed his shin and winced. Harry was feeling especially depressed today, and he knew why. It wasn't just the waking up late and missing the ports. While at work, two older witches walked into the store, followed by three children, two boys and a girl, around the age of nine or ten. The children, clearly good friends, reminded Harry painfully of his first year at Hogwarts. Just a few months being away from the best friends he had ever known was beginning to take a toll on Harry. He found himself progressing less and less in his training and finding little motivation to do more.
It was still early, around 9pm, but Harry was reluctant to move and incur some other disaster. Looking at the ever-growing stacks of books piled around him, Harry considered reading a Quidditch book, but decided it would only depress him as he couldn't play Quidditch or even fly right now. Instead, Harry chose to read up on some useful potions before going to bed. At the worst, it would help him fall asleep. Harry reached over and gently tugged at the book he wanted, careful because it was in the middle of a large stack. He should have known better, considering his day; after a few tugs, the entire stack toppled over, created a mini-domino effect of falling books. Harry threw his hands up in resignation; he knew he should have just gone to bed and let the day end. Sighing heavily, Harry knelt down and started to tidy up the books. Reaching down to grab another book, Harry paused when he read the title.
Hogwarts, A History - the book he bought in Diagon Alley months ago. His encounter with Hermione had shaken him up, and when he got home that day, he tossed that particular book into the pile and promptly forgot about it. Now, Harry just sat still for a moment, Hogwarts, A History in his hands. He stood slowly and moved over to the couch, the mess of books forgotten. As he sat, he could hear Hermione's voice in his head explaining for the first time about the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, or the umpteenth time that she told him that no one apparate or disapparate onto school grounds. Harry closed his eyes and could actually see Hermione's face, glowing as she quoted one fact or another from the book. Harry smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through his body. It was the best he's felt since Christmas. Harry opened the book to the first chapter. "Well," he said to no one in particular, "Hermione always said I should read this." Harry looked at his window, watching the rain stream down the glass. "This one's for you, Hermione Granger," he whispered, and feeling strangely contented, he settled down to read Chapter One of Hogwarts, A History.