~Harry Potter and the Alchemist's Cell~
Disclaimer: I own nothing... JKR owns everything! *sigh* I am poor.... lol
~Chapter 1: Results~
The cold grey light of dawn crept across the floor, slowly illuminating each of the various books lying about the disorganized room. It soon glowed bright on the figure of a sleeping teenager slumped over a roll of parchment- apparently an unfinished letter.
His face seemed young, yet even in sleep it was lined with worry. His dreams must have been disturbing, for his mouth formed a soundless call, and a glistening tear slid down his cheek.
This was unsurprising, however, since this was no ordinary boy by any sense of the word. His black hair laid unkempt, and were his eyes not closed in sleep one would have seen that they were a brilliant green. But his most unique feature was the scar that marred his forehead, a lightening bolt, and an ever-present reminder of his past. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, "the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord."
Harry Potter was asleep, not to say, however, that it was restful. The previous June had broken him, and he had spent many nights falling asleep to his own sobs, only to find that his dreams were no better. His nightmares were haunted by those who had died: his mother and father of course, but also Cedric Diggory and Sirius. They were always speaking to him, but try as he might he could not hear them. When he attempted to draw near, they would vanish, only to be replaced by a laughing Voldemort.
Harry could not seem to rise out of his well of depression. The Dursleys had provided no resistance to his wishes that summer, most likely due to the warning given by Moody, and he might have actually had some fun had he not been so sad and frustrated.
The room grew brighter, and gradually Harry awoke. Stretching, he stood up, and his letter fell with the soft rustle of parchment to the floor. Gathering the scattered books, he dropped them unceremoniously into his open trunk. He then retrieved the letter, and picked up his eagle feather quill, preparing to write. He paused in thought, sucking thoughtfully on its tip. He wished he had a sugar quill- they tasted better.
It was in that moment of contemplation that the owl outside Harry's window tapped on the glass. His head twisted sharply towards the unexpected interruption, and in a flash he had the window open. The tawny owl fluttered onto the bedspread, dropped a thick parchment envelope into Harry's open hands, and flew off again.
Harry turned the letter over, and was glad (but nervous) to see the Hogwarts seal on the back. He quickly opened it and pulled out the stack of paper, rather more than usually came. The first page read much the same as usual, except that it mentioned his O.W.L.s results and homework list were also included.
He stopped for a moment, steeling himself the inevitable fact that he couldn't have done all that well. He turned the page and gasped, but not out of despair.
Harry had made it into six courses: Defense Against the Dark Arts (with an O on his O.W.L.s), Care of Magical Creatures (with an O as well), Potions (another O, by which Harry was floored), Transfiguration (an E, which he figured was because he had messed up on Switching Spells), Charms (also an E, he assumed that was because he had confused Growth and Color- Change Charms), and Astronomy (barely scrapping by with an A). History of Magic and Divination he had failed, with a D and a T, respectively. Overall, he was amazed with the results, and rather proud.
The next page was his booklist, and the last few was his homework. He was glad the letter had come earlier than usual, as it was going to take him practically forever to finish all the essays and such that were listed. There were quite a few for Snape, pretty nasty looking ones, too, and though he was glad to have made it into the class, since it was needed to become an Auror, it was obvious that the workload was not going to be light.
Laying the sheaf of papers aside, Harry dressed and proceeded down to the kitchen, treading lightly and hoping he wouldn't wake the Dursleys. It was the weekend, and they all were taking a lie-in.
While fixing himself some toast in the blissfully empty kitchen, the Daily Prophet arrived. Stuffing the five bronze knuts into the owl's leather money pouch, Harry had retrieved the paper from its beak. He unfurled it as the bird flew off.
Harry glanced at the front page, as he always did. But then he did a double-take. The headline read: "MUGGLES ATTACKED IN SURREY." Harry quickly read down the rest of the article.
"Little Whinging, Surrey- Last night, in an apparent attack by
He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named and his followers, four muggles were
killed. Ministry officials arrived on the scene at 11:37 p.m. to
find all four McCartneys of 7 Magnolia Crescent murdered in their
home. By further investigation, it appears that they were tortured
first. The motive is as of yet unclear..."
Harry read no further, knowing the purpose of the attack, even if the Daily Prophet didn't. It was no coincidence, because there was no such thing as a coincidence in his life, that the attack had been so near to his home.
Voldemort was trying to send him a message, and it was obvious to Harry what he was saying; "Don't think you're safe... I know where you live, and I will catch you someday... Someday when you will not expect it, I will get you..."
Suddenly, Harry no longer felt hungry. His stomach was performing back flips, and even though Dumbledore had told him he would be safe at the Dursley's, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he merely stepped out the door. He knew Voldemort would expect him to act like this, but what could he help it? Magnolia Crescent was a mere 10 minutes walk from Privet Drive.
If only Sirius were here... He'd know what to do... Harry stopped that train of thought- there was no point to wishing for something that could never happen. But he couldn't help that Sirius had left a void in him- a hole that could never be filled by anyone or anything else. Not even the unfinished letter he had left on his bed.
Harry felt like taking a walk, but he dared not leave the house. He sighed and went back to the paper, reading the other stories, but most seemed rather trivial. There was, however, a short article about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
"London- Ariana Bonebrake, famed Auror, has agreed to teach Defense
Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
When asked why she took the purportedly cursed post, she replied,
"Whether the spot is cursed or not does not matter to me. Only the
fact that no one else has stepped up to the challenge, and that these
students need a teacher, especially in these dark times, matters."
"Ms. Bonebrake is a Hogwarts alumnus and has been an Auror for 19
years."
At least we might have a decent teacher this year, Harry thought. The Professor from the year before, Umbridge, had been a waste of a year's study. He grinned inwardly as he remembered the DA, the secret group he had led in silent protest of her teaching.
Further in the paper Harry found an advert for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He couldn't resist a real smile. They were already so successful, and they'd only been in business for less than three months. He didn't regret giving them his Triwizard winnings, though he did somewhat pity any teachers hit by their jokes- unless, of course, they were as bad as Umbridge.
Had he thought about it, Harry would have noticed that he hadn't smiled since the end of school.
After a while, Harry could hear the Dursleys begin to move about. Taking the paper, he trooped up to his room. Now, it being mid-morning, the sun shone fully on its walls. Hedwig, who had been out hunting earlier, sat hooting on his still open windowsill, a letter in her beak. She fluttered to his shoulder, and dropped the post into his hands.
"Thanks Hedwig," he said, stroking her bright white head feathers. Tossing the paper onto his desk, where it landed next to his Hogwarts letter, he unrolled the parchment.
"Dear Harry,
"Due to the attack on muggles in your neighborhood late yesterday, we are bringing you to The Burrow earlier than we originally expected to. Arthur and I will be coming to get you tonight at 6, by way of a portkey.
"I do hope you're alright.
"Love,
"Molly Weasley
"P.S. Hey mate! See you tonight. -Ron"
Harry felt a rush of relief to know that he was going to the Burrow. For some reason, he always felt safe and happy there. Perhaps it was because they were a wizarding family, and therefore understood him better than the Dursleys could ever hope to, not that they even tried.
Setting down the letter, he began sorting through the parchment on his desk- throwing away the scrap, and carefully rolling up his homework. Within an hour, all his things were in piles waiting to be placed into the trunk. But the trunk was not empty.
At the bottom lay the shattered pieces of a mirror. Harry took them out, one by one, and arranged them like a puzzle on a blank scrap of parchment. His eyes brimmed with tears, he carefully wrapped them up and replaced the package where the bits had been. Everything else was laid carefully on top. And almost as an afterthought, he tossed in the incomplete letter.
He kept out one book, "Flying With the Cannons", to read. But just when he had made to sit down and attempt to immerse himself in Quidditch, Hedwig hooted indignantly as if to say, "Where's my breakfast?"
"Sorry Hedwig," he murmured. Harry dropped "Flying With the Cannons" on his bed, and headed back down to the kitchen. Now, however the room was not silent, as Dursleys had finally gotten up. They ignored him, of course, but it was still unnerving. He went to leave, though, he remembered they didn't know that he was going to the Burrow that night.
He cleared his throat, and Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley all stared at him, as if mystified why he would require their attention. "I'm leaving tonight."
"Alright then." Vernon turned back to his bacon. Petunia gazed at him a moment longer, but then she too returned to her meal.
Harry, quite unperturbed at their lack of interest, returned to his room, which seemed oddly empty now that everything was packed away. Six o'clock felt so far away.
~*~*~*~
Harry was sleeping when the Weasleys came to get him. His breathing was light, and he looked so peaceful they hated to wake him.
"Harry dear," Molly said, gently shaking his shoulder, "It's time to go."
He mumbled something incoherent, and groggily opened his eyes. For a moment he wondered why the Weasleys were in his bedroom, but as his mind began to move again, he remembered the owl from that morning. He sat up.
"Are you ready to go, Harry?" Arthur asked.
"Just a moment," he said, quickly stuffing "Flying With the Cannons" back into his trunk. He grabbed hold of it and Hedwig's cage, then reached out his hand to the deflated football that Mr. Weasley held out to him. There was a pause, then the familiar tug at his navel as he was wrenched forward. When the swirl of wind and color subsided, he stood, unsteadily, in the middle of the Weasley's living room. His trunk landed with a thud behind him.
Mrs. Weasley hurried off to the kitchen, muttering something about dinner. Harry could hear footsteps coming down the staircase, and he turned to find Ron standing next to him, breathing a little harder than usual.
"Hey mate! How're you holding up?" Ron was just as cheerful as Harry had ever seen him.
"Alright, considering," he replied. A rather bland answer, but Harry didn't feel like elaborating. His emotions were not something he could easily explain. Ron seemed to be willing to let it be, though.
"Let's get your stuff upstairs. You're in my room again." They grinned at each other, for Harry had never stayed anywhere but.
~*~*~*~
Disclaimer: I own nothing... JKR owns everything! *sigh* I am poor.... lol
~Chapter 1: Results~
The cold grey light of dawn crept across the floor, slowly illuminating each of the various books lying about the disorganized room. It soon glowed bright on the figure of a sleeping teenager slumped over a roll of parchment- apparently an unfinished letter.
His face seemed young, yet even in sleep it was lined with worry. His dreams must have been disturbing, for his mouth formed a soundless call, and a glistening tear slid down his cheek.
This was unsurprising, however, since this was no ordinary boy by any sense of the word. His black hair laid unkempt, and were his eyes not closed in sleep one would have seen that they were a brilliant green. But his most unique feature was the scar that marred his forehead, a lightening bolt, and an ever-present reminder of his past. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, "the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord."
Harry Potter was asleep, not to say, however, that it was restful. The previous June had broken him, and he had spent many nights falling asleep to his own sobs, only to find that his dreams were no better. His nightmares were haunted by those who had died: his mother and father of course, but also Cedric Diggory and Sirius. They were always speaking to him, but try as he might he could not hear them. When he attempted to draw near, they would vanish, only to be replaced by a laughing Voldemort.
Harry could not seem to rise out of his well of depression. The Dursleys had provided no resistance to his wishes that summer, most likely due to the warning given by Moody, and he might have actually had some fun had he not been so sad and frustrated.
The room grew brighter, and gradually Harry awoke. Stretching, he stood up, and his letter fell with the soft rustle of parchment to the floor. Gathering the scattered books, he dropped them unceremoniously into his open trunk. He then retrieved the letter, and picked up his eagle feather quill, preparing to write. He paused in thought, sucking thoughtfully on its tip. He wished he had a sugar quill- they tasted better.
It was in that moment of contemplation that the owl outside Harry's window tapped on the glass. His head twisted sharply towards the unexpected interruption, and in a flash he had the window open. The tawny owl fluttered onto the bedspread, dropped a thick parchment envelope into Harry's open hands, and flew off again.
Harry turned the letter over, and was glad (but nervous) to see the Hogwarts seal on the back. He quickly opened it and pulled out the stack of paper, rather more than usually came. The first page read much the same as usual, except that it mentioned his O.W.L.s results and homework list were also included.
He stopped for a moment, steeling himself the inevitable fact that he couldn't have done all that well. He turned the page and gasped, but not out of despair.
Harry had made it into six courses: Defense Against the Dark Arts (with an O on his O.W.L.s), Care of Magical Creatures (with an O as well), Potions (another O, by which Harry was floored), Transfiguration (an E, which he figured was because he had messed up on Switching Spells), Charms (also an E, he assumed that was because he had confused Growth and Color- Change Charms), and Astronomy (barely scrapping by with an A). History of Magic and Divination he had failed, with a D and a T, respectively. Overall, he was amazed with the results, and rather proud.
The next page was his booklist, and the last few was his homework. He was glad the letter had come earlier than usual, as it was going to take him practically forever to finish all the essays and such that were listed. There were quite a few for Snape, pretty nasty looking ones, too, and though he was glad to have made it into the class, since it was needed to become an Auror, it was obvious that the workload was not going to be light.
Laying the sheaf of papers aside, Harry dressed and proceeded down to the kitchen, treading lightly and hoping he wouldn't wake the Dursleys. It was the weekend, and they all were taking a lie-in.
While fixing himself some toast in the blissfully empty kitchen, the Daily Prophet arrived. Stuffing the five bronze knuts into the owl's leather money pouch, Harry had retrieved the paper from its beak. He unfurled it as the bird flew off.
Harry glanced at the front page, as he always did. But then he did a double-take. The headline read: "MUGGLES ATTACKED IN SURREY." Harry quickly read down the rest of the article.
"Little Whinging, Surrey- Last night, in an apparent attack by
He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named and his followers, four muggles were
killed. Ministry officials arrived on the scene at 11:37 p.m. to
find all four McCartneys of 7 Magnolia Crescent murdered in their
home. By further investigation, it appears that they were tortured
first. The motive is as of yet unclear..."
Harry read no further, knowing the purpose of the attack, even if the Daily Prophet didn't. It was no coincidence, because there was no such thing as a coincidence in his life, that the attack had been so near to his home.
Voldemort was trying to send him a message, and it was obvious to Harry what he was saying; "Don't think you're safe... I know where you live, and I will catch you someday... Someday when you will not expect it, I will get you..."
Suddenly, Harry no longer felt hungry. His stomach was performing back flips, and even though Dumbledore had told him he would be safe at the Dursley's, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he merely stepped out the door. He knew Voldemort would expect him to act like this, but what could he help it? Magnolia Crescent was a mere 10 minutes walk from Privet Drive.
If only Sirius were here... He'd know what to do... Harry stopped that train of thought- there was no point to wishing for something that could never happen. But he couldn't help that Sirius had left a void in him- a hole that could never be filled by anyone or anything else. Not even the unfinished letter he had left on his bed.
Harry felt like taking a walk, but he dared not leave the house. He sighed and went back to the paper, reading the other stories, but most seemed rather trivial. There was, however, a short article about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.
"London- Ariana Bonebrake, famed Auror, has agreed to teach Defense
Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
When asked why she took the purportedly cursed post, she replied,
"Whether the spot is cursed or not does not matter to me. Only the
fact that no one else has stepped up to the challenge, and that these
students need a teacher, especially in these dark times, matters."
"Ms. Bonebrake is a Hogwarts alumnus and has been an Auror for 19
years."
At least we might have a decent teacher this year, Harry thought. The Professor from the year before, Umbridge, had been a waste of a year's study. He grinned inwardly as he remembered the DA, the secret group he had led in silent protest of her teaching.
Further in the paper Harry found an advert for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. He couldn't resist a real smile. They were already so successful, and they'd only been in business for less than three months. He didn't regret giving them his Triwizard winnings, though he did somewhat pity any teachers hit by their jokes- unless, of course, they were as bad as Umbridge.
Had he thought about it, Harry would have noticed that he hadn't smiled since the end of school.
After a while, Harry could hear the Dursleys begin to move about. Taking the paper, he trooped up to his room. Now, it being mid-morning, the sun shone fully on its walls. Hedwig, who had been out hunting earlier, sat hooting on his still open windowsill, a letter in her beak. She fluttered to his shoulder, and dropped the post into his hands.
"Thanks Hedwig," he said, stroking her bright white head feathers. Tossing the paper onto his desk, where it landed next to his Hogwarts letter, he unrolled the parchment.
"Dear Harry,
"Due to the attack on muggles in your neighborhood late yesterday, we are bringing you to The Burrow earlier than we originally expected to. Arthur and I will be coming to get you tonight at 6, by way of a portkey.
"I do hope you're alright.
"Love,
"Molly Weasley
"P.S. Hey mate! See you tonight. -Ron"
Harry felt a rush of relief to know that he was going to the Burrow. For some reason, he always felt safe and happy there. Perhaps it was because they were a wizarding family, and therefore understood him better than the Dursleys could ever hope to, not that they even tried.
Setting down the letter, he began sorting through the parchment on his desk- throwing away the scrap, and carefully rolling up his homework. Within an hour, all his things were in piles waiting to be placed into the trunk. But the trunk was not empty.
At the bottom lay the shattered pieces of a mirror. Harry took them out, one by one, and arranged them like a puzzle on a blank scrap of parchment. His eyes brimmed with tears, he carefully wrapped them up and replaced the package where the bits had been. Everything else was laid carefully on top. And almost as an afterthought, he tossed in the incomplete letter.
He kept out one book, "Flying With the Cannons", to read. But just when he had made to sit down and attempt to immerse himself in Quidditch, Hedwig hooted indignantly as if to say, "Where's my breakfast?"
"Sorry Hedwig," he murmured. Harry dropped "Flying With the Cannons" on his bed, and headed back down to the kitchen. Now, however the room was not silent, as Dursleys had finally gotten up. They ignored him, of course, but it was still unnerving. He went to leave, though, he remembered they didn't know that he was going to the Burrow that night.
He cleared his throat, and Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley all stared at him, as if mystified why he would require their attention. "I'm leaving tonight."
"Alright then." Vernon turned back to his bacon. Petunia gazed at him a moment longer, but then she too returned to her meal.
Harry, quite unperturbed at their lack of interest, returned to his room, which seemed oddly empty now that everything was packed away. Six o'clock felt so far away.
~*~*~*~
Harry was sleeping when the Weasleys came to get him. His breathing was light, and he looked so peaceful they hated to wake him.
"Harry dear," Molly said, gently shaking his shoulder, "It's time to go."
He mumbled something incoherent, and groggily opened his eyes. For a moment he wondered why the Weasleys were in his bedroom, but as his mind began to move again, he remembered the owl from that morning. He sat up.
"Are you ready to go, Harry?" Arthur asked.
"Just a moment," he said, quickly stuffing "Flying With the Cannons" back into his trunk. He grabbed hold of it and Hedwig's cage, then reached out his hand to the deflated football that Mr. Weasley held out to him. There was a pause, then the familiar tug at his navel as he was wrenched forward. When the swirl of wind and color subsided, he stood, unsteadily, in the middle of the Weasley's living room. His trunk landed with a thud behind him.
Mrs. Weasley hurried off to the kitchen, muttering something about dinner. Harry could hear footsteps coming down the staircase, and he turned to find Ron standing next to him, breathing a little harder than usual.
"Hey mate! How're you holding up?" Ron was just as cheerful as Harry had ever seen him.
"Alright, considering," he replied. A rather bland answer, but Harry didn't feel like elaborating. His emotions were not something he could easily explain. Ron seemed to be willing to let it be, though.
"Let's get your stuff upstairs. You're in my room again." They grinned at each other, for Harry had never stayed anywhere but.
~*~*~*~