Inconnu
By SilbernerWolf
Part 2: Redeemed
Chapter 5: Freedom
Sorry it took a while. I had it ready to post and I realized how much it stunk, so I completely rewrote it. Hope it was worth it. :)
~Silberner
Disclaimer: I wish...
Ten years. Ten excruciatingly long years. So long since he had seen sunlight or felt its warmth; so long since he had felt refreshing rain against his skin. So long since he
had indulged in such a simple pleasure as just lying in the grass, soaking in the sun--or any pleasure at all, for that matter.
Leaving that dementor infested pit was like being born again. It did not matter that he was homeless or without a wand, just that he was free and able to remember a life
before that-a happy life. He could remember his friends, his days at Hogwarts, everything. It all came rushing back as soon as the boat left the shore. There was more, so
much more...
And now he was back-back in the world of the Living.
Perhaps his memory failed him-it had been ten years-but the sea was bluer, the sun was brighter, and the birds' songs were more beautiful than he remembered.
The sky above was beginning to darken-a coming storm. In the distance, lightning flashed and thunder rumbled. They reached the shore and he was free, simple as that.
His wand had been snapped upon his arrest and imprisonment, they said, so he would need to get another. His motorcycle had been done away with and his home sold.
There was no apology. There was no compensation. There was no explanation. He was simply put on the street to fend for himself while the Ministry concentrated on
more important things-such as the trial of Peter Pettigrew.
The story that one of the officials had related to the other on their way to the mainland was rather simple. Peter had somehow run into Dumbledore himself. Not much
else was known, except for the fact that there was a high likelihood of a life sentence.
Well, first things first. The closest magical establishments were Hogsmeade and Hogwarts, so he would make his way there first-maybe he could use the fireplace at the
Three Broomsticks. He set off toward the general southwest. Perhaps he would be able to find a place to stay before nightfall.
@~`~,~
On the evening of the third day he had been traveling Hogsmeade finally came in to sight.
He had discovered that it was much easier to travel as the dog, so he had transformed for most of the journey. He quickly transformed and made his way to the village.
Upon reaching the edge of Hogsmeade, he pulled up the hood of his cloak and went straight to the Three Broomsticks. Madam Rosmerta allowed him to use the
fireplace. "Diagon Alley!" he said.
He tumbled roughly from a fireplace, the wrong one. He found himself in the Leaky Cauldron. Cursing the floo network, he stormed out the back door and waited
impatiently for the gateway to Diagon Alley to open, as he could not open it due to the unfortunate lack of a wand.
Finally, a group of chattering witches carrying an impossibly large number of bags trooped through the archway and in to the Leaky Cauldron, and he managed to slip
through before the gateway closed. He went straight to Gringotts, leaving two wild cart rides later with a small bag of money that would buy the things he needed in
Diagon Alley and leave enough to buy several meals and pay for a place to stay, as long as it was cheap.
Next, he went to Ollivander's and purchased a wand. He left as quickly as he could, however, because he did not enjoy the lecture on letting such a fine wand as he had
owned be destroyed, which had begun the moment he walked in.
Not long after, he arrived back at the Leaky Cauldron, laden with bags containing new robes and other necessities. He ate an exceptionally large meal and payed for a
room for the night. He would decide what was next in the morning, when he was not so tired.
He accepted the key and went up to his room, number seven, and tossed his bags carelessly to the side, barely missing the large mirror. The mirror grumbled at him in a
raspy voice. He fell onto the bed, fully clothed, and fell instantly into a dreamless sleep.
@~`~,~
The next morning a persistent clicking sound invaded his sleep. He sat up and glanced around the room before locating the source-a multitude of owls were gazing through
the window, all bearing letters and pecking at the panes of glass. He opened the window and took the letter from each of the owls, shooing each of them off as he did so.
After closing the window behind the last one, he turned to the mountain of letters laying on the table. He picked up a random one and opened it. A request for an
interview. He opened the next.
And the next.
And the next.
And the next.
All of them were the same.
"And to think that I would have enjoyed this at one time," he muttered to himself. as he swept them from the table and into the nearby trash can, which made a loud
chewing noise and belched. He was about to try to lie down again and catch some more sleep before he left the Leaky Cauldron for his next destination (wherever that
was) when more owls appeared and began attacking his window.
Groaning tiredly, he pulled the shade down. Undeterred, the pecking continued. "Silencio," he muttered, pointing his wand toward the window. The pecking fell silent and
he flung himself upon the bed. Sleep came easily.
@~`~,~
He awoke again around lunchtime, feeling much more rested. Yawning and stretching, he changed clothes and gathered his things. He left the room without raising the
shade-he was quite sure of what he would find.
Downstairs, he payed for the room and a quick lunch. Ths was a mistake, as he quickly realized about half way through his meal. Staying in one place for longer than a
few moments was not a good idea.
Reporters and photographers swarmed into the small pub and around him as he ate, or, more accurately, tried to eat. Finally, he had enough. He scooped up his things
and swept from the building, thinking, The news stories must have really dried up-why else would they be plaguing me like this?
He made his way to an underground station and slipped onto the train. At every stop, he switched. When he came to the end of the line, he began to walk, hoping that
they would not be able to track him if he kept going. He did not know where his feet were taking him, just that it was away from London and the reporters.
@~`~,~
It was well into the night and extremely dark. It had been hours since a reporter had ambushed him (perhaps because the last one had been hexed so badly that he was
barely recognizable?).
He suddenly found himself standing at a very familiar corner and looking down an extremely familiar street. Privet Drive.
@~`~,~
Please R/R!