Disclaimer: This is purely a writing exercise borrowing the background and
characters from the Harry Potter series by J.K Rowlings. The only profit I
hope to make is my own personal satisfaction.
***
Summary: Summer after 5th year, Harry enters the adult world. He learns to trust, himself and others, as the war approaches and chaos reigns. (not slash) (hp/?)(hg/rw)
A/N I am leaving out the usual summary of the last five years that is customary in the first chapter. I am assuming that the reader is familiar with the Harry Potter universe and doesn't need every character introduced or every concept explained. I hope you enjoy.
Prologue: To grow up.
***
Everything was numb. After the burst of rage and frustration in Dumbledore's office, his brain had stopped functioning beyond a certain level. He went through the motions but there was a wall, a tightly woven wall of jumbled memories, thoughts, self-recriminations and dread. It was an endless cycle and it all led to the same thing.
He knew he had failed, and the burden of the future, was sitting square upon shoulders that had failed under a much smaller burden.
Harry Potter, was not doing so well. The summer had just started; barely two days ago when Moody and the other Order members had accosted his relatives. The threats at the station had made things a lot easier he supposed, but sometimes he was not so sure. There was nothing, absolutely no interaction with his relatives, to stop the inertia of his thoughts. At times he realized that he had to get out of his own mind and do something, but nothing he tried kept the thoughts away for more than a few minutes.
Another day of fitful sleep and jumbled thoughts passed in silence. The solitude was overwhelming. The threads of conscious and unconscious thoughts were weaving tighter and tighter walls, crushing his soul in their serpentine embrace. He had seen death before, but this time it was much closer to home. The secret hopes and dreams of living with his god father that he had built up over the last two years, had come crashing down in an instant, leaving him bereft. Guilt was hammering at his head while loneliness was gnawing a hole in his heart.
Somehow, Harry remembered to write to the Order to assure them of his 'well- being'. Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and his quill and began to write what was supposed to be a quick note to Professor Lupin. However, the act of writing somehow opened up a floodgate inside of him; the walls crumbled and Harry poured his soul out to the parchment. He wrote and he wrote, and the best thing was that there was no guilt in opening up. His fears, his guilt, his frustrations, his sorrow all came bubbling up from inside and he scribbled like a mad man trying to keep pace with his mind. Tears were falling down his pale face blotching the parchment, but the there was no stopping, even to wipe his eyes.
An hour or so later, tired, and with a pounding headache, Harry finally managed to stop. In front of him was 3 feet of parchment covered with a barely legible scrawl made even harder to read due to the numerous splotches of his tears. Harry hadn't felt this good in days. His mind was clear and for the first time in days and he actually felt hungry.
Harry grabbed some clean clothes and took a shower first. He hadn't bothered about showers and such lately and it felt good to be clean. Making himself a sandwich in the kitchen, Harry made his way to the yard. It was still early and the dew-laden grass felt amazing under his feet. A soft cool breeze was blowing, and when Harry closed his eyes, he could almost picture himself flying lazily on his Firebolt. With a jolt Harry opened his eyes and the familiar numbness threatened to take over. Shaking himself from his downward spiral, Harry made his way to his room and jotted off a new and much shorter note to his old DADA professor. It wasn't yet the time to share what he had written earlier. Tying the note to Hedwig's feet securely, Harry sent her on the way.
For the rest of the day, Harry tried to keep himself as busy as possible. His choices were limited to chores he did not really have to do or sleeping or thinking, and he really wanted a break from his thoughts and his nightmares, at the least for the day. So Harry trudged outside and started weeding Aunt Petunia's flowers. He was done with all the garden and lawn chores by mid afternoon. So, He went inside, weathered a few nasty looks from his aunt while cleaning the kitchen.
As evening approached, Harry was quite tired of being indoors, and he wanted to stretch his legs. A walk sounded like a great idea, but he stopped as he stepped out in the cool night air, his thoughts turning to the Dementor attack of last summer. It was obvious that the wards Dumbledore had setup did not extend very far out, and Harry wasn't too keen on taking chances. The last thing he wanted was one of his watchers getting injured or worse ....... He sighed, frustrated, and decided to write to Dumbledore for more information about the wards.
Edging back through the back door, Harry wondered if the Dursleys would mind if he joined them to watch TV. Sighing once again he realized he was procrastinating from having to read what he had written that morning. Defeated, Harry made his way back to his room.
It took Harry the better part of an hour to decipher his writing. It was interesting to separate the issues out try to think about each issue clearly. Harry skipped to the part about Dumbledore first as he didn't yet want to deal with Sirius' death, well at least in a clinical or logical fashion, for even his name would threaten to bring tears brimming to his eye.
Dumbledore had embodied all that Harry really respected. He was wise, powerful, kind and Harry had thought him to be infallible. The last couple of years, had slowly dimmed his esteem for the man, but Harry's main issue with the man was that of trust.
Reading over his blotched and incoherent ramblings, Harry decided to start afresh. Grabbing more fresh parchment, he started to write about his feelings about Dumbledore. It was hard to imagine what he would have felt if Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy earlier. Weighing the pros and cons of knowing about the prophecy was hard. Would he have worked harder to learn Occlumency if he had known the prophecy, or would Voldemort already have learnt the prophecy if Harry had known? It was true, however, that Harry probably wouldn't have been taken in by his dreams if Dumbledore had kept him in the know. Would that have stopped him from trying to rescue Sirius?
No! He wasn't ready to go there yet!
His chest tightened and a familiar painful constriction worked its way into his throat. He hated Snape for his part in Sirius' death. He hated Bellatrix with a passion for casting the curse that had made his godfather fall through the veil and yet he knew that ultimately, it was he who was responsible for mounting the foolish raid. It was he who was responsible for not learning Occlumency. It was again his fault for not remembering the mirror. He was culpable on multiple counts.
Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself before he resumed his task. Chewing on his quill, Harry realized that he was grateful in some way to Dumbledore. The prophecy was a hard blow, and he was grateful to Dumbledore for giving him a few years of comparatively carefree life. Everything was changed now. Every action would be tainted by the harsh glare of the prophecy. It was time to wake up. Kill or be killed. It was time to grab any and all help he could get, no matter who it came from. His only hope lay with that old man. Yes, a man, not an all knowing demi-god but a manipulative old man who probably valued Harry more as a weapon than as a person. Not that it mattered, his humanity, his needs, his wants, did not matter in the larger scheme of things, at the least till either he had really defeated Voldemort or he was dead himself, and then nothing would matter.
It was time to grow up.
***
Summary: Summer after 5th year, Harry enters the adult world. He learns to trust, himself and others, as the war approaches and chaos reigns. (not slash) (hp/?)(hg/rw)
A/N I am leaving out the usual summary of the last five years that is customary in the first chapter. I am assuming that the reader is familiar with the Harry Potter universe and doesn't need every character introduced or every concept explained. I hope you enjoy.
Prologue: To grow up.
***
Everything was numb. After the burst of rage and frustration in Dumbledore's office, his brain had stopped functioning beyond a certain level. He went through the motions but there was a wall, a tightly woven wall of jumbled memories, thoughts, self-recriminations and dread. It was an endless cycle and it all led to the same thing.
He knew he had failed, and the burden of the future, was sitting square upon shoulders that had failed under a much smaller burden.
Harry Potter, was not doing so well. The summer had just started; barely two days ago when Moody and the other Order members had accosted his relatives. The threats at the station had made things a lot easier he supposed, but sometimes he was not so sure. There was nothing, absolutely no interaction with his relatives, to stop the inertia of his thoughts. At times he realized that he had to get out of his own mind and do something, but nothing he tried kept the thoughts away for more than a few minutes.
Another day of fitful sleep and jumbled thoughts passed in silence. The solitude was overwhelming. The threads of conscious and unconscious thoughts were weaving tighter and tighter walls, crushing his soul in their serpentine embrace. He had seen death before, but this time it was much closer to home. The secret hopes and dreams of living with his god father that he had built up over the last two years, had come crashing down in an instant, leaving him bereft. Guilt was hammering at his head while loneliness was gnawing a hole in his heart.
Somehow, Harry remembered to write to the Order to assure them of his 'well- being'. Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and his quill and began to write what was supposed to be a quick note to Professor Lupin. However, the act of writing somehow opened up a floodgate inside of him; the walls crumbled and Harry poured his soul out to the parchment. He wrote and he wrote, and the best thing was that there was no guilt in opening up. His fears, his guilt, his frustrations, his sorrow all came bubbling up from inside and he scribbled like a mad man trying to keep pace with his mind. Tears were falling down his pale face blotching the parchment, but the there was no stopping, even to wipe his eyes.
An hour or so later, tired, and with a pounding headache, Harry finally managed to stop. In front of him was 3 feet of parchment covered with a barely legible scrawl made even harder to read due to the numerous splotches of his tears. Harry hadn't felt this good in days. His mind was clear and for the first time in days and he actually felt hungry.
Harry grabbed some clean clothes and took a shower first. He hadn't bothered about showers and such lately and it felt good to be clean. Making himself a sandwich in the kitchen, Harry made his way to the yard. It was still early and the dew-laden grass felt amazing under his feet. A soft cool breeze was blowing, and when Harry closed his eyes, he could almost picture himself flying lazily on his Firebolt. With a jolt Harry opened his eyes and the familiar numbness threatened to take over. Shaking himself from his downward spiral, Harry made his way to his room and jotted off a new and much shorter note to his old DADA professor. It wasn't yet the time to share what he had written earlier. Tying the note to Hedwig's feet securely, Harry sent her on the way.
For the rest of the day, Harry tried to keep himself as busy as possible. His choices were limited to chores he did not really have to do or sleeping or thinking, and he really wanted a break from his thoughts and his nightmares, at the least for the day. So Harry trudged outside and started weeding Aunt Petunia's flowers. He was done with all the garden and lawn chores by mid afternoon. So, He went inside, weathered a few nasty looks from his aunt while cleaning the kitchen.
As evening approached, Harry was quite tired of being indoors, and he wanted to stretch his legs. A walk sounded like a great idea, but he stopped as he stepped out in the cool night air, his thoughts turning to the Dementor attack of last summer. It was obvious that the wards Dumbledore had setup did not extend very far out, and Harry wasn't too keen on taking chances. The last thing he wanted was one of his watchers getting injured or worse ....... He sighed, frustrated, and decided to write to Dumbledore for more information about the wards.
Edging back through the back door, Harry wondered if the Dursleys would mind if he joined them to watch TV. Sighing once again he realized he was procrastinating from having to read what he had written that morning. Defeated, Harry made his way back to his room.
It took Harry the better part of an hour to decipher his writing. It was interesting to separate the issues out try to think about each issue clearly. Harry skipped to the part about Dumbledore first as he didn't yet want to deal with Sirius' death, well at least in a clinical or logical fashion, for even his name would threaten to bring tears brimming to his eye.
Dumbledore had embodied all that Harry really respected. He was wise, powerful, kind and Harry had thought him to be infallible. The last couple of years, had slowly dimmed his esteem for the man, but Harry's main issue with the man was that of trust.
Reading over his blotched and incoherent ramblings, Harry decided to start afresh. Grabbing more fresh parchment, he started to write about his feelings about Dumbledore. It was hard to imagine what he would have felt if Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy earlier. Weighing the pros and cons of knowing about the prophecy was hard. Would he have worked harder to learn Occlumency if he had known the prophecy, or would Voldemort already have learnt the prophecy if Harry had known? It was true, however, that Harry probably wouldn't have been taken in by his dreams if Dumbledore had kept him in the know. Would that have stopped him from trying to rescue Sirius?
No! He wasn't ready to go there yet!
His chest tightened and a familiar painful constriction worked its way into his throat. He hated Snape for his part in Sirius' death. He hated Bellatrix with a passion for casting the curse that had made his godfather fall through the veil and yet he knew that ultimately, it was he who was responsible for mounting the foolish raid. It was he who was responsible for not learning Occlumency. It was again his fault for not remembering the mirror. He was culpable on multiple counts.
Harry took a few deep breaths to calm himself before he resumed his task. Chewing on his quill, Harry realized that he was grateful in some way to Dumbledore. The prophecy was a hard blow, and he was grateful to Dumbledore for giving him a few years of comparatively carefree life. Everything was changed now. Every action would be tainted by the harsh glare of the prophecy. It was time to wake up. Kill or be killed. It was time to grab any and all help he could get, no matter who it came from. His only hope lay with that old man. Yes, a man, not an all knowing demi-god but a manipulative old man who probably valued Harry more as a weapon than as a person. Not that it mattered, his humanity, his needs, his wants, did not matter in the larger scheme of things, at the least till either he had really defeated Voldemort or he was dead himself, and then nothing would matter.
It was time to grow up.