Not that anyone would mistake me for JKR, But just in case I'd just like to mention that I am not.
Chapter One – Setting the Scene,
Or Harry Gets a Snake
So far Harry's summer at Privet Drive had been, in his scale of summers, only slightly worse than usual. Granted, school had ended only one week ago, and that meant that less than two weeks had gone by since 'that' night. 'That' night being the night that Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, had fallen through the veil.
Although, realistically, his standards had of late been drastically reduced. As far as he could reason, and he did spend a fair amount of his time reasoning, as long as he made it through each day alive, and without killing any more of his friends or family he was, well not happy exactly, but adequate.
Much like summers past, Harry's relatives had taken to locking him in his room when he wasn't busy doing chores. Each morning he was let out to cook breakfast and do the dishes. Aunt Petunia would they either lock him back in his room or provide him with a list of chores that had to be completed. Most days she 'let' him get a couple of hours of fresh air after lunch (and if it was a good day he got to eat it as well as just making it for his cousin). Which basically meant that she threw him out of the house and forced him to do yard work (and if he came in red from the sun it was all the better).
He hadn't been sleeping well, or even hardly at all. He spent most of each night, as well as all the time he spent locked in his room reading over his schoolbooks. He didn't have much homework this summer (because of the OWLS) and he had already completed the work that he did have. Harry had been pouring over every book he could get his hands on trying to distract himself so he wouldn't obsess about Sirius or Professor Dumbledore.
Harry missed Sirius terribly. Although he had lost both of his parents, he had never really known them. He had known they were dead as long as he could remember, and had never really had to mourn them. Sirius was different. He had been Harry's reason for living for two years now; Sirius's next letter or visit had measured everything. Plotting with Ron and Hermione various ways of capturing Pettigrew, and daydreaming about how someday he would be able to leave the Dursley's forever and make a home with him.
And to make matters worse, in an effort to have the Dursleys treat him sympathetically Professor Dumbledore had written to the Dursleys and told them about his Godfather's death. He knew that Professor Dumbledore had done it with good intentions, but non-the-less the results were disastrous. Now that he didn't have anything to use as leverage over the Dursleys, they felt free to treat him as badly as they wanted. Harry knew that the Professor only wanted to make things better for him, but he couldn't help but start to doubt him. He was angry that he had been kept from the truth for so long, who wouldn't be? But he had also started to think about the inconsistencies in the Headmasters decisions. He had to wonder how the Headmaster could be so intuitive, perceptive even, most of the time, and yet ate the same time continue to do things in Harry's 'best interest' or with 'good intentions' that turned out to be the worst things he could possibly do? It just didn't make sense. He didn't want to believe that the Headmaster was doing things to purposefully make his life miserable, but when he counted up all the times it had happened, he couldn't help but start to think that maybe it was possible.
After all, hadn't his very first Hogwarts letter been addressed to him in the 'Cupboard under the stairs?' Shouldn't that have been a clue? Added to the fact that he had asked repeatedly in his first few years (before he realized that it was futile) to stay anywhere but with the Dursleys? Even to stay a Hogwarts throughout the summer? And he knew that the Order was probably having him guarded again this summer, so why didn't they do anything when his Uncle hit him? Didn't they notice the bruises when he was working in the yard? Could they possibly think that having that many bruises was normal? Or even accidental? And what about Mrs. Figg? Harry could understand her never telling him she was a squib (on Professor Dumbledore's orders no doubt) but she knew what his relatives were like.
But whenever he started to go down that road, the implications just made his head swim. 'If the Headmaster had been letting this happen or had intended it to happen, then what else had he done?' Harry thought to himself, as he lay awake for yet another night. He had no idea how far he would go, he had always trusted Professor Dumbledore with everything, he had always been the one to help him, to take care of him, to tell him anything he had ever known about his family. If he started to doubt him now, where did it stop?
Then suddenly everything is his life was in question. Had the Professor led him to find the Philosopher's Stone in his first year? It was kind of ridiculous that something so important would be guarded by enchantments that three average first years could get by. But then had all his adventures in second and third year been contrived too? But then what about Cedric? How could someone as powerful as the Professor (who was an accomplished legimens and could see through an invisibility cloak) be fooled by a fake Moody with polyjuice potion? He had known Moody for years! So was that on purpose too? Was this too?
It was something that Harry had been obsessing about ever since he arrived at Privet Drive. And he didn't think he was any closer to figuring out what to feel, than when he had started. Finally he decided to just not decide. He knew he didn't really have enough information to prove his suspicions true or false. Harry resigned himself to just be cautious and take everything that the Professor said (and everyone else too really) with a grain of salt.
In the time he spent locked away in his room Harry re-read every book he had form all of his years at Hogwarts. Now that he knew for sure that this whole Voldemort problem was not going to go away by itself (as much as Harry really wished it would) he was trying to teach himself as much as possible. He knew that realistically most of the stuff he was reading wouldn't help him (unless he could somehow vanquish the Dark Lord with the neat spell he found for dusting) but he was fed up with feeling useless. And since no one seemed willing to teach him anything useful he did what he could with what he had. And as most of the stuff he read in his potions books he didn't remember ever reading before, he figured it was probably needed.
If Snape wanted to yell at him because he hated his father or hated him, that was fine. He couldn't change that. But at least he wouldn't be able to find fault with his work anymore. Harry was also amazed with how easy the spells and theory were to understand the second time round. He could remember vividly struggling to understand the concepts that now seemed old hat. Even though he couldn't actually do any of the spells he was reading about, he understood then so well that he just 'knew' that he would be able to do them if he tried. But even this 'new and improved' Harry could only read things over and over again so many time; he was out of books.
Harry got up off his bed and walked over to stare out his window. Hedwig was off delivering his latest profread (Uncle Vernon insisted on reading them beforehand) letter to the order. He scanned the horizon for her, even though he knew she couldn't really be expected back until tomorrow or the day after at the earliest. Bored, Harry made his way over to one corner of his room to take a look at the beat up bookcase that he had found as a new addition to the room when he arrived this summer.
Despite the fact that the Dursley's had resigned themselves to letting Harry 'borrow' Dudley's second bedroom, it was still very much Dudley's room. This new bookcase was just the latest in a nearly constant stream of broken and worn out toys that Dudley refused to part with, but agreed to relegate to 'storage' in his second room.
Harry had been profitting from the Dursley's non-interest in books for years. Long before he ever heard of Hogwarts he had taught himself to read during the long hours he spent locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He had never had an opportunity to have any books (or anything else for that matter) of his own, but had managed to squirrel away a few of Dudleys regets. Keeping them in his hidden shelf in the cupboard, and later in his Hogwarts trunk. Picking one of the unopened Shakespeare plays off the shelf at random Harry settled himself back down on his bed to read himself to sleep.
The next morning, after the usual slew of demeaning comments that was breakfast Aunt Petunia shoved Harry out to the garden to 'get bloody on with it' which Harry knew was his Aunt's own special way of asking him politely if he wouldn't mind spending some time weeding the garden. Harry, who knew enough about his relatives to take advantage of every opportunity to not be locked in his room, started weeding right away.
'Cold, cold, get out of my sun.' Harry started back in surprise and broke the weed he had been pulling off in the middle. Swearing, he glanced around, annoyed at himself that he had been paying so little attention to his surroundings that it had startled him so.
'So much for constant vigilance,' he muttered to himself. Despite the little snakes complaints, it was actaully one of the hottest days so far this summer at Privet Drive. Being forced to work out in Aunt Petunias garden most days rain or shine had already garnered Harry quite a tan. And despite (or as he liked to think, just for spite) the bruising and injury caused by Uncle Vernon and Dudleys 'accidental' kicks and shoves Harry had managed to grow another couple of inches and put on a bit of muscle. He reconed that had he not been wearing cast-off shorts from Dudley, his pants would have been a couple of inches too short. Jolting himself out of his reveree Harry smiled down at the snake that had been nappin in a sunbeam. He whispered a quick 'Hello little one, sorry for disturbing you' in parseltongue, careful to speak low enough so that if any of his relatives happened to be passing by they wouldn't hear him flagrently displaying his abnormality (what if the neighbours had heard!)
The snake peered up at him skeptically, 'Watch yourself with the 'little one' snakespeaker,' she whispered. 'Asp's, while known for their beauty, wisdom and venom, are however, not known for their size. At any age.'
'Oh. Right. Sorry.' Stammered Harry, glancing over his shoulders anxiously not wanting to give the Dursleys any opportunity to punish him, and started to weed again.
'That is alright, you are young and still have much to learn about the world.'
'What is your name?' Whispered Harry.
'Kate.' Kate said.
'Well Kate, my name is Harry. Do you live around here?'
'No. I was born in Egypt. In a pet shop. I was being, I think the word is 'shipped' to a person, place, store, I'm not really sure. But something must have happened, there was a lot of noise and my cage broke open, so I left. I found myself to the side of a road, and have been on my own ever since.' She looked up at Harry and shivered. 'It's so cold here, how do you manage?'
'If you think it's cold now, wait until winter,' Harry snickered. 'England isn't like Egypt, it snows here.'
Kate stared at him wide eyed. 'Snow?' She gasped. ' I can't live in the snow! I . . . I' she stuttered.
'If you would like,' Harry whispered, 'you could live with me. You could stay with me in my room here, or in the garden for the summer, and then come with me to school in the fall.'
Kate looked up ar him appraisingly. 'Alright Harry, I'll come and live with you for the summer and we'll see how it goes.' Harry smiled, and nodded.
'Are you happy there for now?' he asked, 'While I'm working In the yard?'
'No, let me sit on your neck. It's warmer, in direct sunlight, and I don't have to yell so you can hear me.' And with that she slithered up his arm and wrapped herself aroun Harry's neck.
And so Harry spent the next few hours in the garden talking to Kate as he worked. Telling her the story of his life. How his parents dies, how Cedric died, how Sirius died. Kate had been sympathetic in the right places, proud in the right places, and righteouslt angry when he relayed how Professor Dumbledore had kept secrets from him his entire life. Including the fact that he continued to force Harry back to his relatives 'care' every summer even though he knew how they treated hom. 'After all,' he told her, 'just because they don't beat me, beat me, doesn't mean that getting tripped, and kicked, and pushed down the stairs every day is my idea of a dream home.'
'Well,' she said, after she and Harry had been locked into his room for the night, 'Why haven't you been sleeping?' After Harry spent ten minutes ranting about having no new books, and then explaing why this was so important.
'I have nightmares' Harry replied simply.
'But didn't you say that Occumalency thingy was supposed to keep nightmares away?'
'You remenber me telling you about my Professors? Professor Snape was teaching me Occumalency last year . . .' and Harry realyed the whole secret pensive, worst memory, being thrown out by Snape event.
'Well,' Kate said, 'What about those exercises he gave you? Have you been doing those?'
'No.' Harry admitted.
'Weell,' said Kate, 'What do you think? Maybe it would be a good idea to start doing them again?' In a tone that sounded an awful lot like a scolding Hermione. 'And maybe you could get a book about Occumalency and teach yourself? You found learning other magic stuff out of books easier? Right? You were saying it came easier now for some reason, maybe Occumalency will too?'
'Well I guess it couldn't hurt.' Harry said. 'And it would be nice to be able to sleep again' he thought to himself. Harry spent the next hour clearing his mind and for the first time in weeks when he fell asleep, it wasn't with his face in a book.
Chapter One – Setting the Scene,
Or Harry Gets a Snake
So far Harry's summer at Privet Drive had been, in his scale of summers, only slightly worse than usual. Granted, school had ended only one week ago, and that meant that less than two weeks had gone by since 'that' night. 'That' night being the night that Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, had fallen through the veil.
Although, realistically, his standards had of late been drastically reduced. As far as he could reason, and he did spend a fair amount of his time reasoning, as long as he made it through each day alive, and without killing any more of his friends or family he was, well not happy exactly, but adequate.
Much like summers past, Harry's relatives had taken to locking him in his room when he wasn't busy doing chores. Each morning he was let out to cook breakfast and do the dishes. Aunt Petunia would they either lock him back in his room or provide him with a list of chores that had to be completed. Most days she 'let' him get a couple of hours of fresh air after lunch (and if it was a good day he got to eat it as well as just making it for his cousin). Which basically meant that she threw him out of the house and forced him to do yard work (and if he came in red from the sun it was all the better).
He hadn't been sleeping well, or even hardly at all. He spent most of each night, as well as all the time he spent locked in his room reading over his schoolbooks. He didn't have much homework this summer (because of the OWLS) and he had already completed the work that he did have. Harry had been pouring over every book he could get his hands on trying to distract himself so he wouldn't obsess about Sirius or Professor Dumbledore.
Harry missed Sirius terribly. Although he had lost both of his parents, he had never really known them. He had known they were dead as long as he could remember, and had never really had to mourn them. Sirius was different. He had been Harry's reason for living for two years now; Sirius's next letter or visit had measured everything. Plotting with Ron and Hermione various ways of capturing Pettigrew, and daydreaming about how someday he would be able to leave the Dursley's forever and make a home with him.
And to make matters worse, in an effort to have the Dursleys treat him sympathetically Professor Dumbledore had written to the Dursleys and told them about his Godfather's death. He knew that Professor Dumbledore had done it with good intentions, but non-the-less the results were disastrous. Now that he didn't have anything to use as leverage over the Dursleys, they felt free to treat him as badly as they wanted. Harry knew that the Professor only wanted to make things better for him, but he couldn't help but start to doubt him. He was angry that he had been kept from the truth for so long, who wouldn't be? But he had also started to think about the inconsistencies in the Headmasters decisions. He had to wonder how the Headmaster could be so intuitive, perceptive even, most of the time, and yet ate the same time continue to do things in Harry's 'best interest' or with 'good intentions' that turned out to be the worst things he could possibly do? It just didn't make sense. He didn't want to believe that the Headmaster was doing things to purposefully make his life miserable, but when he counted up all the times it had happened, he couldn't help but start to think that maybe it was possible.
After all, hadn't his very first Hogwarts letter been addressed to him in the 'Cupboard under the stairs?' Shouldn't that have been a clue? Added to the fact that he had asked repeatedly in his first few years (before he realized that it was futile) to stay anywhere but with the Dursleys? Even to stay a Hogwarts throughout the summer? And he knew that the Order was probably having him guarded again this summer, so why didn't they do anything when his Uncle hit him? Didn't they notice the bruises when he was working in the yard? Could they possibly think that having that many bruises was normal? Or even accidental? And what about Mrs. Figg? Harry could understand her never telling him she was a squib (on Professor Dumbledore's orders no doubt) but she knew what his relatives were like.
But whenever he started to go down that road, the implications just made his head swim. 'If the Headmaster had been letting this happen or had intended it to happen, then what else had he done?' Harry thought to himself, as he lay awake for yet another night. He had no idea how far he would go, he had always trusted Professor Dumbledore with everything, he had always been the one to help him, to take care of him, to tell him anything he had ever known about his family. If he started to doubt him now, where did it stop?
Then suddenly everything is his life was in question. Had the Professor led him to find the Philosopher's Stone in his first year? It was kind of ridiculous that something so important would be guarded by enchantments that three average first years could get by. But then had all his adventures in second and third year been contrived too? But then what about Cedric? How could someone as powerful as the Professor (who was an accomplished legimens and could see through an invisibility cloak) be fooled by a fake Moody with polyjuice potion? He had known Moody for years! So was that on purpose too? Was this too?
It was something that Harry had been obsessing about ever since he arrived at Privet Drive. And he didn't think he was any closer to figuring out what to feel, than when he had started. Finally he decided to just not decide. He knew he didn't really have enough information to prove his suspicions true or false. Harry resigned himself to just be cautious and take everything that the Professor said (and everyone else too really) with a grain of salt.
In the time he spent locked away in his room Harry re-read every book he had form all of his years at Hogwarts. Now that he knew for sure that this whole Voldemort problem was not going to go away by itself (as much as Harry really wished it would) he was trying to teach himself as much as possible. He knew that realistically most of the stuff he was reading wouldn't help him (unless he could somehow vanquish the Dark Lord with the neat spell he found for dusting) but he was fed up with feeling useless. And since no one seemed willing to teach him anything useful he did what he could with what he had. And as most of the stuff he read in his potions books he didn't remember ever reading before, he figured it was probably needed.
If Snape wanted to yell at him because he hated his father or hated him, that was fine. He couldn't change that. But at least he wouldn't be able to find fault with his work anymore. Harry was also amazed with how easy the spells and theory were to understand the second time round. He could remember vividly struggling to understand the concepts that now seemed old hat. Even though he couldn't actually do any of the spells he was reading about, he understood then so well that he just 'knew' that he would be able to do them if he tried. But even this 'new and improved' Harry could only read things over and over again so many time; he was out of books.
Harry got up off his bed and walked over to stare out his window. Hedwig was off delivering his latest profread (Uncle Vernon insisted on reading them beforehand) letter to the order. He scanned the horizon for her, even though he knew she couldn't really be expected back until tomorrow or the day after at the earliest. Bored, Harry made his way over to one corner of his room to take a look at the beat up bookcase that he had found as a new addition to the room when he arrived this summer.
Despite the fact that the Dursley's had resigned themselves to letting Harry 'borrow' Dudley's second bedroom, it was still very much Dudley's room. This new bookcase was just the latest in a nearly constant stream of broken and worn out toys that Dudley refused to part with, but agreed to relegate to 'storage' in his second room.
Harry had been profitting from the Dursley's non-interest in books for years. Long before he ever heard of Hogwarts he had taught himself to read during the long hours he spent locked in the cupboard under the stairs. He had never had an opportunity to have any books (or anything else for that matter) of his own, but had managed to squirrel away a few of Dudleys regets. Keeping them in his hidden shelf in the cupboard, and later in his Hogwarts trunk. Picking one of the unopened Shakespeare plays off the shelf at random Harry settled himself back down on his bed to read himself to sleep.
The next morning, after the usual slew of demeaning comments that was breakfast Aunt Petunia shoved Harry out to the garden to 'get bloody on with it' which Harry knew was his Aunt's own special way of asking him politely if he wouldn't mind spending some time weeding the garden. Harry, who knew enough about his relatives to take advantage of every opportunity to not be locked in his room, started weeding right away.
'Cold, cold, get out of my sun.' Harry started back in surprise and broke the weed he had been pulling off in the middle. Swearing, he glanced around, annoyed at himself that he had been paying so little attention to his surroundings that it had startled him so.
'So much for constant vigilance,' he muttered to himself. Despite the little snakes complaints, it was actaully one of the hottest days so far this summer at Privet Drive. Being forced to work out in Aunt Petunias garden most days rain or shine had already garnered Harry quite a tan. And despite (or as he liked to think, just for spite) the bruising and injury caused by Uncle Vernon and Dudleys 'accidental' kicks and shoves Harry had managed to grow another couple of inches and put on a bit of muscle. He reconed that had he not been wearing cast-off shorts from Dudley, his pants would have been a couple of inches too short. Jolting himself out of his reveree Harry smiled down at the snake that had been nappin in a sunbeam. He whispered a quick 'Hello little one, sorry for disturbing you' in parseltongue, careful to speak low enough so that if any of his relatives happened to be passing by they wouldn't hear him flagrently displaying his abnormality (what if the neighbours had heard!)
The snake peered up at him skeptically, 'Watch yourself with the 'little one' snakespeaker,' she whispered. 'Asp's, while known for their beauty, wisdom and venom, are however, not known for their size. At any age.'
'Oh. Right. Sorry.' Stammered Harry, glancing over his shoulders anxiously not wanting to give the Dursleys any opportunity to punish him, and started to weed again.
'That is alright, you are young and still have much to learn about the world.'
'What is your name?' Whispered Harry.
'Kate.' Kate said.
'Well Kate, my name is Harry. Do you live around here?'
'No. I was born in Egypt. In a pet shop. I was being, I think the word is 'shipped' to a person, place, store, I'm not really sure. But something must have happened, there was a lot of noise and my cage broke open, so I left. I found myself to the side of a road, and have been on my own ever since.' She looked up at Harry and shivered. 'It's so cold here, how do you manage?'
'If you think it's cold now, wait until winter,' Harry snickered. 'England isn't like Egypt, it snows here.'
Kate stared at him wide eyed. 'Snow?' She gasped. ' I can't live in the snow! I . . . I' she stuttered.
'If you would like,' Harry whispered, 'you could live with me. You could stay with me in my room here, or in the garden for the summer, and then come with me to school in the fall.'
Kate looked up ar him appraisingly. 'Alright Harry, I'll come and live with you for the summer and we'll see how it goes.' Harry smiled, and nodded.
'Are you happy there for now?' he asked, 'While I'm working In the yard?'
'No, let me sit on your neck. It's warmer, in direct sunlight, and I don't have to yell so you can hear me.' And with that she slithered up his arm and wrapped herself aroun Harry's neck.
And so Harry spent the next few hours in the garden talking to Kate as he worked. Telling her the story of his life. How his parents dies, how Cedric died, how Sirius died. Kate had been sympathetic in the right places, proud in the right places, and righteouslt angry when he relayed how Professor Dumbledore had kept secrets from him his entire life. Including the fact that he continued to force Harry back to his relatives 'care' every summer even though he knew how they treated hom. 'After all,' he told her, 'just because they don't beat me, beat me, doesn't mean that getting tripped, and kicked, and pushed down the stairs every day is my idea of a dream home.'
'Well,' she said, after she and Harry had been locked into his room for the night, 'Why haven't you been sleeping?' After Harry spent ten minutes ranting about having no new books, and then explaing why this was so important.
'I have nightmares' Harry replied simply.
'But didn't you say that Occumalency thingy was supposed to keep nightmares away?'
'You remenber me telling you about my Professors? Professor Snape was teaching me Occumalency last year . . .' and Harry realyed the whole secret pensive, worst memory, being thrown out by Snape event.
'Well,' Kate said, 'What about those exercises he gave you? Have you been doing those?'
'No.' Harry admitted.
'Weell,' said Kate, 'What do you think? Maybe it would be a good idea to start doing them again?' In a tone that sounded an awful lot like a scolding Hermione. 'And maybe you could get a book about Occumalency and teach yourself? You found learning other magic stuff out of books easier? Right? You were saying it came easier now for some reason, maybe Occumalency will too?'
'Well I guess it couldn't hurt.' Harry said. 'And it would be nice to be able to sleep again' he thought to himself. Harry spent the next hour clearing his mind and for the first time in weeks when he fell asleep, it wasn't with his face in a book.