Free Will - Harry Potter and the Prelude to War
By: Gladiator Union
Prologue - No Longer
It is strange how being fatigued can effect a person's perception of the world. At first, when you are just a little drowsy, everything seems to move slightly slower. As you progress into truly tired, the world changes to a blurred mosaic. Sounds, sights, smells, and tastes blur and distort. Finally you reach the peak of true exhaustion, both physical and mental, where the world seems like it is detached. Separate. It feels like you have stepped back from reality and are merely an observer. Yet at the same time you are still grounded in reality. Everything is still there, but the world seems to float at the periphery of your mind.
Harry James Potter knew all of these levels of exhaustion very well. For the last month since Voldemort's return he had been dealing with all of them. So much so that Harry honestly couldn't remember the last time he wasn't tired.
Currently Harry was in the most superficial stage of exhaustion. He watched with mild fascination as the street lamps at the side of the motorway seemed to fuse together and split apart like they had never done before as they sped by him.
Harry clamped his eyes shut for a moment before giving his head a small shake to clear it. This was not the time to zone out. Shifting uncomfortably in his seat he decided that looking strait ahead would be a better view. The lamp posts were not entirely hypnotic when he looked strait. In slow, jerky, motions Harry pushed his glasses to his forehead and rubbed his eyes wearily before finally returning to true consciousness.
He was sitting in the passenger seat of his Uncles Vernon's new car. He had no idea what it was but it was small, sleek, sporty, and utterly impractical. Harry rather liked it. Surprisingly enough his Uncle had not paid Harry a single insult since he had picked him up. Then again, his Uncle Vernon hadn't said anything since he had picked him up. Not that Harry was complaining. In his current mood he might accidentally send the car swerving off the road and save Voldemort the trouble of killing him. And knowing his Uncle nothing he said to Harry was going to be good. His Uncle and Aunt hated him with a passion. They hated everything that wasn't 'normal', as they put it. And Harry definitely wasn't what you would call a 'normal' boy.
His story started thirteen and a half years ago. October 31st, 1981. Halloween. That night millions of lips spoke a common phrase: 'Harry Potter' and 'The Boy Who Lived'. The name was said with many different emotions from different people. Awe, glee, fear, happiness, sadness, horror, sympathy, hatred, and a thousand combinations of the above. Those millions of people made up a secret world, beneath what normal human perception can detect. A world built on a concept that most believe is nothing but a fairy tale: magic.
This world knew better than to think it a fairy tale or trick. This world knew it was a living, tangible force. This was a world made up of wizards and witches and creatures beyond description. Harry, of course, was part of this world - a wizard.
Harry pondered his life thus far as he stared at the motorway ahead of him. It began with the brutal murder of his parents at the hands of Lord Voldemort. The act that had thrown him into the unwilling custody of his only blood relatives; his Aunt and Uncle. Ten long and tiring years of struggling through life with the Dursleys. Ten years of having no one there that he could call a true friend. Ten years in which he did not know love, nor caring.
Then it had all changed on his eleventh birthday. He had been thrown into a world so alien to him that he could barely comprehend it. Not that he had been thrown unwillingly. And so he had gone to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the first year of his magical education. He had been given everything he ever wanted; money, fame, friendship, mystery, excitement, and to a certain extent - love. He had quickly tired of his newfound fame and fortune but the other, more lasting things were still a great source of happiness for Harry.
And then he had been given his first, small, taste of what the Wizarding World feared so much. Voldemort. The Dark Lord. You Know Who. He Who Must Not Be Named. Him. It. Even in that weak, haggard, state of being, leeching life off of Quirell, Harry had been terrified. But it had not been his hissing voice or deformed figure that had frightened Harry. No. It had been his eyes. Even in that form they held such incredible power, and intelligence, and wisdom. He had never seen that kind of power.
Then had come his Second Year at Hogwarts, and with it Dobby the house elf. Harry smiled at the thought of the eccentric little elf. His second year had introduced him to the darker side of the Wizarding Community. That year he had been given a crash course in conspiracy and lies. Both in forming and seeing through them. He had felt what the loss, or almost-loss, of a friend felt like at it had been proven to him who his true friends were. He had discovered a part of himself so rare it was considered evil, and then he had had to save one of his friends, one of his true friends. That thing, a Basilisk, King of Serpents, a soul twisted with a thousand years of solitude. And then there had been Riddle. . . no, Voldemort. Tom Riddle had died the day his soul was corrupted. He had faced that damned snake and the shadow with nothing but a sword and a phoenix. And had somehow not only survived, but won.
Harry's third year had been far more emotionally challenging than his first two. He had been forced to face his parents' death head on and had been awoken to the startling possibility that his parents' murder was the result of the betrayal of a friend of theirs…and that Harry had been orphaned by his own godfather. He had faced his greatest fear and had traversed the rivers of time themselves. He had slowly worked his way through the tangled web of lies and deceit to uncover the true betrayer of his parents. And had found his godfather in the process. Sirius Black; convict, only man to ever escape Azkaban. Framed for betrayal and murder. Harry had met new friends and new enemies that year; and made decisions he would question for the rest of his life.
Then came last year. It had been Harry's most trying and difficult year yet. The year that had started when Death Eaters had sent up the Dark Mark at the Quiddich World Cup. His year had gotten worse as he had been entered into, against his will, The Triwizard Tournament. And so his year went on as he struggles through and angry dragon, a group of Merpeople, and a deadly Maze; not to mention a misunderstanding between friends. All the while trying to unravel the mystery of who the hell was trying to kill him this time. And then it had happened. One of Harry's worst nightmares had been realized. Lord Voldemort had risen, using Harry's own blood to facilitate his rebirth. He had dueled with Voldemort and, by and incredible spark of luck, had survived long enough to escape. But although Harry had escaped relatively unscathed, everyone had not been so lucky. Cidric Diggory. A man Harry had come to think of as one of his few friends had died. The first casualty of Voldemort's second rise to power, but undoubtedly not the last.
For a moment Harry closed his eyes and allowed his emotions to run through him. His fear at Voldemort's rising, his anger at Fudge, his annoyance at Dumbeldore, his guilt over Cidric's death. They all rampaged through his mind, tearing at his synapses, fighting for dominance in his thoughts until finally, after only seconds; Harry's mind was in complete chaos. And then Harry regained his control as Lupin had taught him to do so long ago.
The words floated through his mind as he called forth the memories of lazy Sundays spent by the lake with Ron and Hermione, of warm blue eyes looking at him from the haggard face of a man accused of so many wrongs that were not his, and of the excitement that ran through him as he lifted the Quidditch cup high above his head.
Expecto Patronum
Harry reopened his eyes once he had regained control and smiled slightly at the warm feeling that rested within him at those memories. It was a small smile, and behind it there was a great deal of pain, but it was genuine and felt refreshing to someone that had not smiled in such a way in too long.
He allowed his mind to dance along memories of those people in his world that meant so much to him, the people that made his life worth living.
Ron. A bit of a stubborn prat at times, granted, but when you get down to it one of the most passionate people you will ever get the chance to know. The kind of person that once he's made up his mind, the hand of Voldemort himself couldn't sway him.
Hermione. Beautiful inside and out. A bit of a bookworm at times, and admittedly a bit of a Nazi when she's in charge – but that was just Hermione. She could be reclusive and shy sometimes, but when it comes down to it she's fiercely protective of her own.
Fred and George. You have to put these two together even when you're thinking of them. Neither the smartest nor the most well prepared wizards in the world. But also born with the biggest heart you could possibly fit in their chest and the simple ambition to make people, including themselves, laugh.
Sirius. Grim and cynical at times but also filled with childish joy. And loyal to a fault. An eternal paradox but one of the few people that Harry would trust, not only with his life, but with the lives of the people he cares about…well with the exception of Sirius himself that, in Harry's opinion, should take much better care of himself.
Harry was broken from his thoughts as he felt the car hit an abrupt bump and noticed that his Uncle was turning off of the motorway. They were only another 15 minuets from the Dursley household.
Harry's smile vanished to be replaced with scowl as he saw a silver Vauxhall pulled off the motorway behind them. My keepers, he thought with disgust.
Memories of his 'discussion' with the headmaster that morning flooded Harry as he glared into the rearview mirror at the offending vehicle.
"You wanted to see me Professor?" Harry asked as he entered the Headmaster's Office. Professor McGonagall had come to Gryffindor Tower almost twenty minuets before to inform him that the Headmaster wanted to see him and to supply him with the password. He had just finished packing away the pair of robes he had worn yesterday that the house elves had left on his trunk when she came and he hadn't had time to take a shower yet. Harry had quickly gone to the communal bathroom shared by his dorm mates and him and taken a quick shower before heading up to Dumbledore's office. His hair was still wet.
"Harry," Dumbledore greeted with a smile. "Please, take a seat." He said, gesturing to the armchairs across from him.
"What can I do for you sir?"
"We must discuss you living arrangements this summer, Harry." Dumbledore said in a gentle tone of voice. Harry hated that voice. It usually meant that Dumbledore was going to tell him something he wasn't going to like.
"I thought that I was going to be staying with the Dursleys again." He said with a bit of confusion before all color drained from his face, "The Dursleys are all right aren't they? Nothings happened to them?" Harry continued more urgently.
"Calm yourself Harry; your relatives are in the best of health." Dumbledore said comfortingly.
Oh shit, gentle tone and comforting tone in one conversation. I'm really not going to like what he has to say. "So I am going to be staying with them this summer?" Harry backtracked.
"Yes Harry, you will be staying with the Dursleys this summer. In fact I am going to have to ask you to stay at the Dursleys all summer rather than going to the Weasleys as is you custom."
While Harry was slightly disappointed by this he knew there had to be more to it than that. No way was Dumbledore walking on eggshells over this. Harry simply waited.
Dumbledore sighed deeply before speaking, "Harry, I believe that, in light of Lord Voldemort's return, it would be best if you had greater protection."
Harry was starting to think he understood where this was going but wanted to make sure. "So, you are going to increase the protective wards around Privet Drive?" Harry didn't even have to wait for the answer; he saw it in the Headmaster's eyes.
"The wards around Privet Drive are some of the most secure in England Harry. The ministry itself is more susceptible to attack, though admittedly it could defend itself better once the wards were breached. I believe that the safest course of action is to supply you with an entourage…"
"No." Harry said flatly.
"Harry…"
"No, Professor. I don't need keepers, or bodyguards, or whatever the hell you want to call them." Harry said with more fire in his tone, "Professor, please, I can't take some of the few people brave enough to believe that Voldemort still lives away from the cause so that they can baby sit me. I can't and I won't" Harry continued.
Dumbledore sighed wearily and for just a moment his eyes lost all of their twinkle. "Harry, I'm sorry but the decision is not yours to make." Albus looked down and began sorting through papers on his desk. "You should go now before you miss breakfast; it is a long train ride." Dumbledore said in way of dismissal.
Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment in shock. Harry had been complaining about just this for years, but this is the first time someone other than him had put it into words. I'm sorry but the decision is not yours to make. He rose slowly from the chair. His muscles seemed sluggish to respond to his command as they tried to decide on their own whether to tense in anger or sag in defeat. Finally standing Harry stalked to the door to the office.
Just as Harry's hand touched the handle he heard Dumbledore's quiet words, "You must trust me, Harry."
Spinning around Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he glared at the headmaster. "That's all I do Dumbledore," the name sounded strange when being said to the person himself, "Trust you. Yet you don't trust me. I wish I could be the child you treat me like, but I'm not. The child you seem to think I should be, died the day Voldemort cast the Avada Kedavra on me. I'm what's left. The survivor. You want me to trust you Dumbledore? Then start trusting me. How did I survive that curse when I was little? It couldn't have just been my mothers love or there would be a lot more Boy Who Lived-s running around. Why did I survive and why did that curse rebound on Voldemort?"
"Harry, I can't tell…"
"Bullshit!" Harry spat, "You won't. But that's okay, let's try for another. Why did you let Quirell get so close to the stone my first year? Snape must have told you of his suspicions and you have made it abundantly clear that you trust him, so why gamble it all on a first year?" Harry glared at the Headmaster but he said nothing.
Dumbledore's silence deflated Harry of all his anger. He seemed to literally become smaller, his shoulders sagging as if a great weight lay on them. Without a word he left the office.
As Harry left the Headmaster raised his gaze from the papers on his desk to the closed door. His eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "Oh Harry, I know your not a child. How could I not know, when it was I who stole your innocents?"
Harry broke his glare and looked out the window. It wasn't really their fault. Dumbledore had asked them to watch him. He just felt so useless. Like he had no control over his own life. He knew he sounded like a spoiled brat, but didn't he have the right to be a brat on occasion?
No, Answered the voice in his head. That voice was annoying as hell. It was almost always right.
If he was honest with himself it wasn't his 'entourage', as Dumbledore had called it, which was bothering him, but that he hadn't had a choice. He had been called to that office to be informed of what would be happening and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.
It felt like a kind of betrayal, and Harry didn't even know why.
As he had pointed out in that office earlier, the Headmaster had been pulling his strings in the background since his first year at Hogwarts, and he had known it. So why was it so different now? Why did it hurt so much to hear Dumbledore say those words? I'm sorry but the decision is not yours to make.
Harry could only find one answer: this time when Dumbledore had used him as a pawn, he had lost. And someone had died. Dumbledore had been tested and it was proven that however wise he was, he was not omniscient. And if he wasn't all-knowing – then how could he make those kinds of decisions about Harry's life without consulting him?
Harry didn't feel that he had been betrayed by Dumbledore, not really. But he was being forced to realize that Dumbledore was just human…and that was hard to accept. He, of all people, knew that he had no reason to be angry at Dumbledore because he couldn't live up to the myth the Wizarding World wove around him. And he defiantly couldn't truly fault Dumbledore for doing everything in his power to protect him, but knowing that didn't make any less angry. Nor did it make him feel any less useless.
Harry hated feeling like this. He didn't know what to do. All he did know is he was tired of being used. Used by anyone.
Some had used him for superficial things. Lockhart had used him to bolster his own fame and stroke his ego and Snape was still using him as a way to get back at his father. But others weren't so superficial.
Crouch Jr. had used him too, and he had done it so smoothly that not even Dumbledore had seen through it. Crouch had imitated Mad Eye Moody and had played the part flawlessly, so much so that in less than a year Harry had trusted Crouch as much as he would trust Dumbledore himself.
Then there had been Voldemort himself. It all came back to him in the end. Voldemort had been playing him for as long as Dumbledore had, just with slightly less success, until his last attempt at least. Even after Harry escaped, that night could not be called anything but one of Lord Voldemort's finest. He had finally beaten Dumbledore in their game of chess and returned from the dead all in the same night, using Harry's own blood to do it no less.
Harry sighed deeply as his Uncle turned on to Privet Drive. He was so tired of being someone else's pawn. No more. He wouldn't be used by Dumbledore again; he had seen how well that turned out. If he was going to make blunders as big as he had during the third task, then he would do it on his own, knowing it was his choice. And he would rather die than allow himself to be Voldemort's pawn again.
No more.
To Be Continued