First Steps
by: Whomping Willow
***
Chapter two: Nightdreams and Daymares ~
Harry stepped into Dudley's second bedroom – he still thought of it that way sometimes; he'd had too many reminders already that nothing beyond his cupboard was truly his. The first thing he noticed was a large barn owl sharing Hedwig's perch. "Hello there," he greeted cordially as it stuck out its leg. Definitely a school owl he confirmed as he removed the envelope and spied the Hogwarts seal. "A bit early for the usual start of term notice, isn't it" he said expecting no response. Once relieved of its missive it left through the open window. Tearing open the letter he saw that he was correct. Instead of the usual summer correspondence he held in his shaking hands his O.W.L. results. Gulping audibly, he let his eyes scan the page:
HOGWARTS SCHOOL
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
~~~~~~~~~~~
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc. , Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr. Potter:
We are pleased to inform you the results of your O.W.L. testing have been received and accounted for. Your schedule of studies for your sixth year is to be based entirely upon these results. Your new list of course books and equipment should be arriving as usual.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
Outstanding
Outstanding
Exceeds Expectations . . .
His eyes stopped there. [ Exceeds Expectations ] better than he thought possible for himself in Potions, but not good enough. His mouth went dry. How would he ever become an Auror if he wasn't allowed to take N.E.W.T.S. level Potions? He crumpled the paper in his hands and threw it to the floor. What did the rest of it matter – what did any of it matter . . . ?
Before another moment could be wasted on his growing list of 'if only . . .' the front door opened and closed with a slam. "BOY!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the foot of the stairs. "Where was that ruddy owl going?" He pounded heavily up the stairs and descended on the room like a thunder cloud. "Now what have you been telling those FREAKS?!"
With those words, his eyes glazed over as his mind flashed back to the start of his summer holidays . . . Vernon's purpled face screaming, "OK you little ingrate, what exactly have you been telling those FREAKS?! What was all that about at the station . . . ?"
"N-nothing– I haven't said anything, to anyone . . . " said Harry trying to conceal his stammer behind a defiant glare. Backing further away as his uncle loomed over him, hands fisted in anger. "Perhaps it was my professor," he said knowing without a doubt it was not. "He used a spell – could see my memories – sort of read my mind . . ." Of course Vernon had nothing to fear from Snape seeing his memories – Snape would sooner encourage his treatment than put a stop to it, but perhaps if he thought he did – he'd leave him alone . . . or not. Talk of spells always left Vernon in a foul temper, best not to forget the rules again.
Back to the present, Harry realized too late that he still hadn't answered his uncle's question. It seems as though he'll be fixing his glasses on the Hogwarts Express once again this year . . .
"I'm warning you now, Boy – Owls only leave when I say they do, or the bars will be back and that ruddy bird will not be the only one locked in for the rest of the summer. Now, what did you send?"
"It was just a school owl sir . . . just letting me know that one of my elective courses was full. I'll have to choose another when I return in September." He lied as smoothly as possible – knowing the truth would only cause them to taunt him about his grades. His own disappointment at his Potions grade was still fresh in his mind. "It needed no response and flew off immediately," he said and hoped his uncle attributed his dampened brow to the heat of the stuffy room.
His uncle glowered, "If I find you've been lying to me you'll wish you'd never been born." He exited the room slamming the door and the click of locks soon followed.
Harry casually wondered what had put his uncle in such a foul mood. He had been in fine spirits at breakfast . . . His idle musings were cut short. The answer echoed down the hall –
"Really Vernon, everyone gets confused their first time on a roundabout. It's hardly Dudley's fault. I'm sure he was just nervous. Weren't you Diddykins? He'll just have to retake the test next week in your car . . ."
Vernon groaned. "It was brand-new – not a scratch on it!"
"Now Vernon, they said at the shop they could fix it, just like new," Petunia chided.
Harry snickered softly, tuning out the remaining discussion and turned to his homework.
Concentration did not come easy. He studied in preparation for the new term, but his mind wandered to Occlumency – A subject that, had he practiced – (a knot formed in his stomach) if he had focused properly on his studies he could have . . . NO, would have saved lives . . . his godfather's life. If not for that vision . . . What was he thinking, his friends could have been killed? How many more lives will it take . . . How many more subjects were being neglected in the same fashion . . . Is it possible his lack of potions skill could someday get someone killed . . . With renewed vigor he once again concentrated upon his studies, intent on not failing again.
The door was unlocked late in the evening, giving Harry enough time to tidy up a bit and go to the loo. He was sent to bed without supper, but was not surprised considering the foul mood his uncle was in. Upon his return, the door was latched. He had to admit, the Dursleys hadn't been too terrible today as he pulled a snack out from underneath the loose floor boards.
He began his nightly ritual of meditation, with cleansing breaths and a clear mind. The night was cooler than the day had been, but a warm breeze blew in. The thin curtains danced in the wind casting moving shadows on the walls. The play of moonlight in the dim room was soothing and soon he was asleep. He found himself in familiar surroundings . . .
The strong stone walls of Hogwarts are always a comfort, but the sight of Snape, the Potions Master, is most certainly not. Standing before him in the room of so many failed Occlumency lessons, he tried to speak . . . Before a word left his mouth Snape chided, "Have you nothing to say for yourself Potter? – Perhaps your 'family' should be allowed to speak for you then."
The Dursleys huddled together awkwardly in the shadows near the wall. "PATHETIC FREAK," they spat in unison, hate blazing in their eyes. They looked strangely out of place in a way that no Muggle-born ever did. Muggles in Hogwarts . . . Magic fearing Muggles in Hogwarts, was a strange sight indeed.
Harry was shocked by their presence in the place he had considered his true home since he was eleven. He tried to ignore them. "I-I thought you weren't teaching me Occlumency anymore, sir? Did Professor Dumbledore make you change your mind?"
"Hardly Potter . . . I was merely curious about what you are planning next. How are you preparing to stand against the Dark Lord? Do you think he will take one look at the famous Harry Potter and simply fall down dead at your feet? I think not . . . although if you were to greet him in that particular ensemble, anything is possible . . ."
Harry looked down at the dingy clothes he had fallen asleep in. Still wearing Dudley's overlarge, threadbare hand-me-downs . . . his cheeks tinged pink.
"INGRATE," Vernon bellowed, followed by Petunia. "THANKLESS WRETCH! Under our roof, food off our table, never satisfied."
"Have you nothing to say to that either, Potter? I see they know you rather well . . ." Snape looked so pleased with himself, he almost forgot to sneer. Harry's discomfort was evident as his hands twisted the hem of the overlarge T-shirt with his eyes fixed on the floor.
"GOOD FOR NOTHING . . ."
"I do believe they forgot spoiled, arrogant, meddling . . ."
"Please sir," Harry interrupted. "Sir – I know I was wrong. I looked into your Pensive . . . I invaded your privacy and it was unforgivable. I've neglected my studies and let everyone down. I put them in danger and I deserve the blame. I'm worthless and don't deserve another chance, but I want to try . . . I have to do better. I have to be better."
"Something is different. You've . . . changed Potter. Is it the loss of your Dog-father? What is going on, in that empty head of yours? What are you up to?"
Swallowing down the insult to Sirius he responded calmly. "Thinking sir, I've been doing lots of it."
"NO GOOD WORTHLESS LAYABOUT," declared the Dursleys with distaste at the idea of sitting around thinking.
"I can see that Potter. What shall you do with this new found skill of yours?" Snape watched as Harry once again refused to rise to the bait. "Perhaps Dumbledore is right after all. You aren't your father . . ."
Harry looked up at the Potions Master and for one brief moment the customary sneer was gone . . .
For the first time in over a month, Harry woke up neither angry nor sobbing. He sat quietly listening to the snores in the next room and thought about what this latest dream could mean, before drifting dreamlessly back to sleep.
***
Far from the safety of number four, Privet Drive, Lord Voldemort sat in a private meeting with Wormtail, groveling at his feet. Wormtail was not a favorite of the Dark Lord. He viewed him as weak and a coward, but even those less suitable for the Dark Lord's service still had their moments of worth. Voldemort was rather pleased with the new information he'd received, but was presently dissatisfied with its source.
Leaning back casually in his throne playing idly with his wand, he announced. "You will speak of this matter to no one. It is best kept between us two. I will not have this plan fouled by spies or my over zealous followers, looking to redeem themselves after their failure at the Ministry. Is that understood?"
"Y-yes, My Lord. I am humbled by your faith in me, your l-loyal servant." He was breathing rapidly and shifted nervously on the floor.
"What I fail to understand Wormtail, is why you have not thought to come forward with this information before? Much precious time has been wasted . . . surely you didn't deem it too insignificant to bring to my attention . . ." the slitted pupils of his snakelike eyes narrowed.
"Forgive me, My Lord – I only just remembered – memories sparked by your words. Lilly's Muggle sister . . . I hadn't thought . . . and that Dumbledore would leave the boy with her . . ." He winced as the Dark Lord rose from the throne.
"Enough of your sniveling – Listen carefully to my words for further inspiration. Your memories should all be sparked by this one, Crucio!"
The curse was lifted only after tears of agony joined his screams. "You will do well not to fail me this time . . ."
"Yes Master," he whimpered from the floor, then rose to do as his Lord bade.
***
The door opened and Uncle Vernon strode in, displaying a plate of breakfast and the key to Hedwig's cage. "You know what day it is, Boy – do you have them ready? Let me see them."
Harry handed over a small stack of parchment, letters to his friends and the Order, assuring them of his uncle's fine treatment. He tried to avoid out right lies in favor of half-truths. He knew it was best not to cause trouble for his aunt and uncle, despite the inconvenience to himself. Dumbledore told him that he needed to return to their home every year for his safety, and a visit from the Order now wouldn't make them any more benevolent.
Once his uncle was satisfied with the content of the letters, Hedwig was released from her cage. Harry then received his breakfast. She didn't wait for the offer of sausage and scarcely had patience enough for him to attach the letters to her leg before stretching her wings and disappearing out the window into the early mornings light.
The remainder of the day was spent scrubbing the house – Harry didn't mind much, after all the hard work kept him from brooding about the death of Sirius. Windows and floors, kitchen and bath, all getting the top to bottom treatment Aunt Petunia demanded twice a week – during summer holidays only of course. She followed behind checking that nothing was missed. When something didn't quite meet her satisfaction, he was cuffed sharply on the head; all witnessed through now streak-free windows, by the sharp prying eyes of a very nosey rat.
The unseen visitor watched for several days, from a careful distance, wary of the wards and any Order members sent to keep an eye on the boy. Each day went by much like the first, normally only the chores changing, but occasionally Harry was even lent out to a neighbor to help with their chores. Those were the days that he spent with Mrs. Figg.
Harry had known Mrs. Figg for a very long time. She babysat him when the Dursleys didn't want to take him along somewhere fun like the zoo or the water park. He didn't like it there when he was young. Her house always smelled of cabbage and cats. When she would babysit him, she would make him look through old photo albums filled with pictures of all the cats she'd ever owned. Last summer Harry had learned that she was a squib and had been looking out for him since he was a little boy. Although at first he was angry with Dumbledore and the mad old lady, he was starting to understand a little of the secrecy that had surrounded him since childhood.
Now, about once a week, Aunt Petunia would get a telephone call from Mrs. Figg asking for Harry to come by and "help with a few things about the house." His aunt always agreed, happy to have him out of her hair for a while. They didn't actually do much more than talk and drink tea. It gave Harry a chance to discuss abnormal things and learn more about the culture and traditions wizards grow up with. He learned about magical households from her stories of her childhood, and about squibs. She even made sure he knew of the latest news of Voldemort and how the Ministry was reacting to his reappearance. He found her perspective to be a unique blend of both Magical and Muggle and despite the generation gap they learned to get along well. The best thing about these chats was it kept Harry from getting frustrated with his time at the Dursleys and bottling up his feelings.
The rat always keeping his distance – thanks to Mr. Tibbles and the rest of Mrs. Figg's cats – still he saw enough about Harry to make his master very happy. The plan should go well.
His mind occasionally wandered to another raven haired boy he knew so many years before. He tried not to think of those days – those people lost to him now, killed by his own treachery. He tried not to think of the wizards debt owed the young man he watched . . . he betrayed. It's hard to not think – so much to not think about. 'James . . . my friend . . . what have I done . . .'
***
In the years since Harry had started Hogwarts, he had become accustomed to a certain sense of isolation over the summer. It was a drastic change to go back to his oppressive life with the Dursleys after a school year surrounded with magic and friends. This summer was different though. Not only did he have regular visits with Mrs. Figg, but he was also aware of the fact he was being watched. At first it was just a funny feeling he had once in a while in the back of his mind, but then he started paying closer attention and figured it out. He knew Dumbledore had the Order keep an eye on him last summer and this year was to be the same. The only difference now, was the fact he knew he was being watched. He started looking forward to those times when he was allowed out of the house, so he could check-up on his keepers.
He tried to recognize who it was on duty beneath the invisibility cloak, with some measure of success. If he caught the smell of smoke and Fire Whiskey in the air that would most certainly mean Mundungus. Tonks was easily recognized as well. She would inevitably trip over something and Harry would call softly to her over his shoulder, "Hey Tonks," knowing she wasn't allowed to reply. Not all were so easy though. Mad-eye was especially difficult. Despite his wooden leg, he could move with surprising stealth. The day that he caught Mad-eye Harry said quietly, "constant vigilance," Moody's soft growl was his only reply.
There were a few days where he could tell someone was there, but it wasn't a comfort at all. He wondered who it was those days and why they made him feel so uneasy.
***
In a darkened chamber of Riddle Manor, Wormtail bowed low once again to his Master, kissing his robe in reverence. "I bring news, My Lord. N-news of Harry Potter," he squeaked.
"Speak."
"Everything is as I said – he is there, with the Muggles. The wards surrounding the house are weak and will be of little protection . . ." as his voice broke off he thought, 'there is no love for him there.'
"Excellent – you have inspected the building including all means of entry?"
"Yes, My Lord – it's a simple place, only two doors, front and back – it should be easy to secure."
"What of the Muggles?" demanded the Dark Lord.
He shuddered at the memory. "T-terrible, they are the worst sort. Boorish . . . A pleasure to kill, but hardly worth the wand."
"You have done well, Wormtail. You will be included in this raid, I believe. It would be a shame to exclude you after all your efforts toward its success."
"Thank you, My Lord," he replied, unsure of whether he should be pleased with the news or not.
"Harry Potter shall be mine . . . As the seventh month dies, so shall he."
With all the customary bowing and scraping, Wormtail took his leave.
***
It was a rainy morning, a bit cool for July and the sun even seemed hesitant to rise and fight its way through the clouds, but there was no lounging about in the Dursley home. Today was – the big day – or rather another big day. It had been a week since Dudley's disastrous encounter with the roundabout and he was scheduled to retake his drivers' test.
There was noticeably less gloating on Dudley's part. His new car was still in the shop for repairs. He was looking considerably more nervous this time around, but still managed a healthy portion of bacon and eggs. Vernon looked no less proud, but perhaps a bit wary, this time it was to be his car after all.
Dudley wasn't quite back to his old self this summer. Last year's encounter with the dementors affected him more than he would admit. At times he seemed perfectly normal, crass and loud, then without warning he would turn sullen. Vernon had prohibited any mention of the event and warned Harry to stay clear of his son, a rule Harry happily adhered to. No Harry-Hunting meant there was one less thing he had to lie to the Order about.
Under the watchful eye of Vernon, Hedwig was sent off with another note for the Order. The Dursleys headed off immediately thereafter. Today he was left to fend for himself where breakfast was concerned. Alone at last he started on the toast . . . As soon as the bread went into the toaster, the telephone rang.
He was somewhat apprehensive. He'd never been allowed to use the telephone before this summer, but his friends had started calling for him recently and he had been allowed the calls albeit grudgingly . . . Decision made – Harry picked it up before it stopped ringing.
"Hello?" He said with caution.
"Harry? Thank Goodness. I'm so glad I finally reached you. I was starting to worry."
"Hermione, it's good to hear from you too, but what do you mean finally – it only rang three times?"
"What do I mean? Harry, haven't you been getting my messages? I've been trying to reach you all week."
"Uh– no, sorry my cousin must've forgot to tell me. I'm doing fine though, keepin' busy with my studies."
"So you said in your letters, did you get your O.W.L. results yet? I got all Outstandings except for Ast– "
"What the – Smoke? Bloody hell? . . . 'Mione, I'm fine, but I've gotta go . . . burnin' breakfast." His voice trailed off as he dropped the phone and ran to save the toaster.
***
Still munching distastefully on irreparably charred toast, Harry dug through his school trunk. He knew he should call Hermione back soon to further explain his hasty dismissal, but there was one more book he needed and it was best to do all lock-picking while the Dursleys were out. He wasn't aware that the telephone receiver hadn't caught and now lay useless on the floor . . . or that Hermione was getting impatient with the busy signal she received on every attempt.
Harry panicked when he heard sounds at the front door. That odd feeling was back again. It couldn't have been much more than thirty minutes since Dudley pulled out of the driveway and it took far longer than that for him to crash last time . . . Either way it would not do well to be caught in the act. Thinking fast, Harry dove into the cupboard pulling the door shut softly behind him. He hoped they wouldn't notice the missing padlock. As an additional precaution he pulled his father's invisibility cloak out, draping it over him completely. Silently closing the trunk he crouched in the corner and waited. He was painfully aware that his soon to be sixteen-year-old body, was no longer a comfortable fit in the confined space; even when he was a small eleven-year-old, he hadn't had to share the space with his trunk. He did his best to get comfortable, not knowing how long he'd have to wait.
***
Outside of number four, Privet Drive, a group gathered with anxious faces hidden behind white masks. One cold voice broke the silence, "It is time . . ."
***
tbc . . .
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