First Steps

by: Whomping Willow ~

Disclaimer: I own nothing worth taking, especially not Harry Potter.

***

Chapter five: Fight or Flight ~


Despite the carefully coordinated efforts of the Order of the Phoenix, the search was going nowhere. They had searched the area surrounding Privet Drive very carefully before breaking up into smaller groups to search the surrounding neighborhoods.

It was conceivable that Harry had been struck by a curse and landed fully covered by his cloak leaving him simultaneously unconscious and invisible. That possibility was enough to make them search every lawn and garden on Privet Drive with great care.

Remaining unseen by Muggles was still imperative and invisibility was a difficult thing to come by. Invisibility cloaks were scarce and it took skill and power to become invisible without one which made the search a time-consuming task. It was made slightly easier as daylight faded in the overcast sky. Dumbledore enlisted the aid of the Put-Outer when street lamps threatened to give them away. Remus thought more than once how much easier this would be if Padfoot were here.

***

Harry walked down a narrow rain slicked street. It was slow progress hiding himself and his broom carefully under the cloak, but not near so bad as hiding himself and Ron for a trip to Hogwart's kitchens. He remained acutely aware of his surroundings and stopped walking entirely when anyone passed by. He was afraid of alerting someone of his presence with the sound of his footsteps. It was impossible to keep track of how far he'd come or even how long he'd been walking. Even if he'd had his watch on it was still hard for him to focus sometimes with his busted spectacles and scar burning incessantly. He was sore and tired. He had even tripped on the edge of his cloak once reminding himself of Tonks. What he wouldn't give to have her watching over him now, he mused.

He could tell Voldemort was furious. Harry had spoiled his plans again and the Death Eaters had been paying for it in pain. Better them than me – Perhaps Bellatrix had been punished . . . he couldn't bear to even finish that thought. If he started feeling better, because of the suffering of another, that was . . . well, that would make him as bad as Voldemort. He hoped if he kept his mind clear the burning would let up a bit or at least he wouldn't end up with an inconvenient vision. It had seemed to work so far this summer. Clearing his mind he walked until the street lamps lit the pavement.

When he felt it was dark enough to be safe Harry found another park, quiet and wooded enough to hide his takeoff. He mounted his broom and wrapped up tightly in his invisibility cloak. He hoped it would be enough to keep him off the cover of the Daily Prophet and a dozen Muggle publications. If he was spotted, he would surely be expelled this time.

Kicking off hard, he felt the familiar rush of freedom wash over him. He had missed flying on his Firebolt last year. Now it brought back memories of many proud victories and the feel of the Golden Snitch fluttering in his hand. He had been banned from playing Quidditch last term, thanks to the High Inquisitor, Professor Umbridge. It wasn't until now he saw how much he had missed it, although he couldn't say he'd missed the early morning practices. It was a shame he couldn't risk a few tricks, because he had a terrible urge to perform a Wronski Feint. He wondered momentarily if he would still be banned from the sport. He was sure that Professor McGonagall will do everything in her power to see the ban lifted and that was something to consider.

As much as he enjoyed flying, this was no pleasure trip. Harry had to make sure to fly high above the ground to lessen the risk of being spotted, for surely his cloak didn't hide everything. Unfortunately higher meant the air was even colder as it whipped against his wet clothes. His eyes watered due to the icy wind blurring the pinpricks of light showing faintly through the low clouds. As he veered off course to avoid flying over major motor ways, he realized how much he was looking forward to reaching his destination.

Squinting his eyes as he descended slightly, he could vaguely make out the shape of buildings and payed closer attention to the baffling network of streets below, in search of the Leaky Cauldron. When he knew he was getting close he began to cautiously fly even lower looking for an inconspicuous place to land, but something wasn't right. He wiped the rain off his spectacles and looked again, straining his eyes in the darkness. There were many dark robed figures moving in the street amongst the Muggles. He didn't notice the sudden drop in temperature, but when he heard the faint sound of familiar screams he pulled his broom up sharply and held on tight. There were dementors surrounding Diagon Alley and they were looking for him.

***

Ginny Weasley had come down stairs and busied herself making another pot of tea while Hermione spoke with Professor Dumbledore through the fire. The search wasn't going well. No one had seen any sign of Harry at all. Ron was still upset that Fred and George were allowed to be a part of the search while he was stuck waiting with the girls. He had been over the letters a half-dozen times already and they weren't getting any more informative, but there wasn't much else to do until those allowed to search reported in. Thank goodness Snape is still sleeping off the pain potions. One thing guaranteed to make the situation worse right now is a conscious Snape.

***

Snape was at that moment in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs. Before leaving, the Headmaster had insisted that he take some time to recover before joining in the others in the search. He had explained as best he could the general direction the chase had taken, but being unfamiliar with the area had little idea where the boy would go. The pain potions were dragging at his weary mind and he was soon asleep . . .

. . . Another bedroom, this one full of toys and nonsense, walls covered in thankfully unmoving pictures of scantily clad girls. The Death Eaters were enthusiastically tearing and smashing the contents of the room while more searched the other rooms for the home's residents. He left the room to search alone. If he could find the boy first, perhaps he could do something to aid in his escape.

He proceeded down the hall and found himself standing before what must be a storage closet, its door littered with locks of every variety and a flap of unknown purpose. A simple "Alohomora," and the door opened. He stepped in quietly and looked around for any signs of Potter hiding in the small forsaken room. It was definitely not a storage closet he determined, noting the bare walls and small bed. He whipped around abruptly after a yell from Pettigrew startled him. He had apparently slipped into the small room behind him and with that shout the remaining Death Eaters followed, scrambling to his side. No sooner had the room filled, then the front door was heard and it emptied again. "Potter is getting away!" a voice declared as they spilled out the door in pursuit. "Why does he run?" the Dark Lord scowled. "I'd sooner die than be forced to sustain my existence in a place such as this . . ."

The dream changed suddenly . . . Light rain was falling in the cool graveyard. He stood silent among the circle of faceless black robes gathered around the Dark Lord. Voldemort was angry with his Death Eaters and was throwing insults and curses in rapid succession, the air filled with the tortured cries and whimpering of those already punished. Many of those who had joined in the raid lay crumpled, bleeding upon the ground till the soil beneath was red with their blood. One such unfortunate was Wormtail, whose plan it had been that failed. Voldemort punished him severely due to the humiliating escape of the boy-who-lived literally dragging him from the smouldering ruins to the place he now lay. The only sign of life the Animagus gave was the occasional twitch of his fingers in time with his shallow breath.

The Dark Lord's wand followed his eyes and for the first time aimed at Snape. Any and all viewed as actually responsible for the escape already lay battered on the ground while those less culpable awaited their punishment. "Fools and incompetents – you are neither Snape, but the boy still lives and I expect to alter that situation soon." He paused briefly, apparently in thought before he decided, "Crucio!" After an agonizing minute the curse was lifted. "You were there. You saw the room, why does he continue to resist me?" Before he could speak, the curse was on him again, body writhing from the fresh waves of pain. Fingers clenching blood soaked earth, the same as his sleeping body clung to the sheets around him. The curse was lifted once more. At that moment the Dark Lord expected him to rise, but his arms seemed to lack the strength to aid him. A sudden kick to his head simultaneously broke his nose and sent his body flying several feet . . .

. . . At that moment, Snape's rigid body relaxed collapsing suddenly onto the mattress underneath him as the tension in his arms gave way jarring him awake. His hands were still clenched around the sheets that moments ago had been the blood soaked earth of his dream, the gravestones replaced by walls. He was gasping for breath. The images had been so frighteningly real till the merciful landing on soft rumpled cotton sheets. He reached into the darkness for the last of his pain potion and wondered how many nights he would relive the horrors of that day.

***

He knew the cold and the screams . . . The black robed figures could only be dementors. There were dementors surrounding Diagon Alley. Harry clung desperately to his slick broom, knuckles white with tension. He had pulled his broom up sharply and didn't stop climbing till his mother's screams faded from his ears and he didn't stop shaking for a good deal longer. He could still feel the ache of despair deep in his soul. He'd spent the summer learning to cope with his godfather's death and in one night it seemed his efforts were in vain.

His breaths came in sporadic gulps as he fought to calm himself. Harry was eager to start putting miles between himself and the dementors, but he didn't know which direction to head. Where was he going to go now? The Burrow was empty, Diagon Alley has dementors and Grimmauld Place is the most likely reason for the whole trap at Privet Drive . . . Where could he go that he wouldn't be putting someone else in danger? Where would he be safe? Hogwarts, the only place safer than Gringotts, at least according to Hagrid, but there isn't anyone at Hogwarts during the summer. Perhaps he could fly to Hogsmeade and use the floo at the Three Broomsticks to contact the Order . . .

It can be hard to think things through thoroughly and logically when soaking wet on a broom, with an empty stomach and dementors lurking somewhere below, but Harry tried his best. He had after all flown to Hogwarts once before in the Weasleys' flying car and Hogsmeade shouldn't be any different. They simply followed the train tracks from King's Cross. Why couldn't it be done again, this time on his Firebolt? With a new plan in mind he set off toward King's Cross in hopes of arriving at Hogsmeade by morning.

He cringed inwardly for a moment as he thought about Ron and Hermione again. Did they know of the attack on Privet Drive yet . . . ? Did anyone . . . ? Were Death Eaters still waiting at the Dursleys' for him or anyone else that showed up to check on him? He hoped he could send an owl to them soon. This one day had felt like three and he suddenly felt the need to makeup for the distance he had put between himself and his friends.

Harry felt choked by emotion. He missed Hedwig as much as he missed his friends. He hadn't paid her as much attention as she deserved this summer, but it wasn't easy between chores and punishments. The blame didn't lie entirely upon the Dursleys. He was grieving the loss of his godfather and was often unfit company for man or beast. Thinking back to the dementors in the streets he wondered if he would live to see her again and he regretted not taking a moment to tell her goodbye.

***

Things were picking up quickly at Order headquarters. Dumbledore had called in a few favors to gain much needed assistance with the search. It gave those who had been at it for many hours a break, a quick bite to eat or at least a change of scenery. Members who had been outdoors in the rain for hours traded with more fortunate wizards such as Mundungus who had been inside warming a barstool. Fred and George proceeded to the Burrow to trade posts with Bill and Charlie. It gave them the opportunity to update their brothers on the status of the search.

The fire flared and Mundungus stepped into the kitchen. Dumbledore spoke first, "Mundungus you're supposed to be relieving Dedalus . . ."

Before the words were even finished Mundungus declared, "dementors – I saw 'em outside the Leaky Cauldron . . . they got it staked-out."

Molly Weasley looked up from her tea and was glad she had sent the children to bed. Sleep would come hard enough without them knowing that the dementors were already gathering. She hoped they'd get some sleep while there was someone else available to help organize the search efforts. Who knew how long the search would take, she thought sadly.

Dumbledore turned to Remus. "Could you check up on the groups we've got out there? Make sure they can conjure a Patronus."

Remus nodded, "I'll pack some chocolate to give to the others." With that said, he packed and was on his way.

"There are dementors surrounding Diagon Alley waiting for Harry." The room gave a collective shudder and many clutched their tea cups a bit tighter seeking comfort in the warmth. "We must find him first." Dumbledore's voice was intense and left no hint of the exhaustion he was enduring. He'd have to alert the Ministry immediately.

***

Lord Voldemort was seated on his throne in an empty room, brooding. Torchlight flickered across the empty expanse enhancing the madness playing in his crimson eyes. There was no one there to grovel at his feet or kiss his fresh robes. He had punished them all severely for daring to disappoint him once again and he decorated his robes in their blood. Now clean and alone he was left to wonder how many of his loyal had splinched themselves trying to exit the graveyard.

Harry Potter had escaped once again, thanks to those sniveling worthless incompetents he surrounded himself with. They had grown soft in his absence, and he needed them strong. As much as he wanted to witness the death of the boy-who-lived he could now see the young man would make a more promising follower than many of those who already bore his mark . . . with the right coercion . . . If the boy would join him, his ranks would swell with new recruits, new blood.

"It is time for a new plan," the Dark Lord confessed to the empty room, "a better plan . . . this time I will ensure it is worth the wait."

***

Albus Dumbledore sat in quiet contemplation. The Ministry, had been notified of the presence of dementors in Muggle London and were preparing Obliviators to deal with any unfortunate witnesses. It was more than he had hoped for, being accustomed to the Ministry's history of letting problems fester until they could no longer possibly be ignored. Apparently seeing Voldemort back in the flesh with his own eyes was enough to convince Fudge that he had been wrong.

Molly Weasley had been clucking after him like a mother-hen trying to get him to take a break, and he finally relented. He sat at one end of the scrubbed wooden table with a cup of tea reading the small collection of correspondence left awaiting his attention by Ron Weasley. After setting down the last parchment he removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes wondering silently, would Harry be able to summon a happy memory strong enough to drive off a dementor? All things considered the boy had been through a rather rough year. The clues as to how his relatives were making his summer weren't so much in what was written as what was not, and after today's encounter with the Dursleys his fears were all but confirmed.

He was still sitting there at the table when Snape entered the room. After pouring them each a cup of tea Snape took a seat across from the Headmaster. They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping tea before either spoke. "Did you get some rest Severus?"

"If you can call it that." Snape responded between sips of tea while trying not to notice the mud still caked under his short nails. "And you, Albus?"

"It seems this isn't a day meant for rest, and once the Daily Prophet comes out, tomorrow won't be any better."

Snape nodded silently staring at his tea. He knew he would have to relay the events of his day in further detail as sure as he knew Molly would soon be pressuring him to eat. The Headmaster would want to know what had happened at the boy's home, he just hoped it could wait until after another silent cup of tea.

***

Approaching the ground yet remaining safely out of sight, Harry scanned the brightly lit train station for any sign of trouble. He allowed himself a sigh of relief. There was nothing out of the ordinary at King's Cross. Perhaps that meant Voldemort hadn't foreseen this plan of action. Perhaps it would be safe, not that he could see much else to do if it wasn't. After one last look around, he found the tracks him and Ron followed on their eventful trip before second year. He wondered if they would be harder to follow in the dark. It was a moonless night, a fact he had been thankful for in the populated area around London, but as he followed the tracks leading away from the city lights he wondered how low he could safely fly in overcast skies without risking discovery.

The city gave way slowly, lights fading, the buildings on the cities outskirts becoming fewer and farther between until giving way to woodlands then rolling hills. It was a relief to be following the tracks toward Hogwarts. Despite the trials of his fifth year and honestly a few each of the years before, Hogwarts meant safety, Hogwarts meant home and Hogsmeade was nearly as good.

It would mean facing his demons a bit early this year . . . coming to terms with the guilt that was eating him up . . . the remainder of his summer with the Dursleys would have given him time to deal with those memories. He knew Dumbledore had been right. There was so much he had told him too late, but he was right. It was about time he grew up and faced his life. He needed to come to terms with the things he said as well as what he did to the Headmaster's office. He could see it clearly in his mind littered with broken gadgets . . . the look of disappointment in the Headmaster's eyes . . . he'd let his anger guide him, now he needed to turn things around before all was lost.

***

Hedwig shifted anxiously on the perch she was sharing with Ron's owl Pig. She didn't normally spend the night after delivering a message for Harry and it was obvious she was itching to return to harry despite her small cage and infrequent meals. She had tried sticking out her leg as a hint, but was just given sad looks before they walked away.

Much like her master, she didn't eat much of what had been offered. Perhaps it was due to the fat mouse she ate on her way to deliver the post. More likely it was the uneasy feeling in the air around the house's occupants.

***

Eyes too tired to focus drifted shut and snapped open a moment later. The rise and fall of the ground below were barely recognizable in the darkness. A yawn. A quick rub of the eyes and then glasses were adjusted back up on his nose. Had to follow the train tracks, don't lose the tracks. Another jaw popping yawn. The green eyes blinked open and shut rapidly, trying to focus in the darkness. How far had he come? How much farther was there? How long till he was in a warm bed with a full stomach? Cold numb hands tightened on the broomstick and eyes fluttered shut again.

Flying a little lower helped bring everything back into focus. A little lower wouldn't hurt, he was after all still tightly wrapped in his father's cloak, not that it did much for the cool wind further tormenting his aching limbs. He'd finally adjusted the hood so it didn't flap against his frozen ears in the wind.

He missed the warm comfort of the train and the dimpled witch selling Pumpkin Pasties and Chocolate Frogs. He wondered how long it would take before he'd be able to straighten his fingers properly after clinging to the cold broomstick for so long. He shifted his position slightly, stretching tense muscles for a moment and altered his grip. The position he was in placed his weight on some of his freshest bruises and was making him rather uncomfortable. Perhaps the discomfort would help him stay awake.

Endless minutes were spent with eyes trained to the now blackened horizon. Focusing first before him then in quicker glances behind, although his gut was free from uneasy feelings the logical part of his mind worried over the chance of pursuit, but what he could see of the sky remained thankfully clear.

He couldn't stop yawning, eyes fluttering shut just to snap open once again in a futile battle between the lure of sleep and the need to remain alert. He blinked and rubbed at his burning eyes only to be disappointed with the stinging results. He hadn't realized what a physical and mental drain his brief encounter with the dementors had been. He was already knackered from hours spent eluding Death Eaters since the attack on Privet Drive and dementors only compounded the problem.

A yawn turned into a contented sigh as the air warmed around him. The warm comfort only held him briefly before he was startled awake by the reality of cold wind and slap of tree branches on his aching body. Harry, in his exhaustion had failed to notice the ground rising up to meet him, bringing the tree tops dangerously close. He faltered for a moment and it was too late.

Though the branches were heavily cushioned by the summer's foliage, it also made a recovery from the blunder near impossible. Harry struggled to maintain control of the broom as he wove through the tight grove of oaks, branches thrashing him from ahead and both sides. He was tossed to and fro as he bounced off trees large and small, while trying to regain control of his broom.

With a sickening crack Harry crashed hard upon the wet earth, despite his attempt to roll to lessen the impact. He attempted to sit up and assess the condition of his broom, but only managed to roll onto his side and vomit the meager contents of his stomach before he passed out.

***

tbc . . .


~ Whomping Willow ~