OOTP SPOILERS. You've been warned
Author's randomness (just skip if you care nothing on how my mind works or what may be expected): This originated with listening to too much Evanescence and liking my little one-shot fic a bit too much (in which Harry despairs after defeating Voldy), so angst is to be expected but it doesn't show much here (at least, I didn't think so). I have the general idea of where I'm taking this . . . In fact, I have most of the next chapter written along with some other random parts.
I fiddled with this being HP/SS in the beginning, but I don't think that that's going to happen. If it does, I'll give ample warning (or try to). As it is, I haven't yet written slash (for anyone outside of Big Bertha, my computer, to see), and I don't know how it would turn out if I did. I may try a one-shot first before I go in that direction, if my mind ends up taking me there. Opinions/thoughts are welcome on the subject. The plot (Harry returns to teach DADA after a self-imposed exile), I know, has been done many times over, but then I figure I can give it my own quirks--at least I hope to do so. Eh, if you don't like 'em, don't read 'em. Either way, I need to get this out of my head, so please don't hate me forever.
Points of concern: [1] Tone? Does it even sound like Harry? The first part reminded me of Severus for some reason. [2] The past will be revealed eventually, but is it too confusing now as it is? Hard to judge when I know what happened in my own little world. [3] My grammar sucks. Standardized testing also made a point of telling me this. [4] Exactly what rating is swearing supposed to get? Was never clear, and I don't think it ever will be. [5] I could never figure how to italicize . . .
Disclaimer -- Ain't mine. Never will be. I'll have to deal with it and find an alternate means of paying for college. Damn. Also the means for defeating Voldy originated from a message board discussion, so that's not really mine either . . . nor is the plot, but that's besides the point.
*~*~*
The Demons Hidden Within
Chapter 1: Sleepless Nights
~*~*~
I grumbled as I awoke from my dreams. Nightmares, actually, but dreams were what I was forced to call them now, otherwise it could mean the loss of another roommate and this one seemed worth holding on to. He was a friend, at any rate, and those seemed lacking as of late. Either classification of my mind's entrapments, the morning seemed much harder to face than my now-welcoming bed.
I settled back down intent on another five minutes of sleep when the persistent alarm once again rent through my thoughts. Five minutes is not enough time. In a battle of wills against the clock, I pressed the snooze again. The night had been too short. An uneasy sleep disturbed too often, as always, haunted by the past I had tried to leave behind along with my name. And now that the sun was risen and my mind had ceased its torment I was going to get at least some blissful sleep.
Yet, this sleep was denied to me again as a rather forceful pillow landed on my head. I groaned; the pillow laughed. Damn all laughing pillows to hell.
"Gerroff me," I mumbled.
The pillow insisted on being a hellish morning person. Pushing it off to the side the extra weight finally left my bed. I settled back down, letting my body forget its aches from the night. The pillow came again. Much lighter this time, thrown from a distance. It still served its godforsaken purpose in rousing my brain.
"Want me to get some cold water?"
An empty threat but my damning thoughts still tried to make their way into coherent words. They failed, though, as nothing functioned properly on its own, let alone having mind and lips work in cooperation. My mumbling trailed off, as my body settled down again. Such a warm bed.
"Get up!" Jay's voice yelled near my ear.
I jerked out of my decent to oblivious sleep, mumbling incoherently again. That morning smile of his seeped into his very voice. He enjoyed this way too much. On second thought, maybe I wouldn't mind losing this roommate along with the others.
Opening, my eyes met with bright, dazzling, sunlight. As much as I hated the night, this was just torture. My eyes promptly closed again. The day was meant for sleeping. In the sunlight there are no demons behind the curtains, hidden in the shadows.
"Well, if you're late again, you won't have to worry about getting up tomorrow."
I groaned. Job in danger: the proper emergency lights of self-preservation refused to work. Screw all the heavens. Decent sleep took a high price, and I was willing to pay my dues at this moment. It would only be the third time, and I'd be able to find something else to take its place. If all else failed, my vault at Gringotts was still open. . . . They must have stopped watching it by now.
Whatever had happened to playing bartender? Oh yea, the place with decent hours didn't house a decent owner. Figures, the fates must have some sick sadistic streak in them. . . . Or maybe that's only when weaving my threads.
I resigned myself to opening my eyes and braving the light so that I could glare at Jay. He just had to bring that up and set my brain to reeling.
"Hey, don't kill the messenger, Rex," he said, backing away, his hands splayed out in defense.
Hmm. . . Didn't know my glare could manage that in the morning. Apparently I've finally found something with no trouble functioning at this godforsaken hour. I mentally pushed the analysis on the origin of that glare away for now, though. It's still too early for any deep thoughts of the past. My eyes closed again against the pushy sunlight.
"Fine," Jay said, in his last ditch attempt, knowing anything besides words at the moment would be met with physical retaliation. "But you *are* going to pay your rent."
Sharp footsteps and a slamming door were interrupted by an even sharper buzzing. The alarm clock sailed across the room before I could stop my arm. One loud crash later, silence reigned.
But after all my stubbornness, sleep still eluded me.
What god had I pissed off this time?
I refused to get up on principle alone.
~~~~~~~
Two hours later saw me sitting in the small kitchen with a large cup of coffee engaged in a staring contest with the newspaper. No doubt, my current means of employment had been lost (late for a week straight tended to not go over well), and a search for another should commence, but my mind's wanderings to Gringotts had opened another door of possibility--one I had long since closed.
Oedipus Lee, though, was not a part of the Wizarding World, and that was where I stumbled. I would risk exposure if I reawakened that abandoned vault. They would know where to find me, and I had run away for so long that I couldn't just show myself now.
There, I admitted it: I had run away.
After defeating the Dark Lord, Harry Potter had disappeared because he couldn't face the acts that he had committed and Oedipus, his life ruled by fate, had suddenly appeared in the Muggle World. A name muttered on the brink of collapse that'd been fitting when I finally regained my senses.
I broke my staring with the newspaper (Damn inanimate objects, they always win.) and settled my gaze onto my marred right hand. Two fingers missing, and two half-salvaged, at least I still possessed my opposable thumb. Deep memories of the past attempted to surface. I focused on my Muggle explanation of a firecracker. Voldemort's face loomed in the night; it had no place to show itself in the day. I pushed the retched image away.
Sighing, I resigned to opening the paper, but was interrupted by a tapping at the window.
My mind refused to register what it saw. Now, of all times. I vehemently hated my past and its refusal to leave me be. But there it was, in physical form: a barn owl, in all its wizarding glory, sat impatiently on the ledge of the window.
No.
Hell no.
Bloody Hell, NO.
I pointedly picked up the paper, and began to flip through, but the tapping returned. The more I ignored it, the more persistent it became.
Damn it all to the seventh circle.
Reluctantly, I opened the window. And the owl swooped in with an insolent hoot that clearly meant: "Finally." She dropped her letter on the table before perching on the back of my previously occupied chair. So, she had orders for a reply.
Ignoring the owl, I eyed the letter cautiously. Yellow parchment taunted me. I edged closer, knowing what to expect, but when the name hit me it still stung. "Harry Potter" stared back at me, written in sharp green ink. From Hogwarts, then. But I had known already this from the school owl.
I refrained from touching it, from flipping it around only to see the Hogwarts crest, but my eyes refused to leave.
I sat down, clutching my mug. The coffee inside grew cold as time held no meaning. I didn't move, all my thoughts centered on that single letter. Afraid to open it, afraid to travel back to that world I had tried to forget. Tried, but never succeeded. And pushing it away only caused so much more suffering.
I saw once again Ron's final sacrifice and Sirius falling through the veil, as I had seen them just last night. My left hand rubbed my scar. Once again, these thoughts were not meant for the clear light of day. Yet, they refused to pay any attention to my rules.
Would I ever be free? Couldn't I ever escape?
After only five years of solitude, the letter silently screamed the answer: no.
I could just burn it. . . .
I fiddled with the thought of destroying the letter. Then memories of Uncle Vernon surfaced. The thought was pushed aside, as an option but not something to immediately act upon. The letter hadn't won, though--It wasn't about to be opened just yet either.
I settled to having a staring contest with my past name. . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~
"Most people would open a letter to see what's inside."
I jerked violently out of my reverie. Janis sat across the table, a look of concern in her eyes.
"Chinese?" She offered, pushing the white cartons toward me. One was already clutched in her hands, chopsticks sticking out. Well, she'd been here a while without my noticing.
"Jay sent you," I said.
I hesitated before claiming a carton of rice. Food couldn't hurt the situation.
"Yes," She answered, even though I hadn't asked. "He was worried."
I didn't reply. My thoughts still lingered with the owl post.
"And so am I," She continued, taking on the one-sided conversation. "When was the last time you slept?"
But my mind and eyes had returned fully to the letter, and I answered dejectedly, "Last night."
"I mean truly slept? No 'dreams' as you insist on calling them?" She tried to rephrase the question.
I didn't answer and could feel her rolling her eyes. Part of me just wanted to be alone while I sorted through my rapid thoughts. Another part needed her to be there.
"Just open the thing," she snapped after a time, a note of anxiety in her voice.
I did nothing. She sighed, and her gaze followed mine, finally looking at the letter she'd only half regarded before. Concerned, she turned it towards her, so she knew she was reading it right. I made no move to stop her.
I knew what was coming before the words left her lips. "Harry Potter?"
"Just a wrong address," I answered after a moment's hesitation, looking away. Lessons from Occlumency kicked in, and I closed my mind of emotion.
"You're lying," she said calmly, no hint of anger at not having my confidences.
I looked around towards Janis, one eyebrow raised in question.
She rolled her eyes, in turn, at my facial expression. "One: your tone. Two: A wrong address wouldn't put you in this state. And three: There's no stamp or address, just a name."
She pointed to the envelope to make her point. Damn.
"It's nothing," I said, half-hoping that she would drop the subject and leave me alone. But that annoying half of me, one I tried deeply to suppress, urged her on in her pursuit against my hope. It yearned to talk to someone, to tell the Muggle what I really was. Inner turmoil reigned.
"Well, it's obviously something, as I can feel it." Bloody hell, the logical woman has to give me something I can't deny.
"It's a long story." Ha, at least that was the truth.
"I've got time," she countered. Persistent, freelancing bastard.
My mind twitched in its battle. I turned away, not wanting her to read my face. I wanted . . . no, needed . . . someone to freely talk to. As offering as Janis was, she *couldn't* understand, and any story I gave her would be just that: a story. But, she sat there and was willing to hear me out. Like Jay, she offered to be that friend.
"I . . . " I paused, indecisive. "I can't."
She didn't say anything for a moment, seeing the inner pain reflected in my green eyes. I never thought my "power" over the Dark Lord, would come to affect me in this way. Why had it not disappeared when I felt his cruelty constrict around my heart? Why had I not yet given into those temptations on the edge of my consciousness?
"Do you want me to read it . . .?" She offered. It was a pull back to the present reality.
By this time, she rightfully suspected me to be the mysterious Harry Potter. Had I wanted her to discover this?
The owl hooted to my right, giving her an affirmative.
"Should I ask about the owl?" She was genuinely curious. From her tone, she seemed to say that there was nothing wrong with it being an owl--just that the presence of any animal deemed her curiosity. Well, at least she hadn't freaked out about it.
"She came with the letter," I answered the indirect question.
"She?" There's nothing like saying too much.
"It's in her tone . . ." I began to explain before trailing off. A bit odd to recognize the gender of an owl by her *tone*, isn't it?
"Didn't know you cold tell that . . ." Genuine interest, again, I couldn't deny her that.
I made an attempt at a reply, but stopped myself before the sound passed my lips. That would definitely file under "too much information." We lapsed into an uneasy silence while we ate. She wanted me to talk while I was unwilling.
"So," She finally broke it, as I knew she eventually would. "Do you want me to read it?" The same question asked, this time much more forcefully.
"No," I finally answered it.
As much as I would love to tell her my secrets, she was still an innocent Muggle and the letter an unknown factor. I couldn't drag her into the past . . . just yet, at any rate.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"Alright," she was reluctant to give up the subject, but checking her watch realized that she couldn't take on my silence much longer. "I have to get an article on animal rescuers typed up--Can't really miss the second deadline. I'll call you later." She made it sound like a threat, meaning I had better open that letter before the phone rang.
I gave her a wane smile, "Thanks."
"Anytime," she said, as she walked towards the door. But she wasn't quite done, and as the door closed she called back, "And get some sleep!" Ah, if only sleep could be commanded.
I sighed, massaging my temples. I could not deny the fact that the letter existed, nor could I terminate that existence--The owl stood as a reminder to that. She wouldn't leave until I replied, or at least opened the damn thing. So, I resigned to my fate, and finally picked it up.
The telltale purple wax seal greeted me as I turned it over. Nothing unpredictable yet, that would be remedied shortly. I broke the seal and pulled out the thick yellow parchment. Two articles fell out with it. I picked up the first one from the Daily Prophet:
*********
Death Eaters still at large
Last Saturday, the Dark Mark made a simultaneous appearance at five distinct locations throughout the country. This serves as an unhappy reminder that Death Eaters are still hidden among the Wizarding population. In an announcement on Monday, spokesman Percy Weasley stated, once again, that the culprits were unknown and warned that any suspicious activity should be reported immediately to the Auror Headquarters.
Weasley also took care to note the three known Death Eaters who are not yet in captivity, and obvious suspects to the crime: Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy. They seem to have disappeared along with the Dark Lord's fall five years ago, but the Ministry still warns that they are highly dangerous and not to be approached if seen.
Sirius Black, after escaping Azkaban in July 1993, has since been charged for many crimes linking with the Dark Lord's second rise to power. Not least of which is aiding in the breakout of ten fellow Death Eaters. Nine of those have since been recaptured or killed. The last, Bellatrix Lestrange, is still free. Her crimes since Azkaban range the same scope as Black's, both being a part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle.
Lucius Malfoy's position in the Dark Lord's ranks was never confirmed. He was imprisoned and escaped shortly after when the Dementors abandoned Azkaban. Even though his wife and son plead ignorance, sources say that Malfoy Mansion is being thoroughly monitored.
************
I scowled. Sirius as a mass murderer, Malfoy's position as "never confirmed", and Malfoy Jr. free to walk the streets. Lestrange's freedom only served to add salt to the wound. The Ministry assumed too many rumors and questioned the facts. They would never change.
Sirius had been dead for over seven years, but they refused to accept that on the basis of no corpse for evidence. I remembered that lurid night which marked the anniversary of the event all too clearly. Compared to it, last night was a dreamless sleep.
The second article, from a magazine, proclaimed: "Peter Pettigrew, Alive?" Intrigued, I scanned the page. Apparently several people claimed to have seen him in a Muggle pub close to Hogsmeade. Interesting. Maybe members from the Order would come forward once again. It seemed unlikely though, Wormtail would have to be caught for any legal action to happen. As much as it seemed to not matter, it would settle a part of my restless soul to not have Sirius's memory marred as it is.
The byline of the article caught my eye: Luna Lovegood. A little more searching found the Quibbler's logo in the bottom left corner. Well, that explained some things, mainly how the article had been published and the percentage of wizards who would believe it. It did nothing to settle my continuing frustrated anger at the situation.
Thoughts of Luna caused me to pause. She had been the one person who understood me in those last two years, and it had hurt to leave her. But then, everything in that last week had caused so much pain and grief. . . .
I pushed away the rampant thoughts. Just read the letter and get this done with. My fingers began to unfold the parchment of their own accord, and before I knew it I was looking down onto the Hogwarts stationary and abandoned all hopes of completely leaving go of my past.
**********
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dear Mr. Potter,
With one month left until the start of term, I find myself once again without a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Knowing the value of this course, you may understand my need to keep it as a part of Hogwarts's core curriculum, but that will not be possible if no one comes forth to accept the post.
Your past achievements speak for themselves in showing that you are more than capable of taking on this position. I am willing to offer it to you without further preamble. Please take this offer into careful consideration. I have enclosed recent articles that you may find beneficial.
A meeting for the finer points before you reach your final decision can be arranged at your convenience, just send the details with your return owl.
Yours Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster
***********
I cursed Dumbledore fluently. The man was as sadistic as the fates. I wouldn't have been surprised if he himself were responsible for the previous night, if only to make me consider this more. He had to know the predicament he put me in. I was out of a job, and he was offering me one.
Bloody Hell . . .
Author's randomness (just skip if you care nothing on how my mind works or what may be expected): This originated with listening to too much Evanescence and liking my little one-shot fic a bit too much (in which Harry despairs after defeating Voldy), so angst is to be expected but it doesn't show much here (at least, I didn't think so). I have the general idea of where I'm taking this . . . In fact, I have most of the next chapter written along with some other random parts.
I fiddled with this being HP/SS in the beginning, but I don't think that that's going to happen. If it does, I'll give ample warning (or try to). As it is, I haven't yet written slash (for anyone outside of Big Bertha, my computer, to see), and I don't know how it would turn out if I did. I may try a one-shot first before I go in that direction, if my mind ends up taking me there. Opinions/thoughts are welcome on the subject. The plot (Harry returns to teach DADA after a self-imposed exile), I know, has been done many times over, but then I figure I can give it my own quirks--at least I hope to do so. Eh, if you don't like 'em, don't read 'em. Either way, I need to get this out of my head, so please don't hate me forever.
Points of concern: [1] Tone? Does it even sound like Harry? The first part reminded me of Severus for some reason. [2] The past will be revealed eventually, but is it too confusing now as it is? Hard to judge when I know what happened in my own little world. [3] My grammar sucks. Standardized testing also made a point of telling me this. [4] Exactly what rating is swearing supposed to get? Was never clear, and I don't think it ever will be. [5] I could never figure how to italicize . . .
Disclaimer -- Ain't mine. Never will be. I'll have to deal with it and find an alternate means of paying for college. Damn. Also the means for defeating Voldy originated from a message board discussion, so that's not really mine either . . . nor is the plot, but that's besides the point.
*~*~*
The Demons Hidden Within
Chapter 1: Sleepless Nights
~*~*~
I grumbled as I awoke from my dreams. Nightmares, actually, but dreams were what I was forced to call them now, otherwise it could mean the loss of another roommate and this one seemed worth holding on to. He was a friend, at any rate, and those seemed lacking as of late. Either classification of my mind's entrapments, the morning seemed much harder to face than my now-welcoming bed.
I settled back down intent on another five minutes of sleep when the persistent alarm once again rent through my thoughts. Five minutes is not enough time. In a battle of wills against the clock, I pressed the snooze again. The night had been too short. An uneasy sleep disturbed too often, as always, haunted by the past I had tried to leave behind along with my name. And now that the sun was risen and my mind had ceased its torment I was going to get at least some blissful sleep.
Yet, this sleep was denied to me again as a rather forceful pillow landed on my head. I groaned; the pillow laughed. Damn all laughing pillows to hell.
"Gerroff me," I mumbled.
The pillow insisted on being a hellish morning person. Pushing it off to the side the extra weight finally left my bed. I settled back down, letting my body forget its aches from the night. The pillow came again. Much lighter this time, thrown from a distance. It still served its godforsaken purpose in rousing my brain.
"Want me to get some cold water?"
An empty threat but my damning thoughts still tried to make their way into coherent words. They failed, though, as nothing functioned properly on its own, let alone having mind and lips work in cooperation. My mumbling trailed off, as my body settled down again. Such a warm bed.
"Get up!" Jay's voice yelled near my ear.
I jerked out of my decent to oblivious sleep, mumbling incoherently again. That morning smile of his seeped into his very voice. He enjoyed this way too much. On second thought, maybe I wouldn't mind losing this roommate along with the others.
Opening, my eyes met with bright, dazzling, sunlight. As much as I hated the night, this was just torture. My eyes promptly closed again. The day was meant for sleeping. In the sunlight there are no demons behind the curtains, hidden in the shadows.
"Well, if you're late again, you won't have to worry about getting up tomorrow."
I groaned. Job in danger: the proper emergency lights of self-preservation refused to work. Screw all the heavens. Decent sleep took a high price, and I was willing to pay my dues at this moment. It would only be the third time, and I'd be able to find something else to take its place. If all else failed, my vault at Gringotts was still open. . . . They must have stopped watching it by now.
Whatever had happened to playing bartender? Oh yea, the place with decent hours didn't house a decent owner. Figures, the fates must have some sick sadistic streak in them. . . . Or maybe that's only when weaving my threads.
I resigned myself to opening my eyes and braving the light so that I could glare at Jay. He just had to bring that up and set my brain to reeling.
"Hey, don't kill the messenger, Rex," he said, backing away, his hands splayed out in defense.
Hmm. . . Didn't know my glare could manage that in the morning. Apparently I've finally found something with no trouble functioning at this godforsaken hour. I mentally pushed the analysis on the origin of that glare away for now, though. It's still too early for any deep thoughts of the past. My eyes closed again against the pushy sunlight.
"Fine," Jay said, in his last ditch attempt, knowing anything besides words at the moment would be met with physical retaliation. "But you *are* going to pay your rent."
Sharp footsteps and a slamming door were interrupted by an even sharper buzzing. The alarm clock sailed across the room before I could stop my arm. One loud crash later, silence reigned.
But after all my stubbornness, sleep still eluded me.
What god had I pissed off this time?
I refused to get up on principle alone.
~~~~~~~
Two hours later saw me sitting in the small kitchen with a large cup of coffee engaged in a staring contest with the newspaper. No doubt, my current means of employment had been lost (late for a week straight tended to not go over well), and a search for another should commence, but my mind's wanderings to Gringotts had opened another door of possibility--one I had long since closed.
Oedipus Lee, though, was not a part of the Wizarding World, and that was where I stumbled. I would risk exposure if I reawakened that abandoned vault. They would know where to find me, and I had run away for so long that I couldn't just show myself now.
There, I admitted it: I had run away.
After defeating the Dark Lord, Harry Potter had disappeared because he couldn't face the acts that he had committed and Oedipus, his life ruled by fate, had suddenly appeared in the Muggle World. A name muttered on the brink of collapse that'd been fitting when I finally regained my senses.
I broke my staring with the newspaper (Damn inanimate objects, they always win.) and settled my gaze onto my marred right hand. Two fingers missing, and two half-salvaged, at least I still possessed my opposable thumb. Deep memories of the past attempted to surface. I focused on my Muggle explanation of a firecracker. Voldemort's face loomed in the night; it had no place to show itself in the day. I pushed the retched image away.
Sighing, I resigned to opening the paper, but was interrupted by a tapping at the window.
My mind refused to register what it saw. Now, of all times. I vehemently hated my past and its refusal to leave me be. But there it was, in physical form: a barn owl, in all its wizarding glory, sat impatiently on the ledge of the window.
No.
Hell no.
Bloody Hell, NO.
I pointedly picked up the paper, and began to flip through, but the tapping returned. The more I ignored it, the more persistent it became.
Damn it all to the seventh circle.
Reluctantly, I opened the window. And the owl swooped in with an insolent hoot that clearly meant: "Finally." She dropped her letter on the table before perching on the back of my previously occupied chair. So, she had orders for a reply.
Ignoring the owl, I eyed the letter cautiously. Yellow parchment taunted me. I edged closer, knowing what to expect, but when the name hit me it still stung. "Harry Potter" stared back at me, written in sharp green ink. From Hogwarts, then. But I had known already this from the school owl.
I refrained from touching it, from flipping it around only to see the Hogwarts crest, but my eyes refused to leave.
I sat down, clutching my mug. The coffee inside grew cold as time held no meaning. I didn't move, all my thoughts centered on that single letter. Afraid to open it, afraid to travel back to that world I had tried to forget. Tried, but never succeeded. And pushing it away only caused so much more suffering.
I saw once again Ron's final sacrifice and Sirius falling through the veil, as I had seen them just last night. My left hand rubbed my scar. Once again, these thoughts were not meant for the clear light of day. Yet, they refused to pay any attention to my rules.
Would I ever be free? Couldn't I ever escape?
After only five years of solitude, the letter silently screamed the answer: no.
I could just burn it. . . .
I fiddled with the thought of destroying the letter. Then memories of Uncle Vernon surfaced. The thought was pushed aside, as an option but not something to immediately act upon. The letter hadn't won, though--It wasn't about to be opened just yet either.
I settled to having a staring contest with my past name. . . .
~~~~~~~~~~~
"Most people would open a letter to see what's inside."
I jerked violently out of my reverie. Janis sat across the table, a look of concern in her eyes.
"Chinese?" She offered, pushing the white cartons toward me. One was already clutched in her hands, chopsticks sticking out. Well, she'd been here a while without my noticing.
"Jay sent you," I said.
I hesitated before claiming a carton of rice. Food couldn't hurt the situation.
"Yes," She answered, even though I hadn't asked. "He was worried."
I didn't reply. My thoughts still lingered with the owl post.
"And so am I," She continued, taking on the one-sided conversation. "When was the last time you slept?"
But my mind and eyes had returned fully to the letter, and I answered dejectedly, "Last night."
"I mean truly slept? No 'dreams' as you insist on calling them?" She tried to rephrase the question.
I didn't answer and could feel her rolling her eyes. Part of me just wanted to be alone while I sorted through my rapid thoughts. Another part needed her to be there.
"Just open the thing," she snapped after a time, a note of anxiety in her voice.
I did nothing. She sighed, and her gaze followed mine, finally looking at the letter she'd only half regarded before. Concerned, she turned it towards her, so she knew she was reading it right. I made no move to stop her.
I knew what was coming before the words left her lips. "Harry Potter?"
"Just a wrong address," I answered after a moment's hesitation, looking away. Lessons from Occlumency kicked in, and I closed my mind of emotion.
"You're lying," she said calmly, no hint of anger at not having my confidences.
I looked around towards Janis, one eyebrow raised in question.
She rolled her eyes, in turn, at my facial expression. "One: your tone. Two: A wrong address wouldn't put you in this state. And three: There's no stamp or address, just a name."
She pointed to the envelope to make her point. Damn.
"It's nothing," I said, half-hoping that she would drop the subject and leave me alone. But that annoying half of me, one I tried deeply to suppress, urged her on in her pursuit against my hope. It yearned to talk to someone, to tell the Muggle what I really was. Inner turmoil reigned.
"Well, it's obviously something, as I can feel it." Bloody hell, the logical woman has to give me something I can't deny.
"It's a long story." Ha, at least that was the truth.
"I've got time," she countered. Persistent, freelancing bastard.
My mind twitched in its battle. I turned away, not wanting her to read my face. I wanted . . . no, needed . . . someone to freely talk to. As offering as Janis was, she *couldn't* understand, and any story I gave her would be just that: a story. But, she sat there and was willing to hear me out. Like Jay, she offered to be that friend.
"I . . . " I paused, indecisive. "I can't."
She didn't say anything for a moment, seeing the inner pain reflected in my green eyes. I never thought my "power" over the Dark Lord, would come to affect me in this way. Why had it not disappeared when I felt his cruelty constrict around my heart? Why had I not yet given into those temptations on the edge of my consciousness?
"Do you want me to read it . . .?" She offered. It was a pull back to the present reality.
By this time, she rightfully suspected me to be the mysterious Harry Potter. Had I wanted her to discover this?
The owl hooted to my right, giving her an affirmative.
"Should I ask about the owl?" She was genuinely curious. From her tone, she seemed to say that there was nothing wrong with it being an owl--just that the presence of any animal deemed her curiosity. Well, at least she hadn't freaked out about it.
"She came with the letter," I answered the indirect question.
"She?" There's nothing like saying too much.
"It's in her tone . . ." I began to explain before trailing off. A bit odd to recognize the gender of an owl by her *tone*, isn't it?
"Didn't know you cold tell that . . ." Genuine interest, again, I couldn't deny her that.
I made an attempt at a reply, but stopped myself before the sound passed my lips. That would definitely file under "too much information." We lapsed into an uneasy silence while we ate. She wanted me to talk while I was unwilling.
"So," She finally broke it, as I knew she eventually would. "Do you want me to read it?" The same question asked, this time much more forcefully.
"No," I finally answered it.
As much as I would love to tell her my secrets, she was still an innocent Muggle and the letter an unknown factor. I couldn't drag her into the past . . . just yet, at any rate.
"Are you sure?"
I nodded.
"Alright," she was reluctant to give up the subject, but checking her watch realized that she couldn't take on my silence much longer. "I have to get an article on animal rescuers typed up--Can't really miss the second deadline. I'll call you later." She made it sound like a threat, meaning I had better open that letter before the phone rang.
I gave her a wane smile, "Thanks."
"Anytime," she said, as she walked towards the door. But she wasn't quite done, and as the door closed she called back, "And get some sleep!" Ah, if only sleep could be commanded.
I sighed, massaging my temples. I could not deny the fact that the letter existed, nor could I terminate that existence--The owl stood as a reminder to that. She wouldn't leave until I replied, or at least opened the damn thing. So, I resigned to my fate, and finally picked it up.
The telltale purple wax seal greeted me as I turned it over. Nothing unpredictable yet, that would be remedied shortly. I broke the seal and pulled out the thick yellow parchment. Two articles fell out with it. I picked up the first one from the Daily Prophet:
*********
Death Eaters still at large
Last Saturday, the Dark Mark made a simultaneous appearance at five distinct locations throughout the country. This serves as an unhappy reminder that Death Eaters are still hidden among the Wizarding population. In an announcement on Monday, spokesman Percy Weasley stated, once again, that the culprits were unknown and warned that any suspicious activity should be reported immediately to the Auror Headquarters.
Weasley also took care to note the three known Death Eaters who are not yet in captivity, and obvious suspects to the crime: Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lucius Malfoy. They seem to have disappeared along with the Dark Lord's fall five years ago, but the Ministry still warns that they are highly dangerous and not to be approached if seen.
Sirius Black, after escaping Azkaban in July 1993, has since been charged for many crimes linking with the Dark Lord's second rise to power. Not least of which is aiding in the breakout of ten fellow Death Eaters. Nine of those have since been recaptured or killed. The last, Bellatrix Lestrange, is still free. Her crimes since Azkaban range the same scope as Black's, both being a part of the Dark Lord's Inner Circle.
Lucius Malfoy's position in the Dark Lord's ranks was never confirmed. He was imprisoned and escaped shortly after when the Dementors abandoned Azkaban. Even though his wife and son plead ignorance, sources say that Malfoy Mansion is being thoroughly monitored.
************
I scowled. Sirius as a mass murderer, Malfoy's position as "never confirmed", and Malfoy Jr. free to walk the streets. Lestrange's freedom only served to add salt to the wound. The Ministry assumed too many rumors and questioned the facts. They would never change.
Sirius had been dead for over seven years, but they refused to accept that on the basis of no corpse for evidence. I remembered that lurid night which marked the anniversary of the event all too clearly. Compared to it, last night was a dreamless sleep.
The second article, from a magazine, proclaimed: "Peter Pettigrew, Alive?" Intrigued, I scanned the page. Apparently several people claimed to have seen him in a Muggle pub close to Hogsmeade. Interesting. Maybe members from the Order would come forward once again. It seemed unlikely though, Wormtail would have to be caught for any legal action to happen. As much as it seemed to not matter, it would settle a part of my restless soul to not have Sirius's memory marred as it is.
The byline of the article caught my eye: Luna Lovegood. A little more searching found the Quibbler's logo in the bottom left corner. Well, that explained some things, mainly how the article had been published and the percentage of wizards who would believe it. It did nothing to settle my continuing frustrated anger at the situation.
Thoughts of Luna caused me to pause. She had been the one person who understood me in those last two years, and it had hurt to leave her. But then, everything in that last week had caused so much pain and grief. . . .
I pushed away the rampant thoughts. Just read the letter and get this done with. My fingers began to unfold the parchment of their own accord, and before I knew it I was looking down onto the Hogwarts stationary and abandoned all hopes of completely leaving go of my past.
**********
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Dear Mr. Potter,
With one month left until the start of term, I find myself once again without a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Knowing the value of this course, you may understand my need to keep it as a part of Hogwarts's core curriculum, but that will not be possible if no one comes forth to accept the post.
Your past achievements speak for themselves in showing that you are more than capable of taking on this position. I am willing to offer it to you without further preamble. Please take this offer into careful consideration. I have enclosed recent articles that you may find beneficial.
A meeting for the finer points before you reach your final decision can be arranged at your convenience, just send the details with your return owl.
Yours Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster
***********
I cursed Dumbledore fluently. The man was as sadistic as the fates. I wouldn't have been surprised if he himself were responsible for the previous night, if only to make me consider this more. He had to know the predicament he put me in. I was out of a job, and he was offering me one.
Bloody Hell . . .