Disclaimer: Obviously, I didn't write the Harry Potter series. J.K. Rowling is responsible for those masterpieces, and I will always worship her for it. Please don't sue me. I'm already poor and my mom would yell at me.
A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers. Sorry, but I'm not going to list anyone this time as its two a.m. and I have a psychology final at eight a.m. I will answer one question however: Fear not, there will be no romance between Harry and "Weird Girl", as one reviewer put it. Also, I warn you that this is not a very long chapter. I also may not be able to update for several days either, courtesy of the new Fox special "When Finals Attack!"
Chapter 8: Definitely Maybe
The air was burning and bright with flickering light. A familiar pain coursed through his skull. He was alone again, always alone in the end.
The scent of fresh grass tainted with the stench of smoke and death filled his nostrils. His limbs shook uncontrollably; he couldn't remember why. Vaguely, he noticed the reassuring warmth of his wand resting loosely in his right palm.
"Harry, Harry, Harry," a wicked voice chided from above and behind him. "Always the Gryffindor. Why do you still fight when there is nothing to gain?"
Harry groaned and rolled onto his back. Bleary eyes regarded the menacing figure of Voldemort sneering down at him. In the background, tall flames and thick smoke rose from a row of houses and bodies littered the front yards. Instinct told him to lift his wand, to curse the murderer standing before him, but his body would not respond to any of his mind's requests. How did he get here? What had happened?
"Before I end your pitiful life, Potter, tell me. Whatever made you think that you could do anything to stop me?"
The prophecy, Harry's mind supplied helpfully. As if he had spoken the words aloud, Voldemort's gleaming red eyes widened with interest. Suddenly Harry found unbidden memories flashing before him. No, he can't know…got to stop him…
"Nooo," he moaned weakly. Voldemort ignored him completely, busy sifting through Harry's thoughts. Dumbledore speaking to him as a first year in the hospital wing…Dumbledore reassuring him that despite their similar pasts and talents, Harry was very different from Tom Riddle…Trelawney's eerie prophecy in his third year…Stop him, stop him, stop him…Dumbledore questioning him after the disastrous Third Task…Too close, make it stop, block him…Waiting in Dumbledore's office after the battle in the Ministry of Magic…French toast, think French toast... "The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches,"…sizzling, golden, cinnamon… "Born to those who have thrice defied him,"…Concentrate harder Potter; smell it, almost done, got to take it off the heat before it burns… "Born as th—sev—onth—d-d-i-e-es,"…Mmm, smells good…
Harry jolted awake and sat up in bed. A cold sweat had soaked through his pajamas and his arms and legs were still shaking. It took him a minute or two of contemplating the ache he felt in his chest before he realized he had stopped breathing and his lungs were starved for oxygen. In between drawing huge, gasping breaths of air, Harry tried to figure out what had just happened.
Why had he had a nightmare? He had taken a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion that night; why hadn't it worked? Harry rubbed his forehead distractedly as he thought back to the dream…Wait, my scar was burning! Not a dream at all, then? Voldemort had entered his mind again. And I stopped him, I stopped him with…French toast? I have to tell Dumbledore. Might be a bit embarrassing…Harry glanced at the old alarm clock on his night stand. It was 4:45 a.m. on Friday morning; Dumbledore would arrive sometime in the afternoon for their talk.
Deciding he didn't want to go back to sleep and risk a repeat of Mind Wars with Voldemort, Harry turned on the small lamp beside his dilapidated bed and picked up the Occlumency for Dummies book Hermione had sent. Although impressed his focusing technique had worked in the dream, he didn't want to grow dependent on visions of breakfast foods as his only tool for blocking the world's most evil wizard from his secret thoughts. When he flipped open the cover of the book, he was surprised to come across a short note from Hermione.
Dear Harry,
If you've found this note, you must be intending (or at least attempting) to learn Occlumency. Let me just say that I am very proud of you, and I know you can do it!
Now, unfortunately I had only read halfway through the book before my parents told me we would be traveling to China this summer (how exciting! I can't wait to see what the libraries there are like. Can you imagine? Their culture is thousands of years old!). Anyway, my hope was that I could help you learn it if I practiced with you, but by the time I get back you should be much further ahead of me.
Harry snorted at this; sometimes Hermione placed far too much faith in him. He'd just have to try his best to live up to her expectations.
It wouldn't hurt for Ron to try as well; do you think he would? Who knows when we may come to need a skill like that! Perhaps we could even teach it to the D.A. someday!
Now, I really must get back to packing. In case you do not open this book and never find this note (which would greatly upset me), I will be sending you a proper letter through muggle post once my parents and I reach Shanghai. I hope you are having a fun and uneventful summer so far.
Love,
Hermione
Glancing from his friend's enthusiastic letter to the Occlumency book and back again, Harry gave a long-suffering sigh and flipped to the first page of the book. If Hermione was willing to learn such a difficult skill for his sake, the least he could do was try his best to make it easier for her to teach him. Prologue: The Origin and Purposes of Occlumency and Legilimency…
An hour later, Harry slapped the thick book shut and sauntered over to the window, looking out over a rainy, muggy day. He had been immensely pleased with the book, which explained Occlumency in terms that made it sound like an ability he was capable of learning. The first chapter had been a detailed description of the steps the book used to teach Occlumency. Harry had read through chapter two as well, which taught meditation and breathing exercises as the first step. It offered such elaborate instructions and helpful hints that he devoted the next few hours to practice. Hermione would be proud; anyway, it's not like I have anything better to do.
At eleven a.m., a very relaxed Harry sighed contentedly and stared blankly at the ceiling. Who knew meditation could be such a great stress reliever? It felt like waking up from a long, deep, peaceful sleep. If only he had tried this approach to Occlumency last year…
"POTTER!" screeched a voice so shrill that Harry rolled out of bed and hit the ground with a thud.
"Shite," Harry mumbled, jumping to his feet and straightening his clothes. "WHAT?"
"Get down here! You have a visitor!" yelled Aunt Petunia, sounding none too pleased with the situation.
It's only eleven o'clock! Dumbledore's not supposed to be here till sometime after noon, Harry thought. Slipping his wand into the waistband of his baggy shorts as a precaution, Harry left his Dursley-free zone and stomped downstairs. Strangely, both Petunia and Dudley stood in the doorway, effectively blocking the guest's entrance.
As he approached the door, Petunia turned to him with her usual glare of disgust, but said nothing. Harry rolled his eyes and turned to face his guest. As his eyes took in the figure before him, he could see why his aunt had been so inhospitable—and why Dudley was still standing in front of the door, practically drooling.
The strange girl Harry had helped home the other night stood before him in a short pink skirt and low-cut shirt. The rain had smeared dark circles of mascara under her large brown eyes, but she was still pretty. She beamed at Harry annoyingly despite being soaked head to toe, and gave a little wave. Dudley, oblivious to his cousin's presence, waved back. Harry sent a piercing glare Dudley's way before slamming the door in his face.
"Umm, hello…"
"Hi," she answered back, still smiling. "Nice family you have, there."
Harry shook his head in puzzlement. "Er, I'm sorry, but do you need something? Because, well-"
Her grin faded. "Oh, no—I'm sorry. I just wanted to apologize for the other night and thank you for walking me home."
"Oh. It was no problem, and you're welcome."
She continued to stand there, looking as if she had something more to say but didn't know how to go about it. An uncomfortable silence settled over them, and Harry felt more than a little stupid for his speechlessness. He didn't have all that much experience speaking with strangers, especially female muggle strangers.
"Um, I don't think I caught your name the other night…" Harry tried.
The smile was back. "Yes, sorry 'bout that. It's Heather Gaines." She stuck out a slender, manicured hand, which Harry hesitantly accepted and shook.
"Harry Potter."
"Yes, I remember. You know, I was a little out of it the night we met," Harry nearly snorted at this but was able to disguise it as a cough. She either didn't notice or didn't call him on it as she continued, "…so it took me a few hours before I could work out why your name seemed so familiar."
This caught Harry's attention. Was it possible that this seemingly average muggle teenager, living on the most normal street in Little Whinging, was a witch?
"You're the one the neighborhood's always gossiping about, the Harry Potter that goes to St. Brutus', right?" Heather asked, regarding him interestedly.
Harry was a little disappointed to find that he was still the only wizard in the neighborhood. Beyond that, he had to hide that fact and tell the first muggle to show a genuine interest in him that he went to a center for juvenile delinquents. Another consequence of being Harry Potter, he mused tetchily.
"Yup, that's right. Good old St. Brutus'," grumbled Harry.
Amazingly, Heather didn't seem at all fazed. "Wow! That's great!" she announced, clapping her hands excitedly.
Harry did a double-take. "What's so great about it?"
"My boyfriend goes there too! You probably know him!"
Uh oh. Better play along… "Billy?" Harry asked, thinking of the name she had mentioned the other night.
She looked nervous for a second and cleared her throat before speaking. "Er, no, Billy's just a friend. He doesn't go to St. Brutus', and I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention him if you see Justin…that's my boyfriend, Justin Finch-Fletchley."
Harry gaped. "I'm sorry, I thought you said Justin Finch-Fletchley," he asked to clarify.
"Oh, so you do know him?"
Justin? As in beginning sixth year, Hufflepuff, Justin? He gulped. "Er, yeah. I've talked to him a few times. Do you mind if I ask how you met?"
"At a party last summer," Heather answered. "He only lives about four kilometers from here. My parents don't like that I'm dating an "Incurably Criminal Boy", so I have to sneak out a lot to see him. Have you seen his pet owl? It's really amazing; he's trained it to carry messages!"
At this point, Harry was feeling a bit dazed. He could hardly believe that all this time he had lived so close to one of his classmates. It also made him feel very sheltered to hear about said classmate and his exciting social life in the muggle world. Harry had spent most of his life in Privet Drive and was just now meeting someone his own age that didn't fear or despise him.
"Well, I don't want to bore you talking about Justin and me. I do need to be on my way now, and I'm sure you have things to do today. Hey, do you want to come over to my place sometime and hang out? We could just tell my parents you go to that prissy Smeltings school or something," she offered.
Harry liked the idea of getting away from the Dursleys, and her house was inside the wards. Plus, learning how Justin spent his summers maximized his desire to act like a normal teenager on break from school. Maybe he couldn't go to parties or the cinema like other kids his age, but at least he could spend some time with a girl who enjoyed his company and didn't see him as the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Sure, that would be nice," Harry answered.
After exchanging phone numbers, Heather was off and Harry went back inside to find both Petunia and Dudley scowling at him.
~*~*~*~
A/N: Sorry so short…I actually wasn't planning on posting anything until my final exams are over, but I needed a distraction before all the information building up in my head gave me a brain attack. Good luck to all the other readers and authors with exams!