There She Goes Again

by itastethefire

Chapter One

Dust danced lazily in the single strip of light that filtered through the slit in the broken blinds. The nearly dark room was small, but the few items filling the room gave a person enough room to function. One single, shabby bed covered in a dirty sheet, thin blanket, and flat pillow lay pressed into one corner of the room. On the other wall sat a small dresser that held a few mismatched outfits clearly fitted for a stout teenager. On the dresser top sat random schoolbooks and paraphernalia. A door aside the dresser led to a tight closet. The only other doorway appeared, strangely enough, to be outfitted with a doggie door.

But, upon closer inspection, the door was not the only strange thing in the room. The books were not normal books, but were embossed on the spine with interesting titles such as "The Monster Book of Monsters", and "The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 5 by Miranda Goshawk." Papers and pens did not cover the top of the dresser; instead, parchment (some blank, some half filled with long essays beginning "Although very similar, there are specific differences between a cat and a kneazle..."), quills, and small bottles of ink littered the surface. And, the small closet was not filled with shirts on hangers and old sneakers stacked in shoeboxes; the closet held merely a large chest. Upon opening the chest, one would find a menagerie of strange items: a collection of full-length black robes emblazoned with a intricate crest, a box full of vials and beakers holding unknown liquids, powders, and even tiny body parts from strange creatures. A heavy black cauldron also resided inside the oak chest, itself filled with random knick-knacks like extra parchments and quills, as well as a crumpled up cloak and tall, pointy hat.

Unless a person thought for a second, they would have to immediately assume that this room housed a person told of only in legends, wives' tales, and stories of fancy...a wizard. The only thing missing the picture was the most recognizable piece of all: the wand.

A long piece of wood, cylindrical and about eleven inches long, stuck out of the back pocket of a boy's blue jeans. This boy plodded slowly across the field, clearly not overly caring where his footsteps took him. The jeans were two sizes too big, and the bottom fabric of the legs was torn to shreds from being stepped on too much. His shirt sleeves were rolled up three times, and they still came to his wrists. The shirt itself was unbuttoned, fluttering softly in the breeze and opening to the also large off-white undershirt. The boy's feet finally come to rest on the banks of a small lake a few miles away from his house. The boy, Harry Potter, had only been away from his school for a week, but he already felt a bit taller than when he had left, and his shoulders surely had broadened, if even only a small amount. His eyes, piercingly green, stared into the rippling water, as his tousled black hair reflected on the clear water. Harry picked up a small rock and threw it sidearm at the water, causing it to skip three times before sinking into the water, water rippling fiercely away. With nothing better to do, Harry had spent a lot of time this week at this small lake skipping rocks. Tonks, one of his more regular Order guards joined him occasionally. But, she always remained under her Invisibility Cloak and could never speak, so Harry never gained too much from these times.

More than anything, the physical activity allowed Harry a chance to work off some of his ample pent up energy resulting from his last weeks at school the previous year. Harry's school, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, had gone through much chaos, with an evil teacher, Dolores Umbridge, attempting to take over the school with the backing of the wizarding government, the Ministry of Magic. But, to Harry, that was all behind and insignificant. How could Harry think about Ugly Umbridge when something much worse, and more heart-wrenching, had taken place at the very end of the term?

Harry, convinced that his godfather, Sirius Black, was being tortured in the Department of Mysteries, deep in the Ministry of Magic building, Harry raced, along with his companions, to his aid only to find he was tricked there by Voldemort, his arch nemesis, the most evil wizard of the age, the creature that had killed his parents, and the man he was destined to kill or be killed by. In the ensuing action, his beloved godfather was embroiled in a fierce battle with Bellatrix Lestrange, Sirius' own cousin, and struck down, never to return.

Dumbledore, of course, insisted that it was in no way Harry's fault. And Harry, while ultimately realizing that the blame laid on Bellatrix and Voldemort, still continued to beat himself up for placing Sirius in a situation that required him to place his life on the line for Harry.

When Harry's reflection faded from the water, Harry decided it was late enough to return to his uncle's house for the night. Harry got up, brushed the grass off himself, and was promptly bowled over by a fluffy ball that smacked right into his face. Harry heard the ruffle and quick steps of Tonks removing her cloak and rushing over to Harry as he seated himself upright. "Stay down, Harry!" she whispered loudly, signaling with her hands frantically for him to stay low as she ran up to him.

"It's ok, Tonks. It's just Pig," Harry replied, snatching a letter away from Pigwideon, the small, hyper owl that belonged to his best friend, Ron Weasley. Unraveling the letter, Harry read:

Harry,

Sorry if Pig finds you in the shower or something, but I told him to deliver this straight to you. Can't say too much through owl, but we're here at the same place as last year. Have been nearly all week. Dumbledore says you'll be coming tomorrow! It's a bit unexpected, but I guess he didn't want to give anyone enough time to formulate a good plan to kill you or something. I don't know the details, so ask your guard or something. I'll see you tomorrow, I guess!

Ron

Harry turned and raised an eyebrow at Tonks, still uncovered and reading the letter beside Harry. "Didn't know if I was supposed to tell you anything, but I guess it won't hurt now. Tomorrow, 10 AM. Be ready." With that, Tonks swept the cloak around her. Clumsily, part of her shoes was still uncovered, and Harry glanced at her feet until she readjusted it. Harry slowly skulked home, a mixed feeling growing in his stomach; he was leaping for joy to be staying with the Weasleys instead of the Dursleys, but he would be staying at one place that held many untold memories: Sirius' old home, Number 12 Grimmauld Place.