Chapter Two: New Friends and Revelations
The Dursleys were currently in their sitting room, discussing Dudley's wonderful grades, which just happened to be just above a D- average, when their nephew, or cousin in some cases, appeared out of nowhere with his school belongings in tow, strangely enough with a silver fork in his hand as well.
To say that they were shocked was an understatement. Dudley had dropped his teacup, letting it shatter all over the freshly vacuumed carpet, and then tried to hide under the coffee table while holding his bottom with two pudgy hands. Well, as you know, Dudley is roughly the size of a Killer Whale, give or take a few pounds, so naturally, he couldn't even manage to get half of his upper torso underneath it.
Petunia just looked on in shock, her teacup positioned as if she had just picked it up for another sip.
Vernon, on the other hand, was seething with rage. His face had turned the customary shade of purple when he was angry, and said, "Boy, you ungrateful little whelp. Bursting in on my family like this?" he growled menacingly. "Why, I-" but he was cut off by Harry's deadly glare.
"Shut the fuck up, Vernon. I've taken enough of your shit, and I'm not going to be your personal slave anymore," he spat, not even trying to hide his contempt for him. "Oh, and if you think up some little chores for me, then give them to your fat son, who I might add is the most 'ungrateful whelp' on the planet. And if you even try to treat me like shit, you've got another thing going for you, because I won't hesitate to hex you into oblivion."
Vernon just stared on in shock, much like his wife had earlier. When he finally found his voice again, he managed to blurt out with a smirk, "You are the worst liar I have ever seen in my life. You can't do magic out of school, or you'll get expelled! Don't you remember last year, boy?" He looked triumphant, until Harry began to laugh.
"Haha. That's a good one, Vernon. For someone as thick as you, however, I couldn't expect anymore. Do you really want to test out your theory of my expulsion?" he said as he whipped out his wand with recently practiced speed, aiming it level with Vernon's fat, blonde/balding head. As his face paled, Harry smirked and said, "I thought so. Now leave me alone."
After a quick, fearful nod from Vernon, Harry stole a glance at Dudley. He rolled his eyes, and said, "Geez, Big D, I thought that you being the leader of your gang, you'd be a bit more brave." Harry pointed his wand at Dudley, muttered an incantation, and watched with a smile when he added on a curly pig's tail just like Hagrid did before his first year. "Consider this a warning," was all that Harry said as he walked up the stairs, his trunk floating behind him.
About a week had passed, and Harry was "living the life," well, as good as you could at the Dursleys. Even though they were scared shitless of him, they still treated him semi-bad. But still, Harry was making the best of it, especially because his magical signature would never be found again. So, using his advantage to the full extent, he had magically expanded his room on the inside, though not on the outside, still making it look like his room was before. And, as he had slightly mentioned to the school that his destiny was set, he practically deformed his closet so that now it was a hidden training room that you could enter, but only if you had the right password. It had all different varieties of weapons, and many muggle training methods, even to a make-shift dueling platform. He had been looking through one of his old Defense books, and found a charm that would bring a dummy to life, and you could set it to a certain level. Let's just say that on a scale from 1-10, 10 being the best, Harry's now at like, 25, in not only muggle training with weapons, hand-to-hand combat, etc, but also with dueling. From just that week of training, he was already really well toned. Not to mention the fact that he ran a few miles each morning outside just to warm up. He was quite tan as well, spending his nights, and sometimes afternoons, out in the sun at the park with an illusion charm around him to make it look like he was writing, instead of reading up on his DADA.
Just now, he was done with his training for the day, and was heading out to the park. Usually, because of the lies that his "relatives" made, the park normally cleared once he got there, all of them thinking that he went to St. Brutus' Center for Criminally Insecure Boys. But today was different, he noticed with a grim smile. There was a girl sitting on one of the good swings (One that Dudley and his gang hasn't broken, Harry thought dryly), listening to her muggle CD player, jotting things down on what seemed to be paper with funny lines (staff paper, people). She must have just moved here, Harry thought. Though, she is kind of cute.
The girl in question, from what he could tell, wasn't short, but wasn't Sasquatch-tall either. Her hair was a midnight black color, but had three green streaks through the fairly short hair in the front, and it was spiked up in the back. She wore purple, plaid Capri-pants, with some black Vans shoes. She was wearing two shirts, one white, long sleeved undershirt, along with a black shirt over it that read:
"If you even try to think about looking at me the wrong way,
I'll bash your face into this lovely, conveniently placed brick wall, okay?"
And, ironically enough, it had a picture of a bunny rabbit with fangs, and evil-looking eyes, though it was smiling. She had at least twenty piercings as well, and she wore make-up, but not too much so it would make her look like Mimi from the Drew Carey show; only black eyeliner, some mascara, and purple eye shadow.
Harry walked up to the other swing, all the while thinking of something to say when he stopped in shock. When he had looked up, she wasn't using her pencil anymore. She had a wand in her hand.
So, after he got over the initial shock, he walked over to her with a smirk. "You know," he said, startling her, "you shouldn't keep your wand so out in the open."
She only gaped at him. When she regained her composure, she blurted out, "Well, Mr. I-Know-Everything, how could you have seen it?" she asked, becoming confused. "I put up a concealment charm that not even my old professor could see through."
Harry just stared in shock, but recovered quickly. He shrugged, and replied, "Oh well, that doesn't really matter, now does it? I still haven't caught your name though..."
"It's because I haven't told it to you yet," she said smiling. "I'm Sheyne, Sheyne Black."
"Well, Sheyne, I'm Ha-wait. Did you say Black?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yeah, and my father is Sirius, if that's what you were wondering..."
"Yeah, it was. By the way, I'm-" Harry started again, but was cut off by Sheyne.
"Harry, Harry Potter, I know," she said. "It's really easy to figure out who you are. I mean, what, with the unruly black hair, your mother's eyes, and then of course, the infamous scar. All hail the mighty lightning-bolt," she ended, the last comment full of sarcasm. He chuckled, and they both just sat there for awhile, in an uncomfortable silence.
"So," he started a bit awkwardly, "have you always lived around here?"
"No, and the Order didn't move us here, if that's what you're thinking," she said when she noticed Harry's distant, yet cold look. "We moved here because we heard the news about my dad...and well, my mom wanted to come back home, I suppose."
"Well, if you don't mind my asking, where did you live before?"
"We lived all of the place. After my dad was wrongfully imprisoned, my mom decided that she had to go into hiding with me because she was afraid that the Ministry, but mostly that incompetent fool, Fudge, would take me away from her, and put her in Azkaban as well. So that night she just packed all our stuff and portkeyed away, moving us to Australia first. Then the people got suspicious there, so we went to America...I honestly can't remember how many of those states we lived in, and how many schools I was in, but now I know we're here to stay. I'm going to Hogwarts this year, hopefully with my dad's last name, because we've talked to Dumbledore, and he's helping us clear up that damn fiasco," she said.
Harry just stared at her, not exactly knowing what to say.
Noticing Harry's look, she intervened, "It wasn't that bad, I mean, it was kind of, because I barely had any friends for more than a year, but I got used to it. But I'm sure that you don't have any idea what that would be like, being the bloody 'Boy-Who-Lived' and all," she muttered the last comment under her breath.
He glared. "Yes, I do know what that feels like, actually. All my life, I grew up without knowing love, or anything like friendship because of my relatives. They hate me, and they hate magic as well, so I didn't find out that I was a wizard until I was eleven. Before that, I lived in a cupboard, when my fat bloke for a cousin had two bedrooms, and so many broken toys I've lost count. They belittled, beat, and made me feel like I was just this piece of shit on their shoes. I didn't have any friends because Dudley, my cousin, made sure of it. I was starved, and all that good stuff, and I get all of my cousin's over-sized hand-me-downs, 'til this day. After I turned eleven, they were afraid of me, and gave me Dudley's second bedroom, but their treatment of me never improved until the summer after my third year, when I used a threat that if they mistreated me, my godfather, (and your father, he added) would come and 'talk' with them. But they soon got over that, and it went back to normal." He stopped for a moment, as if pondering on what to say next, and he looked over to Sheyne to see that her face had paled immensely, and that she looked to be on the verge of tears. He smiled though, and said,
"Oh, but this summer has made a turn for the better. I found a spell that would mask my magical signature, and I scared the bloody shit out of them when I came home about a week ago. Maybe it was because I portkeyed into the sitting room..." he trailed off with a smirk on his face. Sheyne had started to laugh, and it became contagious, so they were soon laughing hysterically, clutching their sides.
Gaining composure, Sheyne looked to Harry with an apologetic smile on her face, "I'm sorry, Harry. I never knew that you had it that bad."
His face suddenly darkened and he muttered, "You don't know the half of it."
She looked at him defiantly and said, "Try me."
He looked at her, smiled, and said, "Why the fuck not. But let's walk, because this swing is getting uncomfortable. Or will it be too past curfew for you to talk to me?" he teased. She mock-glared at him, "Oh, I'm hurt Mr. Potter. But for your information, my mother doesn't really care how late I am, as long as I just come home for a change."
At his questioning glance, she just waved him off, standing to her feet, and exclaiming, "Come on! Let's go, I want to know why you're being all dark and broody now."
He smiled, and followed suit, and they began their walk around the "perfectly normal" neighborhood. Once on Privet Drive, Harry said to her, "Just a bit further. I live in Number 4."
"Really?" she asked. "Because we're the ones that moved into Number 8."
"Oh, so you're the ones that my aunt has been screeching about lately," he said with a not-so-amused tone.
Sheyne looked at him and said, "Is she that woman that keeps craning her neck over a fence trying to stare at my mother and I?"
Harry nodded. "She's like that. She likes to…know things about our neighbors. She'll probably invite you over to dinner soon."
"Oh, goody," she replied sarcastically. "Hmm. Maybe my mother could invite you all over. Then see what happens."
"Petunia would probably piss herself."
"Good. She's just a stupid old horse anyways."
Harry laughed. "Well, this is it. Just walk in as quietly as you can."
She looked at him quizzically, but walked into Number 4 anyways. They walked up the stairs as quietly as possible, and somehow Sheyne managed to skip the one with the creak. They went into Harry's room, and she looked at him with sad eyes. He cast a silencing charm.
"It's so small. How could you not blow up at them?"
She was about to start a rant, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. "All will be explained."
He sat her down on the bed, and told her everything. From his first year, all the way up to fifth year. She was so pissed off at Umbridge, and Dumbledore, she looked ready to kill. But he wasn't done yet. He still hadn't told her about what happened in the Department of Mysteries. He looked at her with a distant look in his eyes, and she pulled him into a hug. He started to silently cry, and he told her what happened. By the end, they were both crying quietly, and Harry, ashamed at showing weakness, brushed the tears away.
"I'm sorry. I should've listened to Hermione and used the mirror. Or at least done something. It's my fault that your father is dead," he trailed off.
Sheyne glared at him, and smacked him in the face. "Now you listen to me, Harry James Potter. None of this is your fault. It's more of Dumbledore's than anyone. He's a manipulative old bastard that used you as a tool for all of your life. Don't you dare blame yourself," she spat angrily.
He looked at her with wide eyes, and smiled. "Thanks, Sheyne. I needed that."
"Anytime, Harry. Anytime."
And thus a new friendship was formed.
The Dursleys were currently in their sitting room, discussing Dudley's wonderful grades, which just happened to be just above a D- average, when their nephew, or cousin in some cases, appeared out of nowhere with his school belongings in tow, strangely enough with a silver fork in his hand as well.
To say that they were shocked was an understatement. Dudley had dropped his teacup, letting it shatter all over the freshly vacuumed carpet, and then tried to hide under the coffee table while holding his bottom with two pudgy hands. Well, as you know, Dudley is roughly the size of a Killer Whale, give or take a few pounds, so naturally, he couldn't even manage to get half of his upper torso underneath it.
Petunia just looked on in shock, her teacup positioned as if she had just picked it up for another sip.
Vernon, on the other hand, was seething with rage. His face had turned the customary shade of purple when he was angry, and said, "Boy, you ungrateful little whelp. Bursting in on my family like this?" he growled menacingly. "Why, I-" but he was cut off by Harry's deadly glare.
"Shut the fuck up, Vernon. I've taken enough of your shit, and I'm not going to be your personal slave anymore," he spat, not even trying to hide his contempt for him. "Oh, and if you think up some little chores for me, then give them to your fat son, who I might add is the most 'ungrateful whelp' on the planet. And if you even try to treat me like shit, you've got another thing going for you, because I won't hesitate to hex you into oblivion."
Vernon just stared on in shock, much like his wife had earlier. When he finally found his voice again, he managed to blurt out with a smirk, "You are the worst liar I have ever seen in my life. You can't do magic out of school, or you'll get expelled! Don't you remember last year, boy?" He looked triumphant, until Harry began to laugh.
"Haha. That's a good one, Vernon. For someone as thick as you, however, I couldn't expect anymore. Do you really want to test out your theory of my expulsion?" he said as he whipped out his wand with recently practiced speed, aiming it level with Vernon's fat, blonde/balding head. As his face paled, Harry smirked and said, "I thought so. Now leave me alone."
After a quick, fearful nod from Vernon, Harry stole a glance at Dudley. He rolled his eyes, and said, "Geez, Big D, I thought that you being the leader of your gang, you'd be a bit more brave." Harry pointed his wand at Dudley, muttered an incantation, and watched with a smile when he added on a curly pig's tail just like Hagrid did before his first year. "Consider this a warning," was all that Harry said as he walked up the stairs, his trunk floating behind him.
About a week had passed, and Harry was "living the life," well, as good as you could at the Dursleys. Even though they were scared shitless of him, they still treated him semi-bad. But still, Harry was making the best of it, especially because his magical signature would never be found again. So, using his advantage to the full extent, he had magically expanded his room on the inside, though not on the outside, still making it look like his room was before. And, as he had slightly mentioned to the school that his destiny was set, he practically deformed his closet so that now it was a hidden training room that you could enter, but only if you had the right password. It had all different varieties of weapons, and many muggle training methods, even to a make-shift dueling platform. He had been looking through one of his old Defense books, and found a charm that would bring a dummy to life, and you could set it to a certain level. Let's just say that on a scale from 1-10, 10 being the best, Harry's now at like, 25, in not only muggle training with weapons, hand-to-hand combat, etc, but also with dueling. From just that week of training, he was already really well toned. Not to mention the fact that he ran a few miles each morning outside just to warm up. He was quite tan as well, spending his nights, and sometimes afternoons, out in the sun at the park with an illusion charm around him to make it look like he was writing, instead of reading up on his DADA.
Just now, he was done with his training for the day, and was heading out to the park. Usually, because of the lies that his "relatives" made, the park normally cleared once he got there, all of them thinking that he went to St. Brutus' Center for Criminally Insecure Boys. But today was different, he noticed with a grim smile. There was a girl sitting on one of the good swings (One that Dudley and his gang hasn't broken, Harry thought dryly), listening to her muggle CD player, jotting things down on what seemed to be paper with funny lines (staff paper, people). She must have just moved here, Harry thought. Though, she is kind of cute.
The girl in question, from what he could tell, wasn't short, but wasn't Sasquatch-tall either. Her hair was a midnight black color, but had three green streaks through the fairly short hair in the front, and it was spiked up in the back. She wore purple, plaid Capri-pants, with some black Vans shoes. She was wearing two shirts, one white, long sleeved undershirt, along with a black shirt over it that read:
"If you even try to think about looking at me the wrong way,
I'll bash your face into this lovely, conveniently placed brick wall, okay?"
And, ironically enough, it had a picture of a bunny rabbit with fangs, and evil-looking eyes, though it was smiling. She had at least twenty piercings as well, and she wore make-up, but not too much so it would make her look like Mimi from the Drew Carey show; only black eyeliner, some mascara, and purple eye shadow.
Harry walked up to the other swing, all the while thinking of something to say when he stopped in shock. When he had looked up, she wasn't using her pencil anymore. She had a wand in her hand.
So, after he got over the initial shock, he walked over to her with a smirk. "You know," he said, startling her, "you shouldn't keep your wand so out in the open."
She only gaped at him. When she regained her composure, she blurted out, "Well, Mr. I-Know-Everything, how could you have seen it?" she asked, becoming confused. "I put up a concealment charm that not even my old professor could see through."
Harry just stared in shock, but recovered quickly. He shrugged, and replied, "Oh well, that doesn't really matter, now does it? I still haven't caught your name though..."
"It's because I haven't told it to you yet," she said smiling. "I'm Sheyne, Sheyne Black."
"Well, Sheyne, I'm Ha-wait. Did you say Black?" he asked in a whisper.
"Yeah, and my father is Sirius, if that's what you were wondering..."
"Yeah, it was. By the way, I'm-" Harry started again, but was cut off by Sheyne.
"Harry, Harry Potter, I know," she said. "It's really easy to figure out who you are. I mean, what, with the unruly black hair, your mother's eyes, and then of course, the infamous scar. All hail the mighty lightning-bolt," she ended, the last comment full of sarcasm. He chuckled, and they both just sat there for awhile, in an uncomfortable silence.
"So," he started a bit awkwardly, "have you always lived around here?"
"No, and the Order didn't move us here, if that's what you're thinking," she said when she noticed Harry's distant, yet cold look. "We moved here because we heard the news about my dad...and well, my mom wanted to come back home, I suppose."
"Well, if you don't mind my asking, where did you live before?"
"We lived all of the place. After my dad was wrongfully imprisoned, my mom decided that she had to go into hiding with me because she was afraid that the Ministry, but mostly that incompetent fool, Fudge, would take me away from her, and put her in Azkaban as well. So that night she just packed all our stuff and portkeyed away, moving us to Australia first. Then the people got suspicious there, so we went to America...I honestly can't remember how many of those states we lived in, and how many schools I was in, but now I know we're here to stay. I'm going to Hogwarts this year, hopefully with my dad's last name, because we've talked to Dumbledore, and he's helping us clear up that damn fiasco," she said.
Harry just stared at her, not exactly knowing what to say.
Noticing Harry's look, she intervened, "It wasn't that bad, I mean, it was kind of, because I barely had any friends for more than a year, but I got used to it. But I'm sure that you don't have any idea what that would be like, being the bloody 'Boy-Who-Lived' and all," she muttered the last comment under her breath.
He glared. "Yes, I do know what that feels like, actually. All my life, I grew up without knowing love, or anything like friendship because of my relatives. They hate me, and they hate magic as well, so I didn't find out that I was a wizard until I was eleven. Before that, I lived in a cupboard, when my fat bloke for a cousin had two bedrooms, and so many broken toys I've lost count. They belittled, beat, and made me feel like I was just this piece of shit on their shoes. I didn't have any friends because Dudley, my cousin, made sure of it. I was starved, and all that good stuff, and I get all of my cousin's over-sized hand-me-downs, 'til this day. After I turned eleven, they were afraid of me, and gave me Dudley's second bedroom, but their treatment of me never improved until the summer after my third year, when I used a threat that if they mistreated me, my godfather, (and your father, he added) would come and 'talk' with them. But they soon got over that, and it went back to normal." He stopped for a moment, as if pondering on what to say next, and he looked over to Sheyne to see that her face had paled immensely, and that she looked to be on the verge of tears. He smiled though, and said,
"Oh, but this summer has made a turn for the better. I found a spell that would mask my magical signature, and I scared the bloody shit out of them when I came home about a week ago. Maybe it was because I portkeyed into the sitting room..." he trailed off with a smirk on his face. Sheyne had started to laugh, and it became contagious, so they were soon laughing hysterically, clutching their sides.
Gaining composure, Sheyne looked to Harry with an apologetic smile on her face, "I'm sorry, Harry. I never knew that you had it that bad."
His face suddenly darkened and he muttered, "You don't know the half of it."
She looked at him defiantly and said, "Try me."
He looked at her, smiled, and said, "Why the fuck not. But let's walk, because this swing is getting uncomfortable. Or will it be too past curfew for you to talk to me?" he teased. She mock-glared at him, "Oh, I'm hurt Mr. Potter. But for your information, my mother doesn't really care how late I am, as long as I just come home for a change."
At his questioning glance, she just waved him off, standing to her feet, and exclaiming, "Come on! Let's go, I want to know why you're being all dark and broody now."
He smiled, and followed suit, and they began their walk around the "perfectly normal" neighborhood. Once on Privet Drive, Harry said to her, "Just a bit further. I live in Number 4."
"Really?" she asked. "Because we're the ones that moved into Number 8."
"Oh, so you're the ones that my aunt has been screeching about lately," he said with a not-so-amused tone.
Sheyne looked at him and said, "Is she that woman that keeps craning her neck over a fence trying to stare at my mother and I?"
Harry nodded. "She's like that. She likes to…know things about our neighbors. She'll probably invite you over to dinner soon."
"Oh, goody," she replied sarcastically. "Hmm. Maybe my mother could invite you all over. Then see what happens."
"Petunia would probably piss herself."
"Good. She's just a stupid old horse anyways."
Harry laughed. "Well, this is it. Just walk in as quietly as you can."
She looked at him quizzically, but walked into Number 4 anyways. They walked up the stairs as quietly as possible, and somehow Sheyne managed to skip the one with the creak. They went into Harry's room, and she looked at him with sad eyes. He cast a silencing charm.
"It's so small. How could you not blow up at them?"
She was about to start a rant, but he silenced her with a wave of his hand. "All will be explained."
He sat her down on the bed, and told her everything. From his first year, all the way up to fifth year. She was so pissed off at Umbridge, and Dumbledore, she looked ready to kill. But he wasn't done yet. He still hadn't told her about what happened in the Department of Mysteries. He looked at her with a distant look in his eyes, and she pulled him into a hug. He started to silently cry, and he told her what happened. By the end, they were both crying quietly, and Harry, ashamed at showing weakness, brushed the tears away.
"I'm sorry. I should've listened to Hermione and used the mirror. Or at least done something. It's my fault that your father is dead," he trailed off.
Sheyne glared at him, and smacked him in the face. "Now you listen to me, Harry James Potter. None of this is your fault. It's more of Dumbledore's than anyone. He's a manipulative old bastard that used you as a tool for all of your life. Don't you dare blame yourself," she spat angrily.
He looked at her with wide eyes, and smiled. "Thanks, Sheyne. I needed that."
"Anytime, Harry. Anytime."
And thus a new friendship was formed.