Harry Potter Fan fiction (so people, I no own!!!)
Disclaimer: err, see above. The world, characters, etc, all belong to another. I am only
borrowing them. The plot is the only thing I own, along with any
characters I choose to introduce. I am making no profit, it is intended just
for entertainment.
Warnings: Who knows? Will start out angst, will undoubtedly get darker later. Rated for dangerous situations involving pain/adult themes, and angst.
Summary: Harry Potter is at a crossroads in his life, and now must face trial by fire in
order to determine exactly who he is…and why.
…so, deep breath….here we go.
SILVER SORROW AND GOLDEN JOY
Chapter One: And here we go again…
So here we are again,
Let me tell you all goodbye,
No-more you'll bring the rain,
No-more I'll have to cry
Summer holidays. Again.
The tenacity it showed in once again appearing was unbelievable. With the sheer force of Harry's reluctance he felt it really shouldn't have come. There was no time of the year he hated quite so much.
He was alone. Again.
One certainly couldn't count the Dursley's as company. Or, in reflection, even really human.
Harry propped his head in his hands and stared out of his window-or more precisely through the slits of the boards barring his window- and fixed his gaze on the sprinkling of stars.
This was what he had been reduced to. Locked in this tiny-go on, he goaded himself, accept it, locked in this cell. Locked up like a criminal staring out at a few glimmering stars that seemed to mock him more every night with his imprisonment!
Locked up by everyone, especially Dumbledore, locked up for his own safety-never mind the safety of everyone else- kept alone and grieving all this time!
Stay safe Harry…Keep in the house…We'll see you come time for Hogwarts…Don't worry…
Damn them! Damn them all! He cursed silently, eyes narrowing angrily, no longer seeing the stars, but lost inside his bitterness. Harry couldn't deal with his relatives right now, couldn't deal with fat, smirking Dudley… or portly, furious Uncle Vernon fists clenching in anger and fear…Aunt Petunia, lips pursed together and her eyes narrowed in dislike, watching him from the corner of her pale eyes wherever he went.
Was it any wonder he remained in isolation? How could they…how could they just live and gossip and hate just as passionately and as blindly as before, living their illusion of normality, when he, Harry had lost all hope of a loving future? Or maybe of a future at all?
Shadows bathed his room in darkness, and the sickly glow from his broken lamp threw weak light over his upturned face, where he knelt lost in his thoughts.
Thin as he was, and pale from lack of sun and proper food, with dark, messy and untameable locks, the so-called famous Harry Potter admitted to himself he looked rather like a vampire.
An unhappy vampire. An unhappy, unhealthy vampire.
A soft hoot from the corner, combined with the soft rustle of feathers served to draw Harry's attention from the implacable stars to Hedwig's concerned amber stare. He smiled softly at her, his attention, for the moment, successfully diverted.
"You're right girl", he murmured, "I've still got you, right?"
Another hoot caused him to smile softly.
"Yeah, I've still got you."
He turned his eyes back to the scattering of stars perceptible through the slats.
-…-
It was going to be a long summer. Of course, in retrospect, it was always a long summer when one was locked in Privet Drive. Especially when one was locked in with only the occasional half- terrified half murderous attention from his family.
His lip curled unconsciously. There was no way he viewed his relations as family, that fragile and beautiful ideal he carried in his heart- or had, until the death of his beloved Godfather.
Sirius… Harry tore his mind away from the dark, screaming abyss the name provoked, back to the book he had open on his knee-Defence and Offence-What to do when the end comes. A gift from Hermione for his birthday
( rather in poor taste, but admittedly ironic) that he had been attempting to finish for days now. Informative, sure, but Harry fully believed he had finally found a book that Mr. Binns would have had trouble digesting. (Hermione, however, probably already had cliff notes for him-she was fanatical about study and was only trying to help)
Despite the book's complete and utter lack of allure, Harry had been fighting his way through the large text, working over what he read and memorising what he could.
Really, what else was there to do?
And so Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Was-Locked-Up-While-Everyone-Else-Was-Not, spent his summer days in a hot, cramped room, alternating between periods of heavy thought and misery, and feverish bouts of industry, working over his textbooks and homework. (Except his potions work; this simply received a dark, sinister glare)
After the sudden delivery of his birthday presents, which had included a picture of Snape's face taken after one of the twins pranks (a gift from said twins) and which still caused him inordinate amounts of amusement, Harry had been effectively cut off from all things unnatural.
And it was really beginning to drag.
Sure, he had his books, his things, even his wand, but there are only so many hours of a day in which one can research the properties of foreign pain-killers, or practice the correct wand movements to set someone on fire.
There was even, sadly, a limit of time one could stare at the horrified and humiliated expression of a certain potions master…though it did take quite awhile…
With a loud sigh, Harry tossed the book he had been staring at blankly into the corner, fed up. With the loud bang there was a loud smash of breaking china somewhere downstairs as a result.
Not even this further evidence of the edginess of his high strung relations (this time his aunt) could placate Harry.
He'd lost Sirius, hadn't he, lost him out of his own stupidity. Wasn't it enough he suffered here in this hole every summer? Wasn't it enough he never really ate enough, although his serve come mealtimes had definitely improved thanks to the well-timed intimidation of Harry's friends?
Apparently not.
Suddenly, Harry needed out. He suddenly needed those illusive stars, a single breath of fresh air. Recklessly, angrily, he leapt up. Ignoring the ache of muscles long unused, Harry strode determinedly over to the door and gave it a shove.
Nothing happened.
Okay, so he had felt locked in all summer, but he had chosen seclusion up here himself til now. But to find he was literally locked in…
He glared at it angrily. He slammed his right fist into the wood hard enough to bruise.
Still nothing.
Furiously, Harry opened his mouth, threw caution to the winds, and yelled his uncle's name. Loudly.
He had accepted his confinement because at first he couldn't care about anything. But right now Harry had had quite enough. He needed to be out, and although his relatives might prattle on about his so called safety and those blasted Freaks who mustn't have need to call, he knew they were simply keeping him out of the way.
"WHAT IS IT BOY!!" Uncle Vernon's voice rang up the stairs, heavy with fury.
Harry was extremely unimpressed.
It was Saturday, mid-morning, a brand new day, and even if he was alone and miserable, he was damn well going to be miserable and alone outside.
Heavy thumping sounds announced his uncle's pending arrival.
The locks leapt back on his door with the force thrown behind them, and the door flew open accompanied by Hedwig's shriek of alarm.
"What do you want?!" His uncle hissed furiously, eyes darting around as if expecting wizards to suddenly pop out of his nephews closet. He calmed himself with a visible effort.
Harry glared at him, trying unsuccessfully to appear calm and unmoved.
"I'm going out."
This statement was met with at first a blank look of incomprehension and then building alarm.
"What! Outside? But, but what of those fre-friends of yours, whatever they're called, the lot with the bowler hat and the weird hair?" He spluttered, clearly terrified by the notion of wizards coming to his home if something happened to the brat.
Harry waited semi-patiently for his uncle to draw breath.
He'd been at first sardonically amused then annoyed when his uncle had routinely dropped by his room to ensure he sent his message to the order. Or, in his uncle's opinion, those freaks.
He'd even loosened the boards so they would part enough to allow Hedwig through, with a little manoeuvring.
…All for himself, of course, not for green-eyed, rebellious, impertinent Harry, who was sulking and wasn't it just like him?…
"I'm allowed outside. I'm going outside. Or the order will be by to check on me."
Hardly a subtle threat, but Harry needed to be out, and so he watched as Vernon paled and his eyes resumed their nervous twitching from window to closet.
"You're allowed out," he gritted, "for a little while, mind -but don't you go anywhere near Dudley!"
Harry wanted to laugh. Go near Dudley, when all his life he had strived to ignore him?
"I won't," he said, settling his expression to calmness. His uncle continued to watch him (and the closet) holding the door in one hand and still blocking the entrance like an enraged bull.
"So…can I go now?" He prompted, checking with one hand that his wand was close to hand.
His uncle stared at him a moment longer.
"Don't you cause any trouble, boy," he warned finally.
Harry nodded impatiently, and pushed past and leapt down the stairs easily, totally ignoring his aunt in the kitchen and was out the front door in seconds.
The sunlight was incredibly bright after days of being stuck in his dark, musty room, and pausing for a moment on the doorstep of number 4 Privet Drive, Harry drew in a breath of fresh, clean air with bright relief.
He hadn't realised, so lost in his own mind, how much had missed the outside world.
The world of blue skies, sun, and the scent of freshly mown grass.
Sirius, he thought, I wish you were here with me.
Bright green eyes dimmed for a moment before he lifted his head resolutely and marched down the footpath past the wilted flowers and onto the footpath, determined to thoroughly ignore whatever watcher he was certain was 'protecting' the house.
Forget them, he thought angrily, I don't need them.
Hands in his pockets, ( one hand firmly around his wand ) the Boy-Who-Lived wandered aimlessly away from the house he had called home for eleven years without a single drop of the warmth usually associated with such a term. With Sirius gone, it didn't matter anyway. Everyone he loved was hurt in some way, and considering what Dumbledore claimed he had to do, well, maybe it was better if he worked alone. Except, maybe, Ron and Hermione, he didn't think he could push them away.
Lost in thought, the tall, pale boy wandered away in the bright, summer sunshine, treading mindlessly over flowers carefully pruned and wilting from heat.
He didn't notice the dark, flowing form that watched him from bright, light-devouring eyes and hurried along behind him, keeping pace from the shadows cast be fences and dying flower bushes.
Neither did Tonks, who followed, concealed beneath an invisibility cloak, on the opposite side of the street.
AN: Impending doom, there's nothing quite like it…