Harry Potter and the Strength of Three
Chapter 1: Little Guy
After finally finding his resolve the night before, Harry had fallen asleep for the first time since his return to Number Four Privet Drive. He had no idea how long he had lain in his bed, wallowing in self pity before the revelation came like a whip crack. He may be to blame, yes. But he was not the only one. Voldemort. Bellatrix Lestrange, Dolohov, all the death eaters. They were to blame. From that point on Harry decided to make a stand. When next they met, the fury of hell would have nothing on him.
Rubbing his eyes with his left thumb and forefinger, he reached automatically to his nightstand, grasping his glasses and settling them on his face as he rose from the bed. Opening his trunk, (giving it a little kick when the lid was stuck,) he rummaged out some Muggle clothes, mainly Dudley castoffs. While much to baggy for his lean frame, they were now far too short. He must have grown at least three inches over the course of the school year. Not that he was tall now or anything. 5'8" maybe, at the most. The fact that he still seemed lanky, even while being so short, was testament to how skinny he really was.
Moving to the upstairs bathroom opposite Dudley's room, he kicked the door closed with his heel, dumping his load of clothes atop the hamper. Removing the clothes that he had worn since before leaving Hogwarts, he couldn't help but notice a certain ripeness. Yes, a shower was definitely a very good idea. Turning to the mirrored medicine cabinet to get his toothbrush, Harry barely held in a gasp at his reflection. His eyes were red rimmed, deep purple bags below them. His cheekbones stood in stark relief, the flesh on his face appearing tight and sunken, a harsh yellow tint to his skin. His hair was even messier than usual, standing up from his head in a haphazard fashion. None of these things were the cause of his surprise, however. He had expected the skeletal appearance, and the messy hair was a given. Leaning closer to his reflection just to be sure, this time he couldn't help the slight whimper that escaped his lips. His black, unruly hair that he hated so much, the hair that made him look so much like his father, now had a very noticeable sprinkling of gray.
He was only fifteen years old, why the bloody-hell did he have gray hair!? Combined with his unhealthy appearance, the slight shadow of a beard darkening his chin, he looked old. His appearance reminded him of the prison shows Uncle Vernon liked to watch on the telly. The lost, haunted look in his eyes only helped to complete the grim visage. He almost laughed. The vision staring at him in the mirror looked weak, sickly, old. Defeated. And he was supposed to defeat the most powerful, evil dark wizard that had ever lived.
This time he couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped his lips, which soon turned into a great wheezing cough. He couldn't tell if he was crying or laughing. The image in the mirror had blurred, getting fuzzy on the edges, making him look even older, but the harsh features were softened. After he was finished, wiping a few unshed tears from his eyes, still chuckling softly to himself, he was surprised to find he felt slightly better. He reached out and opened the medicine cabinet, grabbing his toothbrush and the tube of toothpaste, quickly brushing his teeth free of the nasty fuzz that had developed.
Returning the toothbrush to its place, he took his Uncle Vernon's straight edge from the cabinet and close the door, again looking at his reflection. Oddly enough, the short amount of bristly hair that covered his face wasn't blotchy like some of the others in his year. Dean Thomas once tried to grow himself a beard, but it ended up growing in darker in some spots, and grew faster in some places than others. Harry's "beard" seemed to be uniform, if rather unkempt. He decided that he kind of liked it, and instead of shaving his face entirely, he merely lathered under his chin and on his cheeks. When finished, he looked a little less scruffy. Rather, he thought it made him look rather gruff, for lack of a better term. The thought caused his lips to twist into a small lopsided grin. Feeling a little better after his laugh and shave, he stepped into the shower and scrubbed away the grime of sweating in his room for the last two days.
Stepping out of the shower and quickly toweling his hair, he grabbed his pile of clothing and dropped the towel into the hamper. Slipping into the extra large denim pants and black hooded sweatshirt, he grabbed the belt that he had been using since the age of nine. Cinching it about his waist, he remembered the day he had poked the extra hole in the length of leather, the original holes all being to large for his waist. Not surprisingly, the belt felt even looser than the last time he had worn it. He really needed to buy some clothes for himself one day. Soon.
After pulling a pair of stained, holy socks onto his feet, he took another look into the mirror. He looked every inch the criminal his neighbors thought him to be, due to his Aunt and Uncle's rumors that he attended a boarding school for juvenile delinquents. The hooded sweatshirt and messy hair, which was getting decidedly long, made him look like someone in a gang. All he needed was a bandana to tie around his head. The gray in his hair seemed even more prominent now after he had cleaned it, standing in stark relief with the rest of his jet black locks. At least he didn't look like he was fourty anymore. He could pass for twenty, maybe a little older. He decided not to let it bother him. What's wrong with looking a little older?
Harry quickly gathered his cast off clothes with a wrinkle of his nose, and tossed them in the hamper before leaving the bathroom. He was surprised to notice that Dudley's door was open, sticking his head cautiously into the room, he was even more surprised to see no Dudley. His room was messy, clothing and magazines scattered along the floor, the bed unmade with a corner of the bottom sheet untucked. Several posters of women in various states of undress adorned his walls, along with posters of rock bands. One thing missing was the many half eaten rolls, leftovers, and chocolate bars that Harry was used to seeing. There wasn't even any dirty dishes or candy wrappers scattered about.
Shrugging his shoulders, he followed the sounds and smells of breakfast cooking in the kitchen. As he appeared in the room, Vernon and Petunia seemed to be arguing about something, sniping back and forth between each other. They stopped upon seeing Harry, looking at him oddly. Uncle Vernon with a distinct sneer on his lips. Neither said anything to him, but he could feel the tension in the air. Uncle Vernon was barely holding himself in check, his face slowing blotching itself into the familiar shade of purple that Harry knew so well.
Why even bother? Harry thought, remembering the muggle pounds in his wallet that he had exchanged at Gringotts the last time he had been there. Without even crossing the threshold into the kitchen, he turned around and left the stares of his relatives, instead making his way to the front door. Pausing to slip on his trainers, the one piece of clothing he owned that fit (besides the socks Dobby gave him for Christmas each year), he left the house.
The day was pleasant, blue skies and a light breeze. Harry couldn't help but smile as he looked around the neighborhood that was Privet Drive. Each house looked nearly the same, the only distinguishing features the color of the siding, or the bushes in the front lots. His smile disappeared when he saw one of the neighbors, Margareta Lengton, frowning at him over her rosebushes. He scowled back, unable to help himself, and almost laughed at the look of shock that crossed her face, as she ran back into her house. Apparently, the neighbors took the rumor's of him being "incurably criminal" far too seriously.
Whistling happily to himself, Harry began walking down the sidewalk toward the exit of Privet Drive, Surrey, and the road that would eventually take him to Greater Winging. There was a convenience store there where he could buy himself something to eat, and maybe a soda. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as the various residents of Privet Drive glowered at him from their porches, yards, or through their windows. He couldn't help but wonder what Snape would think if he saw the way his neighbors reacted to his presence. Famous, arrogant Harry Potter, shunned by his neighbors for being a delinquent menace.
As the boring cookie cutter houses of Privet drive gave way to the more interesting sights of Surrey, mainly brick storefronts advertising music, groceries or books, He let out a relieved sigh. The glowers and wide eyed looks of the people on Privet Drive had started to make him nervous. Why couldn't anyone see him as he was? Just Harry Potter, teenage boy who went to school, who enjoyed drinking soda and playing chess with his best friend on the weekends out of class. The fact that the Chess pieces shouted encouragement and insults made no difference. It seemed he was doomed for everyone to know him on site no matter where he went.
Maybe that was the main reason why he decided to go to Greater Winging that day. The area was used to people that were rough around the edges. He may not fit in, but at least he would be anonynous. Just another face among many.
Harry walked the three or so miles to the store he had in mind at a slow, easy pace. The fresh air felt good after the stuffy confines of his bedroom. The sounds of cars and people a welcome drone, setting the background for an area full of life. He felt good. Free.
Now, what's the name of that store again? Praggle's? Pringle's? Harry started paying more attention to his surroundings when he knew he was getting closer to where he wanted to go. Spotting a cozy looking cafe across the street. "Maggies Cafe." Sounds nice. I'll just stop there for breakfast on my way back. The thought caused him to frown. He knew he had to return to Privet Drive eventually, the protection awarded him in the home demanded it, but he didn't have to like it. Why couldn't Dumbledor have left him somewhere else? Sure, the blood protection he was granted from his Aunt was great and all, but he would have rather lived anywhere else. Number Four Privet Drive was not his home, and never would be.
Seeing the familiar site of the petrol station Vernon Dursley stopped at whenever he had went with him to Greater Winging, Harry let his feet pick up there pace slightly. Parlow's. I was way off. The door beeped annoyingly as he walked through the door, causing the asian clerk to look at him and frown. Harry ignored this and slowly made his way to the cooler in the back, grabbing a cola and meandering his way slowly through the isles. He picked up a chocolate bar as well, deciding to treat himself after his breakfast at Maggie's. He couldn't help but notice the sharp eye the clerk kept on him. What's he think I'm going to do? Steal a bag of candy? The thought made snicker, as he quickly tried to wipe the grin from his face. The clerk frowned. I can just imagine the headlines. Boy-Who-Lived arrested, caught lifting candy from a muggle store! The grin quickly turned into a frown, imagining how the story would get blown way out of proportion. It would be all over the papers how he had tortured the clerk while eating a chocolate bar and demanding to know where they kept their candy stored, all the time laughing maniacally and fainting. He quickly sent a scowl of his own back at the clerk, causing him to flinch and drop his gaze to the counter-top.
Harry set his purchases on the counter and waited for the clerk to ring them up, tapping his fingertips on the Plexiglass of the countertop. He wanted to get out of the store, the clerk's glances were starting to make him nervous. He let his gaze wander about the wares behind the counter, products reserved for people that were of age.
"Will that be everything?" Harry stopped his reply mid-syllable, his eyes gravitating to the bright red and white boxes in the storage containers set into the wall above the counter behind the clerk. Cigarettes. Why would you want cigaretts? You don't smoke. The voices again. This one sounded oddly like Hermione. A slight smile pulled at his lips again, as he wondered what Hermione would think if she knew she was one of the voices representing his conscience. Predictably, the next voice was Ron. Cigaretts? Gonna take up smoking? Mind if I try one? Don't let mum see, she'd kill me! What would it matter if he smoked? He probably wouldn't live long enough to die from cancer. Besides that, he had never heard of a wizard or witch who had died from cancer anyways. They probably had a potion that took care of it in a matter of hours. He had always heard that smoking was great for stress anyways, and if anyone needed a relief from stress, it was him.
"I'll take a pack of Marlboro's, the red one, and a lighter." Harry said, not thinking of the fact that he wasn't of age before blurting it out. Idiot! What if he asks for identification? The man looked him over, and seemed to be opening his mouth to do just that. Harry arched an eyebrow, standing cool and collected in front of the clerk. Not letting on that he had hippogriph sized butterflies rampaging through his stomach. The clerk snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, quickly turning around and grabbing the pack of smokes from the display.
"Just the one?" Harry almost laughed, it worked! Trying to suppress the grin from his victory, he nodded his head, retrieving his wallet from his jeans pocket, handing the asian man the correct amount of bills.
"Keep the change," he said, walking quickly from the store. Once outside, he breathed a sigh of relief, setting off towards the cafe he had seen on his way. He took the pack of cigarettes and put them in the front pocket of his jeans, deciding that carrying them around in a clear plastic bag for the world to see wasn't such a grand idea. In a shorter time than he thought, he was walking through the door to the Maggie's Cafe, old fashioned door chimes tinkling above his head.
The cafe was just as he thought it would be. Cozy looking, with booths lining the walls, small round tables scattered about, and a long bar along one wall with stools lined up in front of it. Various black and white photographs adorned the wood panelled walls, lending a sense of nostalgia to the atmosphere. Harry chose a booth in the corner, facing the door. He didn't have to wait long before a middle-aged dirty blonde waitress shuffled up to his table, stifling a yawn with the notepad in her hand. She wore a peach uniform, white at the cuffs and collar. Her face was careworn and lined, but the wrinkles seemed to be from smiling, not frowning. Harry glanced at her nametag, Susan. He smiled winningly at her as she stopped at his table.
"What'll it be?" She mumbled gruffly, looking him up and down. The frown on her face caused the smile to melt sickeningly off Harry's. You'd think I was wearing a prison smock. But then he blushed, remembering his own thoughts when looking in the mirror that morning. I really need some new clothes.
"Just some sausage, eggs and toast please." Harry said, letting his eyes drop down to the table, fiddling nervously with the plastic bag from Parlow's. "Oh, and some Orange Juice too, if you have it." Susan scribbled his order down on her notepad, snorting at his last statement.
"Of course we have Orange Juice," she said, before narrowing her eyes at him and looking pointedly at his torn jeans and holy sweatshirt. "You can pay for it, right?"
Harry raised his eyes at that, blinking slowly at the waitress. "Of course," he sighed, letting his eyes drop back to the table. The waitress made a noise Harry took as agreement and walked off, yelling the order to someone in the back who he supposed was the cook. Harry felt like crawling under the table, feeling the eyes of the other patrons looking him over. He felt like standing up and shouting "Boo!" just to see what would happen. The thought made him chuckle. The people around him probably thought him nutters, sinking in his seat, frowning, smirking and snickering in turns. This caused him to wipe the frown off his face, stealing his features into an emotionless mask. (As best he could anyways, his eyes still flashed with amusement and annoyance in turns.)
Before long the waitress arrived with his meal, setting the plate atop the bill. Harry ate quickly, anxious to get out of the cafe. It didn't feel cozy and welcoming any more, it felt stiffling, hot. When finished, he left a couple quid on the table, bringing the check to the register and paying for the food. He practically ran from the restaurant, before remembering his bag with the soda and candy. He quickly walked back to his table and grabbed it, before turning around and leaving. He never noticed a figure sitting in the far corner, watching him closely from behind a muggle newspaper.
Glad to be out of the cafe, Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair. He began walking back towards Privet Drive again, deciding to take a slightly different, longer route this time. He was in no hurry to get back. All he would do there is sit in his room anyways, and you could only stare at a ceiling for so long.
It didn't take long before his step regained its bounce. He had things to do, a purpose. Who cares what those muggles thought? Not him. He began to whistle softly to himself once more, his pace once again the slow swagger he took to Parlow's. Some of the sights were starting to seem a little familiar for some reason. He found himself frowning again. He was still in Greater Winging, miles from Privet Drive. Why would this be familiar? The sound of merrily chirping birds caught his ears, and he took a turn, following the sound.
Greater Winging Park, of course. That's why its familiar. He remembered coming here for a class trip once while in elementary. Dudley and his friends had chased him around the pond, before Harry had ran to the teacher. He had just stood a little to the left of her, not saying anything, but Dudley and his minions couldn't hurt him in front of a teacher.
His aunt and uncle had sent him and Dudley both to Greater Winging public schools to save money, at least until Harry turned eleven and went to Hogwarts. And Dudley went to Smeltings private boarding school. Would Smeltings be anything like Hogwarts? They were both boarding schools. Sure, Smeltings wasn't in a castle, didn't have ghosts, and most certainly didn't teach magic, but besides that they were probably fairly similar. Did Dudley share a dorm with his year mates? Or did they each get a private room? Who cares, anyways? Nothing is better than Hogwarts.
Despite himself, Harry walked farther into the park, memories of his younger days running through his head. A small mousy haired boy had once offered him a piece of his chocolate bar sitting on one of the benches facing the pond. Of course, when Dudley found out, he beat up the poor kid. Everyone eventually learned not to talk with Harry. If you did, you got in trouble. He frowned, remembering how later on the little mousy kid, Peirs, had joined Dudley in his bullying. Most of the kids just tried to ignore Harry, not wanting to get on Dudley's bad side.
The park was quite large and beautiful. A shining rose among the ugly gray of Greater Winging. Trees lined the dirt paths, flowering bushes scattered here and there. Birds chattered happily down to Harry and eachother as he walked along. Eventually he came to the pond in the center. Ducks swam lazily around its surface, bobbing their heads underneath the water every once in a while. He followed the path around the pond, taking a smaller path at random. The park was so full of life, so noisy, that he couldn't help smiling. It was a good noise, not the honking, roaring sounds of the street, although he could still hear it in the distance, it was a calming sound. Peaceful.
The path eventually came to a dead end, stopping at some monument honoring some muggles for some great deed. Harry walked around the marble and struck off across the grass. The park seemed even more peaceful here, away from the signs of people. No paths, no man-made decorations or monuments for donations. Harry's mood felt lighter than it had for months. A weight lifted from his shoulders, and he couldn't suppress the carefree smile that graced his features, making him appear the teen he was, instead of the ragged man others had seen that morning. After walking for a few minutes, he saw something that made the smile stretch even farther.
A tree.
Towering at least 30 feet high, with thick branches spreading from the middle in all directions, it was the largest, most majestic tree he had seen in the park. The bark of the trunk shone a golden brown, seeming to glow in the light of the pleasant sunshine. Its multitude of leaves alternating colors of green, some dark, some light. It seemed ancient, proud. Walking under its comforting shade, he noticed some thin boards nailed to its trunk. They appeared weathered and old, as if no-one had climbed them in some time. Without hesitation, Harry wrapped the handle of the Parlow bag around his right hand and climbed swiftly up the tree. The boards ended at the first branch thick enough to hold the weight of a person, and from there on up he scrabbled from branch-to-branch. Towards the top the tree seemed to split in two, offering a wide area to sit on, enclosed and sheltered by its many leave covered branches. He felt as though he was in a different world, magical and beautiful.
It was perfect.
Settling down in the depression with a contented sigh, Harry fished the bottle of cola from his bag, opened it and swallowed deeply. Small birds flitted from branch to branch, chirping questioningly to him now and then. This is why the world needed him. Voldemort would take places like this and turn them upside down. A sudden image flashed through his mind of the tree he was in now, burnt and scarred, the branches leafless and skeletal. Surrounded by desolation, grey ash and blackened ground. Harry grimaced. He could not let that happen.
With a jolt he remembered the cigarettes that he had purchased at the store, and he fished them out of his pocket. What had possessed him to buy such a thing? He had never once thought of smoking before he saw them in the store. With a shrug of his shoulder's, he tore the plastic wrapper off, and the foil like covering at the top. Popping one in his mouth, he lit the end and breathed deeply.
Only to drop it in his lap as his lungs exploded in protest, expelling the smoke in a great cloud around his head. Weazing and coughing in turns, he grabbed the cigarette from his jeans before they burnt a hole. Wiping sudden tears from his eyes, he frowned at the burning tobacco. The people he had seen smoking didn't seem to have so much trouble as that. More cautiously this time, he sucked the smoke into his mouth before breathing it in slowly, taking the burning cigarette away from his lips as he did so. It still made him want to cough, as his throat tingled oddly in protest. Turning his head and exhaling away from the breeze, he found the action sort of....soothing.
Soon enough, the cigarette was burnt and he flicked it to the ground below his perch. He felt kind of dizzy and hot. Laying back against the trunk behind him, he closed his eyes. Why did he suddenly feel sick? Breathing deep breaths slowly in and out seemed to help, and soon enough he felt normal. Digging through the bag again, he brought out the Chocolate bar, unwrapped it and took a small bite. He hadn't felt this good in a long time. His worries seemed miles away. The birds chirped at him and he smiled, looking up at the skuttling clouds slowly drifting across the sky.
A sharp chattering made him lower his gaze. Not three feet from him sat a small squirrel, its fur golden with two stripes running its length, bushy tail wrapped around his paws. It was standing on its hind legs, front paws held in front of its face in a gesture that Harry found...for lack of a better word...cute. He chuckled softly when the little critter chattered at him again, causing it to bolt up the branch behind it, peaking around from underneath at Harry.
Grinning at the little guy, Harry broke a tiny piece off the candy bar, placing it on the tree where the squirrel had been. In small fits and starts, the squirrel slowly made its way to the chocolate. When it reached the small treasure, it sniffed it curiously, before grabbing it in its front paws and bolting up the branch again. Harry broke another piece off, putting it a little closer to him this time. Just as he thought, the squirrel came and grabbed the morsel as it did the last time, but without running off. Harry repeated the action, before finally lowering his hand, the small piece of chocolate nestled in his palm.
The squirrel looked at him mcuriously, sniffing the air. Rubbing his little paws across its nose, chattering non-stop. Harry grinned as the small creature cautiously approached his hand, before quickly grabbing the chocolate and bolting off as before. Patiently, Harry repeated the action. The squirrel stayed near his hand this time, nibbleing on the sweet. Cautiously, as not to startle the little thing, Harry brought his other hand towards it. Sensing something coming near, the squirrel jumped off his hand and bolted away from him. Harry patiently placed another small nibble of chocolate in his palm, and waited.
The squirrel didn't come back.
Sighing, Harry stood from the tree. The sun was setting, and he had a long walk back to Privet Drive. Patting the trunk of the tree fondly before climbing down, Harry whispered to it. "I'll be back."
The walked slowly back to Privet Drive, being sure to mark a route that would take him directly to the park from his relatives home. Finally, he found himself climbing the steps to the porch, and opened the front door. Immediately he heard the sounds of argument.
"You will respect us and do as we say! After caring for you for all these years this is the thanks we get?" Vernon shouted, Harry could imagine the purple blotches. He opened his mouth to make his customary reply of "Yes Uncle Vernon," "Of course Uncle Vernon," but someone beat him to it.
"I don't have to put up with this, I'm going out!" Harry gasped at the voice of Dudley. Drama in the Dursley household? So it would seem. He almost grinned, until he saw Dudley storming down the hall towards him. He pressed himself against the wall as to give him the room to pass. Harry realized this was the first time he had really seen his cousin that summer. Sure, he had seen him at King's Cross, but he hadn't been paying attention. Obviously, his mind had been on different things at the time.
Dudley looked like a completely different person. He had lost weight, no longer looking like a pile of quivering jell-o. He appeared stocky and muscular, not fat and soft. His hair was short and spiked, the brown highlighted with blonde streaks. An earring glinted from his left ear, seeming to wink as the light hit it. He wore jeans and a muscle shirt, his arms toned and powerful looking. He stopped as he came to Harry, breathing hard through his nose.
"I don't see how you can stand to stay here with them." He growled. "If I were you, I would have left this damn hell-hole the first chance I got." With that, Dudley left, slamming the door hard enough to cause the various knick-knacks in the sitting room to tinkle. Harry shook his head, trying to clear his mind. What the hell is going on? Dudley fighting with his dad? Little Dudders? Dudleykins!?
Harry turned to return to his room, still pondering Dudley's newfound strangeness, and bumped directly into the massive form of his uncle. Looking up, Vernon looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him. His face was the customary splotchy purple, the vein on his forehead stood out against his skin. But his eyes had a mad glint in them.
He looked like a crazy man.
Against his will, Harry backed up a step before he could stop himself. "This is all your fault boy!" Vernon Dursley growled in a low hiss. "You've corrupted my son." Harry shook his head at this, not knowing what to say. Vernon took a ragged breath, shoving a finger into Harry's chest, making him grunt. "Get out of my sight." With that, he stomped off to the kitchen, where he and Aunt Petunia began arguing. As soon as he was gone, Harry ran up the stairs, not bothering to remove his shoes. He stopped in the bathroom, washed his face, and went to his room. What in the bloody-hell was that? Shaking his head at the newest Dursley craziness, he undressed, lay on his bed, and fell asleep.
He dreamed of a giant squirrel chasing him around London, demanding chocolate in a squeaky voice.
A/N I hope you like it so far. I know the first chapter was nothing much, but I had to get the bulk of Harry's grief under control. I don't want him running around wining and bawling to everyone about Sirius. I plan on updating as much as I can, hopefully at least twice a week. I have the first 10 chapters summarized already, and each chapter after this one will be much longer. I like the squirrel.
I have no beta readers or any of that jazz, so you'll just have to put up with my spelling, yea? The reason I have Dudley fighting with his beloved mum and dad is because it seems like the only way Harry and Dudley could ever become anything more than enemies.
Harry smokes!? Sacriledge! Gasp! Shock! Lots of people take up smoking when they are grieving or under a lot of stress, and face it: Harry has both in bucket loads. I was thinking about having him give up on it before he even started, but it'll be a good plot device later on.
Next chapter, meet the new Dudley.
Please Review!