The Old Ways
Chapter 2
Tucked away deep in the forest, nestled in the valley between two ancient hills was a cave, its entrance shrouded by ferns. The rocky entrance was small, not nearly large enough for an animal of significant size to enter, but perhaps a snake or a rather skinny boy of fifteen.
Mere steps beyond the entrance the tunnel grew wider and then opened up into a cavern that extended deep into the hill. From the main cavern there were tunnels, dark winding tunnels that led to larger caverns.
Harry's new home pleased him. It was carved out of the hill with purpose, the rock walls hewn to smooth perfection. A creature of intelligence had created these ancient caves, Harry knew. Perhaps a wizard of centuries long since gone...
The darkness was thick, but easily dispelled by blue smokeless flames (a specialty of Hermione's) that Harry conjured. The fires littered the walls on makeshift torches, the blue light gently illuminating the interconnected caves.
In the largest cave a blue fire filled a carved out hole in the center of the floor. Rickety furniture made of transfigured wood, generously provided by the forest, was set about in a deliberate manner. A purple-squishy sleeping bag lay in the corner on top of a cushioning charm, a number of folded blankets stacked against the wall nearby.
Harry had been very busy in the week and some days since he had made the forest his home. The Order wasn't alerted to his disappearance until they had come to investigate three days after his arrival at Privet Drive - when his first 'check-in' letter didn't arrive as instructed. In that time he had ample opportunity to pick up supplies in Hogsmeade.
At Flourish and Blott's he selected a number of texts related to his magical pursuits of the summer, as well as restocking on parchment, quills, and ink. At a wizarding supply store he had bought some camping gear, including his sleeping bag, some blankets, cooking utensils, and a cauldron. The shop-keepers had been only too willing to help him shrink his items down (he didn't dare perform underage magic outside the protection of the forest, which blanketed his magic with it's own) for him.
Massster. The hiss reverberated around the cave, bouncing from rounded wall to rounded wall, making an echo.
Yes, little one? Harry hissed. Harry had made good use of his parseltongue ability - inspired by Lord Voldemort, oddly enough, he had come to rely on his innate ability to speak to and control serpents.
Master, I've brought you a jumper. It is raining. Harry smiled, amused that he could detect a hint of a whine in the snake's hissing.
You may take refuge here, little one. Bring the jumper to me, make yourself comfortable by the fire. Harry hissed.
From the darkness of the tunnel a large snake slithered, dropping onto the floor silently, a large rabbit hung limply from it's unhinged jaws. The snake slithered over to Harry's makeshift worktable where he was scratching away with quill and parchment, taking notes on apparition - his first project of the summer. The snake deposited the 'jumper' at Harry's feet as a dog would, then curled itself about the warm fire.
Harry wordlessly took in the size of the snake - one of the many that often visited him - and not for the first time thought it strange that they let him call them 'little one'. This particular snake, like many of the forest, was anything but little. Harry thought that, perhaps, the snakes saw him as a mix between a snake and a wizard, some god-like creature to be revered. After all, they all called him master.
Harry pushed these thoughts aside and took to his feet. Above a pit in the far corner he hung the rabbit from a hook that lowered from the ceiling. He aimed his wand carefully and cast the necessary spells - dark arts - to skin the rabbit and remove it's organs. After the words of magic were spoken the pit below was cruelly filled with a splash. Harry winced, not quite used to this part of food preparation that often caused him to lose his appetite, or even a previous meal. He vanished the contents of the pit with his wand.
From the floor he picked up a twig, transfigured it into a needle and then enlarged it with engorgio. He impaled the rabbit on the long metallic spike and set about roasting his dinner, a pleasant conversation with the serpent about the gossip of the forest flowing easily from his tongue.
The mornings were Harry's favorite part of the day. The mist that floated through the trees - given off naturally by the lake, was a far cry from the unnatural, dark mist that had swallowed surrey as of late. Each morning Harry bathed himself in the lake, emerging refreshed and energized - more so than he could ever remember being.
On the mornings that Harry was lucky enough to catch them, he watched with admiring eyes as a pack of black wolves - frequent visitors to the lake's edge, emerged from the thick pine trees to drink their fill.
They were large with jet black hair, powerful legs and bright eyes. They were strong creatures, that much Harry could see with his own eyes - but they didn't seem to possess any magical qualities other than their abnormal size, perhaps twice as large as a normal wolf.
Perhaps that was just natural evolution, Harry mused - they would have to be large and strong to survive in these harsh woods.
His home was littered with drawings of the beautiful animals he had come to be so fond of, despite not having interacted with them.
But he had selected his form, he knew.
The animagus transformation was his second goal - magically speaking - of the summer, the first being apparition. If he accomplished just those two abilities... well, it would be much more than he would have ever accomplished at Privet Drive, wasting away to skin and bones.
His father and godfather - both animagi - had accomplished the feat in three years while at school, finishing up the project sometime around Harry's current age. But they had to hide it from Dumbledore, and McGonagall, and most of all, from Remus. They could only work on it during the full moon, Harry reasoned with himself. I can work on it day and night if I want, for months solid. There's no reason I can't do it.
And in time, he would prove to be right.
A month later in the dead of night, Harry awoke violently, his body wracked by tremors and cold sweat dripping from his hair. He pulled his wand from the side table and flicked it silently, the blue-bell flames about the chamber roared to life.
Harry sat up in his bed - yes, he managed to transfigure the sleeping bag and blankets into a real bed, much to his delight. His daily use of his wand to perform even the most minor of tasks had improved his magical abilities greatly. Such flippant use of magic was frowned upon at Hogwart's, though, and Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out why, considering the benefits that had come with being intimately familiar with his own magic.
Shoving these thoughts aside, Harry recalled the vision he had while sleeping. Lord Voldemort had sacked a muggle town during the night. He and his Death Eaters had broken into homes while whole families slept. They weren't tortured, they weren't dismembered or even taunted. They were struck dead - often in their sleep - by the killing curse and their bodies were portkeyed away.
It simply didn't make any sense! Harry rubbed his scar furiously. Why was Lord Voldemort passing on the chance to use his favored cruciatus curse? Why wasn't he killing people graphically and laughing maniacally? And more importantly, why did the Death Eaters want the bodies?
Harry briefly considered alerting the order, but that would mean giving himself up... and probably being forced back into a summer at the Dursley's. He was accomplishing so much on his own, though, it would be a real shame to waste his progress...
In the end, he decided there wasn't much to be done for it. Lord Voldemort had already done his damage, and hey, that's Snape's job, right? To be the spy?
Uneasily, Harry dimmed the lights again with his wand and settled back under the covers. But sleep did not come again, only wild theories about Lord Voldemort's plans...