Title: Walk Along a Spiral
Author: Princess-Meru
Chapter Title: Chapter 1 – A Nasty Wake Up Call
Beta: Nimeneth
Disclaimer: The original story is by J.K. Rowling. All character, location, and spell rights belong to her and all publishers involved in getting Harry Potter around the world.
Author's Note: I can't believe how long I have put this off. Oh well, it's here and I feel better. I have more time now, seeing as it is summer and I have nothing better to do. I'm looking for beta's and constructive criticism. No "this sucks but I'm not gonna tell you whyyyyy." Don't be Peeves the Poltergeist.
---
Harry Potter was the kind of person who woke up very slowly, save when he had nightmares. He wiggled in his bed for a little bit, allowing his skin to absorb the first rays of sun. Heavily lidded eyelashes fluttered open to reveal half-hidden green eyes, dull with sleep. Wild black hair was shifting against his maroon pillow, and one small, slightly rough hand reached to pull the feather-stuffed headrest closer to his face. The boy was content.
That is, he was content until a tall, chestnut-haired man came in and began yelling, "Move it!"
"Iba wabba," Harry mumbled into his pillow.
The man sat down next to Harry and glared at him with brown eyes "Sorry, I don't do pillow talk," and to prove his point, yanked the pillow right out of the shorter man's grasp.
That woke Harry up, and he proceeded in punching at the man beside him "Cut it out, you dolt."
"Only on the day you decide to show up to classes on time and not wake up like a girl," the man winked and walked to the door.
Harry squirmed and clenched his gold and maroon sheets in his fists "Hey Joni…?" he whispered. The man turned around. "Thanks."
"No problem, now come on. I made breakfast this morning."
It had been three months since the end of his years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Three whole months since he had seen his friends: Three months since he had severed all ties with the wizarding world.
Harry had decided that there was nothing left for him in that place. After the final battle with Voldemorte, his friends were too busy getting over their own losses to bother with the bother with The Boy Who Lived. Anyone who didn't know him personally either hated him because they were somehow involved with the Death-eaters or loved him for killing the Dark Lord. There was no one left to comfort him. Even at graduation, all the seats in the audience were filled with someone else's proud parents, and there were empty seats where the families of his classmates should have been.
The Boy Who Lived could remember very little of the actual battle that took away what little he had left. He remembered the fire, and crashing, the flashes, the screams, and the smell. Blood reeked in his nostrils, even before he entered the battlefield. Everything else was a blur, and the next thing Harry knew, he was sitting in the hospital wing with little idea of how he got there.
He made a deal with Professor McGonagall soon after he was released from Madame Pomfrey's care. He was to leave the wizarding world, move in to muggle London, and create a new life for himself. No witch or wizard was to ever bother him again.
But there was a catch. In every deal, no matter how good it seems, there is always a catch.
Harry entered the lecture hall and sat down beside Joni, and smiled at him. Joni returned the gesture with an affectionate wave and then turned his head to the front of the room where the Professor was sitting.
Professor Dorfman was a very strange man. He was only a bit taller than Flickwich with a scrunched up nose and lots of beard. He was slightly chubby, which didn't make him make him appear any taller. He also had a very deep voice, and when Harry had stood outside his classroom on the first day during one of his long speeches, he imagined him as a twenty-foot relation to Hagrid.
His classmates who all seemed to be looking in his direction and laughing interrupted the raven-haired boy from his analysis of his teacher. When he realized they were not looking at him, he looked next to him and saw that Joni had fallen off his chair and was writhing on the floor.
"Now Mr. Robinson, although I appreciate your impression of a dead man, that was not what I had been asking for," Dorfman tapped his foot on the wooden floor.
Joni sat up "Oh no sir, I was just imitating an inch worm."
"An inch worm with a seizure perhaps," mumbled Harry.
"What I had asked for, Jonathan, was for you to read the next line in the book for us while expressing the emotions with your voice," the little man sighed, "Mr. Potter, would you care to continue, seeing as your friend seems to be lacking all common sense."
He opened his book, The Merchant of Venice, and began to read one of Shylock's many speeches. For some reason, he could relate to Shylock. Even though the old man was selfish and greedy, he was also mistreated and misunderstood. As he read the lines, he did his best to ignore the widening eyes of his fellow students. When the line finished, he sat back down and endured the fake sobs that Joni whispered into his ear.
Shylock had entered a deal with Antonio and only wanted his fair share. Money was his trade; it wasn't his fault that Antonio got the bad end of the deal. He was arguing with one of the Christians, trying to prove that he was equal to any one of them, and in such event, had the right to revenge as well.
What did Harry have the right to?
Joni took up the part of Antonio, which had originally been Harry's part. The brown haired boy had expressed his hate for Shylock on the first night after they had begun reading the book. Harry and Joni had been sitting in their apartment, Harry skimming and Joni glaring at the words spanned out on the page. "Shylock is a real jerk." Joni had said.
"Yes, well, someone has to be," Harry responded, hardly caring.
Joni folded his arms "But why the Jew?" he repositioned himself on the floor and growled at the book "It's always the Jews who look bad."
"Too bad, so sad," Harry mumbled, too caught up in pitying Antonio, "Why do you care anyway? He's a jerk, who cares about religion?"
"Because," Joni whispered, "It's part of being in a community, you stand up for your people and they stand up for you in turn."
Harry shut the book and put it back on his bed "But what if the community just depends on you?"
Joni didn't have anything to say to that, just as if at this moment in time he didn't have anything to say for Antonio. The topic had moved to whether Antonio was a blinded fool or a kindhearted gentleman. Joni just sat there and twiddled his thumbs.
Harry raised his hand and answered, "It depends on the person. Some people think one thing while others will think another. That's what is so bloody brilliant about this play, it will define a person."
"Very good, Mr. Potter." Harry nodded and sat down, returning to his pattern of staring at his desk and contemplating things hardly on topic "Now if you will all turn to page one hundred and thirteen, we can continue… Why, hello. Are you a new student?"
"Hardly," a deep and fluid voice spat out, "I'm here for Potter."
When Harry locked his emerald eyes with the silver ones by the door, the hairs on the back of his tanned neck began to rise. McGonagall's words echoed in his head as he analyzed the intruder from the top of his perfect blond hair to his expensive shoes. "I will only allow this if you agree to return to us when we summon you during a state of emergency."
"Perfect," Harry said as he stood up and gathered his things, "They sent Malfoy."