The Way Back
Disclaimer: I do not own anything and anyone your recognize or think you recognize.
Summary: Voldemort's gone and a cold and war-hardened Harry is starting his 7th year. This is a story about his journey back to who he once was – and everything in between. Possible slash.
A/N: This chapter's a little short and slow but it's meant to give you a feel of what's going on with Harry. Oh! And this is my first fic, fyi. I'm real giddy and nervous about this after being an avid fanfic reader and reading so many good works out there! So, I decided to give it a go and try my hand at this! (Plus I thought it was weird me having an account only to review so I needed something to put there… smiles) Anyways, enjoy!
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CHAPTER 1 – The Owl and The Rant
Nothing.
That was exactly what was going on in Harry's mind while he was staring at an irregular brownish stain on the wall in his rather cramped room at Number 4, Privet Drive.
Absolutely, positively nothing.
At first glance, everything seemed normal enough not to elicit this… nothingness. Harry's only living relatives, the Dursley's, who were far from being the ideal family, were not particularly unbearable this summer. In fact, all they did was bar themselves from Harry right from the first day back from the Hogwarts Express by locking him in his room with his belongings. The only time he had contact with the World Outside his Room was for the daily toilet breaks, as well as other necessary bodily needs, and the 2 meals a day pushed through the cat flap in his door. Honestly, that was pretty good and thoughtful of the Dursleys and Harry did not mind it at all.
Harry's room seemed to be in order as well and was, for once, similar to the rest of the unnaturally clean house. Harry's trunk rested at the foot of his bed, unopened, and an empty and relatively clean bird cage rested on his desk; Hedwig, his beloved owl, was out hunting for the night. All in all, the room was neat and all the furniture was free of anything and everything, bar a rather large pile of unopened letters adjacent to the cage. It was the room of a house guest. Or it could also be the room of Harry Potter, once known as the Boy-Who-Lived and now known as the Young-Man-Who-Completed-the-Prophecy, among other despised and unwanted titles that he received after defeating Lord Voldemort once and for all in his sixth year.
Even so, everything was not even remotely "right" and all of the reasons circled around Voldemort. Especially for a seventeen year old man – for that was what he was, a man – who had been through what he had been. Naturally, his face was pale from lack of sun and he was as skinny as ever with his meager food rations and lack of movement. There were two main things that made the entire situation seem to be more than it let on.
First, most of his body was crisscrossed and riddled with scars from the Second War, except for the peculiar, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead that he got from Voldemort the night his parents died, on the last day of the First War. The second thing was that his eyes were those belonging to an old man who had seen several lifetimes worth of atrocities. They were still the famous avada kedavra green, but something – everything – was missing. There was no life in them. No happiness. It was just a neutral, blank gaze which told everything of what he had been through, and yet nothing. Then there were the times he seemed to be alive.
At those times, his eyes lost the blank stare. Instead, they took on a cold, piercing, distant look.
It was the same throughout the entire summer, and even on his birthday, though with interruptions from his state to one of curiosity and a slight lightening of his eyes to a moderately annoyed look from the owls sent by his wizarding friends. He didn't even reply to any of his letters. In fact, he didn't even read any of his mail, except the piece of parchment that came by way of a flash of phoenix fire that informed Harry of how he was to be picked up from Privet Drive the day before September first to pick up his school supplies. The only thing that succeeded in bringing Harry back from his self-induced stupor for more than five minutes, besides that, was Hedwig.
And that was just what happened.
Harry's eyes suddenly snapped towards the open window just in time to see a grayish form through the darkness glide into his room to land next to him on his bed. A small smile graced his lips, but didn't reach his eyes as he petted his beloved owl, his only companion for the summer.
"Hello, girl. Glad you're back." His eyes flicked to his wristwatch that he received from Hermione as a Christmas present the year before. "Just in time too. About two hours till dawn. I was about to think that you weren't going to make it!"
Hedwig hooted reassuringly and nipped his finger lovingly before flying to her perch.
Harry sighed heavily.
"I still can't believe Dumbledore repeatedly insisted that I come back here. Voldemort's gone! There's no need for any protection from my relatives." Harry sneered at the last part. "I'm legally of age. I could just up and leave this place for the Leaky Cauldron or the Weasleys or something. But no. Dumbledore has to be bloody impossible and post a bloody Order member – even though the Order disbanded after I offed Voldie – to make sure I stay!" Harry clenched his fists in anger from the memory.
"Even when Voldemort was still alive, I got to leave this hellhole! I even went to the Quidditch World Cup!" He smiled briefly before continuing. "Sometimes I just wish Voldemort was still here. I'd actually have something to do and I'd probably with the Weasleys." Green eyes that were full of suppressed anger deadened again. His voice grew quiet. "No. Now, they probably never want to see me again. No one would want to see me again." His voice broke off and he swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes showing nothing of the turmoil within. "No. Harry James Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived and now the Man-Who-Offed-Voldie-For-Good is no one." His face brightened a smidge.
"At least I can't get anyone killed anymore…" Then his voice turned bitter and spat out. "No. Dumbledore took care of that."
Harry took a deep breath and continued to rant about the unfairness of it all again – then all of a sudden, he lapsed into a silent spell once more just as the sun rose to greet the start of a new day.
It was now the 31st of August. The day before term started.
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A/N: Thanks for reading and please review! Anything from monosyllabic reviews and questions to constructive criticism and suggestions are welcome! I need to know how to improve! Also, I need to know where to go on from this (I do have a tentative plan, but I still need more ideas and thoughts to fill in the 'in-between' gaps!). After all, you guys are my readers and I live to please you, mostly.
Siri
05.25.06
