A/N For those of you who have read my previous fics, I've posted a more thorough explanation in my bio for writing yet another Emancipated Minor rendition. I couldn't resist. This is a different tone and momentum than the other two, but has similar parameters. And so, off we go!
Chapter 1 - The World As Harry Knows It - Part I
Harry Potter lay on his back, exhausted and powerless, watching a swirl of sandy black magical energy rip itself out of his chest, like a swarm of angry bees, to zoom upward toward the now devastated ceiling of the Atrium in the Ministry of Magic. He'd just expelled Lord Voldemort from a brutally invasive possession of his body, apparently by thinking about his friends in a way that brought a warm rush of love and fellowship into his mind and body. That did it, by golly. Dumbledore had been right, Harry's secret weapon was indeed love.
Still, the Dark Lord scored the last word. "You're a fool, Harry," he leaned down to taunt Harry as he emphasized, "and you will lose ...everything."
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Harry's eyes dipped closed and consciousness eluded him until he was startled awake from the heavy slam of his prone body onto a carpeted floor. Mentally numb and confused because he'd lost time somehow, Harry struggled to sit up as someone's firm hands moved from where they'd been looped around his middle during the magical transport, to now clasp his shoulder and support him while a vial of potion was pressed against his lower lip.
"Drink," Severus Snape's cold voice instructed. When he sensed Harry reacting, as he predictably would at finding he was being assisted by his vile professor, Snape added, "It's a magic replenishing draught, Potter. Do as you're told for once."
Harry gulped the potion, not even registering its bitterness. It had no real aftertaste once he'd swallowed it, so there was that. "Again," Snape instructed as Harry felt another vial press to his lips. "Pain relief, mixed with a calming draught," Calming draught. Harry's eyes snapped open and he registered the interior of Dumbledore's office. He was sitting on the floor being attended by Professor Snape. Now he was being hoisted to his feet and a silver candlestick was being held out to him. "Take it," Snape ordered. "We depart in three minutes."
"Depart?" Harry echoed in confusion. He felt like the room was tipping.
"For your home, with your aunt."
"Wha- I can't go there!" Harry started with a stammer as his foggy senses cleared up slightly. "I don't stay there over mid year hols! They're not expecting me!"
"They'll simply have to adjust."
This cannot happen! Clearly, Snape was not going to be reasoned with. Think, Harry. "Dobby!" he called on impulse.
The happy little house elf popped into view directly in front of him. "Yes, Harry Potter? Dobby is happy to help Harry Potter!" Dobby tilted his head as his features grew concerned, "What has happened to Harry Potter? Who has hurt him?"
"No time, Dobby. Please bring me my rucksack from my trunk, quickly!" Harry said. The elf had barely cracked out of view before he was back in a split second, handing the small backpack over to Harry. "Thanks," Harry said. He was heaving in great gulps of air, struggling desperately to stay coherent and focused. "Thanks a lot, Dobby." My entire life is in this pack, he realized, only just refraining from opening it to sift through the contents. He had an audience, after all. Snape couldn't know of his plan of emancipation from the abusive adult authority he'd been subject to for his entire memory. After what had just happened, that plan must proceed if Harry was to stay the course. He could keep a running list of his grievances while he ticked away the days to freedom.
Dobby interrupted Harry's musing. "Harry Potter must call on Dobby for any help he may need." The house elf stared up at Harry, his ears laying flat against his head, and seeming to pull his features into a frown.
Harry could only nod his understanding, and the elf obligingly popped out of view.
"Take hold of this, Potter," Snape repeated, again holding the sterling silver candlestick out to Harry.
Harry refused to make eye contact with his vile professor. He therefore missed the questioning look and somewhat unsettled expression on Snape's face. He also failed to register how unprovocative Snape was ultimately being with him.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Some time later from within the cupboard beneath the stairs, Harry's fogged mind reviewed a vague, thready recollection of having been dropped off at the front stoop of Number Four Privet Drive, and registering a few fragments of shocked and hostile exchange between his professor and his aunt. They seem to know each other…?
He'd then been ushered inside, door slamming behind him. Additional memory snippets surfaced:
….a snarled warning and a harsh shake from his uncle
….being bodily shoved into this bloody cupboard, which had caused him to bang his forehead hard on the doorframe
….seeing stars before apparently passing out
He'd awoken sometime later, stomach growling loudly, and feeling like he needed to escape this small space with an urgency that overwhelmed him…
…Until he'd recalled the battle between Voldemort and Dumbledore in the Ministry that had happened mere hours prior.
….And then he'd recalled the battle within the Department of Mysteries just prior to that… and the veil….and the whispering voices from beyond. "Avada Kedavra!" Bellatrix LeStrange's voice screeched in his mind. Sirius!
His godfather was dead. You are a fool, Harry, and you will lose ...everything.
And so the wretched loop of agonized thought continued. It was horribly difficult to stifle his grief. Harry's eyes streamed his sadness over Sirius continuously over the next couple of days, in between bouts of sleep and sad stupor. Once he'd gotten through the worst of the shock and heartbreak over Sirius, he was then plagued by guilt at the trouble and trauma he'd led his friends into. His aunt would let him out twice a day for food and loo visits. She'd see the signs of his distress but say nothing, which was not a surprise to Harry at all, but it stung nonetheless.
Harry had never had so much concentrated time in isolation. After hours upon hours of it, he'd gotten so overwhelmed by the weight of his woes that he'd actually tried to employ the "technique" that Snape had "taught" him for Occlumency. "Quiet. your. mind." Snape's annoyingly dramatic enunciation had echoed in Harry's head. It took some disciplined focus, but he'd done exactly that, and had found some relief in the calmness he'd discovered when he'd turned within himself. It sounds like meditation, Hermione had commented several weeks back when Harry had tried to explain what he was supposed to do to Occlude. Could it really be that simple?
"As if there's any bloody way I could meditate while under attack from Voldemort," Harry complained bitterly into the dark interior of the cupboard. But still, that calmness had been quite a nice change, and it was frankly the only thing that was keeping him from losing his mind.
….Well, that, and a curious, but welcome distraction in the form of a strange sensation in his hands. Taking notice of it often derailed his sad thoughts. It wasn't painful, and he could ignore it if he chose to, but he didn't want to ignore it. It could be important.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
By the third day, the eau of Harry's unwashed body that was still grimy with the stench of fear and old sweat from his misadventure, added to the stuffy interior of the cupboard, was absolutely awful.
Is it Monday? I think it's Christmas Eve tomorrow. He tried to distract himself.
"OUT!" His aunt's screech interrupted Harry's musings. "Get out and go wash! You stink! We can smell you from out here!"
Harry stumbled out into the late morning light, breathing in the fresh and sterile air of his aunt's immaculate house. He stood up awkwardly, battling stiff joints from lack of movement, and stepped closer to his aunt, eyes on hers, albeit looking upward and not nearly as threateningly as he would have preferred. "Oh?" he said, deliberately exhaling the bad breath of unbrushed teeth that complimented his body odor directly into her pinched face, "I apologize. I should have managed a daily bath in that luxurious suite of rooms I've got beneath the stairs!"
Petunia was not impressed by his sarcasm, nor inclined to recognize the irony in her accusation. She thrust a towel, bar of soap, and a stack of Dudley's mismatched but clean oversized hand me downs toward Harry. "Go!"
Harry didn't need to be told twice. He could hear his aunt spraying her favorite aerosol freshener into his cupboard as he scooted up the stairs to take a shower.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
There was noticeable improvement in the state of the interior of the small space, and Harry reacted by feeling inclined to get his affairs in order…. to the extent that he could do, while locked into a cupboard, that is. He pulled the chain for the lightbulb and rummaged around in his rucksack, removing all of his assembled "documentation" required for his controversial quest for legal independence. Once I'm emancipated, the worst of my struggles will be about Voldemort. No more being treated like shite by the likes of Snape, Umbridge, Malfoy Junior or Malfoy Senior, or any of the other aggressive predators he'd encountered over the years. Like bloody Impostor Professor Moody. He reflexively shivered his revulsion at that remembered shock.
Thank Merlin for Hermione's cleverness. She'd attained copies of her own muggle banking statements for them to rework with Harry's name, and knew the spells to use to make the necessary "adjustments" to the bank account information. Next, she'd produced an old muggle primary school report card and they'd doctored that to represent Hogswarren Institute for Secondary Education, showing above average marks for Harry in school. The letter of Confirmation of Exemplary Standing, fictitiously authored by one Professor Severus Snape, had had them both squirming in revulsion, while also laughing with glee, as Hermione had assembled its content. According to fake Snape, Harry was the ideal student, and a very fine young man to boot.
Hermione had also recollected reading a general letter of recommendation, written by a colleague for her father, and had kept it in mind as she'd written out three separate Letters of Character Reference for Harry. They'd jokingly chosen all of the most prominent wizarding heads of family to "author" these letters: Arthur and Molly Weasley, Alice Longbottom, and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.
Harry grinned snarkily as he reread Hermione's version of Lucius' praising narrative, with its declaration that he'd go to great lengths for young Harry Potter, should he ever need assistance, any time. "Thanks, but no," Harry whispered with an oddly revolted chuckle.
He set the documentation aside and next counted out the muggle bills totaling four hundred fifty pounds to cover the costs of his petition, and for the solicitor's fees to handle the filing. The funds were there, ready to hand over to his aunt. Next he reread the pamphlet Hermione had procured for him via muggle post, way back in September, when he first had been informed by Petunia that he should never return to Privet Drive: How to Legally Emancipate as a Minor in Great Britain. He refreshed his memory of the requirements, ticking them each off as he reread the text that he'd completely memorized at this point:
- Financial solvency
- Emotional and social support outside of the minor's family
- Indication of stability in school, or steady, legal employment
- Declaration of intended goals to complete during the emancipated phase before reaching legal age of majority
Harry possessed adequate proof of each of these now.
The final piece of reading was the Emancipation of a Minor Via the Muggle Legal Process brochure Hermione had owl-ordered from the Ministry of Magic. It was a simple document that basically confirmed that if Harry could emancipate in the muggle world, that the magical world would also honor his legal independence and consider him legally at his majority.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Christmas and Boxing Day had come and gone. The light was dim within the confines of the cupboard under the stairs on this frigid, late December morning. The low wattage bulb that hung from its dilapidated snarl of exposed wiring had already blinked on and off a couple of times, warning that in spite of Harry's sparing use of it, its life was coming to a close.
Twelve days ago, Sirius was still alive….I've endured eleven bloody days of this shite…. six days from now, I'll be heading back to school.
Harry stared up at the underside of the lowest shelf in the cupboard. Normally, he'd put his feet at this end, but for some reason, he'd felt inclined to lay in the opposite direction to contemplate the silent misery of his life. Now he could see the old off-white paint, the haphazardly placed nails holding the plank of old wood in place. There were dark cobwebs. Harry wondered how long ago the spider who'd spun those aged, silken fragments had died? Had it been living there with Harry at some point over the years? Was its carcass curled up in a ball, caught in the space between the edge of this dirty mattress and the wall? No way to know, really, since the mattress fit this space as if it were custom sized for it.
"Well, that was fascinating," Harry groused as he grunted and strained to sit up, now awkwardly propped against that same unstable shelf, distracted once again by the weird tingling in both of his hands. It was like ants marching beneath the skin of his fingers, and a weird vibrational sensation on his palms. His hands felt kind of warm too. He opened and closed his fists. The sensation continued. Is my circulation cut off? he questioned, wondering what, if anything, he should do about it. After a few more moments, his instincts told him something magical was going on. But was it his magic or someone else's? And if it was someone else's, how were they able to cast spells upon him without being right here? …but if it was his magic, what was it trying to tell him?
He continued to wiggle his fingers a few more times, but the tingling was not disrupted. He let his imagination take him into a fanciful train of thinking, pretending he was developing an ability to cast wandlessly. Imagine how that ability would open his world up! He could escape the cupboard and get far away from his awful relatives and their pretentious neighborhood. He'd be able to defend himself so much more properly in school against bullies of all sorts. How quickly he could disarm Snape if he ever again attempted to Legilimize Harry, or how he could force the blood quill to carve a sentence on 'ol Dolores' forehead, for all to see. Something like, I am a pink cow, or Born to Lie. He could surreptitiously toss the likes of Draco Malfoy into a dead rosebush the next time he messed with Harry. The sense of glee at that particular visual fell flat though. Harry didn't really want to go around tossing tosspots about in acts of revenge. He just wanted to be left alone for once.
He rubbed his scar on reflex. He still had to get Voldemort out of his head… out of his entire life. It would be nice if the Minister of Magic was worth a damn in that regard. The prophecy! He'd been so overwhelmed with wrapping his mind around Sirius' demise that he'd forgotten the big reveal. I have to kill Voldemort, or die trying. Maybe wandless magic should be something he really tried to learn. It might be a means to wipe that noseless bastard out of existence once and for all. But not until I can legally use magic! the irony was quite real with this one.
Thinking back to last summer and remembering when he'd been cited by the Ministry of Magic for casting his Patronus at the invading Dementors, he wondered if wandless magic could be traced, since the wizard hadn't used a wand? Was it the wand or the magical signature that was traced? The tingle in his hands intensified for a moment.
"What's happening, really?" he wondered aloud. He began to move his hands around like he was using them to slowly part imaginary water, as if he was submerged and trying to move forward. There was a sensation of movement on the inner surfaces of his fingers and on his palms. "Now, what's that all about?"
The creaking of the footsteps on the stairs overhead interrupted Harry's exploration. He recognized Aunt Petunia's tread. Good! He needed the loo!
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
"Out!" his aunt ordered in her ever so despicable rasp of disgust.
She'd only just begun to insert the key into the padlock on his door, but since he knew his aunt had already started the clock on the five minutes she would allow Harry in the bathroom, Harry was waiting in a crouch so that he could exit quickly and take advantage of every second. When he'd finished his pathetically minimal morning ablutions, he quickly exited the powder room to rush to the kitchen for his morning serving of bread and peanut butter. His stomach growled unpleasantly and the sandwich didn't do much to assuage it. His aunt had also poured him some milk, having barely filled the glass beyond the halfway point. Harry eyed the glass resentfully, then glanced toward his aunt to find her back turned. He indulged a sudden impulse, and raised his still tingling hand, thrusting the heel of his palm forward as if sending magic to the glass, while visualizing the glass filling completely with milk.
It slowly filled!
And while his wide eyes registered his success, Harry used that same hand to grab the glass and gulp down the contents before his aunt could see that he'd taken more than she'd allotted for this meal.
"Out!" Petunia ordered again. Harry kept his amazed expression hidden as he scooted by his mother's nasty sister, and back into his cupboard.
You've likely really put your foot in it, you know, he berated himself as he settled back into the cramped space. Surely he'd be in huge trouble for using his magic just now! He listened intently for the sound of owls arriving by magical means, as they'd done last summer. But no screeches, or batting wings, or bangs of owl bodies working their way through the chimney came about. Nothing.
….So, it's obviously the wand, not the magic that's traceable!
"But I didn't cast a spell just then..." he realized as he reassessed the monumental event he'd just experienced. It had never occurred to him to ask if wandless magic consisted of spell casting, or some other form of magical expression altogether?
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Another thought occurred to Harry, this time in the middle of the night after the New Year had been rung in. Sirius told me I was his only real heir. Headquarters is mine now. And so is Kreacher. He saw Hermione's cross expression at his thinking he owned the craggy old elf. Well, I've inherited the reluctant help of the house elf. That means I can have him come get me if I'm in a pickle... I wonder if he could breach the wards of Hogwarts? On that vein, he wondered if Dobby could breach the wards of Headquarters? Of course he can, Harry reasoned, he breached the wards of this fortress of protection here at Privet Drive!
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Now it was January 3rd. A Friday. A half workday for most of muggle London. Harry and his aunt had rushed out early in the morning to make an appointed meeting with a solicitor that Aunt Petunia had secured to help them petition for Harry to become emancipated. By law, he needed to be fifteen years and six months old to qualify. He had twenty-eight more days to go until he reached that age, but he and his aunt were taking the steps to get the process completed through all of the legal channels now, so there would be no delays come January 31st.
"I've filled in the requisite information as much as I could, based on your input, Mrs. Dursley," Montague Morris informed them as he ushered them into his office to be seated in front of a large stack of paper forms. "We're left with the official Statements of Justification for the Petition, and the Statement of Interim Guardianship that you will take on while the Petition is in process."
"So there's no reason to think it will be denied?" Harry asked hopefully. But then he registered what Mr. Morris had just said. "Wait. Why would Aunt Petunia have to sign an interim guardianship? She's already my guardian."
"Eh, formalities, Harry," Mr. Morris assured him. "Your aunt must relinquish the permanent guardianship first, so that you can petition your Emancipation. By signing the interim guardianship, Mrs. Dursley resumes her responsibility for your affairs in a temporary status until you can safely, legally, take your own matters in hand."
"And why must I sign for Interim Guardianship?" Petunia demanded acidly, clearly not listening. "Every day that I keep that title, I'm putting myself and my family at risk!"
Montague Morris frowned deeply, his head actually jutting backward, as if to avoid a foul odor coming from Harry's aunt. He glanced between his two clients, seeing no sign of danger from the teenaged boy dressed in oversized, well-worn clothing. The sight itself was unbalanced and suspicious of neglect. He noted as well the boy's unsuccessful attempt to conceal a brutal bruise on his temple behind a messy fringe. Pitiful yes, but it didn't elicit any fear in the solicitor. The aunt, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. He looked back at the boy and suddenly knew exactly why young Mr, Potter wanted to emancipate. "Madam Dursley," he said firmly, "in order to do this properly, you'll need to retain legal guardianship of your nephew until he is emancipated. In the event that something goes wrong for him, where he needs a custodial parent to manage his affairs, by not having your guardianship, he would be open to predatory activity, which could ultimately find its way to your doorstep in today's litigious environment. You are, after all, his next of kin by blood, and legal responsibility defaults to you under law."
Harry wasn't quite sure he understood his attorney's warning for his aunt, but whatever it took to get her to stick to the plan, he was grateful and happy for the help. However, the "interim" part about her holding guardianship was troubling. He watched his aunt begrudgingly sign the forms after they'd narrated their carefully rehearsed Statements of Justification for Emancipation of a Minor to Montague Morris. The gist of it was that Harry wanted to attend a school that was very far away, and that he'd prefer to holiday between terms with school friends, and perhaps accompany them in their travels. Legal emancipation would allow him to navigate this without delay. He was careful not to reveal the extent of his inherited wealth, but he did declare financial solvency to the extent that he could pay for his own expenses while still a minor. He'd given Hermione's home address as a mailing address for his final legal forms to be sent once the emancipation was finalized. Hermione's parents would send them via owl to Harry at Hogwarts.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
"Hurry up!" Petunia screeched at her nephew, checking her watch in agitation. "That took ages longer than I'd planned. Vernon has come home early and will want his lunch. And you will not be in sight!"
Harry glared at the back of her head, all at once at the end of his tolerance for the biting tone she always directed his way. "I'll stay out of sight, but I'll need something more to eat later on," he informed her firmly. "I'll make my demands heard if need be."
They'd just exited the taxi and were crossing the lawn via the footpath to the front stoop at Number Four Privet Drive. Petunia stopped in her tracks and spun to face him with her pinched, unpleasant bitterness on full display. "I've already warned you that Vernon has long passed his breaking point with your antics. He will injure you at best, murder you at worst, if you push your luck. I will bring you something around tea time. You will stay silent."
They stood glaring at each other in a battle of wills. Harry resentfully acknowledged that she still towered over him by several inches. She'd been known to take a swing at him in the past, and he was battling fatigue and shaky limbs from poor nutrition, so he decided to cut his losses to avoid getting hit. "Twenty-eight more days, and then neither one of us has to even acknowledge the other's existence, ever again."
"You leave here in two days," Petunia reminded him nastily. "That's the last of I'll see of you."
Harry didn't like the way she'd already concluded this would be over once he was headed back to Hogwarts. "You're still responsible for me until the 31st," he said as he marched up the steps and into the house behind her.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
"Where've you been, Pet?" Vernon demanded as they entered the house.
"Nowhere important, Vernon. The boy needed some school supplies," Petunia hedged. "It was either take him myself, or risk his terrible, freak friends coming by again to bother us."
Vernon glared at Harry for having the audacity to have such demanding (albeit phony) needs that required any effort on their behalf to fulfill. When Harry just stared blankly back at him, Vernon's mouth twitched with irritation. He looked for something to focus his anger upon and saw Harry's rucksack. "I bloody took that from you when you showed up here, unwanted and bent on spoiling our holiday!" he spat, temper completely lost. He heaved labored, angry breaths in and out of his enormous chest. "You'd better not have been using that sticky thing-"
And like the flick of a switch, Harry's extremely obese uncle was bolting toward him, rage propelling him with far more speed than he ever should be able to muster, with both hammy hands raised to attack. Harry ducked his head and managed to avoid a direct blow to his face, but still ended up with a walloping sock to the side of his head, which sent him sprawling to land in a heap on the stairs, rucksack still slung over his shoulder. Vernon grabbed the pack and yanked it with a lot of force. Harry felt something tweak in his shoulder and a sharp, nervy pain erupted from his collarbone. "Ahhh!" he yelled angrily, struggling to regain his feet and grab the pack back from his uncle. "Give it back! I've had it all this time! Don't know what you're bloody talking about!" He was more than a tad desperate about retrieving the pack. His wand and invisibility cloak were inside it, along with his copies of the petition he'd just filed and all of the supporting documents. But his uncle had it now, and was shoving past Harry to take it upstairs and tuck it away somewhere. "You've no right to it!" Harry shouted up after him, but it was clear that Harry's desperation was only feeding Vernon's determination to maintain the upper hand.
Harry received a harsh crack on the back of his head. "OW!" he roared, turning on his aunt in defiance, but she'd gone and gotten a wooden spoon with a long handle while he'd been engaged with his uncle. She was ready to use it on his backside next.
"If you want to finish your remaining time here without welts, you'd better get yourself back in that cupboard. Now!"
Face flaming with humiliated rage, Harry hustled back to the cupboard, correctly expecting she'd whack his behind while he scooted past her. Whack! Fortunately it didn't really land as hard as she likely wanted it to, but still. Harry hadn't caught it like that from his aunt in years. He could barely contain his misery at this wretched turn of events. Who knew if his uncle would even return the rucksack?
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Back in the jet black interior of his cupboard, Harry struggled to ignore the pain in his shoulder while he stewed on this new uncertainty. He doubted he could count on his aunt to hold up her end of their plan. She's completely done with me. He was starting to panic now. What would happen if she relinquished guardianship before he could emancipate? In the muggle world, he'd become a ward of the state, and would probably be put into foster housing or an orphanage while he waited. But what about the magical world?
He rubbed his scar in agitation, hands shaking and mind racing. Wait…. now his scar was tingling! Just what I bloody need! He closed his eyes and went into the quiet inner world of calm he'd discovered. Several long moments later, Harry returned to the material world to find that the tingling in his scar was gone, but the tingling in his hands was more noticeable than ever. He wished he could see them. I need a new bloody lightbulb, he groused inwardly. Remembering the milk glass, he raised his hand in the same manner, unable to see the burnt out bulb in the inky dark interior, but directing his magic to its approximate location. He calmed himself and sent a sense of bright light outward from his open hand.
…There was a soft plink and a flicker of weak light, followed by more darkness, and then a brief zzzzzztt! and the light was on!
"Brilliant!" Harry said aloud. Oh, I'm leaving today. He'd wait until the family was assembled in front of the telly later, and exit this wretched place once and for all.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Harry darted out the front door, knapsack in hand, eyes focused forward and never looking back, skipping the steps altogether in one large leap, adrenaline driving him into motion in spite of the pain he was experiencing. He was running for his life now.
Behind him, mindful of the nosy neighbors, Uncle Vernon growled, "Stay away! I will break every bone in your body, and toss you in the bin, if I ever see you again," as he slammed the front door shut.
Harry gulped down rage. Not if I see you first. He ran a few more steps off the property and into the street, before stopping short and glancing around. He took a huge breath in and let it out slowly to calm himself.
This is happening. He pulled his wand from his pack and slipped it up his sleeve, trying and failing to ignore the pain in his shoulder. On second thought, now he shook it out of his sleeve and palmed it. There was no turning back.
"Mr. Potter," a very familiar, very unwelcome voice addressed Harry from behind some sort of distortion of invisibility. It was Lucius Malfoy. "I highly recommend that you stay within those wards. You are not at all safe outside of their perimeter."
"What?" Harry barked in shock at the general direction of the voice, his mind racing. He had definitely not expected this. "I can't stay," he blurted out. There was nothing safe about any of it.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Lucius looked at Potter more carefully. Clearly there'd been a confrontation in the household just now, but Harry's visible injuries seemed older. He had a large purple knot on his forehead and was carrying himself oddly. Lucius did not know how to interpret these signs, but they were definitely troubling. "Potter, if you need help, I will contact the Order-"
"No!" Harry snapped. "No bloody way! Kreacher!" His plan was imploding in real time. What the hell was Malfoy doing here? and why hasn't he grabbed me yet?
"Potter!" Lucius rasped, now a few feet from Harry. "Allow me to assist you!"
Harry glared ironically at the seemingly open space before his eyes. "Show yourself at least!" he demanded.
Lucius' face and then his body were revealed with a wave of his wand in the same way he'd removed his mask two weeks ago in the Department of Mysteries. "This is a much bigger game than you can perceive," he said with a condescending tone, his trademark pompous sneer only fueling Harry's fury and distrust. But there was a curious lack of malice…
Not very Malfoy-like.
"I could say the exact same thing to you," Harry responded in a tight voice. He was shaking with rage, and the confusion from this vile wizard having appeared in his path, as he was mid flight into this first stage of his impulsive escape, only added to his turmoil. "Kreacher! Come! Now!" Focus! he ordered himself. Getting the nasty house elf to transport him out of here was all he could think about.
POP! A snarled ball of whirling old elf body wound its way into the space right in front of Harry. Harry bent and grabbed the elf's thin, oddly cold and creepy small arm. "Take me to Headquarters. Now." The craggy, angry elf frowned, raising resentful eyes upward to meet Harry's equally fierce glare. "Now." He repeated. A terrific force yanked Harry from sight so violently he was barely aware of the strong hand gripping his upper arm.
Lucius Malfoy had tagged along.
0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0ooo0
Harry landed in a boneless heap on the front stoop of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, only to be hoisted to his feet by the one and only Lucius Malfoy, and dragged inside, past the screaming portrait of Madam Black, and deposited in the center if the parlor. Harry's vision swam and he lost time again.
"You can't be here!" he sputtered in astonishment from the spot on the parlor floor where he'd apparently next collapsed to his knees to struggle not to sick up. "You're not-"
"Actually, I am part of the Order of the Phoenix," Lucius informed him in disgust. "And you, despicable boy, have now rendered the planning and strategizing we've only just completed on your behalf, to keep you safe, completely worthless. What on earth are you thinking?"
A/N: That's all I can think of, but suggestions are welcome. I have no idea where I'm going with this fic, except to officially and truly Emancipate poor Harry. I'll update as soon as I can. Ta!
