Harry was in the bathroom of Little Whinging Public Library. He'd been in there for fifteen minutes already and he was no closer to stopping his panic attack. One thing that the… Management… that had forced him to redo his life hadn't mentioned was that despite his being given "MAX" perception, attention, and memory, he didn't actually know how to use it. Or, more specifically, that didn't mean he did use it.
Several minutes before he had been walking through the fiction section, trying to pass the time as quickly as possible (it was July 24th, and while he, his aunt, and his cousin had left before the mail arrived, he was still relatively certain that today was the day that the letter would come) when he had suddenly realized that he was going to have to go through it all again.
He'd have to go through Quirrell and trolls and dead unicorns.
He'd have to go through the Basilisk and bullying and Dobby.
He'd have to go through the ministry and Sirius (Oh god, Sirius) and dementors.
He'd have to go through the Triwizard tournament and suspicion and kidnappings.
He'd have to go through Umbridge and secrets and horcruxes.
He'd have to go through Voldemort.
He'd have to go through pain.
Harry had rushed to the bathroom and locked himself in the handicapped stall, furthest from the door. He'd paced back and forth, trying to breathe, and upon realizing that no one else was in the bathroom, he'd gone to the sinks and splashed his face with water.
It hadn't helped.
In truth, over the past decade Harry had been doing his absolute best to forget about what was to come. Oh, he'd prepared for his main "goals", sure. Most of his time in the library was spent trying to understand finance and law, and he hadn't exactly ignored what was he knew was coming either: when he had seen the books on French he'd devoted himself to learning it and German because he remembered that they were what the other two schools spoke during the Tournament.
But he hadn't come up with a plan to face Voldemort at the end of that Tournament. Or at the end of any other year, for that matter. Or any of the other threats which had constantly made his life unbearable throughout his Hogwarts years. He had focused on learning, yes, but not on applying that learning. And if he didn't learn how to do that, fast…
Harry rushed to the toilet and puked.
About ten minutes later a red-eyed boy emerged from the men's bathroom at the very back of the Little Whinging Public Library. He walked passed rows and rows of bookcases, never lifting his gaze up from the floor, and pushed the entrance open. He turned left and walked the block to the Polkiss house. He looked up.
Aunt Petunia stood glaring at him—according to his wristwatch, by the time he'd actually left the bathroom he was already five minutes late—but she softened somewhat when she realized he'd been crying.
She frowned, but gestured to the open door of the backseat and Harry climbed in as she herself slid into the front of the automobile.
Nothing was said on the way home—even Dudley was quiet, absorbed as he was in a new Game Boy game that he'd just gotten.
When they finally pulled into the driveway Dudley wasted no time scrambling out of the car—on days that he boxed, Aunt Petunia allowed him to have a few snacks when he came home (against doctor's recommendations), and Dudley was always eager to eat. But both Aunt Petunia and Harry stayed seated.
"Is this… is this because of…" Aunt Petunia started, likely referring to the series of revelations she'd dumped on him two months prior.
"Yes." He lied. Or… was it a lie? Because, after all, it was magic and all of the not-necessarily-good that came with it that had triggered the reaction, so Aunt Petunia's assumption wasn't really that far off the mark.
"I wish… I wish I had more information to give. I'm just…it's not…" Aunt Petunia trailed off again. After the initial talk Harry had tried to ask her some more questions, to flesh out what he could claim to already know, but in the end she hadn't known much. She'd tried to ignore magic for almost as long as she had known it existed, and honestly believed that the entire business was 'freakish' (for all that she tried not to use that word) and therefore forgot most of which she had at one point learned.
Harry, in response to his aunt's words, quietly snorted, imagining Aunt Petunia describing in detail a simple and straightforward way to get rid of Horcruxes. That was the information he needed, not the knowledge of how to enter the wizarding world. But it wasn't information he was going to get. "It's fine, really, Aunt Petunia." Harry said, before quickly blinking away any remaining tears. Crying and wishing on miracle solutions weren't going to stop the future from coming, so he might as well meet it head-on. "I'll get the mail."
His aunt seemed relieved that she could consider the matter closed and went inside without another word. Harry knew that his crying wouldn't be brought up again, and that if she had any say in it magic wouldn't either, but he also knew what day it was and that her wish wouldn't come true.
Mr. H. Potter
The bedroom to the left at the top of the stairs.
4 Privet Drive.
Little Whinging,
Surrey
It was slotted between a postcard sent from a travel agency and a letter for Vernon from someone Harry didn't know, this time. He didn't remember what else had been in the mail last time. He walked, slowly, into the kitchen, staring at the letter, before looking up at his aunt, who was already puttering about the kitchen in preparation for dinner.
"Aunt Petunia… I think… I think this letter might be from magic people." Harry said. The letter, after all, had not actually been addressed as being from Hogwarts.
His aunt flinched, then looked at the card. "It was nice of them to… send it so normally, but… can you…deal with this yourself? I don't really want to deal with any…"
"Yes Aunt Petunia." Harry easily agreed. It was clear that her tolerance for the unnatural was gone for the day, and honestly he was still surprised she'd tried to help him at all. Besides, it would actually be better if he got to do this himself.
The letter was exactly the same as last time—it was from McGonagall, informed Harry of his place at the school, mentioned awaiting an owl, and had a list of school supplies enclosed.
Harry immediately got out a piece of paper and pen and wrote his reply.
Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,
Hello. My name is Harry Potter and I just got a letter for your school. I was expecting it because my aunt told me that my mum and dad were magical but it didn't really include where to buy school supplies or anything, and my aunt doesn't remember. Honestly, I'm not sure how I'll get this to you, but it says that you await my owl, so I think I'm just going to go look for an owl and see what happens.
Anyway, could you send someone to explain things to me? My aunt Petunia was pretty sure someone had come and explained things to my mother—her name was Lily Evans before she got married, if that helps. My dad's name was James.
Thank you,
Harry Potter.
As written, Harry immediately sealed the letter into an envelope and marched outside. There were no owls in his front or backyard, but as it turned out there was one in Mrs. Figg's (a batty old lady in either lifetime, who clearly did not have the energy to keep an eye on him: Harry still wasn't particularly happy that she had been put in charge of monitoring his wellbeing when she so clearly needed someone to manage her own.) Harry looked around, but the woman wasn't anywhere in sight, so he just hopped the fence to get to the owl.
It was a Little Owl, as it turned out, and it stared directly at Harry as he neared.
"Hi. Could you take this to Prof—I mean Deputy Headmistress McGonagall, please?" Harry held out the letter, and waited for the owl to bob its head and snatch the envelope out of his hands. Less than five minutes after he'd first picked up the letter and he was already back in his room, having done all he could with it.
How… anticlimactic.
Still, it did give him more time to prepare. Harry grabbed a jotter from his desk and began to write.
TO DO:
-Actually know my own finances
-Figure out why I had to live here
-Get more books from magical bookstores
-Deal with insane popularity (somehow)
-Do well in class
-Somehow get Snape to teach better
-Get Quirrell caught out
-Figure out how I killed Quirrell the first time around
-Don't let the troll endanger anyone
-Stand up to bullying
-Keep the stone from being destroyed and return it to Nicholas Flamel
-Keep Ginny from being possessed
-Destroy Horcruxes
-Save Dobby
-Expose and deal with death eaters
-Kill the Basilisk
-Get Hagrid exonerated
-Expose Lockhart
-Keep Dementors away from the school
-Prove Sirius's innocence
-Expose Pettigrew
-Keep Remus from being exposed
-Get out of the Triwizard Tournament
-If forced to participate, prove that I was forced
-Expose the Crouches
-Keep the press truthful
-Deal with Delores Umbridge
-Learn Occlumency
-Kill off Voldemort for good
Finished, Harry quickly glanced over the list. He was sure he missed some things, but it would do for now. Assured that nothing blatantly obvious had been forgotten, Harry tore up the list. Not only did he have an eidetic memory (which, admittedly, he still wasn't making very good use of) but he had also gotten at least one new goal each time he'd written something down on the list. Combined with the ones he'd had before, he now had 37 current goals. Now to just figure out how to start…
"Dinner!" Aunt Petunia called upstairs. Harry tossed the shredded paper into the bin beneath his desk and stood up. He could keep on hashing out a plan later—he was starved.