Disclaimer: See first chapter
A/N: Here is the second chapter. It's a little longer than the first, and I'm going to try to eventually build them up to ten pages or so each. I just wanted to get a few out quickly, especially since a few people were nice enough to review my first chapter. I'm not the greatest at making interesting first chapters, but hopefully after a few people will see that this could be decent. –Miss Laine
00000000000000000000 Chapter 2: Boiling Over 00000000000000000000
Harry eyed the man suspiciously, wand trained steadily on his heart. "Who are you?" he demanded.
The man laughed again. "It's all right, Harry. It's Remus."
"Whaa?" Harry said, surprised. "But—""Polyjuice, Harry. Give me a few more minutes and it should wear off," the man promised.
"How do I know you're Professor Lupin?" he asked. "Prove it."
"Hmm…" the man thought. "Er…Prongs was your father, Harry." He paused and grimaced. "I guess that's not a good one," he admitted. "Uh, in third year we worked together after classes on a Patronus. We used a boggart that took the shape of a dementor," he went on. "Is that good enough?"
"Yeah," Harry said, relieved. "I believe you. That and your eyes have started to change back," he added. He waited a bit as the rest of Remus appeared, sandy hair taking the place of brown, face changing to the haggard form that Harry knew. "You could come over here, you know," he added. Remus nodded, and Harry waited for him to come around the fence at the end of the drive.
"I just thought I'd give you a little test," Remus explained. "Moody's still on about how we almost lost you at the beginning of the summer."
"Was it really that dangerous?" Harry asked, surprised. There hadn't been a soul about the entire time, and he pointed that out.
"Well, you didn't hear Moody and Bill arriving, either," Remus pointed out. "I think Moody said there were five death eaters trailing you by the time they caught up with you. For some reason they were just following you. That's why Moody took you back the long way. Didn't want them following you back here."
"So they still can't find the house," Harry concluded. Remus nodded. "That's right." He grimaced again. "Well, at least we hope so. Only a few more weeks until you're sixteen, isn't it?" Harry nodded. He'd been wondering if he'd even be allowed to receive gifts from his friends this year…it didn't seem likely.
"Yeah. Sixteen," he echoed. It had been a little less than five years since he'd learned that he was a wizard. A long time, for him.
"You're looking a little thin, Harry," Remus said suddenly. "Are they feeding you all right?"
"Fine, fine," Harry assured Remus, though in fact he hadn't gotten any lunch, and hadn't felt hungry enough to sneak anything. "Growth spurt, you know," he explained. Remus laughed.
"You're looking a few inches taller these days," he said. "You're growing up."
"Finally," Harry said. Remus laughed again.
"In another ten years, Harry, you'll be wishing you'd quit getting older. You'll see," he said.
Harry privately wondered if he'd live long enough to have thoughts ten years from now. He quickly scratched that thought from his mind. No more depressing thoughts, he told himself sternly. He'd had enough of those when trying to deal with Sirius's death at the beginning of the summer. It had not been a good time for him.
"Look, Harry, I can't hang around here for long, but I did bring you a birthday gift," Remus said. He sounded slightly nervous now.
"Thanks," Harry said. At least he was going to get something for his birthday. "Hey—do you want to sit down somewhere? Petunia probably won't let you in the house, but there's a table out back."
"Sure," Remus agreed. Harry could now see that he had his hand in his pocket, fingering something.
"Get him out of here! OUT!"
Harry jumped at his aunt's screeches. She had seen them, and was stalking towards them now, face red with anger. "Look—"
"OUT!!!" Petunia shouted. "I won't have him here a moment longer! Not a single moment!!"
"But—" Harry tried again. Petunia stalked up to him, face threatening.
"He leaves, now. That freak leaves!" she snarled. Harry started to get a little annoyed. He spread his stance a little, crossing his arms angrily.
"Now wait just a—" he started.
CRACK!
His aunt's hand moved so fast he couldn't even think to dodge the blow. "Now see here!" Remus said sharply. Harry was still dazed, a hand on his stinging cheek. "That was uncalled for!"
"Get off my property, you freak. Think I don't remember you? One of that stupid Potter's friends?" Petunia snapped. "We put up with the boy, we feed the boy, we keep him safe…but we will not have more freaks showing up all the time. I am a respectable, normal person!"
"Sure you are," Harry muttered sullenly. His cheek still hurt, and he thought perhaps it might bruise.
"What was that, boy??" Petunia demanded, whirling on him.
"Nothing, nothing," he muttered grouchily.
"Er, Harry, I'd better go," Remus said nervously. Harry looked up.
"What? But—" he protested. Remus eyed his aunt gingerly and then inched around her in order to give him a one-armed hug. Harry felt whatever his present was slip down into his pants pocket from Remus's hand.
"Look, I'll talk to Dumbledore, Harry," Remus promised. "I'll try to get you out of here, but…well, we'll see, all right?"
"But—" Harry said again. Remus pulled away, eyes on Aunt Petunia now. Harry started to get angry again.
"I—I'll be back, Harry," Remus promised. "And if you hurt him, Mrs. Dursley, there's be hell to pay," he threatened.
Before Harry could say anything more, Remus had stepped off the edge of the property, looking around furtively, and then disappeared. Harry blinked, and then turned towards his aunt.
"What was that for?" he demanded. "He's my friend!"
CRACK!
His aunt smacked him hard again. Obviously, Remus's threat didn't mean anything to her.
She went to hit him again, but he caught her wrist and twisted the blow away. "I'm not a little boy anymore," he told her sharply. "That means you don't get to hit me!"
Petunia stepped closer, angrier than he ever remembered her being. "I can do just what I want, Potter," she hissed venomously. "Because if you don't do what we say, we'll kick you right out of here. Then those Death Eaters can go ahead and have their way and kill you. Your precious freak friends wouldn't get to you in time!"
Harry was just a little taken aback by his aunt's anger. Somedays—okay, almost all days—he couldn't see the relation between this bony, sour, bitter woman and what he'd learned about what his mother was like. "Look—I do chores for you, Aunt Petunia, I make breakfast, clean the house, take care of the garden. I think the least that you can do is let me talk to a friend every now and then!" he told her. She raised her hand warningly again, and he readied himself to block the blow.
But instead she grabbed his ear. "I'm sick of your attitude," she snapped. "You sulk around half the time, fight with Dudley, act rudely towards your Uncle, and talk back to me!" She punctuated each sentence with another jerk on his ear as she pulled him towards the house.
"OW!" Harry exclaimed. His aunt was pushing it way too far. "Let go of me!"
"No!" his aunt snapped, jerking harder on his now-tender ear. "I have had enough of you! Dudley has had more troubles than any boy ought to have because of you, and after last summer, he'll never be the same!"
Despite the fact that he could, he was reluctant to physically fight back against his aunt. He had grown up belittled and intimidated by her and her husband, and he still instinctually feared what they could do to him.
He also didn't feel like getting thrown out of the house, especially when that could lead to his death. A sore ear seemed to be a small trade for his safety. And after last year, he really did understand that him being safe was more about other's well-beings than his own.
His aunt didn't let go of his ear until they were inside the kitchen. "I'll do the gardening from now on, or Dudley will," she told him. "If I catch you outside of this house even for an instant, I'll give you a hiding like you've never had before!"
"What do you mean never had before—" he started to snap back sarcastically, but had to stop as he dodged her hand. Lucky for him, he thought, she didn't have a frying pan within reach.
"You'll learn some respect for me!" she shouted. Her other hand grazed his nose almost as he leaned away from her next attack. "My husband and I have given you a home for fifteen years now, boy, and all we've ever gotten from you is insults and fights! It's going to stop, now!"
"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. "Me, insult you?" he asked, incredulous. His aunt must really hate him if—he had to snap out of his thoughts as her hand caught him on the face again. His cheeks were starting to feel really abused now. She hadn't struck him like this in years.
They stared at each other now, her breathing heavily while Harry kept on his toes, ready to dodge any more blows.
"Look," he tried again. "I'll be gone in another month and a half. The next summer I'm only here until I'm seventeen. Then I can move out and you won't ever see me again."
"A month and a half!" his aunt screeched. "No! Not a chance! This has gone on much too long!"
"Well, where else am I supposed to go?" he asked patiently. He was tired of fighting her, and provoking her to hit him hadn't really been a great idea. "I have to stay here. Do you really want to explain to Dumbledore—hey!" he cried. She'd picked up the rolled-up newspaper off the table and hit him hard.
His eyes were tearing up and his nose hurt badly. "Don't you ever mention that name in this house!" she shouted. This was not the Aunt Petunia he remembered from last year. She was no longer frightened, but enraged.
Harry had to take a step backwards, leaning against the cabinets behind him, while he tried to blink away the tears in his eyes. His nose felt rather bruised, but it wasn't bleeding.
"I just mean that I can't go anywhere, Aunt Petunia!" he told her.
"Don't call me that!" she snapped.
"What—Petunia?" he asked.
"Aunt," she told him. "You may call me Petunia or Mrs. Dursley, boy, but I do not want to be referred to as your aunt!"
Harry was a little amazed at how badly this conversation had gone. His aunt was really on a roll today. She'd been pretty snappish and quick with the frying pan around him since the beginning of the summer, but it hadn't gone this far before.
A lot of it had to do with Dudley. He guessed he could sort of understand her being mad at him for that—it had been, in a way, his fault—but she was really pushing it too far. Dudley just needed to sit down and talk for a bit and he'd be fine. If she could ever get him to do it.
Harry almost laughed, but then remembered his aunt was standing right there. "What do you want me to do, then?" he asked. "If you don't want me outside—"
"Get to your room," she snapped. "My husband and I will discuss what to do with you this evening. And don't for an instant expect that you're allowed to come down for dinner!"
"Ookay," Harry said slowly, willing to stop arguing. All of the smacking and shouting and hitting had worsened his headache, and he didn't really feel like pushing it into a full migrane. An evening without dinner wouldn't be too bad, except for the fact that he hadn't had any lunch as well…or really that much breakfast. His stomach was really, really empty, but he figured he'd sneak out of his room at night and get something to eat. It wasn't like he really got much sleep anyway.
He slipped past his aunt, eyes on her hands, and then backed out of the room. Just in case she decided to throw something at him. When he was sure she wasn't going to suddenly attack him again, he turned and took the stairs two at a time, retreating to his bare little room.
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Up in his room, he took the small package out of his pocket. It was about the size of a pack of cards, and wrapped in brown paper. It felt slightly heavier than it looked, and he weighed it in his hands a few moments, remembering another package, a package he had not opened.
He wouldn't do that again.
He carefully picked the paper loose, prying it up from the tape that held it down. Inside, the object was clear…glass, it seemed.
The last of the paper fell away, and he looked at what he held. It was solid glass, a rounded rectangle about a half inch thick. But it was not blank. Seeming to float inside the glass was a white lily. No matter whether he looked at it from the back or front of the glass object, it always floated there, three-dimensional and perfect.
He looked at it from the side, and the glass was clear all the way through. As if there was no white flower inside of the glass…perhaps there wasn't, he decided. He checked the wrapper for a note, any note at all, and on the inside of the paper Remus had scrawled a few lines:
'This was your mother's, Harry. I gave it to her for Christmas during our fourth year. It's enchanted so that it looks like there is a lily inside of it. She always liked it, and I received it out of her will. I thought perhaps it was time to hand it on.'
--Moony
Harry smiled. So it was magic. Even though it was purely decorative, he was glad to have it. It was something his mother had once held, and it was nice to have that reminder of his parents. Or at least of his mother…the most clear memory he retained of his father, besides his death, was him torturing Snape in school. Being a bully.
At least he still had his mother's memory to hold onto. No one had a bad word to say about her.
He held the glass piece in his hands until it was warm, staring at the white lily and wondering what his parents would say to him if they could. It was at times like this that he wished he had someone to talk to.
Besides his relatives, of course.
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He was reading one of his defense books when he heard the doorknob turn. He'd put his mother's possession under the floorboards already, determined to keep it from the Dursleys at all costs.
He'd tried hard to distract himself from the sounds and smells of dinner occurring downstairs, but it had been fruitless. His stomach was cramped with hunger and he felt slightly faint.
He set the book down and pulled his pillow over it as the door swung outwards, revealing his uncle, who had a rather angry expression on his face. "I heard you gave your aunt a hard time today, boy," he growled. Harry blinked.
"What?!" he exclaimed. "I did not! She started in on me—"
"Don't talk back to me, boy," his uncle growled. Harry was feeling slightly off balance from all this. It was like everything had just suddenly reach the boiling point and spilled over. This was already the most his Uncle had said to him all summer, and the man seemed to actually feel brave or something.
"But she—" he tried. "A friend of mine came over, and she—"
"She has every right to order your freaky friends off of our property!" his uncle shouted. His face was starting to turn an amazing shade of purple.
"I'm sorry, Uncle, but Remus—" Harry started. He was cut off once again.
"You will call me sir!" his uncle said. "You're sixteen now, and you'll behave like a man!"
"I'm sixteen in two weeks," he said. Finally, he managed a full sentence. Too bad his uncle did not like that particular sentence.
"I DON'T CARE!" he roared. "From now on, you're to stay in this room! Every time that ruddy bird comes for your message, I want to watch you write it. If I even see another of your freaky friends, I'll lock you up until you're eighteen!"
"Now wait just a minute here!" Harry exclaimed. He was sick and tired of his uncle pushing him around. He rolled off the bed and stood up, at eye level with his uncle now that he had grown some. "I'm not some little twelve year old you and lock up and starve, sir," he added the sir in a sarcastic tone. "I'm fifteen, and I'm bloody well tired of being treated like a child!"
"Don't talk back to me, boy!" Vernon growled, but Harry could hear the man's voice weakening. It seemed that his common sense was catching up with him, and he was perhaps realizing that he was making a mistake staring something with Harry.
Harry breathed out, trying to calm himself.
"You know, the Order will show up if they don't hear from me," he warned. Some of the purple started to fade from his Uncle's face. "And Remus did mention that there would be hell to pay if you hurt me. And don't think I'm not too proud to tell them if something's wrong," he added. More purple faded.
"T-there's no need to get them involved, boy," he said, voice weaker still. Harry wanted to laugh. His uncle always had been a coward.
"Well, as long as you leave me alone, there won't be any problems, will there?" he asked, arms folded. Vernon blinked.
"N-no," he said slowly.
"Good," Harry said, smiling slightly. "I'm not going to get pushed around and smacked around by Aunt Petunia anymore, or I'll tell the Order."
"Now see here," Vernon began, getting some of his anger back. "She and I have raised you since—"
"And I'm so grateful," Harry said sarcastically. "Just stay away from me, and this summer'll be over before you know it."
Vernon flushed purple again, looking ready to explode from anger and fear all at once. "Fine," he said. "You want us to stay away from you, then we will," he growled.
And then, Vernon did one of the most courageous things that Harry had ever witnessed.
He backhanded his nephew hard and then almost ran from the room.
Of course, Harry didn't see most of this. He was too busy trying to stay conscious as he lay on the floor, having hit his head on the edge of his desk on the way down. He blinked slowly a few times, but it was a lost cause.
He was unconscious an instant later.
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When he woke up, it was dark. His head felt like a brick had been stuck inside of it, and his sore ear was throbbing.
Very slowly, he pushed his arms against the floor and sat up, blinking groggily. It wasn't as dark as he thought. Dim, like it was evening or early morning. The light was not on in his room, and the door was closed again. Probably locked as well.
He stayed on the floor for a few minutes, just trying to get everything to stay still and quit spinning, and then he felt his head, looking for wounds.
There was a sticky spot on his left temple. Where he had hit the desk, he decided. It didn't seem to be bleeding anymore, although he could see that there was a dark stain on the floor. Probably part of the reason why he was so dizzy, he decided.
After another few minutes, he managed to fold his legs under his body and push himself up. He swayed dangerously on the spot, feeling more than a little sick, and then staggered to the window. The curtains had been drawn, and he pulled them back…to see that his uncle had bolted the window shut. The only way he'd be able to open it at all would be to break it…and Vernon would surely notice that.
From what he could see, it looked to be late afternoon…had he really spent an entire day lying on the floor? And no one cared?
"Figures," he said bitterly, his voice echoing in the room. He felt a twist of fear as he turned back to his room. His trunk was gone. So were all of his books, his homework…everything… "Dammit, dammit, dammit," he muttered. Probably his uncle had locked everything up again. Or his aunt had told her husband to…it didn't really matter in the end. He didn't have his stuff anymore, and that was that.
In a sudden burst of strength, despite the emergence of a throbbing headache, he checked under the floorboards, and was relieved to see that his photo album, invisibility cloak, and mother's glass lily were still safe. His uncle had not found them. His wand was still snugly tucked against his waist in his pants. At least he still had the important things, he decided.
The door was his next goal. At the base, his foot hit something, and he realized that there was a bowl with an open can of cold soup in it, just inside the catflap that had been installed before his second year at Hogwarts. It had probably been sitting all day, but he moved it aside to eat later. He was starving for something to eat, anything to eat, and he wasn't going to throw away some soup because it might taste a little odd.
He tried opening the door a few times, pushing on it hard, but it was definitely locked. Probably all seven locks had been done up, just to be sure he couldn't get out. The hinges were on the outside, so he couldn't even pull the door out, even if he had the tools to do so. It was a hopeless situation…unless he could somehow get word to the Order. He didn't think Remus would manage to get Dumbledore to let him go somewhere else, but perhaps it would make Dumbledore worry enough to check on him…or perhaps he could put some clues into his notes that his uncle would not notice. Until then…his goal was to survive.
He was stuck, he realized. Just like before second year, except this time there was no one to rescue him and the danger was greater for any who did. It could attract the attention of death eaters, or Voldemort himself.
The new school year could not come fast enough.
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A/N: Here is chapter two. I'm only working about half a chapter ahead of what I post, so I won't always post regularly. It depends if I get stuck in ruts or not. This came out easy, and I have pretty much all the way up until the start of sixth year planned out in little notes. So please review. It encourages me to spend more time working on this story. Thanks!