Authors Notes: As usual thanks for your reviews. I have a goofy question? How are you folks finding my story. I can only find it by typing in my name or the title. When you write something is it automatically archived in a C2 community or do the authors do that themselves?
Kimi, Kimi, Kimi: Sorry, but this isn't going to be slash.
Chapter 5:
On Privet Drive
Harry sat on the lumpy mattress, in the small room, on the second floor, in the average house, at number 4 Privet Drive, and stared at the thin, brown, leather journal for approximately the hundredth time in three days. Its inside was filled with clean cream colored parchment with roughly scalloped edges. The hard leather covering was embossed with ornate patterns. The center of which displayed a Gryffindor and Slytherin crest joined together by a tiny half circle of design, making one irrefutably part of the other.
It was the design that Harry had questioned the Headmistress about when McGonagall handed him the blank book as the students all waited on the platform to board the Hogwarts Express. Harry, along with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione stood huddled together on the far end.
hoping they could all get on the train and escape any kind of adult attention.
Many students had not been so lucky, Harry and his friends had realized as the made their way to breakfast that morning. The accused miscreants were scattered about the castle doing various chores. Some were polishing suits of armor, while others mopped the entrance hall, to serve as morning detention in lieu of breakfast. Dean was among them, and Harry ran into him swabbing out the toilets in the first floor boys loo. He looked a bit green and told Harry he couldn't have eaten any breakfast anyhow, but Madam Pomfrey had made them all drink nutrient potion. Ginny found out later on the ride to the train that the Ravenclaw boy, after an intense interrogation had ratted out everyone he had sold his bottles of fire whiskey to. And McGonagall had sent owls home to the parents of all those who served detention.
So it was in the sincere hope that all punishments had been meted out that Harry and his friends tried to lay low at the end of the platform and willed the train to arrive. Harry tried to desperately to convince himself that it didn't matter at all if he was found out for having Obliviated Filch. It was too late to serve detention. He didn't care if McGonagall owled the Dursley's. He wasn't coming back next year. Harry was trying to think of more reasons not be nervous, but couldn't think of any so he started to repeat his list. It was too late to serve detention. Right. The only thing there would be time for McGonagall to do would be give him a telling off. The boy stopped short. Telling off was McGonagall's best thing. She'd bloody gone pro his first year, Harry mused with trepidation when the Headmistress suddenly called his name.
"Mr. Potter a word please?" She had summoned him from the opposite end of the platform.
Harry's stomach did a bit of a somersault when he saw she was standing next to Filch and she was clutching a book possessively to her chest. Had Filch just recovered his Obliviated memories and gone straight away to McGonagall? What the hell was I playing at pulling a stunt like that? Harry chastised himself roughly.
The day was warm and the journey to where McGonagall stood with Filch felt brutally long. Harry cast a mournful look at his friends before he set out. His feet grew heavy, his shoes seeming too big and his legs too short. He eyed the traitorous things, urging them to get a move on. Harry was for some reason reminded of the day during his first year when he'd been caught riding a broom without permission. McGonagall had made him follow her into the castle and he'd had a hard time on his eleven year old legs keeping up with her quick strides. She's stopped at a classroom and asked to borrow Wood, and for one terrible moment Harry thought Wood was a cane she would punish him with. Well that had a happy ending, he reminded himself. Maybe this will too. He stole a glance at her face and didn't like the look of it at all. No. McGonagall definitely didn't look like she wanted to discuss Quidditch. He was definitely going to be told off. Probably at great volume too. McGonagal never did do it quietly. Damn it. And the whole school was around. They'd all know what he'd done. It would be worse than getting a Howler. McGonagall had always intimidated Harry more than Dumbledore. She didn't mess about offering people lemon drops did she?
"Yes Headmistress," he questioned politely when he finally arrived. He eyed the handsome leather book still cradled to her bosom and thought for sure it had to do with Obliviating Filch at the library. It was all Harry could do to keep from babbling an apology and a confession and perhaps start bawling like a first year Hufflepuff.
"If you will excuse us, Mr. Filch," she dismissed the Caretaker with a nod. "Well, Mr. Potter, I was glad to see that you were not caught in any of last nights activities." Professor McGonagall stated sternly.
Harry didn't like the way she emphasized the word caught, but so far so good.
"Well I almost tried the fire whiskey," he admitted and briefly wondered if there had been verasitum in the morning pumpkin juice. "But Hermione wouldn't let me. It looked like most of the kids with detention this morning were being punished for that," he babbled. Perhaps the long walk in the heat had addled his brains? "She kept us all in line actually," Harry indicated Ron and Ginny. "Said it was a good job the Death Eaters didn't show up again with Voldemort and that we all needed to keep our heads about us." Maybe he could score a few points for Hermione, Harry thought hopefully. If McGonagall knew about Filch maybe it would count for something.
"Once again I am thankful that you have Miss Granger to listen to," the Headmistress smiled sternly. She looked extremely weary Harry noticed and he felt a strong pang of guilt.
"I am sorry," Harry began. What the bloody hell are you on about mate? "That everyone got up to so much trouble last night...what with ...everything else you've got to deal with." He finished sincerely if a tad uncertainly.
Harry could have sworn he saw her eyes go misty for a moment, but then her normally stern expression was back.
"Yes," she cleared her throat. "Mr. Filch tried to convince me I should take a leaf from Dolores Umbridge's book. He wanted to fill out the Requisition for Whipping forms. I finally persuaded him," the Headmistress continued. "That there just wasn't enough time to whip every student in the school before the train arrived." Harry couldn't tell if she was serious or not but decided she was going to be a much more formidable Head than Dumbledore.
"Mr. Filch must have been heartbroken," Harry risked in an undertone.
"I assure you he was," She replied and this time Harry was sure he saw the ghost of a smile cross her stern lips. "Now Mr. Potter," she resumed in a business like manner. "I have been informed by the Headmaster that for the time being you will be operating under his final orders."
"You were informed..." Harry's hand traveled briefly to the Angelth. "But...Oh," he said suddenly. "Did his portrait wake up then?"
"Not yet I'm afraid," McGonagall reported a trifle sadly. "No, these were final written instructions left by the Headmaster. A portion pertained to you." Harry's ears perked up attentively. "As I said he stated that for the time being you will be operating under his final orders which he stated you should be fully aware of," she paused to see if this was the case, and when Harry nodded continued. "The Order of the Phoenix is to leave you to your own devises but be available should you need us. You are to contact Arabella Figg should you wish to speak with any member of the Order," McGonagall paused. "You're clear on what the Headmaster's wishes you to do?" she questioned uncertainly. At Harry's confident nod she relaxed a bit. "He also left you this," she moved her arm and finally released the book that had been trapped against her breast. "It is a magical communication log," she handed him the thin brown leather book. "If you have any questions before your training begins you are to write them in this book and they will be answered," she stated as though quoting. "Does that make sense?" she wanted to know.
"It does," Harry admitted tentatively taking the book. "But who will answer?"
"I've no idea Potter," she eyed the boy carefully.
Harry examined the book gingerly. It was a blank journal with parchment style pages. The stiff brown leather cover was quite fancy Harry noticed. And then he realized it was the Gryffindor and Slytherin crests joined together like a Venn diagram.
"What's this about then?" he asked, a tad breathlessly tracing the design with a finger.
"I don't know Potter," her eyes narrowed. "I thought you might be able to shed some light"
But he had not been unable to shed any light.
And he still wasn't able to shed any three days latter. In fact as he sat on his lumpy bed at Privet Drive all he was able to shed was dark. And it was a brooding, fretting dark as he thought about who would answer his questions on the other side of the book.
Harry had spend most of his first three days back on Privet Drive in his room. His relatives were being so nice the first day it was sickening. It took Harry aboutfive minutes to realize that Uncle Vernon wanted to get his greedy hands on Harry's inheritance from Sirius. They had both been urging Harry to sit down for a bit and tell how his year had gone. Aunt Petunia had set out tea and chocolate biscuits,which Harry refused to touch. Finally Uncle Vernon commented on it in what he imagined was a teasing friendly way.
"Come on boy," Uncle Vernon said as though we were old chums. "Petunia paid good money for those biscuits. What will we do with them if you don't eat up?
Without meaning to say it out loud, Harry suggested politely that perhaps Uncle Vernon might enjoy shoving them up his fat arse. Vernon's response was to cuff him soundly about the head while calling him an ungrateful freak and order him to his room. And things had gone back to normal. His second day had passed with neither human contact or food. Then this morning Aunt Petunia had started feeding him again. As she shoved the toast and orange juice through the cat flap in the door, Harry heard Uncle Vernon complain.
"Let the freak buy his own food with his bloody inheritance."
"Now, Vernon we can't completely starve the boy, or those freaks will be all over us. You remember what the tall one said, it's only till his birthday," she said in a tone meant to soothe. "I taught him a bit of a lesson yesterday his stomach stayed nice and empty. And there'll be no more food till tomorrow. All right Dear?" Uncle Vernon gave a low growl.
It was one of the few times Harry felt he had earned the man's wrath. Though Harry really hadn't meant to say it aloud, it was a terribly disrespectful thing to say. Not that Uncle Vernon hadn't started it with all his clumsy arse kissing. But still Harry wished he'd kept his comments to himself and saved himself the grief. He felt a bit like he had after Obliterating Filch. True both of the gits had it coming, but still Harry felt a bit bad. A part of him wished McGonogall had found him out. At least then he might be able stop thinking about it.
But McGonagall hadn't found him out. Instead she'd given him this ruddy journal and he'd spent and over abundance of time thinking about it as well. Harry wasn't sure exactly what freaked him out so much about the journal. True the overwhelming certainty that Snape would be the one he was communicating with was cause enough for discomfort, but actually it reminded him a bit too much of Riddle's diary.
Would this book work the same way. Would Harry be sucked into the book to see the answer to a questions? Would Snape be there leading the way? Harry didn't know and wasn't anxious to find out. Harry had been brooding over the journal for the better part of an hour and hoping Aunt Petunia might relent and bring him dinner when he fell into shallow restless sleep.
Coming Soon:
Dark Dream
"You will be silent boy!" Snape bellowed. "During the school he began cheating as a matter of routine in Potions class using one of my old texts." Snape continued. "He used the same text to begin performing dark spells. Yet he was apparently too idiotically thick to find how damaging they were first. The end of this year he altered another human beings memory and called him an "impotent, little Squib". And you heard the way he spoke a moment ago. What will our golden boy do next Albus? Start referring to Granger as a "filthy Mudblood" and put Weasley under the Imperious?"