C h a p t e r 2
Summary: EC/HP. slash. In order to get the training and teacher he needs, Harry goes to Forks, Washington under Dumbledore's orders. He expects to get new spells, he does not; however, expect to find a coven of vampires.
Rating: M
Warnings: This does contain SLASH, there will also be mentions of abuse.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Notes: '…' thoughts will be written like this.
"…" As usual this is talking.
Author Notes: THANK YOU so much for all the reviews and alerts.
Harry sighed longingly as he looked outside of the ratty taxi cab's dirt streaked window. From his excruciatingly long flight to his boring car ride Harry was as taut as a bow. Already, he was missing his home, his friends, his life.
Dumbledore had quickly explained that Harry was to find his teacher in a little cottage in Forks. Apparently, America was a lot less intertwined in the war than Britain was; therefore, there would not be such a reverence of Harry as there was in his homeland and that was one of the only things he was looking forward to.
His teacher, Dyrk Dumbledore pointed out, was rather a interesting character, not unlike Dumbledore himself. After giving up on the wizarding world's competence, though he still studied the arts extensively, Dyrk became a muggle police officer. While great in defense and charms, Dyrk was best at the physical aspect, which excited Harry because that meant that he would most likely gain a little extra muscle.
While learning from his teacher, Harry would also be expected to attend muggle high school so that others wouldn't get suspicious. Harry dreaded it. He hadn't been to school since he was eleven and that was only when the Dursley's allowed him away from his chores or when he could physically get up to go.
Dumbledore also informed him that he would not be allowed to fight with the Order as much, which was to be expected considering that he would be thousands of miles away. Nevertheless, the news unsettled Harry.
Four months after Harry had started training, Dumbledore had allowed Harry to fight along with the Order. At first the missions were small, simply cleaning up scenes that Voldemort had left behind, but they got increasingly harder, and along with that more dangerous.
When Harry had gone to clean up the bodies left behind by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, Harry had been unable to eat for a week. He couldn't stop seeing the six year old gasping her last breath as he tried to staunch the blood, or the child's mother pleading with him to please just save her. It ate Harry alive, but he hardened himself against it, and although he spent every night thinking about it, Harry was able to act his part in front of the people he was trying to protect.
Jerking from his darkening thoughts, Harry heard the taxi screech to a halt. "That'll be one-hundred twenty five dollars and sixty cents, kid," the scraggly-bearded taxi driver said from the front seat.
Harry handed him seven twenties and told him to keep the change while he shouldered his black messenger bag. It was his only luggage, but Dumbledore had put an expanding charm on it so the small bag could carry all of his clothes, consisting of four black pairs of jeans and a couple of different colored button down shirts courtesy of Dumbledore, in a hidden compartment so that the security at the airport would not get suspicious of the suspiciously-bigger-than-normal bag.
Looking at his new house for the first time, Harry's jaw dropped. The house itself was small, but it was beautiful and cozy looking. It was colored a light blue color with pale yellow as the trim. Very warm and comfortable colors.
It was the yard, however, that caught Harry's attention. Different colored plants filled the yard, not incredibly unusual, but after working in Aunt Petunia's color-lacking garden for fifteen years it was beautiful.
Shaking his head to clear the fuzz out of his brain Harry forced himself to walk through the cobble-stone driveway and pull the door open. Harry let a chuckle escape him as he saw that the whole living room had Gryffindor colors in it. A few gold couches and deep red painted walls, with dark brown tables. Walking through to the kitchen Harry observed all the little figures, almost doll-like, scattered throughout. There were the mascots for all the houses, something that Harry had expected as much as the man preached about house unity. The kitchen was clearly refurbished as the appliances looked no more than a year old.
Satisfied, Harry located his room and the bathroom that was opposite it. Pulling open his gold door handle, he saw that the walls lining his room were a simple white color, clearly Dumbledore left it for him to decorate to his own desire. Setting his bag on the floor by the nightstand, Harry laid down on his new bed heavily.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Harry wondered where he was supposed to meet his teacher. The headmaster had said that Dyrk would call him within a week, after Harry had settled in, but Harry was anxious to start now. The war wouldn't wait for their hero to "settle in', he was just wasting time.
Damn it. Harry kicked his foot against the new nightstand beside his bed. He wished Hedwig was here. Owl or not, she was a great source of comfort, and Harry felt like part of his heart was torn out knowing that he had been forced to leave her.
Hefting himself up, Harry walked aimlessly through the house, admiring what was to be his for a year. Feeling his stomach growl, he decided to grab something to eat.
Entering the kitchen and pulling open the stainless steel door, Harry wished he had thought to grab some kind of alcohol while he was in the cab. The bad habit was Moody's fault. Harry had never tried the drink in his life until, one night, the scarred man came limping in declaring that "all soldiers should be able to drink". Mrs. Weasley had not appreciated it at all when Moody had filled his glass to the brim and told Harry to down it, but Harry had, and though it was bitter, he acquired a taste for the drink quickly.
Instead, Harry rummaged through the fully stocked fridge and pulled out a fuzzy peach.
Pie-holing the thing, Harry contemplated his plans for the week. Tomorrow would be Tuesday and he would be forced to start school. Damn, just thinking about it, Harry craved for Hogwarts.
Suddenly brightening, Harry remembered that Wednesday was the day that he would get his motorcycle, well Sirius's, which was now his through the will. Mood instantly darkening again, Harry went back to his pacing.
He was scheduled to meet his teacher on Saturday, apparently he would be too sore to move the next day, so they scheduled around school.
A full week out of training. A full week could be the difference of ten people dying of forty people dying. It rankled him that he was forced to just sit idly by while he could be doing something productive.
On that note, Harry got an idea. Hurrying outside, he pulled his wand out and put up a few simple privacy charms; since the house was so secluded he wouldn't have to worry about anyone but a stray dog to come by, but he would put the charms up just in case.
Focusing on a sturdy pine tree, Harry started some simple fighting techniques that Moody had taught him, nothing hugely helpful, but it made Harry feel like he was at least doing something.
Punching the tree, Harry winced while blood flowed freely down his knuckles. Not until he could no longer feel his fingers and legs did he go inside and pass out on his bed.
Choking on a scream, Harry woke, wand in his hand, panting. Trying to calm down, Harry pressed his cool hand to his scorching forehead. 'It was only a dream, only a dream, only a dream.'
'But they're not,' he argued in his head. 'They're not dreams if they really happened.' Looking at his shaking hand, Harry sighed. It seemed that Voldemort would always gain an unparallel amount of joy from causing Harry pain.
Harry glanced at his alarm clock, another present from Dumbledore, and upon seeing the time, Harry attempted to heft himself up. Crying out, Harry felt the soreness in his muscles but could no sharp pain that scratches would usually leave . Harry looked at his knuckles and saw that they were all healed, except for a little bit of redness around the bones. He always did have a quick healing rate.
Bracing himself for the pain this time, he counted, one…two…three. Harry clinched his teeth and forced himself to walk to the bathroom, so he could relieve himself. He kept checking the clock every couple of minutes to make sure he would still have enough time to walk to school, while proceeded to do his daily routine.
No more than ten minutes later a shaggy headed boy-who-lived with a black messenger bag stepped into the kitchen to grab himself a shiny, red apple and walked to the living room to pull on his black hoodie.
Jogging out of the door, Harry ate the apple while he ran the mile or two to his new high school. As Harry was on his way he realized that Forks wasn't all that different from Britain, save for the fact that there weren't houses upon houses, upon houses. It was nice.
Coming upon the school, Harry slowed to a jog and finally a fast walk. Harry kept his head down and fidgeted nervously with his bag's strap.
The last day he had ever gone to school was five years ago and he had come home with a black eye and a twisted ankle courtesy of Dudley's "friends". Understandably, Harry felt dreadful.
Harry dodged the few students already in the parking lot, and he walked to the office to get his schedule.
Walking through the wooden door slowly, Harry stopped in front of the plump woman and waited for her to acknowledge him.
She turned from her huge stack of papers and looked at him with beady eyes. "Yes?" she said with a southern drawl.
"Harry Potter," he said simply and marveled at how quickly her eyes lit up in recognition. He was probably the new freak. Damn, it would have been nice to be unnoticed by someone. If it wasn't the wizarding world, not that he didn't understand why they always looked to him, then it was the Dursley's, someone always wanted something from him. Always.
Suddenly, a paper was thrust in front of him and without even thinking about it Harry attempted to grab his wand before he could stop himself, before he remembered that no he wasn't in danger and no there was no need to protect himself.
"Sorry," he mumbled as he took the note.
"That's your schedule and map, do you need some help finding your way around?" she asked, although Harry could tell that she hoped Harry would decline.
Harry humored her, there was no need for a guide in a school like this anyways. If he could make his way through Hogwarts than he could sure as hell find his way through this dinky little school.
"No thanks, I think I can find my way on my own," Harry gave a small wave as he walked through the threshold of the office door.
Staring at the map and schedule in hand, Harry easily spotted his teacher's room. It clearly said Mr. Mason in bold letters on the front of the door.
Pushing his way inside, Harry found a seat at the very back of the classroom. He sighed as he watched ten or so children walk through the room to sit in their seats. Harry pulled up his hood and wished silently that he was invisible.
A bell rang, signifying the start of class, and Harry saw his English teacher walk up to his desk. Harry sighed and pushed himself up slowly, mindful of his soreness, and walked toward the teacher. He heard a few people giggling around him, but Harry ignored it as best as he could.
The teacher looked kind and questioning. Harry explained, "I'm new. Harry Potter," while handing Mr. Mason his schedule to prove that he was in the right place.
"Ah yes," Harry's new teacher said as if he wasn't the most talked about person yesterday. Harry was sure Dumbledore had something to do with that. He probably sent someone to sign him up the moment that Harry had won in his duel. Harry had to hold back a snort of laughter at the mental image of Snape coming here in all of his black robed glory.
Schooling his features, Harry focused on the present. "Tell us something about yourself and then you can go sit back over there," he heard the teacher say. He was pointing at the exact desk that Harry was sitting at before.
Harry sighed and tried to think of something to say about himself. "I'm Harry Potter and I'm sixteen," he said and could here some girls sighing.
One girl actually raised her hand and, at a loss of what to do, Harry looked to Mr. Mason. "Yes, Jessica," he said nodding to her.
"Are you really from Britain," she said in a highly annoying voice.
Nodding, Harry watched as she chattered excitedly with all the girls in her vicinity. 'So this is the Lavander Brown of the group,' Harry thought unenthusiastically.
"Can I sit down now," Harry said a bit desperately. It would seem that, no matter how long he was in the spot light, he would always be shy in front of others.
The teacher nodded his head and turned around to start writing on the marker streaked dry erase board. Harry walked across the creaking, blue stained rug back to his desk.
Grabbing his pencil and spiral notebook, Harry copied a few notes from Mr. Mason's messy scrawl on the board.
Ten minutes later and Harry was almost twitching in his seat. Even though Snape had finally gotten Harry to learn occlumency, Harry still had trouble with Voldemort. No matter what Harry did, he would still get brief flashes of Voldemort's doings.
The visions weren't near as prevalent as they were last year and Harry had a feeling that Voldemort wasn't sending them on purpose. He was pretty sure that Voldemort's already fractured mind couldn't be full protected and when he was high on his emotions some things would slip through the cracks of Voldemort's occlumency shield. There weren't many that could get through Harry's shields but when Harry didn't have something to occupy his mind with, he would sometimes find himself at the mercy of Voldemort's psyche.
The only upside with the visions he got from Voldemort was the fact that when he got the visions, which were usually in his dreams because Harry wasn't very talented in raising his occlumency shields up while he was asleep, Harry would get glimpses of places he had seen, which allowed him to tell the Dumbledore. Within a few minutes Harry and the Order would be there to attempt to save any prisoners of the Death Eaters
Harry sighed and started mentally saying all the Latin words he could think of until the end of class, to keep himself distracted. There were, admittedly, a good many words for him to recall.
There's the second chapter. Please review and tell me what you think. Was it rushed? Did it sound like I was telling the story instead of 'showing' it? There were some issues with formatting so if it doesn't look right to you, then it probably isn't, please tell me if that's the case
Once again, thanks for all the feedback and I'd love to hear from ya'll again!
Oh, and is anyone interested in maybe beta-ing for me. I'm not sure, but I would love some help with my grammar and maybe some plot consistencies.
Thanks for reading!