Expectations of Grandeur

by Josephine Sawyer

It is our choices who make us who we are, but sometimes those choices have already been made for us. Tom is back and has to choose again.

2. A Flood of Owls

Disclaimer: This story includes characters and situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe, which is copyright J.K.Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, Bloomsbury, etc. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made in the production of this FANFICTION. Not many outside resources were needed this time, but I (as always) made extensive use of the Harry Potter Lexicon, www.hp-lexicon.org, when writing this chapter.

Author's Note: Wow. I never thought that people would like this, even as much as they have. So, now for the second chapter. On goes my carrying out, to the very end, right? No Tom in this chapter, because I am starting this in a typical way, with Harry Potter. Thanks for this chapter go to Jess, Fantome, ennui2 and Goten-Lupin for being awesome enough to read and review chapter 1. I think I may need to go back to my painstaking plan and go add a character and some detail, so the next chapter might not be so quick, but I like this once-a-week thing so I'll definitely try.

Expectations of Grandeur: Chapter 2: A flood of owls

Harry Potter awoke, with a searing pain in his scar. He jerked up to a seating position, hand darting to his forehead. His fingers felt warm against his cold, clammy skin. That was always a bad sign. He was out of breath from his sudden awakening; his head was throbbing with every breath he took. Scooting back to lean against the wall, he took his hand from his forehead. His breathing evened, and the sense that he was shaking stopped. Then he tried to remember his dream.

Harry Potter was not an ordinary boy, as evidenced by the lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead that was still tinged with a sharp pain. It hurt less when he squinted, for some reason, so Harry's brow was furrowed tightly. It gave him the look of either someone thinking very hard (perhaps harder than necessary) about something, or someone with a rather strange twitch.

But even given the scar and the strange expression on his face, Harry Potter was no ordinary child. Harry Potter was a wizard. He was going to start his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in a little less than a month, and he couldn't be gladder to be leaving his Aunt and Uncle's house. They called him 'that ruddy boy' and usually treated him as if he were some kind of reprobate. Or perhaps worse than that. Harry couldn't much tell. At least he wasn't stuck in the cupboard under the stairs again.

Slowly the dream came back to him. He had been dreaming, about Dumbledore this time. Dumbledore in the Chamber of Secrets. The old man had just been sitting at a table, in the Chamber. Harry hadn't recognized it as the Chamber at first, it was so clean and bright, but when he saw the walls he suddenly knew where it was. He had seen those walls before. And there was Dumbledore, peaceably, albeit inexplicably, sitting in the Chamber of Secrets. He could still see it, even now that he was awake. Harry rubbed his scar, wondering what it all meant The Chamber was associated with horrible memories for him, memories of what was possibly the worst day of his life. Well, second worst, if he counted the third task of the Triwizard Tournament.

Third worst, he thought, but then stopped because he wasn't allowing himself to think about that. He hadn't allowed himself to think of that for almost two months, however unsuccessfully he had been.

In any case, the Chamber meant danger – great danger – and to see Dumbledore in the Chamber meant that Dumbledore was in danger – great danger. Harry wasn't ready to take this one literally – not quite yet.

Harry had learned his past year not to trust all his dreams explicitly, so he took all of them with a grain of salt. If he still hadn't mastered Occlumency, at least he could use reason and think things through before acting on impulse. After all, if he hadn't acted on impulse, he would have realised that he should have used the mirror. If he had used his mirror, maybe Sirius would…

Best not to think about that. He had forbidden himself from thinking about it for almost two months, and in the end it wasn't much helping. After a summer of having nothing to do but think, Harry had a long list of things not to think about. He turned his attention to his dream. He had to use reason, so it was good to ask: What would Dumbledore be doing in the Chamber of Secrets? Harry couldn't tell. There was no reason for anyone to be in the Chamber of Secrets, as far as Harry could tell, unless they wanted to release the Basilisk on unsuspecting students, and even when Harry had hated Dumbledore he couldn't have imagined Dumbledore doing that.

Motives denied, how would Dumbledore even have gotten into the Chamber of Secrets? As far as Harry knew, Dumbledore was no Parselmouth. Perhaps Dumbledore had broken the spell locking the chamber to password, but Harry was having trouble thinking of Dumbledore as more powerful than Salazar Slytherin himself, and so Harry turned that idea down as well. Having taken the dream with a grain of salt and found it rather illogical, he passed it off as either Voldemort trying to get to him, or just another one of his dreams.

He supposed it probably was the latter. But something in his gut said that Voldemort, wherever he was, was just about as close to kissing the nearest Death Eater out of happiness as the Dark Lord ever got. Harry abstractly wondered exactly how close this was.

He decided it was best not to wonder such things, mentally added it to his list of things not to think about, and passed that thought off as some strange fluke of an overactive imagination.

He had been receiving mail from his friends, and they were slightly more edifying after his furious shouting matches with them last year, but even so neither Ron nor Hermione could reveal much. He turned to Hedwig's empty cage. He had sent her off with a letter to Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, who were all holed up again in Number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Sirius had left it to the Order in his will, when he…

Best not to think of that. Harry's friends were, therefore, stuck at number twelve Grimmauld Place, with the rest of the Order. Harry hardly thought this counted as holed up – they were abreast of every bit of information that passed through the Order of the Phoenix. Or at least, they would be as soon as Ginny got the Extendable Ears to work correctly, but that was hardly the point to Harry. They at least knew more than what Harry did from trying to decipher things like; "Tom's gone missing, Moony is going through withdrawal, and mum and dad still won't let us in on anything." Harry sighed. At least they were trying.

He sat back onto his bed. He wished that he could have been invited to number twelve earlier, it was almost his birthday and he was still with the Dursleys. Dumbledore had demanded that he remain there for at least some time between every year, and Harry had gotten over his ideas of defying Dumbledore. He remembered shouting at the old man, berating him, feeling betrayed by his mentor and headmaster and even hating him outright for some of the last year. But Harry had had a lot of time to think (and a growing list of subjects he did not want to think about) during his captivity in number four Privet drive, and he had come to the conclusion that Dumbledore was probably honest when he said that he only meant the best for Harry. Harry thought of the Muggle proverb, that good intentions pave the way to hell, and he thought that that was, once again, something else to put on the list of subjects not to think about. Harry had reluctantly accepted the fact that he was stuck with the Dursleys for the protection that came from his blood, and left it at that. He knew better than anyone else did that there was no love between him and the Dursleys, but Dumbledore had said: 'family is still family.'

Now and then Harry still questioned whether Dumbledore really knew what he was talking about or not or if he wasn't just a blamed old codger as so many people had said in the past. After all, Dumbledore had made such a big deal about that prophecy, which Harry just took to be the last bit of damning evidence against him. So it was kill or be killed; he would have to murder Voldemort just as cold-heartedly as Voldemort had tried to kill him. He wondered if he would be able to when the time came. He decided not to think about that. He didn't understand why Dumbledore had kept it from him – to be sure he wouldn't have understood it as a child, but Dumbledore could have prevented so much by telling him the prophecy – and the fact that Voldemort was after it.

There was another strange issue: why would Voldemort be interested in that prophecy? His reactions from before he knew about it – trying to kill Harry – were the same as his probable reaction from knowing what the prophecy said – trying to kill Harry – and what the prophecy actually predicted he would do – try to kill Harry. Either way, the prophecy didn't offer any real revelation to Voldemort other than he would, in fact, have to do what he had been trying to do for nearly sixteen years – kill Harry. And for all the big deal that Dumbledore had made over the prophecy, one would think it was actually useful. If the world had known that prophecy, so much could have been prevented.

Harry sighed. No matter what he told himself, he knew that it wasn't Dumbledore's fault at all – it was his fault through and through for not thinking twice before acting. He had gotten Dumbledore chased out of Hogwarts, after all, by the discovery of the DA. He should have been more careful. He should not have allowed the DA to open to people, who weren't honest, who would report them. He probably shouldn't have agreed to teach it at all. And had Dumbledore been in the school when Harry had his dream, maybe someone would have stopped him from going to the Ministry. Maybe it would have prevented…

Harry wasn't very good at not thinking about anything on his list.

There were so many things that he had decided not to think about over the summer, a whole range of depressing, horrible thoughts. Harry fell back; letting his head hit his pillow and rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. Then, deciding that one way to drive those thoughts out of his head was to do schoolwork, he pulled out a Potions book.

This had been what Hermione had suggested, when Harry had complained of nothing to do, and out of desperation Harry had tried it. Surprisingly, the potions book put thoughts of the Department of Mysteries out of his mind and filled them with thoughts of Potions class: not exactly pleasant, but normal territory that Harry was quite used to by now. No rampaging grief, no thoughts of catastrophes and his responsibility for them.

All in all, his books on Quidditch worked better, but he had used them up in the beginning of the summer, and he was left with his Potions book. McGonagall had said he needed to do better in that class. Perhaps this would help.

Harry realised, of course, that the reason he had to do better in Potions was because the teacher despised him. And he realised that improving his actual knowledge of Potions would have no effect whatsoever on his performance in that class as per reported by Professor Snape. However, McGonagall didn't know this for certain, and it was always good to appease Harry's strict Head of House.

Noise came from downstairs, but he didn't heed it. Since he came back from school the Dursleys had acted very strangely towards him. On contrary to partaking in their normal pastimes of yelling at Harry and making his life miserable, they had taken to ignoring him completely: they locked him in his room and didn't let him out, didn't speak to him or provide him with a thing except for shelter. He was starved for news. Last year, at least, he had been able to watch the nightly news (albeit secretly) and assure himself that if Voldemort was up to something, even the Muggles would know.

Harry Potter was certainly not the normal teenaged boy, as no normal teenaged boy would want to watch the news. His Aunt and Uncle noticed this and used it as damning evidence against him.

But at least now they weren't screaming at him morning, noon and night. And he had shelter. Harry wondered if this would suffice for Dumbledore. He had survived on food delivered by Hedwig from the Weasleys – he could always count on Mrs. Weasley to get him out of starving, just as she had several times before. His stomach rumbled. It had been a few days since Hedwig had come, and Harry had foolishly eaten all of what Mrs. Weasley had sent. He looked longingly out the window, searching for the shape of his owl. Surprisingly, he could soon make one out.

He thought it was a mirage caused by his intensifying hunger. But the owl flew closer and he could tell it was real. Hedwig had come back

Or, to be more precise, an owl had come. Now that it was nearly there, he could tell it was a tawny, greyish brown owl, quite different from his own Hedwig. He pushed aside his Potions book and opened his window, letting the tawny brown enter. It sat proudly on the windowsill and presented a letter. He detached the letter from this owl's foot, and watched it as it pompously turn around and fly out the window – brisk. Clearly an official owl from the Ministry. Harry turned his attention back to the letter.

The letter was printed in black ink on plain, slightly yellow, parchment, with the air of a mass mailing designed for efficiency and without any purpose to be comforting or interesting.

Having an idea of what this was about, he opened the letter. His heart was beating frantically: this owl would decide his future, whether or not he would be free to do what he chose in Hogwarts or whether he would have to think of another career. Hermione might not have to worry about her OWLs results, but Harry himself was terrified.

OWL results. Report for: Mr Harry James Potter

History of Magic: Average

Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations

Charms: Outstanding

Divination: Average

Care of Magical Creatures: Exceeds Expectations

Potions: Exceeds Expectations

Astronomy: Dreadful

Herbology: Average

Defence Against the Dark Arts:: Outstanding

Harry had to read it twice just to be sure. Eight OWLs, that was something to be proud of, he decided. He didn't like the Astronomy score, but he put that off to the interrupted test session. He read his scores a third time and only then did he allow himself a sigh of relief and a smile. He fought the urge to laugh out loud, so great was his happiness. His scores were good enough. They would allow him to continue on the only career path he had ever really considered: becoming an Auror. And so long as he could be an Auror, Harry was content with his life.

Well, not his life. But at least his future.

Perhaps, though, soon there would be no need for Aurors. Perhaps he would confront Voldemort again, and succeed this time.

But what seemed more likely was that he would die.

So, he had to admit, to be truthful, he wasn't even content with his future.

He was, at least, he resolved, content with the prospect of his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. That was certain. If he would be able to go into Auror training, he would be content with his education.

And he would become an Auror, and learn to kill. And he would kill Voldemort.

Whether he wanted to or not – as long as he wanted to survive, he had no real choice. He sighed, his good mood slightly deflated.

Best not to think about that, he reminded himself for what had to be the millionth time.

He picked up the Potions book, reopening it. Hermione was right about one thing, when he was thinking about the reasoning behind the specific ratios between ingredients used in healing salves, he didn't think about other, more troublesome things. Which was a relief.

He couldn't escape them otherwise: he dreamed about them quite enough for his tastes.

He didn't notice the second owl fly in through his open window, but when it pecked him on the ear he turned from his reading and extricated its letter. This was a Hogwarts owl, he guessed from its demeanour and size. He opened Hedwig's cage for it, and the black owl hopped in, heading straight for the water. Harry looked at the letter, sealed with the Hogwarts crest as usual.

The letter was early, which wasn't usual. He opened it.

Mr. Harry James Potter,

Your OWL results have come to us, as you no doubt must have realised upon receiving them yourself. My only comment is, Congratulations, Mr. Potter. It is clear from these results that you did in fact study hard for these tests. Based on these results, all other teachers and I have approved your course selections and your intention to train as an Auror. I have also spoken with Professor Dumbledore about the possible necessity of private lessons, as although you have proven yourself capable of handling these OWL level tests the NEWT level classes are another step up – and you may not be prepared as well as one would have hoped. Here are the classes and lessons that you are currently signed up for.

Potions, NEWT level

Transfiguration, NEWT level

Defence Against the Dark Arts, NEWT level

Charms, NEWT level

Care of Magical Creatures, Post-OWL level

Herbology, Post-OWL level

Study sessions (Weekly)

Occlumency lessons (Weekly)

Once again, I assure you that I will see to it you are made ready to continue your training as an Auror by the time you finish Hogwarts. I do not make idle promises, Potter, and I hope that you will not disappoint me. This is a rigorous schedule, I hope you take a leaf out of your friend Hermione Granger's book and show a developed sense of organisation – she has, might I add, the most OWLs of any student in your fifth year.

- Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry almost laughed from joy, again, reading the letter. So McGonagall was going to help him become an Auror. Not only that, but Harry was fairly certain that she wasn't obligated to talk to Dumbledore about all her students, and he certainly knew that McGonagall offering to give him a private study session – almost demanding to do so, in fact, was a sign of her eagerness to help him achieve his goal.

All of which made Harry much more confident about the year ahead. He set the letter aside, next to his OWL results, and had scarcely turned around to check the window but Hedwig dropped inside. He quickly untied her burdensome package – every time he sent Hedwig to the Weasleys she came back with a heavier and heavier burden. Hedwig jumped to join the other owl in her cage and began drinking her fill as well. Harry carefully unwrapped the package. Out fell two letters and enough food for several days, if he budgeted right. He set the food aside, denying his still aching stomach and turning first to the letters. One was in Ron's familiar scrawl, one in Hermione's neat handwriting. He opened Ron's first.

Harry,

Not much is going on with you-know-what. Ginny is still working on our ears, but nothing that she's tried has worked. Even Hermione has started helping her – a real step for Hermione who still pretends to disdain rule breaking. I say, if the rule breaking works for us, who's going to stop us?

OWL results haven't come back yet, and I honestly think that if they take another day Hermione is going to explode with anticipation. Strange – we all know what scores she got. How could she get anything other than O, O, O, O, and O… I'm more worried about my own – those were bloody difficult, some of them.

Let's see. You always complain that we tell you about trivial things and not the important ones – and I know exactly how you feel, mate, because the truth is that mum only tells us the trivial things, not the important ones. She says Dumbledore should be coming by soon – maybe he'll persuade her to let us in on some things. We are, after all, always the ones who have to fight You-Know- Who.

All right, fine, you're always the one who has to fight You-Know-Who. But that doesn't mean that we shouldn't know about anything! Hermione and I are the ones telling you everything we know; you would think that the adults would help us with that.

Ginny seems rather down, I can't tell why. Hermione says she hasn't been sleeping lately. This place is a crypt – the only way out of it is sleeping, I can't imagine why she wouldn't. Maybe you can cheer her up, Harry.

Oh, I've almost forgot the most important piece of news! Mum says that we should be able to break you out of there in three days, for your birthday. Happy birthday, Harry, although I'll tell you again when I see you!

Don't let the Muggles get you down – you'll be out soon!

Ron

Harry smiled. His friend did certainly write more lengthy responses this summer, although they didn't have much more content. At least now he knew what they were doing. It was still beyond him why they would have kept it secret from him last year, when he was desperate for any news he could find, but he had decided to forgive them at the outset of the summer and meant to stand by that. He opened Hermione's letter.

Harry,

Has Ron told you that we'll be coming in three days? It would be just like him to forget, so I figured I would send you another message by Hedwig as well. A sort of birthday present for you, Harry. I'm sure you'll be glad to get away from those horrid people you live with

. None of us can wait until you get here, the place needs some brightening up, and we'd all feel better without worrying about how the Muggles are treating you.

I suppose Ron would have told you all he could think of, so I won't repeat him.

See you soon,

Hermione

Harry broke into a wide grin. He would be leaving in three days. It was all going to be over in three days, for another year at Hogwarts. Which was all he could have asked for right then. He almost ran down to tell his Aunt and Uncle directly, and then suddenly remembered that they had him locked in. He would have to wait until someone came up there. Maybe if he banged on the doors loud enough…

Harry sighed, and sat back down. If they weren't speaking to him, what would their reactions be when a group of fully grown wizards came to fetch him in three days time – as a complete surprise? He supposed that the Dursleys would be too shocked to speak. But Harry liked them best that way – silent.

Any way he looked at it, this was a hopeless situation. But he refused, therefore, to look at it.

And besides, another owl was coming. Not knowing why so many owls could possibly have come to him that day, he reopened the window and sat on his bed in shocked as the regal owl flew in and dropped a letter onto his lap, only to swoop back out again. This was in curly handwriting, purple ink on white parchment.

He opened it.

Harry,

I have spoken to Professor Snape about your continued Occlumency lessons. He point-blank refuses to teach you, so I have decided to take you on as a pupil myself. I hope you will not mind the change of Professors. Please report to my office after the Welcoming Feast when you get to Hogwarts for more information.

Dumbledore.

Harry almost fell down from the sheer joy. Not only was he going to be leaving in three days, he was going to be going back to Hogwarts and continuing his training – to become an Auror – and his usually loathed Occlumency lessons with Snape would be, instead, with Dumbledore.

He wondered if fortune was finally turning his way, but decided that it was probably too early to tell. He turned to the door and started banging on it rather loudly. He hoped that the Dursleys would notice.

It took almost ten minutes, but finally Uncle Vernon came storming up the stairs and bellowed, "What is it?" through the locked door.

"I've just been told; my friends are coming to get me in three days – for my birthday. I'll be leaving. Thought you ought to know, so you wouldn't be surprised." He tried to sound sorry, as if this were some imposition on the Dursleys, but it was hard to conceal his happiness and anticipation.

"Bloody hell they're not," Vernon shouted, "No group of people like… like… you are showing up at our doorstep in broad daylight. You'll have to be fetched from somewhere else – we won't permit it."

Harry sighed. That complicated things, but perhaps Mrs. Figg would be willing to help him here. "Well, alright, but will you at least let me out of my room then? So I can leave, and not have them bother you?"

Uncle Vernon was silent, as if thinking this over very carefully. "Swear you won't curse Dudley like you tried to last year?"

Harry hardly thought it suitable to argue that he had been trying to protect Dudley last year. "Yes."

More silence, and then a gruff "Fine, then," from his uncle. "But not a noise out of you until then, or you'll be locked up there, and you can forget about going to that blasted school of yours."

Harry heard his uncle clamouring down the stairs, and pulled out a piece of parchment and his quill.

Ron,

The Dursleys won't let me leave if you come here – Can I meet you all at Mrs. Figg's house. See you then!

Harry

The idea that this might be a problem with Mrs. Figg was irrelevant: Harry figured that, as part of the Order, she had been watching him for the past summer (or trying to watch him, which would have been hard given he hadn't strayed outside of his bedroom for its entirety) and would be for any way to get him away from the Dursleys.

"Ready for another letter, Hedwig?" he asked his owl, and she hopped out of her cage and offered her leg. He tied on the note and, giving her the last owl treat he had saved from school, he sent her off to find Ron. She flapped out of the window, and receded into the sky.

Harry sat back onto his bed, grinning widely. This year was starting to look up again.