HARRY POTTER AND THE UNFORGIVEN

A Sixth Year Harry Potter Fanfiction

BY

Jayiin Mistaya

"Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus."

...never tickle a sleeping dragon


COPYRIGHT DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to Harry Potter. Those rights are held, exclusively, by JK Rowling, and any other entities, corporations, subsidiaries, or groups not named here possessing legal rights to the aforementioned books and/or trademark.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. It's got a few important details in it. Sorry for it being a day later than I said it'd be. I'm participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) so my schedule got skewed.

Thanks to everyone who has been reading, even if you haven't reviewed, and especially to those people who have me on author alert or favorites.

More information on Harry Potter and the Unforgiven can be found at my website, which is linked in my Author Profile.

Feedback of any kind is always appreciated.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:Thanks to Elusive Evan for making me continue to post this.


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Breaking the Habit

Routine had become Harry Potter's saving grace. He didn't have to think; only do. The only times he was really awake and thinking were in Gracie's gym.

Then one morning his routine changed. It was a small thing, but well worth noticing. That morning – he thought it was a Friday – his Uncle didn't hit him. In fact, Vernon seemed nervous. He was up earlier than normal, and didn't once growl at Harry for not having breakfast ready when he sat down to eat.

When the three of them left that morning, Vernon was driving. After the first two mornings, Dudley had driven to and from McAllister's. That morning, Vernon drove. He still had Harry roll down his window with the grunt of: "You're filthy and you stink, boy. Haven't they taught you to bathe at that school of yours?"

The first time Vernon had said that, Harry had scowled back. "I can bathe myself just fine, if you'd let me."

Vernon's response had left him with bruised ribs and the decision not to talk back. That morning, like most every morning before it, Harry just rolled down the window.

When they were almost to the gym, Vernon cleared his throat. "Only Potter is going to be there today. And I've arranged for him to spend the night with McAllister."

Dudley turned and looked at his father. "What?"

Vernon shifted in his seat. "You're coming with me. There is a Summer Ball tonight, and I've arranged for you to escort the daughter of one of my managers."

"No. I'm not going to some dance with your lackey's daughter. I'm going to train."

Vernon turned to regard Dudley with a heavy glare. "You're going, and that's final. Veronica is helping pay for these lessons, and she's insisted on it. She'll be meeting us at the tailor's to get you sized. Your old suit doesn't fit anymore."

"I said no." Dudley met his father's glare.

"You don't have a choice, Dudders," Vernon said with a sigh. "You go, or Veronica stops paying. We can't afford to pay for the training for very long if she doesn't help, even with what the woman gave us at the beginning of the summer."

It was a shock to hear Vernon arguing rationally with Dudley, as if what Dudley said mattered.

Harry was surprised, to say the least. I'll be spending the night with Duncan? Dudley has a date?

The car came to an abrupt stop half a block from the gym. "Get out, boy. You can walk the rest of the way."

Harry fumbled with the seatbelt and clambered out of the car, barely shutting the door before Vernon pulled away, tires screeching on pavement.

- 0 -

"Focus and control. Focused mind, controlled body."

Gracie whispered the words to Harry as he worked through the tai'chi form, this time determined to move as slowly as he could. This was his first time completing the Long Form, and he'd be damned if he'd screw it up. Not when he'd come so far this summer.

He was amazed at himself. Despite the lack of food and the lack of sleep, he felt himself getting stronger and faster. His muscles were starting to remember the moves before his mind did, and he could feel the difference in how he moved. He was more balanced, more graceful. He marveled at the smooth power behind some of the movements he'd learned.

On the other hand, he was confused. He knew he was painfully skinny, battered and bruised and worn to a thread. Even so, he rarely felt truly hungry and even though he was tired and in constant pain from sore muscles, daily beatings, and the unceasing agony from his scar, there always seemed to be one last dreg of energy and effort he could call up.

There were times he felt he was in a fog, operating on pure instinct and ingrained habit like some kind of automaton. Other times, mostly when he trained with Gracie and sparred with Dudley, he felt alive – tired and worn down – but alive, awake and aware. And other times, when he worked forms or meditated, he felt like he let go completely and he didn't notice pain or fatigue. There was just the bright power shining inside him and the natural grace of the movements.

The morning of Dudley's big date, the morning of his first attempt at the entire long form, was one of those times. He breathed and he closed his eyes and he let go.

Time stretched out as he moved, each breath becoming slower and slower. He forgot about Gracie...forgot about Dudley...forgot about anything beyond the motion.

In that moment, he felt as free as he did when he was flying.

He could feel something flowing through him, clean and clear and bright. Whether it was magic of the chi Gracie always talked about, he wasn't sure. He didn't care.

It felt wonderful.

As he finished and the exhilaration faded, Gracie grinned at him. "Not bad, kid, not bad at all. Now hit the showers."

Harry blinked. "What? It's not even noon!"

"I said hit the showers, kid. I've got to go shopping, and I'm taking you with me."

Harry blinked. "Why?"

Gracie laughed again. "'Cause I'm not letting you sit around here all day and mope. And seriously – how long as it been since you had a shower?"

"A while," Harry admitted with a shrug. "But I could practice more. I...I really need to. And I don't mope. I brood."

Gracie shook her head. "Nope, sorry, kid. There's a time for practice and a time to let it all sink in. You've been practicing all summer. Besides, if you're staying at my place tonight, you're gonna have to smell better than you do now."

Harry blinked, and shook his head. "I'm staying with you? I thought..."

She looked at him sternly. "Shower, now."

Meekly, Harry hung his head and mumbled a question, but Gracie had already anticipated him. From behind one of the chairs, she threw him a large, worn black leather backpack.

"Men's showers are out the door and to your left. There's soap, shampoo, and clothes in the bag."

Quietly, and suddenly feeling very awkward, Harry crept back into the main gymnasium and into the men's locker room. Unzipping the bag, he pulled out a pair of black cargo pants and a black t-shirt. Both were obviously second hand, but they looked to be a closer fit and in much better condition than anything he currently had – at least, anything that wasn't from Hogwarts.

He also found a small bottle of shampoo and a travel-sized bar of soap.

The shower was pure rapture. It was the first one he'd had all summer, and it felt wonderful to be completely clean for the first time in weeks. The hot water had done wonders for a lot of his aches and some of the fog seemed to have cleared.

He had meant to use the soap and shampoo sparingly, but he found by the end of his shower they were all but gone. Climbing out, he scrubbed himself dry with a large towel, feeling better than he had since leaving Hogwarts.

He dug around a little more in the backpack and found a toothbrush and toothpaste, and to his embarrassment, a pair of black boxers.

What's the black motif all about?

He brushed his teeth, surprised at both the difference in their color, and the fresh flavor in his mouth; he had gotten used to the sour taste.

To his amazement, he noticed his face still looked dirty, but on closer inspection, he saw black stubble.

He blinked. I have to shave?

Sure enough, Gracie had thought to include a razor and shaving cream in the bag

He sighed, and sprayed a large dollop of shaving cream into his open palm, slathering the cool foam on his face. He picked up the razor, and stopped.

I don't know how to shave.

Obviously, he couldn't ask Vernon how...and no one else had bothered to mention it before. It was something Sirius would have taught him.

His throat clenched and his eyes burned, but he blinked them clear.

Well, best give the best go of it I can.

He was slow, and careful, and managed not to nick himself, but his face was burning like he had spilled acid on it.

He dug around the backpack some more, praying Gracie had thought of this, too. He found the deodorant and aftershave under a pair of (thankfully, white) socks.

He splashed it on his face, breathing a sigh of relief as the burning was replaced by pleasant stinging coolness.

He made use of the deodorant and dressed. He had to cinch his belt tight around the cargo pants, but not as tightly as he would have Dudley's pants. The t-shirt fit tightly, but it wasn't too uncomfortable. He made a token effort with his hair, but he had long since learned it was no use.

He also took the opportunity to wash his glove. He'd rinsed it out every time he got to give himself a sponge bath at the Dursley's, but it was starting to smell a bit ripe. He hadn't really noticed it until he smelt a bit better himself. He wasn't sure what muggle soap would do to dragonhide so he settled for rinsing it thoroughly and set it aside to dry.

Slipping his wand down the large side pocket of the cargo pants, he transferred the rest of the contents of his pockets (house key he had stolen from Dudley – he didn't have one of his own – his broken watch, a bronze knut, and some lint) to the new pants.

I'm staying with her tonight? The thought was slowly sinking in that he wouldn't be staying at Privet Drive that night. He suddenly felt dizzy, and sat down on a bench.

The idea of staying with Gracie made his stomach feel like butterflies were practicing dive-bombing raids. He was very fond of his teacher, and a large part of him was glad he was staying with her and not Duncan, but he was also terrified, and couldn't pin down why.

The way Gracie looked at him sometimes, as if she could look through him reminded him of Dumbledore. It made him want to tell her things – the truth about who he was, why he needed to learn.

If she looks at me like that tonight, I might just tell her. I...

He blinked away tears. He couldn't tell her. Even if he could trust her, he couldn't put her at risk like that. He couldn't think of a way to avoid staying with her – potentially making her a target. But the less she knew, the safer she would be.

I'm barely holding together and I have to make her think I'm a Muggle...I have to hide everything from her when there's nothing for us to do but talk. What am I going to tell her?

On the verge of panic, he stuffed his old clothes and the toiletries into the backpack and trudged back into Gracie's gym. His glove wasn't dry yet, so he tucked into his belt, admonishing himself to keep his hand hidden as best he could.

She had showered too, and was dressed in jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt that read 'What if the Hokey-Pokey Really Is What It's All About?'

Her long gray hair was in a braid down her back, and she had on a pair of green-lensed sunglasses.

She looked him up and down; he was still too damn skinny, but his new muscle filled out the t-shirt well. He looked like he felt better; his eyes were brighter and she could see where being clean had done a world of good for his scratches and cuts.

"You clean up nice, kid."

Harry blushed, not really sure why he was blushing. He looked at his feet.

She grinned. She wished she'd known what to get him other than black, but she had never been great shakes at fashion – and Duncan's spare clothes bin hadn't had much in the way of selection. Quite the opposite, actually.

Still, he looks like he feels better. I just wish he'd shaved.

She peered a bit closer, and noticed he had tried to shave, but hadn't done a very good job of it.

Gracie was startled to see he had forgotten to put his ever-present glove back on, and she could see something on the top of his right hand. It looked almost like writing.

A tattoo, maybe?

Uncomfortable with her scrutiny, he tucked his journey book and pen into the backpack and tried not to look as nervous as he felt.

"You didn't have to give me all this stuff..."

She snorted at him, reminding him strangely of Ginny Weasley. "No, I didn't, but I couldn't have you trailing after me looking like a street bum I'd picked up somewhere. I didn't know you'd be staying with me 'til early this morning. I didn't think you'd have a change of clothes, so I threw that together. It's just stuff left over from an old student of Duncan's and an old bag of mine." She shrugged, looking slightly uncomfortable herself. "Keep it. I haven't used it years."

Harry mumbled his thanks, but intended to return the bag before he left for Hogwarts.

I won't take charity. Not even from her.

But isn't that what the Weasleys offered?

That's different. Molly Weasley would put a Full Body Bind on you and force-feed you if you said no.

Thinking of the Weasleys – and of how Molly always mothered him, made his stomach burn. He missed them. He hoped Ginny had kept them up-to-date on him, but he also hoped she hadn't let anyone else read the letters. Especially his last one.

What was I thinking, writing all that stuff down anyway?

He saw Gracie staring at him again, the look in her eyes reminding him of the look Dumbledore had given him his second year, when he'd asked Harry if there were anything Harry had wanted to tell him. Like then, Harry desperately wanted to tell Gracie everything, but he didn't think it was a good idea. Even if she believed him, he didn't want to drag her into his fight with Voldemort, let alone the war that was brewing in his world.

End Chapter

Revised 12-25-07