A/n: Thanks so much to dracowillbeloved and Elisa1020 for reviewing! I was jumping up and down in excitement (practically ;D) Keep it coming, I thrive on it ^^ (Seriously, it's like a drug I believe, like an energy drink for authors)
Chapter 5. Christmas to Remember
One blissful night.
One sometimes wonders whether it is enough to live a life. Can we be satisfied with having a few wonderful moments? Can we get enough out of them to survive until the next moment arrives? Or should we be able to live each second to the fullest?
But if we do so, wouldn't life get too easy? Wouldn't we lose our ability to be grateful for the better times?
Those weren't any of the questions the young raven was asking himself. Yes, when he'd left Mrs. Malfoy's warm and comfortable home, he'd felt regret. He couldn't' deny he'd had one of the best nights in a long while. But he felt recharged by it, and ready to meet head on any obstacle in his way.
It was a naive feeling really. He'd felt cared for again. For that night only, he'd gotten what a child desperately needs to grow up. Of course, it hadn't lasted long. As soon as he was out the door, he never heard of the woman again. With a belly full of eggs and bacon, he'd set off to meet his own life, his own universe.
However sad it could be, at least he had Ron. And yes, he had to admit he'd started to like Hermione too. It was tough to love her, but she made it worthwhile with her strong sense of loyalty and helpfulness. It hurt his pride whenever she pointed out his mistakes, or his laziness, or anything he did wrong really, but it had helped him sometimes. Even Ron had been forced to admit it (though grudgingly) when she'd corrected both their homework and they'd gotten full marks, earning back some of their reputation with the teachers after their long period of detention.
By the end of October, Harry had gotten back in the good graces of Miss Sullivan. He knew so because she called for him to stay after classes one afternoon. His two friends had waited for him outside to walk to the gate together, as had become their daily ritual. (Mrs. Weasley was delighted that 'Ronnie' had made two 'intelligent' friends.)
Harry had approached Miss Sullivan's desk warily, not sure if it would be something good or bad at first.
"Harry," she began with a sweet smile, "I must say, I've never seen anyone in my class with such literary skills. You're practically at a secondary school-level as to vocabulary and reading skills." Harry felt his cheeks flame. Living with the Dursleys had robbed him of his confidence and sense of self-worth, and he wasn't used to compliments anymore. Plus, he'd been praised by his parents before for his quick progress and interest in books, and it felt alien, even wrong to have someone else than them tell him such things.
"Harry!" Miss Sullivan called. The raven was rushed back to the present moment, aware his gaze had wandered off into his thoughts. His teacher seemed slightly annoyed, but she continued. "I'd recommend you follow an advanced class on literature, given by Miss Snape. Every Wednesday, starting in two weeks, she gives secondary-level class on literature. Normally, only her grade or above follow it, but I think you would be more than able to keep up."
The young raven smiled awkwardly, his emotions in conflict. On one hand, he was excited to learn more about the subject his father had loved so much. But on the other hand, the prospect of having lessons with miss Snape of all teachers, was absolutely revolting, if not terrifying.
"This does not mean however," miss Sullivan continued in a more severe way, "that you are privileged. I still expect your full cooperation in my classes, especially in math, considering the results of your last test." Harry grimaced. He'd known he'd screwed up the test, but it still wasn't nice to hear. "I'll need your parents or guardian to sign this slip, and then you can start in two weeks. The book you will need to buy is also on the slip."
Miss Sullivan thrust a paper at him. Harry got a paper cut in his haste to catch it. He winced. Miss Sullivan misunderstood it as hesitation to accept her offer.
"Harry, it is a real opportunity and honour for a lowerclassman to be considered for this class." She began insisting, her eyes flashing at him. The raven got the feeling that Miss Sullivan wanted him to join for a personal reason, other than for his progress.
"Miss," he began tentatively, "I'm not sure my guardian will want to sign…" He trailed off. There was no need to add that they would never even buy the book needed for the course.
"Leave it to me." Miss Sullivan promptly replied. "I will call tonight and make them understand how important this is."
Well, maybe Miss Sullivan's determination would come in handy after all. Harry just wasn't sure how his Uncle and Aunt would react to someone trying to lecture them on how to raise their nephew. He felt reluctant to even show them the permission slip.
"I think you should really do it, Harry!" Hermione burst out the moment he'd come out the classroom and told them what the discussion had been about. "I mean, no one ever gets a chance like this! You can finally lift your grades with this class. But it'll be a lot of work. I think you should get that book tomorrow at the latest and start preparing for the first lesson. Miss Snape will certainly not tolerate any slacking off and…"
"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, sighed and grunted all at the same time. "Would you leave him alone for, I don't know, maybe half a bloody second?"
Hermione's mouth stopped moving, stuck in the middle of her last vowel. She seemed both shocked and annoyed. She snapped her lips together and shot daggers at Ron with her gaze.
"I don't see you getting invited to join Miss Snape's class." She hissed. "Since you don't have any notion of hard work, someone has to tell Harry he has to make an effort."
Again, an internal struggle was visible in Ron's eyes at the mention of the word 'notion'. He had an excellent collection of curse words at the ready (courtesy of Fred and George), but the more sophisticated vernacular wasn't his forte. Harry thought it was slightly unfair of Hermione to attack his weak spots, but he'd started getting uncomfortable at these sudden squabbles that exploded between his two friends, and he preferred to avoid getting caught up in them. Being the subject was bad enough, and having them both look at him expectantly, urging him to take their side, was even worse.
The redhead and the bushy-head kept snapping at each other all the way to the gate of the school (now that they could finally leave with everyone else again). At that point, the presence of Mrs. Weasley promptly shut them both up. Hermione thrust her delicate nose into the air and marched off to her mother, who waved smilingly at Mrs. Weasley, who waved back with equalled enthusiasm.
"The Grangers are such refined people." Mrs. Weasley commented as the herd of red-haired lions, and the single black raven made their way home once again.
Ron grunted discontentedly. His mother had already told him to be nice to girls and listen to 'the intelligent and accomplished young lady' (which had made him choke on his apple, though not because of the big words this time). He knew he had to be careful about complaining about Hermione around Mrs. Weasley.
Harry couldn't help but be amused by all these family scuffles. Spending so much time with the Weasleys really was entertaining. And he fervently wished he could spend even more time with them. He'd been invited to join them several times for dinner, or come over to play during the weekends. But Harry hadn't yet gathered enough courage to ask his Uncle. Partly because he was afraid to end up in a hospital bed, and partly because he knew the answer would be a straight and simple 'no'. He preferred to keep on dreaming of a possible future, than have any hope taken away from him once he'd taken a step forward.
That evening, Harry had difficulty swallowing his dinner. And what a waste it was. It was one of the rare times his plate was filled with fresh and tasty things, and now he couldn't enjoy it because he was so nervous. The call from his teacher hadn't come yet, but any second, the phone could ring, and his Uncle's wrath would be felt.
After dinner, the Dursleys settled into the comfortable couch in front of the television. They were watching the news. Harry sometimes listened as he sat on the stairs outside of the room. He didn't know what he was listening for, but he knew he was disappointed each time.
And suddenly, there it was. The shrill sound of the phone in the living room. The raven's heart began beating a little bit faster, his fingers gripped the wood of the banister. Aunt Petunia could be heard complaining loudly while the sound of the television grew softer.
Harry stood up and leaned against the door, trying to catch the words, to feel the mood in there, so that he knew whether to run and hide. But Dudley was making too much noise as he ate another bag of chips. Harry mumbled a few of the redheaded twins curse words under his breath.
"HARRY!"
Trouble! Harry's heart jumped out of his chest, along with his stomach and they both ran up the stairs without him. His legs stayed glued on the spot as the door flew open, showing a red-faced Petunia. Was the red colour due to her anger, or shame?
"Were you listening at the door?" She accused with a mistrustful eye.
"No," Harry stuttered, attempting to defend himself, "you…you called me."
His aunt did not seem fooled. She pursed her lips, gripped the boy's arm and pulled him to the centre of the room, where he stood frozen in place.
"What's wrong?" Vernon grumbled as he detached his gaze from the screen. Dudley too was interested. He always was when Harry was in trouble.
"That was the boy's teacher on the phone." Aunt Petunia announced. "She asked whether we'd already signed the permission slip."
"Permission for what?" Vernon sat up straight and shot a leery glance Harry's way.
"A class." Petunia sniffed and crossed her arms. "An advanced course in literature. She also said to buy a book at Hatchards." Aunt Petunia looked like the calm before the storm. She was simply stating the facts, but it was clear what was bubbling under to surface.
"What's 'Hatchards'?" Dudley asked, bits of crisps falling to the floor. Aunt Petunia closed her eyes at the sight, trying to control the urge to clean it up right away. She had other priorities at the moment.
Both his uncle and aunt looked puzzled and unable to answer their son's question. Harry's legs felt like they were about to give out. He needed to get this over with as soon as possible. "It's a bookstore in London." He volunteered. "The oldest one in fact." He added hastily, then thought he really shouldn't have. His Uncle and Aunt didn't look pleased at being taught by a seven-year old.
"Who said you could speak, boy!" Uncle Vernon boomed.
The raven bowed his head. Would it help? Would it get him out of trouble?
"Vernon." Petunia said. "We have to buy him the book."
"What?" He yelled and she jumped.
"This Sullivan woman called personally. I had to agree. What would they think if I'd said no?" Petunia fretted.
"I don't know! You should have found an excuse!" Vernon raged. "If you think I am going to ride all the way to the centre of Bloody London to buy a bloody book…"
Harry's aunt hastened to Dudley's side, who seemed afraid of his father's loud voice. She took him in her arms and looked sternly at her husband.
"Just the one book and we're rid of him for two nights a week." She argued, taking care not to look at Harry, who still stood on the same spot, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers.
Uncle Vernon on the other did look at the raven-boy. An intention seemed to form in his mind to chuck something at him. There was a long silence before he finally said, "Fine! I'll get it this weekend!" He bellowed, frustrated by his defeat. "But no dinner for two weeks, and straight to your room when you come home. I do not want to see that untidy head of yours!" He ordered Harry.
Green-eyes nodded fervently and skipped out of the room before anyone could make a move. He was quick on his legs and had joined his heart and stomach, who had deserted him previously, in his room.
Yes! He yelled silently in triumph. He would be learning all about his father's passion! He would be learning about the big books he'd seen in his study back home, about the stories he'd read aloud in the living room to him and his mother.
He didn't care anymore that the class was with Miss Snape. He'd won a battle against the Dursleys. They'd had to give him what he wanted. And he'd gotten it without a scratch. It was a definite victory for the little raven.
The sweet taste of it lasted until the actual class. With his book ready, Hermione's advice and Ron's encouragements, Harry had felt prepared enough. He had silently taken place in the back for he did not know anyone who was present. They were all older and towering over him. And worst of all, Malfoy was there. He also took the class, which suddenly made it much less appealing.
But his heart sank and his bravery was tested when the door slammed open and Miss Snape appeared in the classroom. She walked to the front of the room in a few strides and placed a hand on her desk, facing them all and instantly silencing them all.
Harry had not been noticed by anyone yet. He could observe well from his position. He could see Malfoy eagerly looking up at Miss Snape from his front seat. Harry had never thought him to be the model student type, but he was aware of him sucking up to his teacher. Harry wondered what he got out of it.
"I hope, for your own good, that you all brought your books." Miss Snape began in a voice deserving of an ice queen. "If you want to pass my class, you'll have to keep up. I do not tolerate stragglers. I will not tolerate absences. I will not tolerate delays, unsatisfactory work and anything less than absolute dedication."
Harry immediately began to feel uncertain. As he listened for another half hour to Miss Snape talking about the mounds of homework she would give and whatever else she would not tolerate, the courage and enthusiasm he'd steadily built up in the last two weeks were crumbling at an alarming rate. His only consolation was that other students around him seemed to be facing the same panic attacks.
"Potter!" Miss Snape suddenly called after a long rant about the reading list. Harry jumped in his seat and nearly knocked his book of his desk. He caught it at the last minute and hastily straightened his glasses while everyone turned to look at him.
His eyes looked up at the only ones he knew among the strange sea, the grey ones. The white-head looked surprised to find Harry there, his lips slightly parted.
Miss Snape advanced to Harry's desk and stopped right in front of him. Everyone held their breaths. "I was told to make an exception for you." And she sounded like 'displeased' was an enormous understatement for the emotion she was feeling right then. "But it will be the only one. I expect the same of you as everyone present. You will read every single book on my list and write every single essay, or you're out. Is that understood?"
Harry nodded. Then added hastily, "Yes, Miss Snape."
Miss Snape didn't seem happy that he was not putting up more of a fight, but she let it go. She simply took the book that Uncle Vernon had bought at Hatchards with her, back to the front of the class, where she held it open for everyone to see. She explained the basic structure of it and then returned it to Harry.
In their first class, they immediately started on the 18th century German literature. The periods of enlightment and 'Sturm und Drang', along with the French revolution as background. None of them had ever even heard of the French revolution, which had intensely exasperated Miss Snape; and she went as far as throwing someone's book out of the window and ordering him to never show his face again when he was unable to say where Germany was.
Harry was in a desolate state once the long class was over. The winter was well on its way, and it was late and dark and cold. He was discouraged, having to prepare a hundred pages in his textbook by the next lesson, and read one of the works by Goethe in two weeks.
Even for the ten and eleven-year olds taking the class, it was an enormous effort to make. Harry may have been able to read more swiftly, and understand more words than all of them, but this task simply seemed impossible. How could he keep up with such pace, along with all his other work?
That night, he immediately went to his room, as Uncle Vernon had instructed. He ate one of the muffins he'd hidden under his floorboard for the duration of his no-dinner punishment (luckily Mrs. Weasley had given him a whole basket of them to congratulate him on the start of his 'big course'), and immediately went to work. Until the hours of the early morning, he read through his textbook. And he did not understand a thing.
The next day was Saturday, and after a swift breakfast, he returned to his room and continued. The sentences were filled with difficult words. He understood most of them, but he had difficulty linking them together, understanding the information that was stored in the text. It took him three readings of the hundred pages to get a better view of what he was dealing with, but still, he did not know how he could ever memorize all of it. So many names, so many dates, so much information!
By the next week, he'd consulted Hermione at school. She'd been just as impressed with the difficulty level as he had been. But she agreed to look it over with him during playtimes, while Ron sat around, sighing of boredom and playing with his feet.
It was incredibly hard work, and he'd had to go to the library to get a card and loan one of Goethe's works. But by the time his first literature lesson of the week had come, he was ready. He could answer every question Miss Snape threw at him (and only at him, which made him dislike her even more). Some of the other students seemed impressed, but most snorted and laughed at the little brat who had sneaked its way into their group. Harry didn't like any of them much. They were all looking for prestige, looking for a way to get into the best schools by participating in this extra-curricular course. Unfortunately for them, it was the worst reason, for without the proper interest and motivation, they fell like flies during the first weeks.
A month later, only a handful was left. Draco Malfoy had surprised Harry by still being present, and by showing an actual interest and talent in the subject. Miss Snape certainly made sure to accentuate this fact, while she dismissed Harry's efforts. The sense of unfairness which made the raven's claws come out was there again, and he found it harder and harder to not lose control and snap at Miss Snape. But he knew that she would throw him out at the tiniest comment, and he really wanted to stay. Miss Snape was an awful person, but she was an efficient teacher. Harry was learning more than he'd learned in all his life.
In this flurry of activity and constant study, Christmas break had come before he was able to hear it sneaking up on him. The last week at school was a hard one for the raven. Everyone was looking forward to the parties and the presents and seeing family and playing together. Mrs. Weasley was very busy planning her holidays and dinners every time she came to pick up the Weasley bunch and Harry at the gate. She talked about fillings and decorations and family members Harry had never heard of. Ron, the twins and Ginny commented merrily about some names, and moaned at others. It sounded like there was an aunt that no one really wanted to see.
The raven kept quiet during all those times. Because he wanted to see the aunt, he wanted to see all of the family members. He wanted to see the wonderful cake that Mrs. Weasley would bake. He didn't want to be abandoned, left alone for two whole weeks. He would have to do chores all the time, he would have to stay locked up in his room and work for Miss Snape's incessant high demands. The best case scenario was that the Dursleys would go away for Christmas, and even then, Harry would be left alone in the house, with a can of ravioli he wasn't allowed to heat up, a television he wasn't allowed to touch, a living room he wasn't allowed to use.
In fact, he had a suspicion that aunt Petunia would lock him up in his room if they went away, just so that she wouldn't have to worry about all the places he had touched with his 'filthy bastard hands'. But she couldn't do that, could she? What if he needed to go to the bathroom? They'd locked him up in the past, but that had only been for a night at most. If they left him for more than twenty-four hours, how was he supposed to survive?
Just to make sure, the raven had started to inspect the front of the house, where his window was. He'd been looking for a way to use if he needed to get out through the window, if only to relieve his basic needs. He deliberated that Petunia's Cherry tree wasn't too far from it. With a well-calculated jump, he could grab onto the sturdiest branch and climb down.
As the holiday approached, the planning took in more of his time, and Harry found himself enjoying it. He felt like he was preparing a great escape from this hell, like there was even a slight hope of getting away from it. He made a game of it to sneak food from the cellar into his room in the middle of the night, and stashed some of Dudley's chocolate and crisps under his floorboard. Only tiny amounts of course, so that no one would notice anything was missing.
And when his day of school, planning, chores, and studying was over, he made a habit of taking out his magician book. The pages of it had become more precious than most things he possessed, except the hidden pictures of course. He caressed the hard cover as he lay in bed, as if he could absorb the words through his fingers. The wise magician, whose name was Dumbledore by the way, would always stay with him. Harry never read the last pages, and Dumbledore lived on forever, and guided him into sleep every night.
The last day of school passed by, and it was with a twisting heart that Harry said goodbye to his two friends at the gate. Because that day, Mr. Weasley came to pick the family up in what Ron said was a ministry car. Mr. Weasley was an even stranger man than Harry had imagined. He'd shown him an odd trick which involved a rubber duck. It was supposed to fall out of Harry's sleeve, but it had somehow ended up on top of Mrs. Weasley's impressive feathered hat.
The whole family was going straight to yet another aunt after school for afternoon tea. Harry was impressed that the bunch of them could even fit in that car, even if it was a minivan. But the older siblings were already at said aunt, so it only had to hold the two parents, Fred and George, and Ginny and Ron.
Mr. Weasley was just as jovial and inviting as his wife, and he offered multiple times to give Harry a lift home. But the last thing the raven wanted was for his situation to be known. He still wasn't sure why the thought of it terrified him so much. What he knew for certain was that his friends and the Weasleys were wonderful people, and he loved being with them, while the Dursleys represented everything that was awful. He wished to keep those two very different worlds separated at any cost; for fear that one would somehow contaminate the other.
Moreover, he'd felt people's pity before, when he was still in Rebecca's care. He'd hated that feeling. It was false, and denigrating, and empty. He didn't want Ron to stop sharing his life, his food, his friendship with him. He didn't want Mrs. Weasley to stop inviting him, even if he never came.
All that would crumble if the truth came out; that his parents had been murdered only a few months before and that he currently lived with extended family who loathed him.
And so, Hermione and Ron had walked off into the sunset with their parents, and Harry had made his way through the park, and then home.
As it turned out, the best case scenario had been too much to hope for. The Dursleys wouldn't go away for Christmas; instead, they were inviting over one of Uncle Vernon's superiors and his family. Harry understood that it was somehow a plot to get him a promotion, resulting in Petunia being even more of a control freak than she'd been until then. The raven was given loads of chores. The house was to be cleaned from top to bottom, including every corner of the cellar. (Aunt Petunia was planning a tour of the entire house.) He was even instructed to clean Dudley's room, which was morbidly disgusting. Harry was afraid he would get nightmares after that.
The upside was that he did not have to spend Christmas with them, nor did he have to help with the cooking. Of course, they did not want the filthy ungrateful freak to be present at such an important and pivotal moment n their petty little lives, and he'd shown many times that he was a dreadful cook. Aunt Petunia didn't trust him within a range of five meters of the kitchen, which also ruled out the dining room. He was exiled to his room once more (Harry was getting the feeling he was living in his room, as some kind of housemaid), and ate all his meals there too.
The raven didn't mind though. His room was the best place of the house anyway. He found that as long as he did what he was told and stayed out of their way, he was left pretty much alone too, free to do what he wanted and to complete his work.
But.
Oh yes, there was a grand 'but'. It was, once more, Dudley who ruined Harry's peaceful plan.
The day before Christmas eve, the bully cousin was frustrated because there were no more of his favourite cookies left. On any day, his mother would have run to the store to get more, but she was too busy preparing desert for the next day while his father was still at work.
Harry was dusting the banister of the stairs when he saw his cousin break his toy robot in anger in the first-floor hallway, which angered Dudley even more. The raven sniggered (the two last cookies were stored under his floorboard after all), and before he could stop himself, Dudley had chucked the broken robot at Harry.
The hard plastic object hit him square on the temple. The wild-haired boy lost his balance and toppled backwards. Trying to grab onto the banister, his arm ended up in between the bars and it was twisted in an unhealthy way before he rolled all the way to the bottom of the stairs, where he landed right at Uncle Vernon's feet, who had just stepped through the front door.
Pfiiiiieeew. The longest chapter yet. Put some work in this one. Tell me what you think, please =D
