A/n: As promised...the last one...
Chapter 33.
The End.
Time is a tricky thing.
It's abstract, it doesn't have a shape or colour. It's not really there, physics teaches us it can be stretched and compressed depending on the speed of an object relative to another. It could even be multi-dimensional, like space, procuring an explanation for why it is impossible to define both the velocity and position of the elementary particles that make up our world and universe.
And still, in all its 'undefinability', it's right in our face every moment of our lives. It shows us mercilessly how we and everything around us changes. One day we wake up and we find that something has been happening right beneath our noses, and we didn't even notice it.
Unfortunately, despite all the long-life elixirs and fountains of youth and surgeries and cosmetics, it's the same for every single one of us, thus including the gradually growing raven.
Potter, Harry. A boy with a lonely name, for he was the only one still bearing it in his family. And he was, just like everyone else, discovering the consequences of time.
The fact that he'd slightly grown so that he at least fit old Dudley's clothes better was one advantage. Unfortunately, Draco had grown at least as much and was still way ahead, not to mention that the blonde had already dated Camille, his first crush, and three other girls. That was more than Harry and Ron put together. They both had 'one' on their record, and it really wasn't that brilliant. Even with Draco and Oliver's advice, they hadn't been able to make much of it.
It was sad really when Harry thought about it. He would've liked to be more… more…intimidating, imposing, cool, more everything. Seeing his body change…it was scary, but it gave him the hope that he could one day reach as high as the blonde leader.
Such were the thoughts that passed through the young adolescent's head while he started rinsing his cleaning cloth. He squeezed it every way he could, putting all his weight into it, letting the last little drops of soapy water tinkle down to his elbows.
And such was Harry Potter's summer holiday. It had been that way every summer he came back to the Dursleys. They hated him more than ever for the opportunities he had gotten in life, and he got a got off on it too. It was particularly enjoyable when Dudley came home with dreadful results from whatever Smeltings-like school he went to nowadays.
Harry on the other hand had managed to get the full scholarship ever since his second year at St-James. He was doing well on the football team, as was Ron. Oliver was gone now, but the bloke who replaced him was decent enough. Not as great as Oliver had been to the two young ones and to his team, but the successor had learned from their previous captain, and he was doing a good enough job to have won them the last few matches against rivalling schools.
Hermione and Draco were, of course, always there to cheer on them. The blonde had found a renewed interest in his best friend's hobby ever since the captain had graduated…for some inexplicable reason. Their meetings in the secret basement by the Fat Lady were still frequent, though the subjects discussed had become somewhat more mature.
With Draco being among the oldest in the school, he had access to all the best 'underground' parties in and around the boarding school, dragging the three others with him whenever he could. It was quite a chore to kidnap Hermione every time, so she was sometimes left behind. Not that she seemed to mind very much.
Harry however was not allowed to miss a single one of them. Even when he was discouraged from his abysmal dating skills, and had lots of work to do, or was having a panic attack about losing his scholarship if he was found out, Draco always found a way to get him to come along. It wasn't something Harry was proud of. He found himself silently promising himself that nest year he would become more self-assured and would try to stand up more to his older friend.
But Draco had become so…well…so old! He was even older than Oliver was when Harry first came to St-James. He was going out with the most sought-after girls, and he was well-connected everywhere and he was so dreadfully… skilled in…having people like him.
People liked Harry too, but in a different way. Harry was always the cute one next to the cool one. It seemed funny to lots of girls. It was funny to him though. It was frustrating.
Harry passed the mirror in the hallway as he cleaned the newly laid wooden floor, and paused at the sight of it. He was aware that this wasn't exactly what others could see, it was flipped around. If he could see himself through others' eyes, he would find himself strange and odd, maybe even crooked. But still, he found himself touching his forehead, his nose, his hair…
His hair and his eyes, those were his most valuable assets, or so he'd heard. And then his lips. Were they too thin? He wondered as he ran his pinkie finger over them. Which kind did girls like?
Hermione always said that girls' tastes were too divergent. Every girl liked different things. But that made it all the more difficult to know whether he was attractive or not.
"Urgh!" The raven grunted as he lightly punched the mirror. (Petunia would skin him alive if he broke it.) This was just a waste of time. Maybe he and Ron could stay old bachelors forever. Hermione would certainly join them.
Draco was the only one who was seemingly enjoying his seventeen-year old life. Harry just couldn't believe his friend would soon begin his last year at St-James. The blonde would leave him again. It was getting tiresome. He was going to get abandonment issues if things continued this way…
"Pack a suitcase tonight, boy." Uncle Vernon said at dinner that night.
The raven stopped his fork at an inch from his mouth, frowning. "Why?" He was to go to Ron's house for a week and celebrate his fourteenth birthday, but that was still two weeks away. Why would he start packing now?
"We're going to the seaside with Marge for a fortnight," Vernon spoke as he wiped some pepper sauce from his mouth, "and I don't want you alone in the house for such a long time. I've arranged for you to join a summer camp."
"What?" The dark-haired adolescent turned to his aunt. With the passing years, he had a clear preference for the woman among the Dursleys. There were very few and very tiny moments of complicity between them, although never acknowledged by neither of them.
Aunt Petunia pursed her lips, as was her usual silent response when she complied with her husband's wishes. Then she turned her eyes down, back to her peas and carrots. She didn't like steak in pepper sauce.
"What do you mean?" Harry insisted, turning back to Vernon as he understood his aunt would be useless in this instance.
"I mean that first thing tomorrow, seven o'clock sharp we're leaving for Kent. You'll stay there until you leave for that rabbit hole your friend lives in. The Weasels or some other…"
"The Weasleys have a very beautiful home." Harry's fork clanged sharply as he laid it down on his plate. He had lost his appetite even before taking his third bite. What a waste. But Harry was aware of the fact that the Weasley family home wasn't exactly the most modern or clean. But it had all the charm of a real home, unlike this frosty dining room he was sitting in.
"Be down by ten to seven, with all your…things." Vernon said it like it was an insult.
The raven had no idea what this summer camp would be like, where it was, and how he would even get back, or how he would get in touch with his friends. It was in a highly confused state that he prepared the suitcase that Ron, Hermione and Draco had gotten him for his thirteenth birthday last year. He threw in a few books in case he got time for some revision, enough summer clothes and underwear for two weeks. And because he had this unsettling and anxious feeling, he added his favourite magician book from under his floorboard which also contained the envelope with the seven pictures of him and his parents, the ones Rebecca had given him such a long time ago.
"Dudley, would you please turn down the volume!" harry raged outside his cousin's bedroom. At two in the morning, Dudley was still playing some online, noisy game on his computer. He was literally addicted to it these days. But it made it even harder for Harry to get some sleep before he had to go to that bloody summer camp. And to make matters worse, there wouldn't even be time to slip to the library to send an e-mail to Draco and his friends about it. They wouldn't know where he was.
This made him feel even more anxious for some reason.
"What now? Ya goin' to do your intellectual shite again?" Dudley answered aggressively as he opened his door.
Harry glanced down the hall and wondered why his aunt and uncle put up with this noise. No one could possibly sleep with it!
"Come on, Dudley, I have to wake up early in the morning! I only have four more hours to sleep." Harry began in a frustrated tone.
"Bloody hell, leave me alone! I'm going to lose experience!"
And with this the door banged shut close to Harry's blood boiled in his veins and he had a strong urge to kick down that door. But he knew very well that he would get hurt more in the event. For some inexplicable reason, his body had decided to remain the shortest of his year at school, something he was keen to change if he ever wanted to beat Draco, who had speedily shot up several more inches over the last year. He was effectively towering over him with almost two heads advance!
The raven settled to simply kick the door with his heel, which didn't make the wooden panel budge, but created enough noise to make his uncle burst from his bedroom.
"Why aren't you in your bloody room, boy!" He bristled.
Knowing very well that this argument would end up in Dudley's favour like every other time, Harry just rolled his eyes and stomped back to his room, burying himself under his blanket and pillow, trying, and failing to get some decent sleep.
It was the middle of July and still, the morning had managed to turn out chilly and foggy. It had taken a two hour drive with uncle Vernon to get to the camp in Kent where Harry would stay while the Durlsey's were on vacation. Those moments of awkwardness were always spent in complete silence, and the raven had taken on the habit of imagining fantastical stories in his head while he watched the cold grey scenery fly by him through the window.
But once arrived at the address that uncle Vernon had entered into the GPS, there was nothing much to see but a muddy, deserted football field, quite isolated from the nearest houses.
Apprehension settled into Harry's stomach. Vernon took out his large suitcase before the adolescent had even gotten out of the car, he seemed in such a hurry to get Harry off his hands. The grass immediately stained onto the black, stiff fabric of the luggage.
Five minutes passed, during which Harry almost asked for explanations at least twice, but refrained. And then, a car rolled over the field. It was not at all ostentatious. It looked like any other car, and Harry would almost have expected some summer camp entertainer to step out of it if it hadn't been for the tinted windows…
His shoulders tensed, his legs too readied themselves to run. There was a primal instinct in Harry that told him that there was something wrong here. But he stayed, because what could possibly go wrong in a quiet suburb in Kent? It was just an irrational fear, just like the dreams about his parents' deaths he still had from time to time. Just an irrational fear.
A man. Not very tall or broad, but with a hint of muscle beneath his clothes. Just as standard as the car, but with that strange tough to it… Something that immediately generated distrust.
The man walked over briskly to Vernon and took Harry's suitcase, hauling it to the other car and throwing it into the trunk. That was the point where the confusion was such it became visible on the youngster's face. The raven was starting to feel a deeper feeling of being lost, an emotion that had only debased him once before, when his world had rocked around him.
And then…well then…someone else came out. And this was...well…something different.
This man was pale, very pale. He was dressed entirely in tasteful black clothes, and had a very handsome face, with sparkling eyes that could've rivalled even Oliver's sky-blue ones or Draco's snow-cloud grey ones. He walked with an unnatural self-assurance, and Harry watched from the corner of his eye how even the opulent Vernon Dursley cringed in front of such confidence…and strangeness. Because this man had a way about him that made him just as scary as he was attractive.
"Potter…Harry…is it?" The man asked in a deep and overly honeyed voice as he reached them.
Harry's tongue was stuck in his throat, and all he could do was look flabbergasted at his uncle. Who in the world was this?
"It's him, of course!" Vernon snapped, spit flying from his moustache. He looked like a ridiculous red lampoon.
"All right." The man snapped back in an icy tone that immediately shut up Vernon. "The payment's been made. You can leave."
The dismissive tone clearly disturbed the Dursley head of family, but he did not have the guts to do anything about it. The corpulent man turned around and walked slowly and grudgingly back to his car which was across the field.
The raven's wide eyes looked at the broad back for a moment, then flitted to the black-clothed man.
"If you're wondering what happened…Harry" the man chuckled his name, "your uncle just sold you."
"What?" The raven rasped out before he could realise he'd regained the use of his vocal chords.
The pale man didn't repeat himself, of course, he looked like he deemed himself way above that. Instead his long fingers reached inside an inside pocket, and retrieved a gun.
Harry's knees almost buckled on the spot. He had never in his life seen a real gun! It hit him as soon as he saw it that something like that had been the cause of his mother's blood drenching his shoes…
The barrel of the gun was raised, and then pointed towards Vernon's retreating back in an expert move. The thirteen-year old's heart stopped for a split second, then restarted in double time to give him the adrenaline kick needed to spring forward and grab the arm.
No! Was all he could think. No, not that!
But before he could come anywhere close to the man, two others, including the one who had stepped out first to come and get his luggage, grabbed both his arms and pinned them beneath his back, twisting them up until he was almost crying out in pain and surprise.
"He sold you, Harry. To save his pitiful little family and home-life. I can kill him right now if you want…"
"No!" Harry didn't wait to protest. He hated Vernon more than any person, except his parents' killers of course. But this…never! How would killing a father and husband help anyone?
"Are you sure?" The man's lips contorted in an amused smile as he pretended to aim and shoot at Vernon who was just now reaching his car. Dursley got in, and then rode away. And strangely, it made Harry sigh in relief. Though only until he became aware again of his own situation.
Sold? This wasn't the 19th century anymore. This was bloody Kent! This was summer vacation! There were probably some children getting ready to come outside and play in one of the nearest houses. How could there be any talk of selling people? It was so surreal…
"Let's go. The grass is staining my shoes." The pale man said discontentedly. He kept his gun lowered with a bored expression, but didn't put it away as he walked back to the car and got in the front.
All the while, Harry was pushed onto the back seat, now smashed between the two men who seemed like bodyguards. Still not able to grasp what was really happening. He tried however he could to slip out from the men's grasp. So much so that they had trouble keeping him still and quiet.
"Can't you do your fucking job?" The black-clothed man burst out in annoyance as the driver revved the engine. Gun still in his hand, he turned to the back seat, aimed…
The next second, blood and little pieces of... tissue that looked like brain had splattered all over the rear and left back window.
The shot had been stifled by the silencer on the barrel. The raven froze, stopped struggling altogether. The man's hand…the dead man's hand, the man who's blood was now on his…his shirt…the hand was still on his arm…
The other hand, from the bodyguard who was still alive was on his other arm. It had frozen as well. Neither dared move an inch, fearing for their lives. It was an insurmountable instinct of self-preservation.
This…this man…he's off his rocker! He's stark mad! He's…
Then the gun turned to him, and Harry stopped breathing. Sweat broke out over his brows.
"I'm sorry. It's not a very clean job, but I really do hate a riot. Now I need something to calm me down."
Finally, the man laid down the gun, allowing both Harry and the living bodyguard to breathe again, and then dug into his pockets again, taking out what looked like a large rolled cigarette and lighting it with a lighter the driver handed him.
They were now speeding over the motorway. Harry could see other cars being left behind by their speed, but none of those cars could see the bloody spectacle happening in there, not through those windows. It made everything even more distant and unreal. They were in a nightmarish bubble.
A warm, slightly sweet and invasive smell began to propagate in the car. Harry recognized it, of course, from St-James. Since his first encounter with cigarettes in the football team, he hadn't touched anything that could be smoked since, but he'd been present while others got high.
"Here, have some. You'll need to relax, too." The man said and he brought the tip of the joint to Harry's lips, since both his arms were now held by the single bodyguard who was left.
The raven didn't move.
The man in the front seat nodded slightly to his employee, and the bodyguard began twisting the adolescent's arms up again. Harry hissed at the sudden and sharp pain. When the tip of the joint reached his lips this time, he opened his mouth and inhaled.
The burn he remembered from that day in the changing rooms when Oliver caught them smoking. But it didn't make it easier. He couldn't help himself, he coughed it all up again. But the man wasn't satisfied until the boy had taken a long enough drag to get him somewhere.
Harry didn't feel anything but a heavy and painful head. It was nothing liek the wonderful high others had described to him. But he stopped struggling and leaned back against the seat, trying not to touch the cadaver next to him… which was impossible. The blood stuck to his shirt and jeans… Harry shuddered.
He just wanted the man to leave him alone. He didn't want to see that gun pointed at him again, he didn't want his arms to be pulled out of their sockets again.
The pale man smoked the rest of his joint as they rode on, musing aloud from time to time.
"I think I need a title. I'd fancy being a 'lord'. Why don't you try it? Call me Lord Voldemort."
Immediately, the driver and the bodyguard hastened to do as was instructed. It was awkward and stiffly spoken, but it seemed to satisfy the crazed man.
"And you, Harry?" The man turned around to look at him questioningly. "Try it. Call me 'Lord'."
I'm feeling a bit more emotional than I thought at this last chapter. Nostalgic for the innocent times when they were young and quite clueless… It's going to get harder now… Oh my goodness what am I doing? :p
Well, this is it, people. I hope you blow me away with reviews and comments about the long journey that was Nevar. How many can I get for this very last post? And how many for the first post of Snow? GOD I'm so curious! Everyone let's do it together! You'll make me the most ecstatic girl in the entire universe (and I studied physics so I know what I'm talking about) if every single person who reads this story reviews at least on the first chapter of Snow, to get the story a push in the back! :D
I will post Chapter 1 soon :)
With the sincerest thanks
Aoiika
