The Dursleys returned late that afternoon.
Well, by 'Dursleys' he meant his Aunt and Uncle, and by 'returned' he meant they came by to threaten him and collect some clothing for what they were calling a planned vacation.
Neither goal of theirs was achieved though. It was kind of Harry's fault too, he could admit that his temper got the best of him, but he wasn't self-sacrificing enough to take the entirety of the blame that lay on his Uncle's fat shoulders – especially not when he knew that no one would just roll over and accept what his Uncle had said to him.
Still, as Harry lay on his bed (which was covered in the spare blankets he had 'acquired' from the linen closet), he couldn't help but grin to himself as he thought of what was perhaps the most defining moment in his relationship with the Dursleys.
"Listen closely, Boy, I won't take any of your nonsense while your Aunt and I are on vacation. Do you hear me?" Vernon growled, his fat finger waving in Harry's face. "If I come back here to find you've done anything to my house I swear I will end you the way I wanted to when you were first dumped on our doorstep. Do you understand me, Freak?"
"Get your finger out of my face before I burn it off," Harry answered bluntly, glaring at his Uncle darkly as anger bubbled in his chest at the casual 'I wanted to kill you' the walrus of a man had just confessed to.
"Don't you speak to me like that," Vernon began angrily.
"Or what?" Harry interrupted, stepping forward and watching as his Uncle almost fell over himself to get away from him. "The Ministry has already given me permission to use my magic as much as I want," he claimed, only fudging the truth a little bit, "All I'd have to say was that you attacked me and they'd turn a blind eye".
"You- you can't do that!" Vernon stuttered out, rising up to his full height.
"Do you wanna bet?" Harry shot back, "The Ministry of Magic would stop any investigation by the Police before it began, and they wouldn't listen to you if you claimed I'd attacked you. Why would they listen to a Muggle over someone who's famous? You abused me for years, nothing could protect me from you. Well guess what Uncle? It's my turn now," he threatened slowly, fist clenching as he thought of how easy it would be to just burn the entire house down with a snap of his fingers, "And nothing could protect you from me".
"Are- are you threatening me?" Vernon demanded, half-bravely and half-stupidly as he tried to sneer down his enormous bulk at Harry.
"Yes".
Uncle Vernon froze instantly, looking for the life of him like he hadn't expected that answer. "Now see here, Freak," he began as Petunia came lugging some suitcases down the stairs to drop them with the rest of their large pile. "We took you in out of the kindness of our hearts, and we did not raise you to threaten us normal folk like that".
"Yes you did," Harry said bluntly, interrupting his Uncle without a care in the world – it was too late for niceties, he'd had enough of his Uncle's crap. "You abused me for ten years and only stopped because you were afraid that the 'Freaks' had found out, I only turned out a good person because I didn't want to be anything like you!"
Voldemort had been abused, and look where that had gotten him. Harry couldn't help but feel that if he were a little more angry, that if he were a little more volatile, that he would have gotten revenge for the pain they'd put him through without batting an eye.
"And I'd hardly call it the 'kindness of your hearts' when you've already admitted you just wanted to kill me," Harry added, fury making his hands tremble as Vernon flinched.
"I should have done it," Vernon said darkly, turning and stomping down the hallway towards the front door and a pale Petunia. "Would have done the world a favour, sent you off to join your freakish parents in Hell where they belong".
Harry hadn't even been aware of what he'd done until it was already too late, the sound of his fingers snapping echoing throughout the house, followed seconds later by a scream as the suitcase Vernon was reaching for exploded.
Of course, by 'defining', he meant that he now knew whether or not he'd be stepping between them and Voldemort or not in the future. Unsurprisingly the answer was a resounding 'No'.
That didn't mean though that he didn't feel guilty for almost setting his Uncle on fire, but he couldn't help but think that major burns on the fat man's hand was barely the tip of the iceberg when Harry thought about how much pain he really owed his family. He could forgive himself for hurting Vernon when his Uncle could have killed Harry without an ounce of guilt – who had outright mourned when he found out there was no death penalty waiting for him in the wizarding world.
He still didn't want to hurt the only 'family' he had left, but he believed that if he were a little angrier… a little less Harry Potter… that he would have killed them all without a second thought.
That scared him.
He wasn't that person, the kind of person who would lash out and make the people who hurt him suffer, the kind of person to 'return the favour' of fourteen years of abuse. And the fact that he believed he could have done if it the circumstances were different hit him deeper than any insult or slur people like Snape or Malfoy could hurl at him.
What also scared him was that he didn't know whether his anger was because of his new powers, if it was because of the way the wizarding world was denying Voldemort's return, or because the Ministry's obvious murder attempt had pushed him over the line.
He felt like it could go either way for him, or perhaps it could be all three ways?
Shaking it off and making himself promise to work on controlling his anger – whatever the cause – Harry pushed himself up off his bed and to his feet, stretching his shoulders as he glanced over towards the window. It was getting dark, he could think about all of this while he was making himself dinner, because well… he was hungry and the Dursleys weren't around to try starve him.
Oh yeah… he was eating bacon tonight.
Allowing himself a grin as he left his room, because the moment he lost enjoyment in the little things was the moment he lost the will to live, Harry found himself freezing as a loud smash echoed through the house. Hands snapping up with his fingers ready to snap, he slowly edged down the hallway as he heard murmuring and another smash, followed quickly by a loud distressed noise as a domino effect of shattering plates sounded from the kitchen.
Darting forward quickly, Harry didn't bother taking the stairs and merely vaulted over the railing, staggering as he landed on the ground even as he kept his hands raised defensively. His target squeaking in terror and falling backwards off the bench and into the sink, Harry blinked in confusion at the horrified-looking house-elf even as he quickly straightened up in an attempt to look casual.
"Mister Harry Potter is a naughty boy!" the house-elf squeaked out, pulling itself out of the sink and smoothing down its tea towel/dress. "Mister Harry Potter not be scaring Kronk like that!"
"Oh, I uh… sorry," Harry apologised slowly, caring more about why Kronk was in his house than about accidentally scaring the house-elf.
Kronk just flapped her (he thinks) hand at him dismissively, looking around the broken plates on the floor and cringing. "Kronk fix," she chirped, snapping her fingers and making all the plates piece themselves together before floating back up into a tower on the bench besides her.
"What are you doing in my house?" Harry questioned when the house-elf didn't say anything else, too busy straightening the plates beside her.
"Oh! Mistress Bonesy ordered Kronk to come!" the house-elf exclaimed loudly, tiny arms flailing around before pointing at the small backpack on the bench. "Mistress Bonesy gives gifts!"
Eyeing the bag suspiciously, Harry moved over to it, trying to keep an eye on the humming house-elf as he drew his wand and prodded the backpack. "What's in it?" he asked slowly.
"Mistress Bonesy not tell Kronk," the house-elf confessed as she shook her head wildly, staggering as she made herself dizzy and knocking the plates off the bench again. "Mister Harry Potter! That was naughty!" Kronk exclaimed, shaking her head again and frowning at him, "Don't worry though, Kronk fix".
Taking a moment to stare at the house-elf in a mixture of amusement and annoyance, Harry shook his head and poked at the bag again, reaching out to unzip (Wizards knew about zips?) it and open it further with his wand. When nothing popped out, he felt himself relaxed, glancing up at Kronk who was trying to subtly peer into the bag from over on the bench.
"You can stand on the table if you want," he offered slowly, earning an affronted look for his trouble.
"Kronk? Stand on the table?" the house-elf blurted, looking absolutely disgusted, "Kronk could never stand on the table. Mister Harry Potter eats on that!"
"Up to you," Harry muttered, watching as the house-elf jumped off the bench and pulled out a chair for her to stand on beside him. "Weird creature".
"Tiny wizard".
Head snapping around to stare at the innocent-looking Kronk, Harry waited a moment before turning back to the bag and pulling it closer to the two of them. "Huh… 'The Auror's Guide to Defensive Magic'," he read aloud as he pulled out the first book on top of the pile, setting it to the side and pulling around a large selection of books on defensive magic. "Why did your Mistress give me books on defensive magic? I thought I wasn't supposed to use magic outside of school?" he questioned the house-elf, disregarding the fact that she'd given him permission if he was attacked, because there was a difference between being attacked and practicing new spells.
"Mistress Bonesy not tell Kronk," the house-elf repeated, "She just ordered Kronk to bring bag to Mister Harry Potter immediately".
Letting out a breath as he scanned over the titles of the books, Harry frowned. "It's like she wants me to fight," he murmured before quickly adding "Don't answer that" to Kronk as the house-elf opened her mouth.
It made sense to him, actually. Even if the Ministry publically denied Voldemort's return, it had felt like Madam Bones had believed him yesterday. This was just her way of trying to help.
A surge of… something… washed through his chest at the thought. Ron and Hermione had abandoned him, the wizarding world was hanging him out to dry, and his Godfather was in hiding and unable to help him. Dumbledore had even refused to start training Harry now that Voldemort was back, claiming that he was 'just a child' who needed to 'enjoy his youth while he still had it', because there was no way that the Dark Lord would be at all interested in targeting him. But now this total stranger was helping him in the way his friends and the trusted authority figures (to use Hermione's name for them) were supposed to, and damn if that didn't make Harry feel… kind of angry actually.
Where the hell were his friends? Surely they'd heard about the dementor attack, there had already been an article in the Daily Prophet about him 'flaunting the rules' by using magic in the presence of a muggle, so it wasn't like it was being kept all hush hush. Why did Madam Bones have to be the one to help him when it should have been them?
Shaking his head and setting his jaw angrily, Harry pulled an envelope out of the bag next, curiously glancing over at Kronk who seemed more interested in licking her thumb and wiping away a stain on the table top than the letter he was now unfolding.
"Mr Potter.
The Undersecretary is furious that you've escaped prosecution, I'm passing along several tomes on defensive magic that I believe fall within your skill level to learn in case she tries again. Please do try take good care of them as I would like them back when all this is done.
The reason I did not deliver these myself is because of Albus Dumbledore, after our meeting yesterday I received a letter from him requesting I stay away from you. Naturally as I am not one to bow to the demands of meddlesome old men I contacted my agent within Dumbledore's little 'Order of the Phoenix' and learned that he has placed guards outside your home to watch your every movement. You'll find a copy of my notes about this Order hidden within the Auror's Guide, please burn them (non-magically) once you have finished reading them.
Finally, I have requested that Kronk keep an ear out for you. Should you need to pass a message along to me merely call his name and he will deliver it for you as we cannot trust conventional means of communication.
I will be in touch.
Madam Amelia Bones".
Shoving the letter back into the envelope which he then stuck back into the back, Harry searched for the information on the so-called Order of the Phoenix, remembering with a wince when Dumbledore had asked Sirius last year to contact the 'old crowd'. He must have been referring to the Order, already moving to gather everyone together after Voldemort's return and Fudge's consequent refusal, already moving to lock Harry out.
Ignoring Kronk as the house-elf lost the fight with himself and gave into his (according to the letter at least) urge to clean, Harry dove into Madam Bones' notes, feeling his face heating up in anger as he read more and more. When he'd finished, he sat back in his chair and tried to push down the spark tingling in his fingertips, not wanting to accidentally burn the house down because he lost his temper.
Scrunching the notes up in his fist as he lurched up to his feet, Harry muttered out a farewell to the house-elf as he hurried upstairs, feeling liquid fire beginning to move through his veins with every pump of his heart. His breath coming shorter as he bypassed his room entirely, he burst into the bathroom and threw the sheets of parchment into the bathtub, standing there silently for just a moment before the weak hold he had on his anger snapped and he was letting out a roar as he snapped his fingers and whipped his hand across his body furiously.
The fiery explosion followed the curve of the bathtub, curling in on itself as Harry panted, licking at the shower curtains he hadn't bothered to remove.
He couldn't believe it. Dumbledore was the head of an organisation dedicated to fighting Voldemort and he hadn't told Harry about it? Shouldn't Harry, as the only person besides Dumbledore to have duelled Voldemort and survived, have been told about the Order of the Phoenix? And what about the 'safe house' that the notes had mentioned them having? Why was Harry stuck here at number Four where he could be attacked by dementors at any time when the Order had a secure safe house set up?
He felt betrayed, no worse, he felt ostracized from their little 'Order'. How could they bring Hermione and the Weasley's there but leave him all alone?
Blinking as the shower curtain went up in flames suddenly, Harry snapped out of it and quickly tore it down, dumping the melting plastic into the tub and washing the harmless substance off his hands without even a wince.
He didn't know whose side Dumbledore was on, but he was starting to get a clear picture.
IGNITION
Okay so would everyone please remember before complaining about Harry's depression over being abandoned that he's kind of right? The only difference from canon in their behaviours so far is that they owl-napped Hedwig, other than that everything else is true! Also I hope you like Kronk the Sassy House-Elf because he will be making a reappearance.
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, and I don't own Harry Potter.
IGNITION