.
WALK AWAY IN ISOLATION
.
Harry Potter had planned to quit ever since his name came out of that infernal Goblet the previous year's chilly Halloween. He'd even rented a goblin Portkey to a small, unplottable Muggle hideaway in a northern town ready for him to run – only to learn from Hermione's pleading that he'd lose his magic if he broke the contract. Languishing now in the muggy heat of a July evening in Privet Drive, such a sacrifice didn't seem so terrible. Ten years of his early life without magic, four more unable to even learn spells except in parts of a few classes – he wouldn't notice the demise of immature wand-waving. On reflection, the boy had scarcely used magic in any practical sense at all! And his secret northern residence was stocked with supplies: potions and charmed objects, books and magazines in abundance, even a spare untraceable wand! How he wished he'd taken that option and just walked away from the Tournament; magic be damned!
"Where are you, Hedwig?" he muttered from his gaping bedroom window, but the only reply was his stomach growling, "feed me, feed me, feed me!"
The loss of friendship was more difficult to contemplate. Why were Ron and especially Hermione not replying to his pleas for information? Their company would have helped sooth his restless fears and the anguished frustration of not knowing what effect Voldemort was having in magical Britain. This solitude was hard to endure: isolation when he so frantically needed fellowship; separation when he yearned for togetherness! He was fretting afloat in an awful void. Even the Dursleys had gone out for the evening. Well curse them! To hell with the lot of them!
Mouth dry, hunger pangs discomforting him, he sprawled across his bed staring up at the darkening shadows. Shakes began again; would the physical effects of the dark wizard's prolonged torture in Hangleton Graveyard ever fade? Certainly the memory and fear were a regular intruder in his already-troubled mind. Or perhaps the Dementors that had leeched something of Dudley's soul had also taken their toll on his own? No chance of chocolate for a freak in the Dursley household. If only he could just... walk away. Should he?
Harry swung his legs off the bed and sat up. The trembling was worse. He trudged to the locked door and back several times. He could open it with the magic knife that Sirius had gifted him – but he could not lock it again after his return with food stolen from the kitchen. Damn the Dursleys! And damn his– where WAS Hedwig! Would she ever return? Had even SHE deserted him? Was the snowy owl flying free or trapped like himself in some far off–
"–I need you NOW!" he snarled, reaching out to nothing. "I need..." help.
He grasped the back of his desk chair to steady himself, staring out at the gathering darkness, then let his attention drift down to his ink pot with the last crumpled quill, beside it Sirius's enchanted blade that Harry had only used to open envelopes, and the blank parchment awaiting his next futile message. Alienation, desolation, wretchedness... on a sudden impulse he shook himself into a terrible decision he'd been putting off for hours.
Seated and with the confidence that comes from having a purpose, he lit his desk lamp and began to compose a document – but it was not a letter. The worried boy stared at the terrible words he'd written that condemned him to lose all. Then, with a deep breath, he stood up and took out his wand...
SNAP!
It was done. Goodbye to everything that had caused him far more misery than happiness.
Relief spread through his aching body now the action was irreversible. He slipped the two halves of the broken holly stick into a strong envelope along with his confession and addressed it to the Ministry. Now, how to send it without an owl?
His thirst increased, hunger too as the room grew steadily dimmer. The empty house creaked around him with changes in temperature yet the heat remained oppressive. Harry stripped off most of his sweaty clothing and flung himself back onto his bed, thinking of nothing, suspended in misery, yearning for sleep to take him away.
Then, quite distinctly, he heard a faint crash in the kitchen below.
The unnerved child sat bolt upright, listening intently. The Dursleys couldn't be back; it was much too soon, and in any case he hadn't heard their car.
There was silence for a few seconds, then voices.
Burglars, or worse? He slid off the bed on to his bare feet, and reached for his–
–The bedroom door-lock clicked and he watched fearfully as the handle slowly turned. Near-naked, utterly vulnerable, he had no wand, no defence at all! He seized the knife; its lethal edge could do more than open–
"–Wotcher, Harr– whoo!" Staring at him was a young woman with short spiky hair cycling through impossibly-excited colours. "What by Merlin are y–"
"–Trying to sleep! Do you mind!" Harry grabbed his jeans and struggled into them. "Who the hell are–"
"–Tonks, just Tonks. We're here to rescue you!"
"Ever thought of making–" –an appointment? Asking ME what I want? Knocking on the front door like polite people normally do?
Harry knew common sense was a waste of breath. Dumbledore's puppets regarded him as mere cargo: a package to be collected and delivered with its mouth sealed tight. That's how he'd first been dumped on his relatives' doorstep as a baby, and that's all he was: a nuisance pet without human rights.
Tonks shrunk the travel chest with his meagre possessions, and Harry felt his heart constrict with the finality of it – then he left the cruel house, knowing it would be forever.
.
His destination was as grim as his mood. They'd refused to communicate with him during his darkest days so now he'd return the compliment. "Uh," he grunted in response to Mrs Weasley's gushing.
Harry made to follow Lupin towards the aroma of food, but Ron's mother held him back.
"No, Harry, the meeting's only for members of the Order. Ron and Hermione are upstairs; you can wait with them until it's over, then we'll have dinner."
Sidelined again.
Harry trudged up, crossed the dingy landing, and opened the door. Hermione threw herself on to him in a hug that caused him to stagger, while Ron's tiny owl, Pigwidgeon, zoomed excitedly round and round their heads.
"HARRY! We didn't hear you arrive! Oh, how are you? Are you alright? Have you been furious with us? I bet you have; I know our letters were useless – but we couldn't inform you of anything, Dumbledore made us swear we wouldn't, oh, we've got so much to tell you, and that Ministry hearing – it's just outrageous."
He didn't care to listen to everything she said, nor did he respond, but the girl failed to notice the deadness in his eyes and the stillness of his tongue.
Before she could utter another word there was a soft whooshing sound and something white soared from the top of a dark wardrobe and landed gently on Harry's shoulder.
"Hedwig!" His voice was cracked and dry.
The snowy owl clicked her beak and nibbled his ear affectionately as Harry stroked her feathers. Despite the heat, the window was shut tight; the bird was just another captive of convenience. An action performed because it was easy rather than right.
The warm glow that had flared inside him at the sight of his trusted familiar was extinguished as something icy flooded the pit of his stomach. After yearning for company through an endless month, Harry felt he would rather Ron and Hermione left him alone.
There was a difficult silence during which Harry stroked Hedwig automatically, not looking at either of the others.
In a strange, soft voice, Hermione said, "We wanted to tell you, really we did."
But you didn't, thought Harry, digging into his pocket.
She read his expression of disbelief. "Dumbledore seemed to think it was best for– what's that?"
Harry was attaching his confession package to Hedwig's leg. The hard contours of the broken wand seemed obvious to him, but... "Top secret. Can't talk to anyone anymore ... Dumbledore says. There's me, a nobody... and then there's you lot. There must be nothing between us at all ever again."
"But–"
–A fresh breeze stung his glistening eyes as he opened the window and he took one last look at his beloved owl. "Hedwig, I'm not allowed to have an owl anymore so don't return. Fly free, girl." And he pushed the bird away and up into the sky.
Harry couldn't hide his tears even though he turned away from the shock of his former friends, so he opened the door. "I'll find another room until mealtime."
.
Sirius greeted him at the busy kitchen table, but Harry did not meet his gaze. He sank into the chair furthest from everyone and, appetite lost, sullenly eyed the beef and potatoes. The boy-who'd-died-a-little could hear the raucous living: Ginny laughing with Tonks, Bill and Fleur's happy exchanges, and other familiar voices like Snape and Arthur Weasley too, but he didn't look up. What was the point of conversing with jailers who had thoughtlessly left him to rot on the order of a heartless warden?
"Had a good summer?" The voice of his godfather, the one actually designated to care for him should the need arise, but who had never done anything of significance.
"Wonderful," muttered Harry. He knew he was being unfair yet he just shook his head and took up the cutlery lying beside his steaming plate of food. He played with the diced steak which seemed as tough as his life had been. Perhaps, like himself, the beef had been stewing too long, for the chunks were as dull as the table knife. He switched weapons, attacking them with Sirius's charmed knife, slicing viciously as if the food was part of the injustice being served upon him. Gravy spilled as the plate was neatly cut in two.
Sirius stared at Harry's tight shoulders and desolate expression, then tried again. "You know, I'm surprised; I thought the first thing you'd do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort."
The boisterous atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Harry associated with an arrival of Dementors. Where seconds before, the guests had been relaxed and jovial, they were now alert, even tense. A common flinch had afflicted many around the table at the mention of Voldemort's name, followed by not a sound except the soft rattle of the kettle lid on the stove. Lupin, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly, looking wary. It had not been the Dark Lord's name but the topic that had jarred a shared nerve.
"Can't," grunted Harry, so quietly they strained to hear him as he spat low, "Dumbledore's orders. Not allowed to communicate with anyone."
He didn't see Snape's face contorting, nor hear him muttering, "attention-seeking tantrum..." for there was a tap, tap, tap at the kitchen window.
Despite the grime-obscured glass, Harry knew who the ghostly face belonged to. The boy struggled to his feet; at his thrust the casement sash opened outwards, and Hedwig hooted indignantly as it pushed her aside on the broad sill. "I told you not to come back!" the boy growled softly. Yet he took the officially-sealed scroll she carried and returned to his seat to read it where no one could overlook. Not to be put off, his faithful owl followed, perhaps hoping for a piece of the abandoned meat.
"Harry?" said Mrs Weasley.
"You mustn't talk to me anymore, none of you can. Dumbledore says," he growled while cutting the seal with the bloody blade. "Without advice, I've had to make my own decisions." His eyes scanned the parchment:
Having confessed to breaking the Statute of Secrecy by casting a spell in a Muggle neighbourhood and in front of a helpless and terrified Muggle, Harry Potter is hereby cast out with dishonour from British Magical Society and by extension expelled from Hogwarts School. He can no longer own a wand, owl, elf, or enter magical society. May he suffer forever the consequences of his evil deed.
"I told you, Hedwig! Go free!"
"Harry!" shrieked Hermione, "What have you done?"
As her question pierced the air, Dumbledore entered, reading the scene, eyes wide in astonishment. Sirius was on his feet, readying to approach Harry. "Your owl is bonded to you. She'll wilt and suffer without–
"–Yet she was kept prisoner just like me."
"She can't just–"
"–She must!" And the keen blade parted the owl from bondage to this mortal plane – the snowy-white bird soaked crimson. "Fly free, Hedwig," sobbed Harry, and reached for the Portkey in his pocket.
"No!" boomed the Headmaster scything his wand like a net. But his target had already vanished, leaving behind an uproar, a vast mutual shock, blood pooling around a deadly dagger, a confession, and an unwanted meal.
.
Snape was the first to speak. "The coward fled because he wasn't getting enough attention."
"WHAT!" shouted Hermione. "He's just a kid, and you drove him away! We all did! He's suffered more than any. Tortured and almost killed so many times – did we think neglect would break him in our favour? Well, we certainly destroyed his spirit; took fourteen years of cruelty but we succeeded. You with your pathetic, immature abuse of children; Dumbledore with his heartless support of that injustice; Sirius with his wishy-washy drunkenness, and–"
"–Show the Headmaster respect!" screamed Mrs Weasley. "He–"
"–He's not MY Headmaster, but just some random incompetent! I won't be returning to that foul school. Enough is enough. I can do far better elsewhere."
The girl stormed out; they heard a distant door slam a few minutes later and saw the shocked realisation on Dumbledore's face. He'd gambled his haughty cards and lost to a better player.
.
Harry did not know how to feel when his Portkey revealed him to the bowing of his new house elf. "Master Harry at last! Scurry brought all that you ordered and prepared everything as you wanted."
The creature studied his condition for a few moments. "Do you wish to clean yourself? Or...?"
His own man now, the boy gazed around the dining-parlour of a new home. He'd only visited once before – with a goblin for him to be made Soul Keeper while the residence was still desolate and dusty. Now it was pristine and well-furnished. There were shelves of books at hand, glass cabinets filled with potions and all kind of charms. Underfoot, the carpet was a rich deep blue but he saw only his hands with the blood that still remained there.
He cleansed himself at a wash stand of vertically-enchanted water, but his spirit would take longer to heal. A chicken salad was refused in exchange for salmon eaten in silence, then Scurry lit his way to a bedchamber. The house had its own generator – though Harry had grown to like flaming torches, gaslight and candles, one of which the elf held steadily aloft on an invisible string. Harry studied the creature's flickering outline as they approached the main bedchamber and the bondservant beckoned him in.
Harry frowned. "You're... you look unusual for an elf."
"Scurry is an esk, eighth-goblin, mostly unknown to wizardkind, but this one is blessed and sworn to serve only the beloved Harry Potter. Thank you, Master."
"For what? And I'm certainly not loved." Harry crossed the room to gaze out over the moon-shadowed garden, not waiting for the elf's reply. He imagined movement out there, little flickerings amongst the bushes and trees and... eyes?
"You avenged my half-sister, sir."
Harry turned back to stare at the part-elf.
"She was one of several Hogwarts' elves murdered by the dark wizard's basilisk."
"House-elves died? I didn't–"
"–The Headmaster kept it quiet."
"Yeah, he's good at that. I'm sorry, Scurry."
"Not wishing you to become proud, he ordered the elves never to honour you, Master, but Scurry is no Hogwarts elf, nor do we forget."
Emotional exhaustion caught up with the boy. He did not remember lying down, nor even falling asleep, but he would never forget rousing at daybreak to the sounds outside. Rubbing his drowsy eyes, he stared from the window at dozens of owls perched on branches and posts in his garden.
"SCURRY!"
"Master?"
"I'm not allowed owls!"
"You are not permitted to own an owl, Master Harry, but you can receive and send those that belong to others."
"But... but whose are they? How did they find their way here?"
"Owls travel by owl-space which is the same magical space used by Portkeys, Floo travel, and Apparition. They can only be tracked if observed before and after they enter that space, but not here, for the garden is within the goblins' unplottable volume. In any case, they have been redirected by the goblin service you signed up for."
"Ah, I'd forgotten; I don't actually own the magical property in this house do I?"
"Yours to use as much as you wish, sir. Come, let me show you the utility room."
The goblinesk's gesture cleansed and dressed Harry who stumbled dumbly after the creature.
"The dark bins contain harmless copies of cursed, hexed, and poisonous messages ready to be destroyed," explained the esk as they entered a large upper room connected to the loft.
Harry scarcely dared ask what were the contents of the colourful bins.
My heart is crushed, began the topmost. I never deserved your friendship which you gave so freely...
"Goodwill messages redirected from the moment you triggered your Portkey, Master. Some offer support, others advice and guidance, several ask you to consider their offspring for marriage when old enough – the Brocklehursts and Perks have daughters your age. Those messages sent during the years before that were disposed of by Headmaster Dumbledore. The owls in the garden are awaiting replies."
"But..."
"You are very much loved, Harry Potter. Do not allow the false media and the childish rumours that corrupt Hogwarts to colour your perception of everyone everywhere."
Harry groaned. "I can never again go into magical society, Scurry."
"Yes, but although the dark ones can never find you here, there is nothing stopping the best of magical society coming to you should you allow them. You can have a wonderful life freed of nightmares – goblin magic makes sure of that, Harry Potter. A life shaped how you wish it, and not controlled by others. Let the expert professionals deal with trouble while you fill your days with interesting activities and good company of your own choice."
The sun's rays finally reached his window, bathing him in a new light, and Harry Potter's face relaxed into a smile. Let Dumbledore slay his own dragon.
All was well.
.
—oOo—
.
Author's Notes
All my Walkaway stories deal only with Harry avoiding being controlled and manipulated. Once free, they don't deal much with the aftermath so the endings might seem abrupt. Sorry about that but adding such material won't really fit the theme – any more than Harry's life after Hogwarts was relevant to the original JKR story plot. Each Walkway fic is independent so don't need to be read in sequence.
Working on a new longer Walkaway but will not post until it is complete.
Many thanks for all comments and reviews. These are most welcome and very encouraging. Let me know of any weaknesses or faults — I'm always trying to improve my writing so feedback is really useful. :)
- Hippothestrowl
.
