Summary:
Harry is left with the Dursleys just after his godfather had died. One thing leads to the other and Harry is fed up with being a puppet. He breaks free and finds help. And boy, does he start rocking the boat.Harry Potter, M, English, Adventure & Romance, chapters: 33, words: 245k+, favs: 11k+, follows: 7k+, updated: Oct 2, 2012 published: Feb 5, 2010, Harry P., Hermione G.
Chapter 1 – The last straw
***June 27th, 1996, early afternoon, King's Cross***
Most people thought he was just moody. Some people, who thought they knew him, probably thought he was sad; but only one or two people in the crowd here at Platform 9 ¾ might be able to see how he really felt. Angry - so angry, it hurt.
Of course, his face didn't show it. His upbringing had taught him to pretend he was moping when he in fact was furious. After all, Harry being sad was a welcome sight; however showing his anger would have earned him a beating. Kids learn fast.
'He lied to me. And now Sirius is dead.'
That was the only thought he had and it plagued his mind and soul. His thoughts alternated with memories of Sirius, memories of Dumbledore, and how looking back allowed him to view past events in a new light. For example, on his first trip to Hogwarts the train had been filled to the brim, yet oddly enough Harry had found himself in an empty compartment until Ron stumbled in. One could only wonder. The Mirror of Erised had only been used for safeguarding after Harry had learnt about its secret. And all those obstacles keeping the stone safe? They were first year curriculum problems with chess thrown in, probably because Ron could help him there. Also, Dumbledore had known that Harry would meet Voldemort down there. The Headmaster had even told Hermione so when she found him. Then the basilisk – he supposedly knew everything that goes on in the Castle, but a huge snake isn't noticed? The incompetent defence teachers he hired every year, Snape – who counted as an atrocity all on his own - and all the systematic trouble with the Slytherins. And then to top it all off that damned prophecy, which he'd only just found out because he was somehow deemed 'Ready' to hear it, now!
"He used me; it was all a game to him. He lied, all the time and now, because of it, Sirius is dead." Harry mumbled sunder his breath.
So there he stood, stoically, watching his minders of the Order of the Phoenix trying to threaten his Uncle Vernon. 'Good idea. As soon as you are gone, he will take it out on my hide. Thanks a lot.'
The entire ride home, Harry prepared for the worst. Vernon's skin glowed red with a hint of purple, a clear 9 on the uncapped Mt. Vernon scale. While the vein on the right temple was only pulsating - not throbbing - which indicated a mere 7. This was a bad sign -with a pulse that low and a blood pressure that high, Vernon would probably react violently. A higher pulse than blood pressure would indicate a good yelling. Harry knew all the signs by the time he had turned six. It was a good thing Lockhart had vanished the bones in his arm – the newgrown bone was straight and didn't ache in the cold.
Right now, Harry was alternating between being angry at Dumbledore, being angry at the Order members for enraging Vernon and just generally being sad over Sirius's death. Of course, Voldemort and his merry gang of killers got their share of cussing, too, but still, the disappointment over Dumbledore's lies was firmly in lead.
'All the time he knew why Voldemort was after me, he knew that he would come back. He certainly knew about the Dursleys. Was he just setting me up for his games? What else is he keeping from me? And of course, he'll keep me imprisoned in this house, just like he did to Sirius.'
Again, the thought of Sirius left him adrift in a sea of despair. Sirius was the only one who always helped him, the only one who was there for him, the only one caring for him. And then it dawned on him, in all his loneliness; there was still one beacon of light. There was another one, who always helped him, stood by him but liked him enough to challenge him if it was to protect him from harm. Someone who was there for him unconditionally and still stood up to him. Someone he could disagree with, but talk things over still remain friends in the end.
Someone he could count on.
"Boy! Get your worthless hide in, now!" Vernon suddenly bellowed at him.
Harry hadn't even noticed that they were already there. Quickly, he got out of the car and hefted his trunk out of the boot. Hedwig was still in her cage, napping. With the Dursleys already inside, he dragged his stuff into the house, put it down and reached behind him to close the door. As he turned to head into the living room a ham sized fist greeted the left side of his face followed by a stinging impact. The second thing that greeted him was a nice assortment of stars, blinking merrily in his view.)
Harry was by no means bulky, but he was an athlete now and his pain threshold was much higher then it was when he was smaller.
So instead of being thrown back into the wall like he would have been before, only his torso got turned to his right. And then the pain hit him. Not much, but enough to clear the cobwebs from his head. No one who ever endured a Cruciatus would ever again call a slap in the face pain. Then he noticed something - a coppery taste in his mouth - blood, his blood. Aright then, at that moment, something inside of him snapped.
His vision blurred, and suddenly he saw himself and his friends once again in the Ministry, fighting for their lives, and every time they managed to down an opponent, his friends would wake him or untie him just as quickly. And when they got up, they retaliated with all they had. Harry was sure that he had stunned one of his opponents at least three times, while all his friends were attacked by potentially lethal curses. The Order had done no better. It had seemed as if they all were playing a kid's game, while the Death Eaters were in it for real.
With that realization, Harry knew that the kid gloves had to come off. Shaking his head, he reconnected with reality and heard Vernon yell something - probably a rant about Harry - before winding up for another hit. But it never came, because Harry did something he had never even considered doing before.
He hit back.
Now Harry was not what you would call strong, but holding onto a broomstick while making multiple-g turns definitely tones the muscles in your chest and arms. All this sinewy muscle was, thanks to Vernon's love tap, in full tension. Harry pulled back with all the power he could muster and let his arm snap forward, pushing all of his weight behind his fist.
The punch was fast and to the point, and maybe even aided by some accidental magic. His fist connected with his uncle's jaw, knocking the man over and to the ground. Thanks to all the chins his uncle sported, Harry didn't even hurt his hand.
There was a second of silence, only interrupted by the angry screeches of Hedwig in her toppled cage. Vernon was on the floor, shaking his head to clear the haze, Petunia was staring at her nephew and Dudley just blinked at him stupidly. Then Petunia shrieked, waking Dudley from his stupor. The boy instantly charged at Harry, like a lame bull on crutches, though Harry, thought he might be insulting the bull with that comparison.
Knowing fully well that 'Ickle Duddykins' could flatten him with a single hit, he dodged the slow punch – everything is slow when you are used to dodging iron balls while speeding around at sixty miles per hour – and took a step to his left. Using his momentum, he pulled his right leg up and kneed Dudley in the crotch. Surprisingly, he actually hit something that small.
Meanwhile, Vernon had somehow managed to get onto his feet again, sporting a perfect bruise on his cheek, and started moving towards him. Harry finally had enough and drew his wand.
"Stop! Or lose your head!" he yelled, pointing it straight at his uncle's face.
That was unexpected. Vernon jumped backwards, staggering, as his belly wanted to continue in motion. He came to a halt in a grotesque state of animated stillness, his gut wobbling around wildly. Petunia stopped screaming and Dudley, well, he moaned a bit quieter.
"You can't use magic! You'll get expelled!" Vernon reminded him in an angry voice, though his face showed the fear that normally only shown in his eyes, for the first time in Harry's memory.
"And you would still be dead. Couch, now!" Harry retorted as he kicked Dudley to gain his attention. "You too! Move it!"
Harry took one step backwards towards the door - finding safety in the distance - and waited for the Dursleys to assemble in the sitting room. He waited till they were seated before he followed, keeping an armchair between them for security. All the time, his wand never veered off target.
"All those years, you, you…" he began, trying desperately to find suitable words. Finally they came to him - and they fit so well.
"Yes, there is simply no other word for it," he stated with a feral grin, before laying in on them. "All those years, you freaks had nothing better to do than make my life hell." he ranted, only to notice Vernon's reaction to their new title. The fat man had jumped, as if stung.
"What's the matter, uncle Vernon? You don't think you are a freak? No? So normal people put a kid into a cupboard? They let their son beat that kid up and cheer him on? Make the kid do all the work in the house? Let him rot in his cupboard for days with a broken arm? Is that what normal people do?" Harry asked, savouring the moment his relatives' expressions fell. Vernon nearly looked like a bulldog when his cheeks sagged like that.
Now Harry knew how Hermione must feel all the time. Using logic against dumb people – to make them see the error in their ways - was simply priceless. This feeling was great.
"They don't. So if you are not behaving like normal people, you must be freaks. Live with it." He finished; knowing that no Cruciatus could ever hurt them more that that knowledge.
"You're feeling mighty strong now, with your stick and hocus-pocus, aren't you?" was all Vernon could retort. Petunia was close to tears, and Dudders was still curled up on the couch, hoping for the pain to end.
"Remember, Uncle, I knocked your lights out while you didn't even rock me and I did so without my 'stick' or my 'Hocus-pocus'. But as is, I don't want to dirty my hands any more on you freaks!" Harry spat, knowing that he was channeling Malfoy, but he didn't care. He continued glaring daggers at his Uncle.
"And what are you going to do now?" Petunia interrupted their staring contest. Looking at his aunt, Harry noticed a new side of her. He'd never seen her so afraid before.
Harry stared into her face for a full minute, not saying anything. Then he started looking at all three Dursleys in turn. For at least 5 minutes, he just stared, silently considering their fate. Even Vernon was wise enough not to anger him any further. Frankly spoken, he didn't look as though he would dare to.
For the first time in his life, he was afraid of his nephew. Harry stood there, only his head moving, as he watched his relatives. His posture was rigid, and his face was cold. Deep inside, Vernon knew that he had finally gone too far, and Harry was about to settle the bill. Petunia wept silently, having come to the same conclusion. Dudley had not realized the danger, but was still enough in pain to keep quiet.
Just as the silence grew unbearable, Harry sighed. His shoulders fell and he turned away from them. Talking to nobody in particular, he simply addressed the room.
"I'll settle for my second biggest wish. I'll go and grab my things, and then I'm gone. I'll never return here again. And if I ever hear about you getting captured to bait me, I won't even raise a finger. We are done."
With that declaration, Vernon exhaled a breath he didn't even knew he had held, and Petunia broke down against his shoulder, weeping.
As Harry turned to leave, Dudley was stupid enough to call out. "And what is your biggest wish, freak?"
Harry stopped and slowly turned back around to face them again. He fixed his eyes on Dudley, the cool anger he felt pouring out. The fat boy had the presence of mind to gulp. Vernon and Petunia looked at Harry with pure terror etched into their faces, both expecting the worst.
In a very low whisper, Harry let his cousin know what he would like to do, most of all, right now. Then he turned and left the house, all his worldly belongings still in his trunk, and Hedwig still in her cage, as his last words still echoed in the minds of his relatives, never to be forgotten.
"To kill all of you."
And so Harry left what had been his own personal hell, for as long as he could remember. At least, he intended to. He made it all the way to the sidewalk, when a familiar face crossed his path.
"Where do you think you are going, Mr. Potter?" Obviously, Mr. Diggle was not pleased to see Harry leave the premises.
"My own way!" Harry declared roughly trying to push past he diminutive man.
"Dumbledore told you that you are not to leave that house!" was the answer he received, indicating that Diggle hadn't understood the second implied meaning in Harry's answer.
Harry was certainly not taking orders any more, and challenged those new ones immediately. "On what authority does he get to say so? School is out, and I can't see any legal cause to keep me under house arrest."
Diggle paled a bit at that statement. "But, but, but…" he stuttered, before he got himself under control again. "He is Albus Dumbledore!" he exclaimed, as though that should explain everything.
"Which gives him no right to keep me under arrest!" Harry quipped, once again trying to step past the man.
"He is the leader of the Order!" Diggle tried reasoning as he moved to block Harry.
"Of which, I am not a member, as you certainly know." Harry said while he smirked at the man, stepping to the other side.
"I can't let you leave!" Diggle retorted, finally resorting to intimidation after having run out of arguments. His attempt was rather laughable as his head only reached Harry's shoulder.
"You see this shiner?" Harry asked, making sure to turn his head to make it more visible. "That was the welcome I received from my uncle after only 10 seconds of being in that house. I am not going back in there."
Diggle didn't back down. "Dumbledore said you must stay here!" He yelled at the teen.
"And I won't listen to that old lying bastard any more!" Harry said, and again stepped aside to continue his path, but Diggle grabbed his arm.
"Now see here, you can't talk about Dumbledore like that! You are going back in there." The man said with a note of finality that rankled Harry's temper.
Harry shrugged him off and gave him a shove. "Mr. Diggle, you've got exactly ten seconds to leave here, or I will have you arrested for trespassing and kidnapping. Wouldn't that be nice after I just got hailed as the savior of the wizarding world - at least for now - and probably just have toppled a minister?"
That statement really made an impact on Diggle. Being threatened by a teen didn't go down to well, and he reacted like any small-minded suck-up would. He got mad.
"Stop that childishness! And now get in, or I'll make you!" Diggle snapped, and drew his wand.
Daedalus Diggle had never, ever been on an Order combat mission. For good reason, it seemed - because Harry had grabbed the man's wand and snapped the top half off before Diggle had even finished the draw or had even noticed the move. The fierce right hook to his stomach however, was more than noticed.
While poor Daedalus was soiling the street with the contents of his stomach, Harry grabbed his stuff and left.
The last thing Diggle heard as he laid groaning on the ground was Harry yelling over his shoulder, "Tell the old bastard that I've had enough of his lies. I'm gone!"
As soon as he was out of sight, Harry opened the dented cage and released Hedwig. He discarded the now useless cage in a dustbin, since it was only dead weight now. After thinking about his situation, he made a quick decision - Harry told Hedwig to fly to London, and to wait for him at Hyde Park, by the lake. He reasoned that it might take a while to find her there, but it was a public place and she wouldn't stand out too much there.
His next move was to take the first bus he found and rode around Surrey for some time, always taking the first available bus, to keep moving in case he was being tracked, until he finally got into one heading to London. Taking the train would have been faster, but he expected the Order to catch him right as he was leaving the station. He didn't expect them to check all the bus stops. Anyway, he could use the time to refine his budding plan.
First, he had to find a place to stay, and he had to keep out from under the Headmasters thumb.
He needed help, that was sure.
Sitting in the back of the bus, he surreptitiously got some parchment and his utensils out of his trunk and began writing a note to the only person who might help him now.
AN:
This is the start of my first really long fic. Bear with me, you'll like it.
For people noticing that Harry has a light type of PTSD - Yes, that was my intention. It would be expected after the things he went through a few days ago. In his case, it won't be permanent, but it has changed him.
I would like to thank embirsiphonelilathia (*puh, that is mighty hard to type correctly – now try it three times in a row*), who has given me invaluable advice while betaing this stuff for me. I could not ask for a better beta, since she has about the same preferences and style, but due to a different chromosome pattern, has a different sight to some scenes than I have.
Also pfeil, my second beta, a human spellchecker. If there is any error slipped in this document, it is my fault for not transferring his corrections to the final document.
Chapter 2: The cavalry arrives.
Thankfully his money lasted long enough to get him into London. Harry made his way to Hyde Park and after only searching for a short time, found his owl sleeping in a tree near the northern end of the Lake. He did draw a few looks because of his trunk, but since the school year had just finished, some kids were returning from boarding schools, so it didn't raise too much interest, especially compared to his strolling around the park with an owl on his arm. That alone had some people giving him odd glances.
He sat at the edge of the lake on his now convenient trunk, stroking his owl - and getting even more curious looks for it - while he pondered his options.
Going back to Hogwarts was out. He didn't want to get back under Dumbledore's thumb.
Harry wasn't too worried about getting expelled, he had already received his OWLs and according to the twins he didn't need to worry about getting his wand snapped. Wand snapping only happened if the expelled student had not received his OWLs, yet.
The same would apply if a student had to leave Hogwarts because he failed to get the required OWLs to sign up for any NEWT course or lacked the money to continue. They would still be underage, but he would bet Galleons for Knuts that there was some archaic law that had been put into place to protect purebloods and granted them a waiver for that. He never found out much about the exact rules, though, as the twins had started in on the Umbitch shortly after their explanation.
Since he didn't know how to get around the Underage Decree, spell casting - especially in front of muggles - would really get him into trouble before he reached the age of majority, but that was only a year from now so he figured he could get by somehow. He would just have to hide from Tommy somewhere in the anonymous masses of muggles until then. It wasn't what he preferred to do, but it was his only chance.
Of course, he now had to hide from 'Alby and his Chipmunks' too. That would be much harder with Dumbledore probably having him tracked by charms. He needed help, and there was only one person whom he could turn to. He had already finished his note during his hour-long rides crisscrossing Surrey and London, which he now tied to Hedwig's leg.
Fearing that he already had been stationary for too long and might get company, he got up and grabbed his trunk. He had caught glimpses of wizarding robes and pink hair every time he had changed busses, so he knew that they could find him if he stopped for too long.
With a final "Find her and stay with her," he let Hedwig loose and made a quick exit towards the city, finding himself an new bus to ride while he ignored some loud commotion back in the park.
*** June 27th, 1996, mid afternoon, northern Scotland***
Meanwhile, a certain Headmaster was having a bad day. About two hours ago, an ill-looking Daedalus Diggle had stumbled into his office, clutching his stomach. After Dumbledore had cast a strong pain numbing charm on him, poor Daedalus reported that Harry had left Privet Drive, and had even hit Diggle when he tried to stop him.
After a bit of probing, both verbally and mentally, Diggle confessed to having drawn his wand on Harry first, which made the Headmaster want to hit the man too, but it did explain the attack and the consecutive flight and disappearance of Harry to some extent.
To be honest, disappearance would be an excessive description of Harry's flight from Privet Drive. Dumbledore had a good idea in which direction and what distance Harry had travelled. He also knew that Harry was quite angry, which had been the boy's mood since the battle at the Ministry. His instruments had told him all this.
The only problem was that Harry kept on the move, never stopping for too long at any one place. Albus had immediately flooed for two order members, Remus and Tonks, and sent them, via a portkey he had created, to Harry's location when the boy stood relatively still for long enough to get coordinates. After the two had left, he began the process of contacting the other order members.
He had chosen those two in particular for their closeness to young Harry, knowing that sending Severus, while his most trusted choice, would certainly not help his case right now. The Potions master had already excused himself to the Dungeons to watch some cauldrons instead of 'Looking for a pampered prince who probably threw a temper tantrum because his lunch was served a minute too late', as the irate potion master had proclaimed.
Dumbledore did not hold him back, rather glad to have fewer distractions to deal with.
The aging wizard knew that to keep his plans together he needed Harry at his relatives' house where he could be kept under lock and key, so to speak. The time for Harry's battle with Voldemort had not yet come to pass; after all Albus still had many more things to put into place. There were still so many open ends Dumbledore had to draw together and close before the final battle. He had set these plans into motion years ago when the boy was still just a babe, and now he was close - so close - to achieving his ends. He merely had to wait just a little while longer until everything fell into a neat little line.
Dumbledore was feeling a little more confident after he sent Remus and Nymphadora off with a portkey, feeling glad that things would soon settle back into their 'divine' order. Much to his dismay, however, they returned after only a half an hour later, walking back into the school and into the chamber where the fully assembled core of the Order of the Phoenix was settling down for their meeting. They reported that the target coordinates had been a bus station in some town south of London, but when they arrived there, Harry was nowhere to be found. He had probably boarded a bus, but there were three lines he could have taken, and they couldn't discern which.
It had become apparent after a few more of those missions that Harry was keeping on the move to avoid detection. Tonks noted that the boy didn't seem to have a clear destination in mind either, and that made him that much harder to track. While Moody openly showed his pride in young Harry, Albus was not so happy about this turn of events. Unsurprisingly, Molly Weasley's voice rose above the din to whine and coo about how her poor little Harry was probably lost and alone in the metaphorical jungle that was muggle London, which grated on Albus Dumbledore's nerves. He had no idea how she even knew about Harry's escape, until he remembered that damnable clock of hers; she had probably added a hand for Harry somewhere along the way.
Remus explained that he and Tonks had only been able to pinpoint the target area to the southwestern districts of Greater London. When he asked about why they didn't just watch all of the incoming buses in that area, Daedalus earned himself a rather loud and resounding laugh from Tonks. Remus went on to explain the relative size of that particular part of London to Hogsmeade, the distance between and number of bus stops in that area, not to mention the risk of exposure of wizardkind in front of the many muggles that swarmed the area if the order were to jump all over the town looking for Harry. After a few more minutes of explanation, they managed to convince the Order of the futility of that particular endeavour.
Being currently unable to enter Number 12, since Sirius had died and the new owner had not given permission yet, they had no Headquarters in London. Still, since Harry might be heading there, Dumbledore had Remus and Tonks stationed there to watch the house. If Harry went there and was the heir, as Dumbledore could only assume without having Black's will read, it would not do for the boy to find refuge inside that fortress of a house. Nothing but an all out Auror attack would bring those wards down, and Dumbledore would be hard pressed to explain why he had sent half their police force to their deaths just to retrieve a runaway.
Having that base covered, Dumbledore sent most of the other Order members off to different guard positions, weaving a net of competent sentries all over the most important points of magic in London.
Albus himself remained waiting in his office, along with the 'fast response members' and the Weasleys, watching his Distanciaheadometer.
It was his favourite piece, a fine pendulum floating in thin air above a rune-engraved base plate. The pendulum would point towards the target, which was set by a drop of blood in the pendulum's weight. A flywheel on the base plate indicated the target's speed by the speed of the disc's rotation, causing a whirring sound. That wheel would also rise on its axle, indicating the distance to the target. There was also a display with portkey coordinates, which was its most useful component, but the target would need to be stationary, or at least approximately so, for at least 5 minutes for the coordinates to appear.
He always set it on the table while Harry was practising Quidditch or having a game he couldn't watch. The pendulum's movements alone were breathtaking. During the first task of the Triwizard Cup, it even got damaged by the excessive strain it had received while Harry raced all over Hogwarts with that dragon in hot pursuit.
'I wish I could have seen that. All paintings agreed those – the pendulum's movements were a quite a show.'
Only the improvements the Headmaster did after the repairs ensured that this gadget survived Harry's wrath in his office after Dumbledore had told the young man the contents of the prophecy. Harry had manually and magically trashed much of his office. Dumbledore had stayed calm at first, certain that he could repair everything. After a few hours of fruitless, frustrating work, though, he had learned something. When Harry destroyed something, it stayed that way. Most of his instruments, nearly all which were used to track Harry, were not salvageable and had to be replaced - except for this one.
The pendulum currently pointed southward, and the whirring wheel led the Headmaster to the conclusion that Harry must have arrived in London by now.
The wheel had slowed, indicating that Harry's speed had slowed as well, probably due to the heavier traffic. Finally, the wheel came to a near halt, signalling that Harry had more or less stopped.
About 10 minutes later, coordinates appeared.
Immediately, Dumbledore made a voice activated, two-way portkey that would return the party to just outside the gates of Hogwarts, which he gave it to Bill. He hoped that William Weasley - he never liked the abbreviation of that fine name - who had travelled all across Europe due to his job, would be able to blend into the muggle crowds better than the rest of people that crowded his office. The eldest of the Weasley boys immediately left the office and made his way out to the grounds, where he could use the portkey.
After a few minutes of anxious waiting, the door opened, and a soaking wet Bill Weasley came in, and instantly started shouting. "You sent me into The Serpent! Of all Hyde Park, you had to send me into the bloody lake!" he screamed, waving his hands madly, causing large splats of water to fly all over the office. A puddle had formed under his feet, slowly growing as his clothes dripped.
Albus cringed at this, while the twins broke down, holding each other and howling with laughter, both pointing at Bill. Every now and then, one would try to say something, which would send him and his twin into renewed gales of laughter.
Molly was so flabbergasted that she didn't even chide Bill for his language; She just stood with her mouth wide open as her son continued to berate the Headmaster.
"I materialized about 20 yards into the lake, right on the surface. On dropping, I lost my wand and the splash made quite a commotion, I tell you! I did catch a glimpse of Harry, but without my wand and with all the people gathering, I had to portkey out. If it weren't voice activated, I would have been certainly arrested or at least stranded in London," he spat while the Headmaster cringed deeper into his overstuffed chair.
Finally, Dumbledore regained his bearings and tried to salvage the situation.
"I understand your anger and I truly am sorry, William. But you know that using coordinates, a portkey will invariably differ by as much as a few dozen yards in any direction." Dumbledore explained as he dried the furious redhead with a few flicks of his wand.
It was well known that someone wouldn't have materialized into something, and it would have brought him to the best possible landing spot, but there was simply no way to compensate for a large body of water. Bill knew the ins and outs of this as well as the Headmaster, but it was an embarrassing faux pas for a wizard to fall into this trap.
"I know, but still!" Bill huffed, still angry at the man, before turning and addressing his mother. "Mum, can I borrow your wand? I have to get back and summon my wand before it gets washed ashore and picked up by someone." He pleaded.
"And stop laughing, you two!" Bill yelled at the twins who were still rolling around on the floor pointing at him and making yelping sounds, like puppies. They were laughing too hard to actually laugh properly.
After he got Molly's wand, he stomped out, and it took Molly a few minutes to silence her other two sons. Coincidentally, she did so by raising her own voice significantly, contributing again to the slow-building Headache the Headmaster had been developing all day. When the group finally resumed their watch of the silver instrument, they noticed that the wheel had picked up speed. Harry was on the move again.
***same time, above northern London***
Unknown to the Order members, another important player in the events soon to unfold was on the move. With rhythmic strokes of her white wings, she made her way north, doing her duty. Her senses drew her towards her target, which proved to be a detached house surrounded by a nice garden. The house and garden were encased by a small wooded area; it also had a small swimming pond with a terrace nearby. Like a homing beacon, the outline of a young human was laying there, on a recliner: her target.
It was a nice day out in High Barnet, perfect to lounge in the garden and read a book. Of course, that's exactly what Hermione Granger was doing. Her only concession to the scar that she now bore on her chest was that she was wearing a one-piece suit instead of a bikini. She had rationalized that she was far too white for a bikini still, anyway, so it wouldn't matter if she wore that thing for the next week it would take to let her scar fade - hopefully.
That scar, which she had received in the battle at the Ministry from Dolohov, was still a visible, thumb-wide pale line crossing her torso from her hip to her shoulder. Luckily, since it was from a seriously underpowered spell, Pomfrey assumed it would fade to a razor-thin line, or might even vanish completely if she stuck with her potion regimen. Hermione did so, nearly religiously. She loved her bikinis.
Unnoticed by the reading girl, Hedwig landed right next to her on a table, and immediately stuck out her foot to offer the letter.
And waited.
And waited.
After a 20 seconds wait, the bird was getting annoyed, and gave a hoot.
The sudden reproachful hoot right next to her startled Hermione. She jumped out of her seat and, in doing so, dropped her book. Being her typical self, she had gotten completely engrossed in her book and hadn't noticed anything. Of course, she never would have admitted to anyone that she was reading THAT kind of book. Everybody has a guilty pleasure, and Hermione was no exception. But if anybody ever knew that she read those kinds of paperback novels, she would never hear the end of it.
Startled as she was, she still lit up with a smile when she identified the bird.
"Hedwig! What are you doing here? It's not even a full day and you're already delivering letters? Has something happened?" she chatted happily, and bent over to retrieve the book, placing it on the table. Cover facing down, naturally. Her face still flushed from the intense chapter she had read; She sat and looked at the owl again.
The owl in question just hooted once more, and lifted her leg even higher, wiggling it a bit. Hermione finally got the hint and soon Hedwig could stand on both legs again, but still looked at Hermione expectantly. If she had been able to, Hedwig would have tapped one of her claws impatiently.
Hermione eyed the owl for a minute before cottoning on. "Oh, silly me, of course, you're hungry and probably waiting for a reply. Wait here; I'll get you something," she said, and rushed into the house to find some food and a dish.
After Hedwig was given some spare sausage and water, the letter was finally opened and examined by Hermione. She then took a short break and read it again. And then, a third time. Somehow, that letter could have been straight out of one of her beloved secret novels.
Dear Hermione,
I know I haven't always treated you as well as I should have, but still, you are the one person I trust the most. I am sorry for not being able to protect you at the Ministry, and hope that you are still talking to me in spite of all the mess I've caused.
There are some things I haven't had time to tell you, most of all because I had to understand them first. These things are important, and I had to make some decisions because of them. That's why I was so unbearable for the last few days. If you knew what I know now, you'd understand.
Right now, I am on the run from the Order, and I have no one to turn to. I am keeping in motion, so that they can't track me, but I can't keep on running forever. I think I saw some glimpses of Order members when I had to change buses on my way to London.
I can't tell you where I am right now, but I am fine. Please, don't tell anyone you had contact with me, especially not the Leader of the Order. I know I am asking too much, but please trust me.
Please get to Kensington on the circle as fast as possible. Don't get on; just wait on the platform by the car nearest to the entry. I'll find you there, and will look for you all day. If you can't make it, please take care of Hedwig. I told her to stay with you until I can get her.
Your friend,
Harry
"Asking too much is spot on" she grumbled to herself. Still, he was her friend, and he seemed desperate. Not to mention that all that cloak and dagger stuff, as much as she seemingly opposed it in school, was her secret fancy. Why else would she always be right in the middle of it? She just didn't want anybody to know how much she liked it. Also, if someone like Harry asked for help, how could she not obey?
While she still was musing about how paperback-like this entire thing was, another part of her brain was already making plans and lists and checking data on how to help her friend. Getting to London was easy. She would ride her bike or better, take a bus to High Barnet station and ride the tube down to London, but first, she should call her mother at the practice.
That was a bit away from Kensington station, but they could get there and get a ride back home, if it took longer. Anyway, her parents would get mad at her if she didn't call them about going to London.
She quickly dressed in her best jeans and one of her nicest shirts. It was a bit snug in places and dipped a little low, but Hermione had found it made her feel just a little bit sexier than her normal jumpers and zip-ups that she wore. After said quick call to her mother, she was out the door and on her way.
Something in the back of her mind was chastising her for not wearing a dress, like all the girls in such novels tended to wear, or at least a skirt, but her rational mind didn't fancy getting ogled by everyone all the way to London. She didn't think of herself as a stunning beauty, but sitting on the tube with a short skirt while alone was a sure way of getting unwanted attention.
'Not to mention the stuff that might be on the seats. Better some fabric between me and that.'
Near six p.m., and a long ride later, she was standing on the requested platform and watching the people come and go. The entire ride, she was in a kind of daze, the half-read novel still in her mind, with Harry's plight filtering into it. Just ten minutes into the ride she had started to use Harry to visualize the book's hero, and of course, she had taken the role of the heroine.
Yes, she was daydreaming, but hey, she was sixteen!
Of course, she knew it was irrational to want the Hero's portrayed in dime-novels that she bought from the grocers but like most girls, she couldn't let the dream of the perfect man go. Someone who was brave, who had a tragic past, who overcame so many obstacles, someone who had so much fame he could have his pick of women, yet would always choose her. He also had to be humble, kind and above all honest with her. She knew this man was entirely unrealistic.
At least it was not like her embarrassing crush on Lockhart, of all people, she reminisced. Lockhart had been so fitting for her fantasies, dashing and good looking, but then he turned out to be a fraud. She never forgave him for that. She always wanted a hero, just like in her books.
Now Dumbledore was a real hero, but much too old. No amount of fantasy could make HIM attractive enough for a teenage girl.
Ok, Harry might fit. Sometimes, he showed a glimpse of the man he could be. Most of the time, though, he was a rather shy guy, she thought with a sigh. She could never stay with someone who didn't stand up to her. She wanted someone she could look up to - or at least at eye-level. Either way, that point was moot unless he finally noticed her as a girl, which wouldn't happen, anyway.
Of course, that thought caused her to reflect on her body and exactly what was at fault for not being attractive. Being a girl - and Hermione - she had an alphabetized index of her perceived imperfections.
Being that deep in thought, she nearly didn't notice her friend when the next train stopped. All the people rushed out and in, and at the last moment, he stepped off the train and stood in front of her. She had him in a hug before he could even say a word.
When she noticed that he held her only with one hand, her eyes fell on his trunk beside him.
"That bad?" was all she said.
"Worse. Please, let's get going; If we stay to long, we'll get visitors. Follow me," he answered, and was already in motion when he suddenly stopped once again. He turned to her and hugged her again, this time dropping his trunk and nearly crushing her.
"Thank you for coming. You're the only one I could trust. My smartest and prettiest friend." he whispered into her ear, not knowing what he did to her already primed subconscious. Pictures of hopes - long forgotten hopes - surged out of the depths of her mind to which she had banished them. Her mind went into overdrive.
'Did he just call me pretty? He hugged me - he never does that! Does this mean anything? Could it?'
In a daze, she followed him as he led her onto the street, bought some bus tickets, and helped her in. They sat in the back, while most of the people, their clothes outing them as tourists, were upstairs.
Roused from her trance by the jostling of the starting bus, she started in on him the instant they sat down.
"OK, Mr. Mysterious, what happened? Why did you run away? Why are you running from the Order? Why can't we go to Dumbledore? Is it about Sirius? Did you have a vision? Tell me!" She said, getting faster and louder with every question. She nearly shrieked at the end.
Of course, she noticed that Harry was closing up as soon as she asked the first question. He always reacted that way when put under pressure. Ron just ignored her or snapped back, but Harry shut down completely, and then gave in after a few minutes.
But this time it was different. Half way into lock down, his expression changed, and his face opened up again.
"Hermione, please, shut up for a moment and let me explain."
For a few seconds, she gaped at Harry. Normally, he caved in as soon as she started in on him, but now he had just cut her off. Harry was taking control? What happened?
Harry took a deep breath, and began to explain.
"Sorry for being rude, but I had to stop you. I don't know why, but every time you start in on me like that, I just freeze up inside. Sorry, but I can't stand it when you get like that. It's not against you, it... it... it's just that it reminds me of…" he started, but his words got stuck half way out and his eyes locked onto his shoes as he went silent.
To the world, he seemed to brood over something, but to Hermione it was obvious that he was fighting tears.
It was then, that Hermione finally noticed his face for the first time. Or better, the big bruise on his left cheek, and the split lip. She gasped as the implication hit her. She knew that there was only one place where he could have gotten it, since she last saw him with his family.
"Your uncle did that, didn't he?" she said softly, indicating his cheek.
He just nodded, still with a sad expression on his face, but now there was something more: A glint of anger firmly held in check.
She knew that he wouldn't want to talk about it right now, and tried to steer back on topic. He had said she reminded him of something, and that memory caused him to shut down on her. She had a suspicion she didn't like - not one bit - but she had to ask.
"Do I remind you of him?" she asked, her voice tentative and quiet.
Harry's head flew up, his eyes wide. "NO! Not my uncle! Never him!" he yelped, his eyes wide in panic.
"Of whom then?"
You could see in his face that he didn't want to tell her, but still, he knew she deserved an answer. His answer made her recoil and gasp into her hands.
"My aunt," he whispered, nearly too softly to hear. "She always has that tone when she talks to me. Always nagging, as if all I do is wrong. Always more work to do. And you have the same way of talking when you get that way. I'm sorry. I know you're usually right, but I just can't get her out of my mind when you talk like that. I am so sorry." He was close to tears when he finished, and dropped his head into his hands, hiding his face.
Hermione was shocked. She sometimes reminded him of a person he hates? Immediately, her mind began analysing their history. And to her shame, she found he was right.
When they talked, she usually nagged or bullied, and most of the times she tried to make him do some work. Did he slack a bit with his homework? Yes, but it was only logical that he did enjoy having a little spare time, given that all he did as child was chores. Yes, Hermione considered learning to be great fun, but she knew that she stood alone in that opinion.
Back in fourth year, Ron left him, leaving her as his only companion. And what did she do with him? Read books in the library. Did she ever play a game with him? Or just take a walk and talk with him? No, she just urged him on to work more. That was to keep him alive, it's true, but it wouldn't have killed them if she had granted them a short reprieve and some fun now and then, to relieve the pressure he was under.
At that moment, Hermione realized that she had no clue how to be a real friend. She knew Harry better than anybody, but she didn't ever take the time to really get to know him. His hopes, his dreams, his fears, all that stuff. And now he sat there, worried about having hurt her - his friend, the one person he turned to when he didn't know where to go. She always wondered why he never noticed her 'that way'. Now she knew: Her thrice-dammed nagging! She could curse herself! But that could wait. Now, she must make things right!
Slowly, she reached out, touched his hands, and then retreated, waiting for him to look at her. When he finally turned to face her, he saw her teary eyes and opened his mouth to apologise again, but she stopped him with her free hand, placing her index finger on his lips. "Don't. I have to apologise, too. I haven't been that good a friend, I know."
At this, he tried to retort, but she hushed him with a smile and a shake of her head.
"Yes, I have been there for you, but I always egged you on. I knew you were always working at home and never had any spare time. Still, every time you relaxed, I nagged you to work. I never really did anything resembling fun with you, and frankly, I don't know how to. I know it's no excuse, but I grew up alone, without friends, and along the way, I guess I forgot how to have fun. Thank you for making me realize that; I promise to do better," she pledged, willing him to understand she would change. For him.
"I'll even write it into my study schedule," she added with a small smile, "5 o'clock - spontaneous fun." Harry's snort showed her shot for levity had hit, so she continued, trying to keep her voice calm and warm. "As much as I hate to go back on topic, I fear we have to. Will you please tell me what happened?"
He nodded, took a deep breath, and shot her that lopsided smile that was the number one topic in every girl's loo and dorm at Hogwarts. Well, number two actually, but most girls didn't comment on the rest his body much when Hermione was around to hear.
"Thank you, it's easier if you ask that way. You remember that the Order had a chat with Vernon at the platform?"
Naturally she did, having been a part of the group that had accosted Vernon. After her confirming nod, he continued, while her eyes grew wider and wetter at his words.
"It backfired. I was not even through the door when he hit me. Full power and right in the face. It nearly threw me into the wall. And he would still be hitting me right now - I can read him well enough to know how much will follow. I had to do something."
"So you ran away?"
"No, I hit him back."
Immediately, she sat up straight. "You what?" she yelled at him, but quickly quieted as he cringed. Her face immediately showed her remorse. "Sorry! You surprised me. Please continue."
When Harry started to tell her, it was as though a dam had burst. First, he recounted the latest events, then his treatment at the hands of the Dursleys over the years: all the ridicule, his incarceration under the stairs, and the beatings. It was like all that pressure heaped upon had reached a critical point and he was unable to confine it anymore; it made him spill out his deepest secrets. Once he had started to confide in her, he was simply unable to stop, not even noticing that he had been talking for nearly an hour.
He told her about his conclusion about the Ministry's fight and his decision to fight fire with fire, calling it the 'grey' approach, and finished his purge with his theory of the mighty puppeteer in the castle orchestrating all this events for some reason, then fell silent. Hermione sat silent, too, worrying her lower lip. Harry was too exhausted by then to do anything resembling even a slight panic, so he just sat and watched her think.
"So you think Professor Dumbledore set you up all the time?" She asked.
Harry sighed. "I do think so. He placed me with the Dursleys and left me there without ever looking after me. And remember first year, he used the Mirror of Erised to hide the Philosopher's Stone in. The mirror he knew I had seen; which he placed down there after I had found it. I'm not sure anymore if he hasn't somehow made me stumble across it. Then those traps - they were easily beaten by first-years. And what did he say to you when you went to get him while I was down there?"
Hermione leaned her head to the left as she tried to remember that specific incident. It was so long ago, but she could still remember it clearly. Yes, she remembered that she had run into Dumbledore shortly after leaving Fluffy's room. In fact, it seemed like he was heading there already.
Harry nearly laughed out loud as her eyes bulged out of her head when she finally recalled the words.
"He knew where you were, and who was with you! He knew Voldemort would be there!" she cried, horrified at the implications.
"And in second year, he knows everything going on in the castle, but he doesn't notice a truck-sized snake? What about the teachers he hires? Binns is dead, Quirrell had Voldemort attached to his head, Lockhart was a fraud, Moody was a disguised Death Eater, Umbitch tortured students, and the Muggle Studies teacher is said to be a pureblood that has never even seen a muggle let alone met one." Harry rattled off names, the pile of Dumbledore's more obvious mistakes getting higher with each name he uttered.
"You know, he was not really in any position to deal with Umbridge," Hermione interjected half-hearted.
"Maybe, but he could have intervened, at least. Those quills have been outlawed for centuries. Or Snape - I could get crucio-ed by Malfoy under his nose and he would probably give me detention and dock points for screaming in the hallways. Dumbledore never did anything to rein in Snape - nor the Death Nibblers he grooms." Harry spat in disgust before taking a deep breath and soldiering on, his head hung low in sadness.
"But that's nothing compared to what I know now. He knew that prophecy. He told me the content. It says that I am destined to fight the Dark Lord. One of us will have to kill the other, or neither of us will be able to live. But still, he sent me to the Dursleys'. No training, just hiding me away. That's why I lived in a cupboard for years. It's all because of him!" Harry had actually yelled the last word, and started to sob again.
He jerked back upright as he heard her gasp, just in time to be embraced by her arms and squeezed tightly. At first he stiffened, as he never really knew how to deal with human touch, but it wasn't at all like a Molly-hug. The Weasley matron's hugs were restricting, incarcerating, and stifling. This was different. It was more... mutual was the word that came to mind. It gave him the feeling that she clung to him for her comfort as much as for his. It was a mere offer of comfort to draw from the hug, while Molly's hugs ordered you to be calm, or face the consequences.
While he was experiencing the different kind of hug, Hermione was pondering a question. Well, more like a million of questions, simultaneously, but only a handful of them were present in her conscious mind.
First of all, why did it feel so good to hold him?
That, of course, led to some questions about their friendship, his looks, her looks, their friends, their ancestry, and families. That train of thought was rapidly quelled, and other thoughts battled for dominance.
Right now, the finale was between 'Did the Headmaster really set him up for all those things? And why did Dumbledore do all this to him?' and 'How can I help him?'
She threw first question back into the depths of her mind as she felt Harry relaxing into her hug. She trusted him, and that was all it took to take his side of the fence. But how could she help him? He said Order members were following him, so they must have a tracking charm on him, but which one was it? She was in dire need of more input.
"Harry? I want to help you. Please, tell me about you being followed. How did that happen?"
"Whenever I stand still for a few minutes, they appear. They must have a tracking charm on me or something."
Hermione shook her head. "Impossible. Those do not work that way. They would give them a direction, but no means to pinpoint you precisely enough for Apparition or a Portkey. If they had a Blood Trace on you, it might work, but no one in the Order would stoop so low as to dabble in blood magic. That's borderline dark and…" Her lecture died down as she saw a speck of recognition in Harry's eyes.
"Dumbledore does. He knows blood magic." Harry replied. He remembered Dumbledore say that his protections were based on his blood. But right now, he didn't like Hermione's facial expression. She looked like she had bitten into a lemon, and a mouldy one at that. No, he did not like her expression at all.
"That's bad, isn't it?" Harry had to know, although he didn't want to.
Hermione shook her head and frowned. "Not that bad, it's just so unexpected that someone like Dumbledore would dabble in such an art. God damn it! We'll have to do the same if we want to counter it if he has."
While Harry still stared at her for cursing out loud, she quickly glanced around in the bus and read the tour plan. "OK, do you trust me on this?" she asked, and continued with a smile after he looked at her as if she were daft for questioning that and had only nodded in reply.
"The next stop that's good for us is in about in about 5 minutes. I'll get us to my mum's office and she'll drive us home, but first, I'll have to call her. Do what I say, and we'll be able to end that trace without casting any spells, okay?"