A/N: I don't know how clear I was when I was describing the outfit that Alfirin was (and later Harry will be) wearing. If you've seen Mortal Kombat, and you can remember what Sub-Zero, Scorpion and Reptile's costumes looked like; Alfirin's clothes were like that. Just without the hood and mask or the arm and leg guards. I didn't realize that was what I was picturing until I put MK in my DVD player and saw them come on screen.
Also, I will probably not be replying to a lot of my reviews. Rest assured that I do appreciate them greatly, but it irks me when I see a chapter that looks like it's going to be really long, and half of it is responses to reviews. So, from now on, if I have something really important to say, I'll say it before the chapter starts.
Chapter 3: Actions and Reactions
One big drawback to having all of these new abilities was that Harry couldn't use them. Once he used any kind of magic, the Ministry would be all over him, trying to expel him again. While the truth of Voldemort's return was now out in the open, Harry wasn't by any means exempted from the laws, even if he was back in just about everyone's good graces.
So, the first thing he would have to do would be to find out how to do magic without the Ministry knowing about it. Harry had been putting a lot of thought into using his newly acquired knowledge since getting the letters from his friends the day before, but he was still pondering how to go about doing it without getting caught. For the last few hours, since he had awoken at dawn, Harry had sat cross-legged on his bed, trying to figure out how to get away with doing magic.
The major problem, Harry thought, isn't actually getting around the Ministry of Magic, but keeping a low profile outside of Hogwarts. People are going to notice if I start doing things that require magic during the summer, especially before my seventeenth birthday.
Coming of age for magical people was rather different than it was for simple Muggles. A wizard or witch sends out signals, a kind of magical resonance, during childhood, which is how the Ministry finds Muggle-born wizards and witches. It is also how the Ministry knows when people who are underage are using magic outside of school.
That's also how Dumbledore's Age Line worked in fourth year. Even though Fred and George had aged their bodies, their resonances were still in place. They couldn't hide that.
But Harry could.
It was a simple matter, really. He couldn't simply cut off his resonance, since those who were monitoring at the Ministry would think he was dead. What he could do was to freeze his resonance, as it were, so that it wouldn't register any magic being done by him while he was outside of school. It was sort of like making a security camera freeze the image when the room was clear, so that anyone entering the room wouldn't be seen by those watching the monitors. All they would see would be the empty room.
And all the Ministry will detect is a sixteen year old following the laws, not doing any magic.
Harry closed his eyes and breathed deeply, focusing inward. One thing that he had discovered upon awakening that morning was that he could actually see the magic around him if he focused enough. All he had been trying to do was figure out the best way to get around the Ministry's rules about underage magic, and WHAM! he could see the magical eddies flowing through his room.
Now, he was using this skill to locate and observe his own magical resonance. Within a few minutes he had found it. Watching it closely, Harry saw the pattern that his resonance had and quickly set to work on a way to project the same harmonics no matter what he was doing. It wasn't long until he had worked up a way to mask his true resonance with a facsimile. Now, no matter what he did, the Ministry would remain unaware.
Standing up and stretching, Harry looked around his room trying to decide what he wanted to do with his newly acquired freedom. Looking over at his cupboard, he noticed that aside from the clothes he had transfigured the day before, all of his hand-me-downs from Dudley were just as threadbare. Looking at his large collection of oversized clothes, Harry smiled and got to work.
About a half hour later, Harry stood in front of his cupboard looking at his new wardrobe. Shirts, both short- and long-sleeved, slacks that actually fit, and a couple of jackets (leather and dragon hide), nearly all of it in various shades of black or white.
After all of this was done, Harry remembered the appointment he had later in the day - with Dr. Ortega. Before he had come back to the Dursley's, Harry had taken out enough money to pay for a 'rather simple operation.' Laser eye surgery was supposed to be safe, easy and very effective. Harry just hoped that it would work.
Slipping on a long-sleeved black silk shirt and matching slacks, Harry got out the leather trench coat that he had just made and put it on. It was unseasonably cold in Surrey that day, and Harry didn't want to freeze to death on the way to the doctor.
Thundering down the stairs and heading out the door, he threw a casual, "See you in a few hours," to his relatives, who were standing in the kitchen with their mouths agape.
Trotting down the street to the bus stop, Harry sighed for what had to be the hundredth time that day. His enthusiasm for having his new abilities was severely hampered by his deepening depression resulting from Hermione's news. He would have been lying to himself if he said that he just thought of her as a friend, and that he was glad that Ron had finally got the nerve to ask her out. At that last thought, Harry snorted in self-disgust as he got up to board the arriving bus.
If Hermione is happy, then I should be too. She's with who she wants to be with, and being selfish about this will only end up hurting everybody.
No matter how disappointed Harry was, he would do nothing to try to hurt his best friends. Not Ron and not Hermione. Definitely not Hermione.
But why does it always have to be me that gets hurt?
Watching the passing cars and buildings, Harry snorted again. That thought was just as uncharitable as the ones deriding Hermione's and Ron's budding relationship. Harry was not by far the only one to suffer. And it would be best not to forget that.
The ride into London didn't take nearly as long as Harry had thought it would, and soon he found himself standing outside the offices of Dr. Gregory Ortega, runner of the finest laser eye surgery clinic in the greater London area. Today, Harry was going to get rid of those god-awful glasses, once and for-all.
A little over an hour later, Harry walked out of Ortega's office, eyes hidden behind stylish shades. The good doctor had told him that he had to wear the glasses for at least a couple of days, just until his eyes recovered. Afterwards, his brilliantly green eyes would have to hide behind corrective - or protective - lens no longer.
Deciding to stop at a deli to have lunch before returning to the Dursley's, Harry turned right upon exiting the clinic and headed down toward the little Italian place he'd seen coming to the doctor's.
The deli had a warm, comfortable atmosphere to it that just begged a customer to come in and stay a while. The large man behind the counter wore a constant smile, making him look much younger than he actually was. Harry liked the place immediately.
Walking up to the counter, he smiled and ordered a sub sandwich and a bottle of water. Paying the man, he turned around and found a nice, quiet corner to sit in and observe the other patrons as he ate.
Other than himself, there were only a handful of other people in the deli. There was a young woman who was glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, taking in his attire and physique admiringly. Blushing a tad bit, Harry gave her a nod to tell her he saw and her cheeks quickly turned red as she turned back to her meal.
At a table against the wall, a young man sat fidgeting with his lighter. He looked like a punk, with his hair spiked up, studded collar and black eyeliner. Something about him seemed off to Harry, and the man gave him an eerie feeling.
The two remaining customers were sitting at a table together, heads bent down in whispered conversation. They were an older couple, easily in their late thirties or early forties, and they looked strangely familiar to Harry. For the life of him though, he couldn't place their faces.
As he was finishing his meal, the 'young punk' stood up and walked up to the counter, putting his hand into his coat while doing so. Uh oh, this isn't looking good…
The man pulled out a large knife, the blade alone at least eight inches long, and grabbed the man behind the counter, screaming, "Give me all the money in the till, or I'll slit your goddamn throat!"
The couple and the lone woman froze, as did the deli owner. It was rather obvious that this man was deadly serious about what he was doing. "All right son, don't do anything rash…" the old man began, only to have his younger assailant growl and haul him over the counter, throwing him to the floor.
The other diners gasped and scooted away from the counter, trying to distance themselves from the robber. Harry, on the other hand, stood up silently, moving towards the downed shop owner. Standing over the older man, Harry held out his hand, helping him up. Before the man could approach his attacker, Harry blocked him and said, "Let me handle this sir."
By this time, the perpetrator had cleaned out the till and was coming back around the counter. Before he could get up to a full run for the door, Harry was in his way. Snarling, the robber stabbed out with his knife, trying to run Harry through as he ran. Smiling, Harry spun on his left foot, taking him out of the line the knife was traveling down, and bringing him to the side of the crook as he passed. As he was completing his full turn, Harry snapped his right arm out and gave a sharp blow to the back of the crook's neck with his fully extended hand.
"Urk!" the robber gasped as Harry's blow landed, forcing him along the path he had been running. Unfortunately, his feet were no longer under him, and he couldn't stop before he hit the glass door to the deli.
Crash!
The glass exploded outwards onto the sidewalk, raining down on the crook. Once he hit the concrete, the robber didn't move again: he was either unconscious or dead, considering the odd way his head was angled. Stepping over the frame of the door, Harry checked the man he had just incapacitated.
The man was breathing shallowly, and his neck wasn't broken. Standing up and looking back to the people inside the deli, all of whom were staring at him mouths agape, he said, "Sorry about the door."
Not wishing to stay for the police and gathering crowd, he turned around and with his coat billowing out behind him he walked away. About three blocks later, he entered a dark alley and leaned up against a wall, sighing heavily.
Great, Harry, just great. Alone for barely a day and you're playing the superhero. Why don't you just take out an ad in the Daily Prophet, telling Voldemort and his cronies what you can do?
Harry was jerked out of his reverie by the sounds of police sirens in the distance. He was about to try Apparating back to the Dursley's when he thought of something else that he'd wanted to do since his first class of Transfiguration: transform into an animal.
Smiling, Harry concentrated on Human transformations, his newfound powers bringing up everything necessary to become an Animagus. Basically, with enough control, anyone could become an animal, but the skill was so rarely needed in everyday life that most people chose not to even attempt it. That's not to say that it is easy to do, far from it, but it's not impossible either.
In fact, the only reason most people only choose one animal form, such as Professor McGonagall and her cat form or Rita Skeeter and her beetle form, is that everyone has an animal that they have a natural affinity and bond with. These animals are easier to turn into for an Animagus, thus cutting the effort required down considerably.
Of course, with all of Harry's abilities and powers, it really wasn't any effort at all. He was surprised upon looking inside of himself and finding that his animal wasn't normal by any means. He had thought he would be something that flew, given his love of flying, and he wasn't wrong. He had even entertained the notion that he would be bonded with a phoenix, considering the powers he had always displayed and the title he now held, but what he could 'naturally' become, as it were, was even rarer than the ancient bird of flame.
In fact, in all of his extensive knowledge, Harry could find no other case where a wizard or witch had a connection to the animal that he saw within himself. When he saw it in all its glory, his eyes grew wide with shock and disbelief.
"Whoa…" he said, slightly breathless with his newest discovery of his abilities, "Now is definitely not the time to turn into that!"
Flying back to the Dursley's was one thing. Causing a panic in the population of greater London while doing it was something else entirely.
Shaking his head, Harry thought about what kind of bird would not be too conspicuous to use for his first ever broom-less flight. Flitting through about 300 different possibilities in his mind's eye, Harry stopped on one that looked like it had the potential to be lots of fun.
It wasn't too big, but it had a diving speed that approached 322 kilometers an hour - the Peregrine Falcon. Harry smiled and set about making his inaugural Animagus transformation.
With the knowledge of the Mantle, the transformation was actually quite easy to accomplish. It was a tad disconcerting to feel his bones crunching and twisting, and his internal organs moving about or disappearing altogether. It was nowhere near as painful as it could be. Thinking back to the creature that he already had a connection to, he shivered at the thought of how painful it would be to change into that.
Within the span of a few seconds, a Peregrine stood where a young man once did. With a rebellious screech, it took flight, dancing an intricate ballet through the sky. If someone could have seen its peculiarly green eyes, they would have seen unadulterated joy.
An hour later, a falcon glided elegantly into the smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive, landing lightly on the dilapidated mattress. Hedwig, startled by the appearance of the bird of prey, hooted loudly and puffed up, trying to frighten off the brash intruder.
A few seconds later, her master sat where the falcon had been. Even more surprised, Hedwig actually fell off of her perch into her water bowl. Upon seeing this, Harry burst out laughing, which increased the snowy owl's ire. Snapping her beak at him, she turned her head in a dignified manner towards the window - or at least as dignified a manner as is possible when dripping wet and ruffled.
Still chortling, Harry made his way downstairs to begin dinner for the Dursley's. After all, there was no reason to make them suspect that he was any different. Besides, he had plans for them the day after tomorrow before he left, and he needed them to be off their guard when it happened.
The rest of the day, and the one after, passed without incident, giving Harry more time to practice the 'prank' he would pull on his relatives and the further explore what he was capable of. In fact, he was currently experimenting with memory extracts and charms, and how to give them to people, to make them experience memories.
Of course, the Dursleys just thought that he was making breakfast as usual.
Smiling, Harry looked at the clock on the counter. The others would be there to pick him up in about half an hour. Just enough time to put his plan into motion.
For Dudley, he'd prepared a Belgian waffle meal laced with memories of being chased and beaten up. For Petunia, French toast with memories of being locked in the cupboard and verbal abuse. Uncle Vernon got the Brioche smothered in marmalade, laced with memories of beatings and daily humiliations.
The true source of pride for Harry with his creations would be that instead of being observers in these memories, his relatives would actually relive all of the horrible things they'd done to him - from his point of view, with his emotions and their own.
Some people might consider this a tad cruel, but so was knocking a four year old to the ground because he woke you up to seek comfort during a thunderstorm. With a savage grin on his face, Harry put the final touches on the various dishes and set them out on the table. Just as the Dursleys came downstairs, Harry excused himself and went upstairs to get ready for the arrival of his real family.
Half an hour later, on the dot, the door bell rang. His trunk and Hedwig's cage already downstairs, Harry excitedly opened the front door to greet his friends. He wasn't prepared for what came next.
Before he could do anything, he was blinded by a wall of brown hair. He would have shouted his surprise, but the bear hug he'd found himself in made that all but impossible. It wasn't until he'd caught the familiar scent of lilacs and honeysuckle that he realized who was trying to crush him to death.
"Hermione, didn't you get enough of trying to suffocate him last summer?" Ron's voice chided from somewhere beyond the forest of brown curls. Finally taking her arms from around Harry, Hermione stepped back to stand next to Ron at the doorstep, blushing and stammering, "I-I'm sorry, H-Harry, I didn't…"
Harry realized that Hermione's eyes had widened substantially, as had Ron's, Remus', Tonks' and Mad-Eye's. Not knowing what to make of their odd behavior, Harry shifted from foot to foot and asked, "What?"
What he obviously hadn't noticed was obvious to his friends: Harry had definitely changed in the last week and a half. It seemed almost impossible that someone could grow that much and put on that much mass in just under ten days, but the proof was standing self-consciously in front of them.
Wait a minute, Hermione thought, since when does Harry not need glasses? And when did he get so… muscular?
Hermione had blushed quite a bit when stepping away from Harry for two reasons: the first was, she'd acted rather silly in greeting a friend she had seen not two weeks ago and the second was that Harry had most definitely matured physically in that time. Gone was the small, skinny, knobby kneed boy who hid enchanting emerald eyes behind round spectacles. In his place was a tall, well toned young man whose gorgeous eyes were unfettered, allowing everyone to drown in those green pools.
Harry, who was easily Ron's height now, looked questioningly at the five wizards and witches gathered on his stoop, goggling at him. It was a few seconds before Tonks said what was on all their minds, especially Hermione's.
"Bloody Hell! Lookin' good there Harry! You been working out?"
Looking down at himself, Harry's head shot up and he blushed furiously, "Uh…well, that is say…um…"
"Well," Moody interrupted, "We'd better be off. It's not safe to be seen out in the open like this."
Nodding, Harry handed Hedwig's cage to Ron and picked up his trunk, not noticing the raised eyebrows behind him as he did so. Closing the door behind him, Harry followed them to the car parked at the curb.
Upon opening the boot, Harry saw that the area had been magically enlarged to accommodate his luggage with Hermione's and Ron's. After placing his trunk in the only available space, Harry slammed the boot shut and got in the back seat. Ron was sitting next to a window and Hermione was sitting in the middle, with Harry taking the last seat in the back. Remus and Tonks were up front, with Tonks driving, as she was the only adult there that came from an at least part-muggle home.
Throughout the entire trip, which lasted nearly two hours since they were stuck on the ground, Harry had to endure both seeing Hermione and Ron behaving like a happy new couple and the constant small talk from the front. It wasn't until they were turning onto Grimmauld Place that Remus broached the subject of the attack on Harry.
"I still can't believe you managed to capture Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry. You know, with her testimony - under Veritaserum, or course - we can get Sirius' name cleared. After his name is cleared, we can have a memorial for him, if you want."
"Wait a minute," Hermione interrupted, "When did you capture Lestrange, Harry?"
Furrowing his eyebrows, Harry looked at Remus and Tonks, both of whom looked as if they'd just done something incredibly stupid. Looking back at his two friends, Harry saw that they were looking at him in confusion, obviously wanting to know what was going on.
"No one told you anything?" he said.
"No, mate. What are they talking about?" Ron said.
Not knowing if they were serious or not, Harry looked to Hermione, trying to see if they were putting him on or something. All he saw in her mocha eyes was concern, and a little bit of hurt. For what, he had no idea.
Sighing, Harry went through the story he'd told the Aurors after he'd returned from the platform, obviously leaving out any mention of Alfirin and the Phoenix Mantle. Harry couldn't be sure, but he had a feeling that Ron would probably have a repeat of his little spat from fourth year if he found out that Harry was now the holder of the greatest power in the world. Then he was mad about being overshadowed by a school champion. What would he do if he learned I was the champion of all that's good?
As he finished his story, Ron and Hermione both sat there with their mouths agape. "Bloody Hell Harry!" Ron began, "That's incredible! Why didn't you lot tell us anything?" The last part he directed towards Remus and Tonks, both of whom looked like the world was going to come to an end.
"Dumbledore instructed us not to tell you anything, since Harry wasn't hurt. He didn't want to worry you needlessly. Besides, there were some things that he wanted to discuss with Harry before you knew anything." Tonks said as she opened the boot of the car, helping them get their trunks out. Ron immediately grabbed his and walked inside, shaking his head at his best friend's lack of even a week of peace.
Hermione, looking after him, sighed and grabbed her trunk as well, before Harry said, "Here, Hermione, let me get that." Before she could say anything, Harry grabbed her trunk and placed it on top of his own, then picked both up with little difficulty.
As he was walking back into the house behind Tonks and Remus, Hermione stood in shock; she'd packed all of her things in that trunk, and it weighed at least 100 kilos. She'd hoped that Ron would have helped her with it, but he was obviously preoccupied with something.
Probably dinner, she thought.
Shaking her head, Hermione made her way into Order Headquarters, trying to figure out why she felt so hurt that Harry hadn't told her about the attack, and why she was reacting so strangely to his presence.