After reading many of the reviews I have decided to go ahead and catch you all up to the point where I'm still writing this story. I have over 110 pages done...this post will put you somewhere around page 27. So after I spoil you with frequent updates - and you catch up, you'll be in the same sad shape as everyone else in waiting for new chapters. Needless to say this story takes a lot out of me to write, it's exhausting, but I've been very happy with the results. I hope that you continue to enjoy the story as it unfolds.
Vicarious Leigh
Chapter 3 - Coming of Age
"Harry. Harry! Wake up!" Harry heard the voice calling him to wake up, but as he had experienced several times over the past few days, he couldn't see the individual rousing him. He couldn't see anything but a burning bright light. His eyes were watering. His scar was searing, and he was gasping for air.
"What's the matter with him?" a mocking voice issued from somewhere across the room.
"Dudley, get back to your room and finish cleaning it up." It was Aunt Petunia's voice. What was Aunt Petunia doing in his room? Furthermore, why did she seem to be taking an interest in his condition? The pure shock of the situation caused Harry to force the pain from his mind and clear his vision. Blinking the wetness from his eyes, he looked up to his Aunt. She was grasping his shoulders in her bony fingers and helping to steady him.
"What's going on?" Harry asked skeptically.
"That's what I'd like to ask you. You've been having bad dreams again and keep muttering something about daytime and a man." Petunia said shortly.
"Daytime and a man? What does that mean?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused.
"I don't have any idea, you just keep talking about a day and a man!" Petunia said, obviously flustered.
"A day and a man?" Harry muttered to himself. "That doesn't make sense."
Clearly, it was time to get some answers. He needed to send an owl. As he thought of whom he would contact Dudley's voice broke his tentative concentration like an elephant flopping into a hammock.
"How should we know what you blubber on about in all those freaky dreams of yours Potter!" Dudley chided from the same spot he'd not bothered to vacate when Petunia ordered him to his room.
Harry's glare was enough to make him comply with Petunia's directions without further prompting. Dudley shot from the doorway and scuffled down the hall for the safety of his own bedroom. Harry looked back at his aunt and decided it was time to have that conversation he'd discussed with Hermione.
"Aunt Petu…" he began quietly.
"It's time for you to make breakfast. We're getting hungry," she said as she let go of Harry and rose from the bed. "I assume you've not forgotten about your chores," she added without looking back at him as she left the room and headed down the stairs.
Harry sat on the bed, looking toward the open doorway, wondering sarcastically, how in the name of Merlin he could've forgotten about his chores. Petunia seemed to make a daily mission of reminding him what needed to be done around the house. Absentmindedly rubbing the dulling pain from his scar, he muttered to himself, "happy Birthday, Harry."
It was Harry's birthday. He looked up at the pair of owls still napping in Hedwig's cage. He lay back down on his bed and pulled the statuette from under his pillow. Hermione's last letter had also contained a gift for Harry. He couldn't help but smile as he watched the small magical statue look back at him and hop onto its hind legs. He re-read the accompanying note for what had to have been the sixteenth time:
Dearest Harry,
I truly hope this birthday gift brings a warm smile to your face, rather than the opposite effect. I saw it while shopping for some new robes in Diagon Alley last week. It had to be yours! It's almost eerie how much this dog-the shopkeeper called it a Newfoundland-looks like Sirius. I had the pedestal engraved. I hope you like it. What's more, I hope you have a wonderful birthday. Every day gone is one less we have to spend apart.
Your fiancé,
Hermione
The gift did have the effect Hermione had hoped for. Harry watched it prance around and scratch its ear for a solid hour after unwrapping it. He had only stopped watching it when Pig careened into the bedroom window and nearly broke his neck. At the time, Harry thought Pig was carrying his birthday gift from Ron. After reading Ron's letter, he wasn't the least bit surprised Ron had either forgotten, or chosen not to acknowledge, Harry's birthday.
Harry thought back to how he left the world when he finally drifted off to sleep the night before. Usually things looked better after a good night's sleep. That wasn't the case this morning. If possible, things looked worse.
"Harry Potter! Get out of that bed and get down here!" Petunia squawked up the stairs. She was clearly unnerved by his lack of progress with breakfast.
"I'm coming," he replied quietly, replacing the engraved "Padfoot" beneath his pillow and reiterating his own birthday wishes to himself. Then he stopped. It was not only his birthday; it was his seventeenth birthday. A sly grin spread broadly across his face and he headed for the kitchen.
***
"My heavens boy," Uncle Vernon snapped as Harry walked into the kitchen, "we're liable to starve in the time it takes to roust you out of bed!"
Harry sidled over to the far corner of the kitchen and leaned against the counter. "I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think starvation is an issue around here," he replied coolly. He maintained a mischievous gaze at Vernon, silently begging him to make the next move.
It wasn't a long wait.
"Well, get to it! What are you waiting for? We're hungry!" Vernon bellowed as his face turned pink.
"No problem, Uncle Vernon," Harry said as he pulled his wand from its perpetual summer residence, the front pocket of his jeans.
With a quick swish and flick toward the stove, the gas burners erupted in blue flame. Harry lazily directed the wand toward the icebox, which snapped open, and several eggs flew across the room. The eggs collided into each other over a pan that magically flew to the burner and the contents of the eggs began to scramble themselves. He watched the Dursley's faces and nearly split his side trying to contain the laughter. He now understood just how tempting it was for Fred and George to use magic for every small chore at Grimmauld Place two summers ago. This was the most fun he'd ever had with the Dursleys. He didn't bother to brace for the response.
Dudley leapt from his chair as if someone connected it to an electrical current. The roll of fat around his middle seemed to circle him like a wave a full thirty seconds after his body had stopped moving - hovering in the corner behind his wisp of a mother. Vernon immediately turned the deepest shade of puce Harry had seen all summer and clamored the necessary air into his lungs to shout properly. Petunia merely stood across the kitchen, dwarfed by her cowering son, staring at him with an unreadable gaze.
"What do you think you're doing Potter! You are not to use that…that…" he was pointing toward the stove and suddenly prodded his sausage-like finger toward Harry's wand, "…THAT in this house!" Harry merely smiled and rolled his wand over the fingers on his right hand. "I suppose we'll all have to duck as another peck of birds comes flocking in from that blasted government of yours!" Vernon added already glancing between the kitchen window and the fireplace.
"Not to worry Uncle Vernon, there won't be any owls from the Ministry," Harry said calmly.
"Oh! Chucked you out already have they? No more need for hearings to judge your delinquency?" Vernon blasted on.
"Nope," Harry retorted quietly, smile never leaving his face. This was too much fun. He thought about how long he'd make Vernon stammer for another sadly malformed thought, but didn't get much opportunity to enjoy the pleasure of Vernon's displeasure for long.
"Today is his seventeenth birthday, Vernon." Petunia said coldly, never removing her glare from Harry's bottle green eyes.
"So what?" Vernon barked.
Harry met his aunt's gaze with an equally determined one. She had never once truly acknowledged his birthday in all the years he could remember. But the scene he'd deliberately set up in the kitchen did allow him the realization that she, in fact, knew July 31 was his birthday. She knew a lot - a lot more than she let on. He knew it before, but now it was his opportunity to make her uncomfortable in her own `home.'
"Yeah, Aunt Petunia, so what? Not that my birthday ever mattered to anyone in this house before," he prompted, eyes never breaking contact with hers.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Petunia conceded the battle and looked away.
"Sure you do. You know a lot," Harry added, walking toward her, wand still dancing across his fingers.
Vernon saved her the trouble of coming up with another lie to cover up what she'd been covering up for over 15 years.
"You get that blasted stick away from her!" Vernon quipped as he stepped between Petunia and his nephew.
"What Aunt Petunia means, Uncle Vernon, is that I'm seventeen now. That's the legal age of adulthood in my world. Hence all those statutes regarding underage sorcery no longer apply. I'm now able to use magic whenever I choose." Harry said, a tone of triumph in his voice, as he continued on. "Of course there are secrecy restrictions about using magic in front of muggles, but you don't qualify so much, given the fact you already…" he purposefully moved to the side to stare at Petunia around the eclipsing effects of her husband, "…know so much about the wizarding world."
"I don't think I care for your tone, Potter," his uncle said maliciously.
"Yeah, well you're not going to care for those eggs much if you don't get over there to stir them. If you'll excuse me I have an owl to send." Harry left a deafening silence in the kitchen as he turned on his heel and left the room. Ordinarily, he would've been terrified of the repercussions such defiance would've brought him. Today, it didn't matter. He gambled that the Dursleys would be so afraid of what he could do that they would have no other self-imposed choice but to let him leave, and make their own breakfast themselves.
He was right.
It was Harry's birthday gift to himself, to imbue just a trifle of the same fear and anxiety in the Dursleys that had permeated his life with them. It was vengeful, it was self-serving, and it felt great! After all, he reasoned, the Sorting Hat did try to put him in Slytherin. With an audible chuckle, he took the stairs two at a time and set off to write the owl he intended to write upon waking that morning.
***
"What's the matter Remus," a soft voice called from somewhere in the distance. Not that he needed to, but he turned to see the unmistakable figure of Nyphandora Tonks coming through the patio door.
"Nothing, just thinking," he replied quietly.
"Liar," Tonks scoffed, only half joking. Remus shot her a scathing glare. "Don't look at me that way Remus, I'm not one of the best Aurors in the business for nothing," Tonks said with a laugh.
"So you think I'm some dark wizard now?" he muttered, looking back toward the tree line where he had lost his thoughts earlier.
"Not at all, but Harry has sent you an owl," Tonks said as she flopped into the lounge chair next to Remus. He looked at her confounded. He'd only received Harry's letter ten minutes prior to this conversation and had not seen anyone in the interim. "Oh, please Remus," Tonks smiled. "It's not that difficult, Hedwig is resting in Pig's cage."
Silence.
"So what did he say?" Tonks pressed on. Remus merely closed his eyes and rested his head on the lounge chair he had intended to occupy alone. However, Tonks had no intention of letting him off without a reply. "Listen Moony, you can either tell me what was in that letter or I'll do it myself. I can tell you're really upset about something and I'd like to help," she added firmly.
Feeling the impending battle he had no desire to fight, Remus pulled a scroll of parchment out of his front pocket and lazily handed it to Tonks. With a relieved smile, she unrolled the letter and sat back in the chair.
Dear Remus,
It's still really strange to call you that. I was programmed entirely too long to call you Professor Lupin. I'm working on it though. I hoped I could talk to you about something. You helped me overcome a lot of fear during my third year; I thought I might benefit from your advice again.
I know that you're aware of mine and Hermione's relationship by now. You may not know the whole story. Last year, she and I forged some magical connection that I can't explain. It was like she was connected to me and thus connected to Voldemort. As soon as I realized it, we began working on Occlumency together. She did very well and I managed to become quite a decent Legilimens in the process. That's where my fear is coming from.
I've been seeing her dreams as I've been keeping "in touch" with her this summer. The latest one is not good. I can't explain why. She is absolutely mortified by the dream -almost to the point of paralysis. It's a man walking down a street, a sinister looking man. He's tall, dark hair, piercing gray eyes…the epitome of evil. Normally, I would only be upset for her. But, there's something more. Whenever I connect to her during this dream, I wake up with a blinding pain in my scar. It happened again this morning. I don't think she has any idea of this and I don't have any intention of telling her that. It would only upset her more.
I don't know what to do. I don't want to tell Dumbledore. Truth be told, I'm angry I'm still here. Hermione needs me, more than ever, and I'm stuck like a rat in a cage. I promised her I'd be with her soon, and I wasn't lying. Please help me figure this out, or figure a way out of here. I'm beyond the point of rational thought right now and I feel like you're all I've got. Sorry to sound so desperate, but I am.
Harry
P.S.-My Aunt said I was talking in my sleep this morning (that's the last time I shared this dream with Hermione). She said I keep talking about a day and a man. But I don't get it, every time she has this dream the man is walking at night. Any thoughts?
"Oh, boy," Tonks said at a whisper.
She glanced up to see Remus staring into her eyes. The pain behind them was obvious and she knew exactly where it was coming from. Remus had fought this battle all summer. It usually transpired between him and Molly Weasley, but every meeting the Order called found the members forced to listen to the same argument. Tonks lost count of the number of times Remus and Molly had this argument. For mere consistency among meetings, Fred and George launched into a rather amusing simulation of this summer-old row the night both Molly and Remus were absent. While the twins' rendition afforded the opportunity laugh, it didn't change the fact Molly and Remus would never see eye to eye.
Remus was under the distinct, and driving, impression that Harry needed to be told the truth. He was seventeen years old. He was an adult. He had been fighting the most evil dark wizard for a solid 6 years (arguably since he was an infant). He deserved to know the truth. What's more, that truth was now threatening more than him, it was threatening the love of his life, and Harry knew it. All the more reason, Lupin argued, to tell Harry what was going on. However, he faced rather fierce opposition from within the order; namely Molly Weasley.
Molly really couldn't help herself. She was a mother first. She saw Harry as a child, not an adult. While she raised so many children herself it was obvious that she didn't want to see any of them grow up. She was having the same issue with Harry, arguably more so. Harry had been in danger all of his life. Molly's natural maternal defenses seemed in overdrive when it affected him. She didn't want Harry to know the truth. She seemed to believe if Harry didn't know the truth, he couldn't be haunted by it. She thought the lack of knowledge on his part would keep him from pulling some (as she dubbed it) "hero-like-Gryffindor-stunt" that would land him in St. Mungo's - or worse. But, for as much as she loved Harry, she didn't really know him, Remus did, and Tonks could see it in his face.
"He doesn't just look like James, he is James," Remus said almost inaudibly. While Tonks was nearly bursting to say something in response, she knew it best to just let Lupin talk. "I've already seen James die for the woman he loves, I will not watch it happen again," he added with quiet determination. Tonks' heart nearly broke as she watched Lupin's eyes glisten in the pale waning moonlight.
"Remus…" she began softly.
"He has to know Tonks, and I'm tired of arguing about it. He's going to fight for her anyway, he needs to know what he's up against. She's already seen him, he's already seen him. He has to know what he's capable of," he interrupted.
"Don't you think we should at least ask Dumble…" Tonks tried again.
Remus glared at Tonks and snapped, "like that's going to do any good! He has been keeping vital information from Harry for two years!" Tonks winced at the implied meaning behind Lupin's words. Inwardly, she thought Remus blamed Dumbledore for Sirius' death. "For Merlin's sake Tonks, look at the damn post script in that letter; a day and a man." Tonks looked back to the last words on the parchment and her eyes widened in shock.
"Damien," she said quietly and closed her eyes, letting her head fall back onto the chair.
"Exactly, and for the record, I'd love to know how Harry knows his name. Merlin knows, no one around here has told him." By this time, Lupin had swung his legs over the end of the lounge chair and planted his head in his hands. Tonks moved to sit beside him and as she softly rubbed her hands across his back, he finished, "I don't care if the Order chucks me out, I'm telling him the truth Tonks."
"I won't ask you if you're sure you want to go through with this Remus," Tonks added, absentmindedly rubbing his back while staring off into the distance.
"Thank you," he replied, relieved he didn't have to fight this fight with her.
"I'll just ask you this," she said, putting a hand under his chin and turning his weary face toward hers. "How can I help?"
It was quite possibly, the first time, all summer, Tonks realized he had teeth.
***
"I'm coming! Can you all learn a little patience please," Ron said as he slopped a bit of water out of the bowl intended for the two owls that were hooting at him incessantly. Pig had darted into his room with the letter he was dreading, and Hedwig followed shortly after. Ron doubted that Harry knew the Order of the Phoenix was meeting at the Burrow. For that reason, he was not at all surprised to see the snowy white owl fly in for a bit of a kip before returning to Little Whinging.
After providing some fresh water and a few owl treats, Ron looked over to the scroll of parchment he had removed from Pig's leg. Not bothering to muffle his sigh, he headed for the writing desk to read Harry's response.
He sat for just a moment, rolling the scroll among his fingers and looked up to Pig, nestling on his perch. "Well, you still have all your feathers; hopefully he's not too mad at me. Guess, I'll chance finding out if I still have a best friend or not," he said worriedly as he broke the seal on the letter.
Dear Ron,
First and foremost, you still have a best friend. I'm not expecting Pig back anytime soon as I'm wondering how long this letter stayed rolled up before you actually mustered the courage to open it.
We need to talk. The talk we need to have does not need to happen by owl post either. I promise it will be my first order of business upon seeing you again. However, before that time comes I just want you to know a few key things.
First-I am in love with Hermione. I know that you know that already, but I want to ensure that you don't think it changes my feelings for you. I know it's always been the three of us, and will always be the three of us. I promise you that.
Second-Along those same lines-you are still, and will always be my best friend. I don't know my life without you Ron, and I don't want to start now.
Third-I am profoundly sorry to have been such an awful friend to you. In retrospect (the Yule Ball being the thing that sticks out the most for me) I never even stopped to consider if you might have feelings for Hermione as well. I should have and I'm sorry I was so selfish.
And Last-Whatever comes of the situation I've gotten us into, we'll work through it together…the three of us!
We'll talk when I get out of this place. I read the postscript to your last letter. While I appreciate your concern, either Dumbledore gets me out of here soon, or I will leave on my own. I have to get out of here. I'll explain why when we talk.
Your best friend always,
Harry
Ron heaved a sigh of relief. Writing his last letter was one of the hardest things he ever did. He felt as though he'd been holding his breath ever since he saw Pig disappear over the tree line. Now that he'd heard from Harry, he felt much better.
He read the letter at least twice more and continued to mull over the same sentence in his head, "…if you might have feelings for Hermione." Did he have feelings for Hermione? That was a question he had wrestled with the entire summer. He still didn't know the answer.