Author's Notes: Just a bit a housecleaning. Once again, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed. You guys are the coolest! Um, I was asked what Ron got on his O.W.L.s and I just wanted to say that you all should sit tight, you'll find out soon enough. Okay, enough housecleaning. Here's the next chapter.
CHAPTER FOUR
STRANGE MOODS
He was in the Department of Mysteries, standing before the veiled arch, listening. He could hear whispers from those behind the ratty veil, but he waited to hear just one voice.
"Harry?" came an echo from beyond the veil.
"Sirius?" he asked, stepping closer.
"It's your fault, Harry. It's your fault I died."
"No, no, please. I didn't mean for any of this to happen," he tried to explain to the echo behind the veil.
"You killed me, Harry. I died because of you. You should have stayed at Hogwarts, but you are too much a hero. Everyone you love will die because of you."
"No, please. You weren't supposed to die, Sirius. I didn't mean for you to die," he begged, getting down on his knees in front of the arch.
"You failed. You failed me, Harry. You didn't save me. It's your fault I'm dead."
"No, I had to save the proph-"
"You didn't save me. It's your fault I'm dead. You killed me."
"I had to save the prophecy, Sirius. Please don't-"
"You're weak. You failed. Others will die because of you. Your friends will suffer greatly because of your stupidity. Good-bye forever, Harry."
"No, Sirius, wait! Please, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't want it to end like that. Please, stay!"
"Good-bye, Harry."
"No, wait! Please, wait. Wait!"
And he woke up, covered in a cold sweat. His lips trembled and a chill ran down his spine. His scar prickled in pain. He closed his eyes tightly to the tears that started to form.
It was true. It was all true. It was his, Harry's, fault that Sirius had died. If Harry had kept up with his Occlumency lessons, Voldemort wouldn't have been able to plant that dream in Harry's mind. Harry wouldn't have gone to Umbridge's fireplace and talked to that foul little house-elf, Kreacher. Kreacher wouldn't have lied to him and Harry wouldn't have gone off with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood to the Ministry of Magic. Harry wouldn't have gone to the Department of Mysteries and met the Death Eaters. He would have spared his friends from getting hurt. They never would have lost the prophecy and the Order of the Phoenix would have never needed to arrive. Sirius would never have had to fight his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, and he wouldn't have died. It was all Harry's fault.
He was the reason why his godfather was dead. He had killed Sirius Black.
The tears fell down his face and splattered onto his bed. I should have listened to Hermione, he thought. Then Sirius would still be alive.
He sucked in a breath. Sirius was like a father to him, and he, Harry, had killed him. It was because of him that his own father was dead.
"Damn prophecy," he muttered as he wiped the tears away.
Just because of some stupid prophecy Harry was special. Harry was so special that his parents had to die, his godfather had to die, and probably several others had to too.
No, he thought to himself. No more deaths. No one else is going to die because of me. I'm not going to kill another person I care for.
His resolve strengthened and he could feel the anger rise in him. He was going to rip every Death Eater he met apart. He'd make them pay for all of people, wizards and Muggles alike, that they had killed. They would never hurt another person.
He could hear a baby-like voice in his head.
"Ooooh, whittle wee Potty is cwying over his dead godfather. Boo-hoo."
Lestrange. She was a dead woman.
He laid back down. If he ever saw that woman again, he pull out his wand and mutter the unforgivable curse that would send her to hell.
His anger ebbed somewhat as he started to think about Sirius again and soon, he fell back to sleep.
*****
The next morning found Aunt Petunia knocking on his door loudly, yelling for him to wake up. He could hear Aunt Marge's voice beyond the door yelling, "Yes, get your bum ass out of bed!"
"Get dressed and then bring your aunt's luggage down," Petunia continued. "If you're quick you might get some breakfast."
Harry was up faster than a bolt of lightning. The prospect of food, other than the sandwiches Aunt Petunia kept bringing him, made his stomach growl. He was dressed and grabbing Marge's first suitcase in five minutes.
He gathered everything up and began to make his way through the hallway to the stairs when Dudley tore out of his room, knocked Harry over, and bounded down the stairs as the scent of pancakes floated up to the second floor. Harry's mouth watered as he rubbed his shoulder. He gathered Marge's belongings again and headed down the stairs.
Uncle Vernon was just closing the front door after getting the paper. Harry figured that if he were to get any breakfast he might want to try and be genial with the Dursleys.
"Where would you like me to put Aunt Marge's luggage?" he asked Uncle Vernon before the beefy man could pass by.
Vernon turned towards Harry, his eyes cool and suspicious. "Over by the door," he replied and continued on his way to the kitchen.
Harry set Aunt Marge's luggage neatly by the door and then walked into the kitchen. Ripper, who sat by Marge's feet, growled softly as Harry passed by. Both Aunt Marge and Dudley scowled.
Harry took a seat next to Aunt Petunia and stared at the tall tower of fluffy pancakes. His mouth watered again.
"Well, let's tuck in, everyone," Petunia said.
Dudley snatched up five pancakes immediately, while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge both took two. Aunt Petunia forked up one, leaving two left. Harry waited patiently, not trying to screw up his one chance at the first decent meal for him in a week.
"Go on, Harry," Petunia said. "You did what I asked."
"Thank you," he said gratefully and forked up one of the final two. He poured on a little maple syrup and added some butter.
It took everything in him not to eat ravenously and when he was done his stomach only yearned for more. But he had to keep in his aunt and uncle's good graces if he wished to go to the Burrow, so he got up and excused himself once his plate was clean.
"What the hell was that?" he heard Aunt Marge ask after he left the kitchen.
"Apparently, Harry feels more polite today," Petunia responded as Harry made his way up the stairs and back to his room.
He was finishing up his Potions essay when he heard voices from downstairs.
"Good-bye Dudders. You have another good year at Smeltings when you go back," Aunt Marge was saying.
"I'm going to try for another boxing title," Dudley said proudly.
"Good boy. Good-bye Petunia, dear."
"Good-bye Marge. You should come and visit sooner next time," Petunia said.
"We shall see. Come along Ripper-time to get to the train station."
"See you in a few hours," came Uncle Vernon's voice.
Harry heard the door shut and he sighed in relief. Aunt Marge was finally gone.
He wrote the last couple of sentences to his essay and then packed all of his school books and supplies back in his trunk. He then took out his broomstick servicing kit that Hermione had bought for him years ago for his birthday. He had yet been able to use it on his top-notch broom, the Firebolt. The Firebolt was the best broom in the entire wizarding world, used by some of the most famous professional Quidditch players today. Harry's Firebolt was still at Hogwarts after being confiscated by Dolores Umbridge, but he could still remember how he felt when he opened it up on Christmas nearly three years ago. Sirius had bought it for him.
The memory of Sirius made him put the servicing kit away quickly.
He turned to his mirror and studied himself closely. His hair was a mess as always and he looked pale, but his jaw line looked a little darker than normal. Taking a closer look, he noticed small black stubble growing on his face. He rubbed it absently and found it to be very coarse.
He wondered what it would be like if he had a beard, or a goatee. People said that growing facial hair could really change a person's appearance.
Too bad it won't hide my scar, he thought sourly.
He wondered suddenly how many people would stare at him this year when he went back to Hogwarts. How many people would point at his scar and murmur or laugh? How many people, despite the Ministry and the Daily Prophet announcing that Voldemort was indeed back, would still ridicule him and call him an attention-seeking liar?
He rested his head against his desk. "What I wouldn't give to not be Harry Potter," he whispered. Maybe then he would have a normal life, be a normal teenage wizard, and all whom he cared for would still be alive.
He continued to stare into the mirror, at the face of his father and the eyes of his mother. They had died trying to protect him. Sirius had died trying to save him from the Death Eaters.
"I miss you, Sirius," he whispered as tears formed in his eyes. He turned away from the mirror, went over to his bed and buried his head in his pillow, and stayed like that for hours.
*****
For the next few days, Harry only came out of his room to eat, do his chores, and use the bathroom; otherwise, he stayed in his room, brooding.
None of the Dursleys talked to him, which probably suited both them and Harry fine. He had nothing to say to them and they obviously didn't care enough to say anything to him.
One week before his birthday, Harry stared out of his window into the clear night sky, where a full moon was in sight. He wondered if Professor Lupin had taken his Wolfsbane potion.
Actually, he wondered about the wizarding world in general. Hedwig had returned the day before and Harry had decided not to continue his subscription to the Daily Prophet. What made him angry was the fact that when Hedwig returned, she did not have a note with her from Ron. No confirmation on whether or not Ron and his parents were going to pick him up from the Dursleys, not even a simple "Hello, how are you doing?" It seemed as though his best friend had dismissed him.
Bitterly, Harry wondered if Hermione had arrived yet at the Burrow. Harry had noticed how Ron's behavior changed slightly when it came to some aspects of Hermione. Harry even went as far as wondering whether or not Ron had some feelings for their friend. At least it would explain why Ron hadn't even spared a thought for his supposed "best mate."
He scowled as he pulled on his bed clothes. Ron and Hermione were probably having a blast at the Burrow. He would bet anything that right now they were settling themselves down and tucking into some of Mrs. Weasley's great treacle fudge. He stomach growled at the thought.
He laid his head back on his pillow and tightly closed his eyes. The last thing he wanted to think about was all of the fun that he was missing out on, but then again, perhaps everyone was right not to want him. Soon, sleep overtook him.
He was at the Burrow, yet he wasn't. It was like he was a ghost; no one could see him or hear him, although he could see and hear everyone else. Ron and Hermione were sitting in a corner, playing wizard's chess. Ron, of course, was winning.
"Y'know," he said as he prodded his castle forward, "I'm so happy Harry's not here."
"I know," Hermione agreed. "Mr. Moody."
"Without any mad eye," said Ron and they both laughed heartily.
Ginny walked up to the laughing duo. "Hey, I was just thinking about how great it was not to have the brooding, depressing Harry Potter around."
"Us too," Ron said to her. "He hasn't been any fun since that what's-his-face Hufflepuff died."
"Yeah," muttered Ginny. "What was his name? Delaney?"
Suddenly, with a loud CRACK, Fred and George appeared. "Hello all," Fred said happily and sat down.
"Did you read today's paper?" George asked as he brandished the Daily Prophet. "They reckon Potter's dead."
"Really?" asked Ron without interest.
"No sign of him. S'pose it's a good thing," Fred said while George nodded his head.
"Percy was right, y'know; that boy would have gotten us all killed," George said.
"I'll say," Ron agreed. "I mean, blimey, he got his parents and his godfather killed. We'd all be next."
"I won't miss him," Ginny said as Hermione ordered her bishop to take one of Ron's pawns.
"Neither will I," said Fred.
"Nor I," George said.
Ron smiled. "Hey, I can be 'Ron Weasley', not 'Harry's friend'. Sounds better, don't you think?"
"Definitely. And I'll be known as 'Hermione Granger', not 'That book-worm who hangs with Harry Potter'," Hermione said happily.
"Fudge!" announced Mrs. Weasley as she entered the room with a tray full of treacle fudge.
"Hey Mum, aren't you happy that Harry isn't here?" Ron asked as he took a piece of fudge.
"Oh, dear me, yes. He's a home wrecker," Mrs. Weasley said bitterly. "Because of all this You-Know-Who nonsense, we've lost poor Percy. Oh well, the Ministry favors us now and Percy will be home soon."
"Yep. Dad's getting a promotion," George said. "Bet it would have happened sooner if we didn't associate with that Potter."
"Indeed," Mrs. Weasley murmured. "Now Ron, Ginny, and I suppose you too, Hermione, don't go talking to that Potter boy. He's dangerous and he'll ruin your chances at becoming Head Boy and Quidditch captain, Ron. It'd be a lot better if you were to start talking to that Malfoy boy. You know, Lucius Malfoy's not so bad once you get to know him…"
"I think Draco's cute," Ginny said and Hermione giggled.
Ron sniggered. "Don't worry, Mum. We won't go associating ourselves with murderers any longer. In fact, if I have to, I'll hex Potter to the next century."
Mrs. Weasley smiled adoring down at her youngest son. "Wonderful."
"POTTER! POTTER! WAKE UP BOY AND SHUT THAT BLOODY BIRD UP!"
Harry awoke immediately and looked over at Hedwig, who was hooting loudly, also trying to wake Harry up. At the window, Pigwidgeon fluttered and tapped his beak against the window like a woodpecker, trying to get into the room.
"Okay, okay, I'm up," Harry muttered and rubbed his eyes. His dream about the Weasleys and Hermione had been unsettling; the last thing he wanted was a letter from Ron.
He opened the window and Pigwidgeon flew in, dropping a letter on Harry's bed. He then started circling the room at a very fast pace.
Harry sat down on the bed and started at Ron's letter for a moment, then opened it and began to read.
Dear Harry,
Sorry for the long wait, mate, but it took a while to convince Dumbledore to let you come. He finally said yes, though, so you're coming! Hermione will be arriving tomorrow and Dad has actually gotten a car for us to borrow to come to your house. We remembered what happened last time when we tried to floo there. Anyway, we'll pick you up on your birthday around noon. See you then!
Ron
So he was going. Ron's father, Mr. Weasley, was going to come and pick him up in a car on his birthday. The Weasleys really did want him over. He felt suddenly guilty for the dream he had.
He'd have to tell the Dursleys. While they really wouldn't care, they wouldn't be happy if Harry abruptly left. Plus, he'd have to notify the Order, even though he imagined Dumbledore would, but Harry needed to write another letter soon anyway, or one of the members might be on his doorstep the next day, demanding to see if Harry was alright.
First things first, he had better go down and tell the Dursleys. After sending Pigwidgeon away, he pulled on some clothes and opened the bedroom door, sighing deeply. He hoped that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were in a good mood.
Slowly, he headed down towards the kitchen, where the Dursleys were having breakfast. He walked in saying nothing and sat in a chair. He didn't take any of the food lying on the table even though his insides screamed for him to do so.
"What do you want?" asked Uncle Vernon gruffly as he took a bite out of a sausage link.
He might as well get it over with. "I-er-was wondering if I could go to my friend's house for the rest of the summer. His parents invited me."
Uncle Vernon stared at him coldly for a moment. "It's not those freaks who destroyed half my living room two years ago and then threatened me earlier this summer, is it?"
"Er-Yeah, it is."
"Then no. I don't want them coming over here again the way they came last time," Vernon said as he shoved a mouthful of pancakes in his mouth.
"But they said that they're coming by car this time," Harry protested. "They're not coming by Floo Powder."
"Floo Powder? What the devil is Floo Powder?"
"That's the stuff the used last time to come by the fireplace," Harry explained.
"Those two boys won't be coming, will they?" asked Dudley nervously. He had stopped eating the moment Harry made his request.
"I don't know. They own a shop now, so they might be there," Harry replied honestly, then turned back to Uncle Vernon. "Please?"
"By car you say they're coming? It doesn't fly, does it?" Vernon asked warily.
"I don't know. I think Mr. Weasley is getting one from the Ministry."
"The what?"
Harry sighed. This was beginning to get annoying. "The Ministry of Magic."
"Oh. That government thing you people have."
"Can I go?"
Uncle Vernon sat back. "I don't know. You haven't been very good this summer."
"Let him go, Vernon. We won't have him around then," Aunt Petunia said. Harry looked over at her and expected a malevolent stare, but instead, she looked as though she were concerned. But what about?
"Fine. When are they picking you up?" Vernon asked.
"Next Tuesday around noon," Harry said.
"Fine, you can go."
Harry decided it would be a good time to leave. "Thank you," he said as he got up and headed back to his room.
*****
In the afternoon, Harry was just sending Hedwig out with his letter to the Order of the Phoenix when Aunt Petunia called him down. They were the only two people in the house as Uncle Vernon was off at work and Dudley was out with his friends.
He entered the kitchen to find Aunt Petunia making lunch. "Yes?" he asked.
"Sit down," she ordered and he quickly complied. "What do you want on your hamburger?"
"My what?" he blurted.
"Your hamburger. Ketchup, mustard, pickle?"
"Er-All three, I guess."
She stood by the counter with two burgers and squeezed on ketchup and mustard. Then she placed three pickles on each and handed the plate over to Harry. Then she went about making her own.
Harry sat there, gaping. What was she doing? When she sat down with her own food and saw that Harry wasn't eating, she asked, "What, don't you like hamburgers?"
"No, I like them very much. Why?" he asked and then quickly regretted it.
She looked up at him sharply. "I don't need a reason why. Eat, you skinny boy."
He looked down at his plate of food and felt his mouth water. Slowly, he picked up the burger and brought it to his mouth, taking a small bite. The flavor of the meat made his stomach roar and he wanted to devour the whole plate, but he slowed himself down.
"Harry," Aunt Petunia began, and Harry looked up. He knew there was a reason behind all of this. "Harry, would you tell me about that man…that man that killed Lily…who wants to kill you?"
Harry's mouth hung open in shock. Never in Harry's life had Aunt Petunia used his mother's name. It wasn't very often that she ever talked about her, and it was never voluntary.
"Voldemort? What about him?" he asked when he recovered.
"Why does he want to kill you?"
Harry set down his burger. He suddenly wasn't feeling hungry anymore. "I-I'm the only one in the world who can kill him. That's why he wants me dead."
"You?" she said skeptically. "Why you?"
"I don't know…wait-yeah, I do. He did it himself. He chose me to be his adversary."
"He what?"
"He marked me to be his equal," Harry told her, totally not convinced that he was actually having this conversation with her.
"Marked you to be his equal? What-you're lying!" Harry pulled up his bangs to reveal his lightning bolt scar. Aunt Petunia stared. "You mean to tell me that's why you have your scar?"
He nodded. "My mum and dad died trying to save me that night. I shouldn't have survived."
"Obviously you did," Petunia muttered. "You must so special, to survive whatever that man did to you."
He stared at her. "You have no idea how much I wish I weren't special at all. Excuse me," he said, getting up and leaving Aunt Petunia and his half eaten hamburger behind.
*****
The rest of the week went without incident. On Monday evening, Harry started to pack his trunk in preparation for the Weasleys' arrival the next day. He was very happy to be leaving the Dursleys' home. Perhaps then he would finally be able to get his mind off Sirius.
He went to sleep that night hoping against hope that he would not dream of Sirius, that he wouldn't be plagued by that nightmare so that when the Weasleys' arrived he'd be happy, or at least, happier than he had been for a long time.
At first, he dreamed that he was out on the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts, flying high above the stands on his Firebolt. Below the crowd was cheering as a streak of scarlet grabbed the big red Quaffle and headed off to the three hoops on the other end of the field, guarded by something green. He ignored what was happening in the game completely and kept a look-out for the Golden Snitch, the tiny ball that, as Seeker of the Gryffindor team, Harry was supposed to catch.
He saw a flutter of gold below and quickly dived to catch it. He was flying so fast that the crowd screamed in delight. He was getting closer to the Snitch. All he had to do was reach out and grab it. But when he snatched it out of the air, he found himself with a handful of robes worn by a short, bald, and wheezing man.
"Well?" he asked in a cold, cruel voice.
"It has happened, my lord, it has happened. Your plan is going perfectly," the wheezing man said, bending in such a ridiculous manner that Harry was sure that if the man bent any lower his nose would brush the floor.
"Excellent," Harry said in the same cold voice. "As stupid as the Muggle ways are, sometimes they can be useful. She will need attended to. Send forth for her sister. She will take care of her."
"Yes, master. I will send someone at once," the man said and turned away, but not before Harry caught a glace at his silver hand. Wormtail.
Harry sat down and placed his fingers together. His whole being was filled with a vile and twisted pleasure. Then, quite suddenly, he let out a high-pitched shriek of chilling laughter. All was going as planned. It would only be a matter of time before the wizarding world bowed down before him again. Slowly, more of those dark, bone-chilling chuckles escaped Harry's mouth until he woke up, blinded by the pain in his scar and still laughing.
Something had happened, Harry knew at once, and Voldemort was very pleased.