"Wormtail, report."
He was sitting on an overstuffed throne, glaring at the pathetic, groveling figure in front of him. Anger and impatience coursed through his entire being. This nonsense has continued for far too long.
"All has been arranged. It will be-"
"Shut up, you fool! He's here. I know what you mean, now get out of my sight before you inadvertently reveal something." Joy at the news that the arrangement has been made had been carefully tempered with his anger that Wormtail nearly revealed his plans to the shadow in his mind.
The groveling figure bowed, and then pulled his robes tight around him. He saw a glint of metal before Wormtail covered his hand completely in cloth. Then, with some sniveling platitudes, Wormtail left his presence.
He shifted uneasily on his overstuffed chair before speaking aloud. "Potter, you have been entering my mind far too often than what is good for you. Get out."
Harry Potter awoke with a searing pain on his scar. He nearly screamed from the pain, but quickly bit his tongue before uttering a sound. It would not be wise to disturb the Dursley's this early in the morning. He closed his eyes and placed a hand across his forehead, waiting for the pain to subside.
It was unusual for him to have nightmares about Voldemort. Since Sirius's death, Harry had been redoubling his efforts in mastering Occlumency to prevent himself from being manipulated by Voldemort's twisted mind. Once again, Harry's mind floated to the letter he received from the Order in his second week back with the Dursley's. Try to practice Occlumency with whatever information Professor Snape gave you. Once you're back at Hogwarts, your lessons will resume. Until then, work with what you have.
Harry snorted. His Occulmency lessons had abruptly ended when Snape caught him gazing at his pensieve; discovering Snape's worst memory. Maybe if Snape hadn't been such a git and would've just continued with the lessons, Sirius would still be alive…
A flare of hatred burned up inside Harry and was extinguished just as quickly. Although he had more control over his emotions now, he could not stop thinking about who was to blame for Sirius's death. Sometimes Snape's face would arise in his mind; but more often his own would appear. If only I had listened to Hermione, if only I wouldn't of been so damned gullible. He slammed his fist hard upon his bed.
And then he did what he always would do in the early morning and his thoughts and emotions were overwhelming him; he would run.
Quietly, Harry slipped off of his bed and dressed in some of Dudley's gray sweatpants. He carefully opened the door so it would not creak, and then tiptoed across the hall and down the steps. He put on his only pair of shoes, snuck out the door, and ran across the dewy lawn onto the asphalt road.
Immediately, the new sense of freedom took effect. Jubilation and excitement surged through his body. It was almost like he was on his broomstick again, flying high above the Quidditch field in absolute isolation. For a few glorious hours he would be away from his relatives and on his own. There would be no one to order him around, no one to lie to him, and no one for him to get close to and then to die.
He knew he was taking a great risk being alone like this since the dementors last year; but he felt it was worth it. He received a sense of clarity during running that rivaled the ecstatic feeling he had when he was riding his Firebolt.
He took off running. The breeze lapped at his face and the scent of the early morning engulfed his senses. The sun just began to peak over the distant horizon and the first rays of light splashed onto the road and houses. The air was pleasantly cool, and a faint mist was in the distance from, Harry knew, the rain shower last night. Several rabbits scrambled among the bushes as he passed the neat groves and lawns that accompanied every home along Pivet Drive. As he continued, he could not help but stop to smell the wet flowers in a garden that was prominently displayed in front of a house that looked rather like a small mansion.
As he ran, he pushed away his dream about Voldemort and remembered the countless letters that were owled to him from Hermione and Ron. Though Ron kept him updated on all of the Quidditch teams (With much bias in favor of the Chudley Cannons) and latest news in the wizarding world, Hermione seemed particularly concerned about his dreams, his progress with the loss of Sirius, and how the Dursley's were treating him. He kept only one secret from her; and that was the prophecy. It weighed heavily on him, but it was a burden that he alone must carry. He did not doubt that she suspected that he was not telling her everything, (Hermione knew his mind best) but he could not share the secret that had brought him so much pain.
Then a massive realization struck him. Today was July thirty first, his birthday. Quickly, he turned around and dashed back to number four, Pivet Drive.
He sprinted back across the lawn and ran through the doorway, now heedless of the racket he was creating. He bounded up the steps, ran across the hall, and leapt through his bedroom doorway and, now realizing the amount of noise he was making, closed the door softly.
Sure enough, several owls had already deposited his birthday gifts under his open window. They must have been brought in during the night and he missed seeing them when he woke up. Taking a minute to allow himself to calm down, he stepped over to the presents and picked up the gift that laid on top of the rest.
He immediately recognized the untidy scrawl of Ron's handwriting.
Hey mate,
First off, Happy birthday! We're really sorry you can't come over yet, but seeing as dad is on a mission from the ministry to eastern Europe for the past two weeks, Dumbledore refused to allow you to come over. He'll be back tomorrow evening, so in two days we'll be able to pick you up and bring you over to the burrow. Hermione won't be here until then, so you won't be missing out on much. Mum told me to make sure you tell the muggles before you leave.
Also, everything has been fairly quiet around here. A lot of people expected a string of attacks after it was announced that Voldemort returned. There has been only one move made by Voldemort, and that was the Azkaban breakout several weeks ago after the prison was abandoned by the dementors.
We still haven't heard anything from Percy since he sent us his apology. Mum thinks its because he's too ashamed. I think its because he's a bloody git.
That's all I have for you now, Harry. We'll get you out of there no time
Ron
He unwrapped Ron's gift to find another Weasley sweater as well as an object that looked curiously like a muggle pen. He leaned forward and read the tiny writing on an attached tag:
I got this off a street vendor at Diagon Alley. it's a real muggle writing instrument (Dad calls it a 'pen') enchanted so you never have to dip it in ink like a quill! I even bought one for myself!
Harry chuckled silently. Obviously, Ron didn't realize that all muggle pens never needed to be dipped.
He continued opening his birthday gifts, and found that Luna sent him a claw of a Heliopath, Neville gave him the essence of the strange cactus-like plant that he had shown him last year (He wrote in a short message that it was used for healing purposes), and Ginny bought him a book titled The Art of Dueling, by Alexander Gates. Lupin sent Harry a handful of werewolf hairs. "You will need them for potions," he explained in the letter, "And they are one of the rarest ingredients on the market." What he did not explain was, however, was how Lupin knew he would be taking N.E.W.T. potions when Harry did not receive his results from the O.W.L.'s yet.
Finally, there was only a single parcel remaining. Harry admired the wrapping paper that was patterned with tiny snitches on a white backround. He unwrapped it slowly and read the enclosed card.
Harry,
I hope you are having a happy birthday, and that the Dursley's would treat you somewhat nice today. Just try to remember that we all miss you Harry and wouldn't want you down on your birthday, so don't let them ruin it for you. This is your special day.
Harry paused and carefully considered what she wrote before continuing.
And I know those dreams are becoming a lot more frightening than what you are telling me in your letters, Harry. I'm really worried that you're connection with Voldemort is becoming worse instead of better; if not just infrequent. Having a few, strong dreams isn't any better than having many weak ones. Look, I know this is the last thing you want to hear, but I've done a lot of reading in Occlumency and Legilimency, and if you won't let Professor Snape help you I will do my best to help you practice the theory of it anyway. You can't do this to yourself; its not fair to the rest of us.
I'm sorry for bothering you with all this on your birthday but I have to make sure you're safe Harry. I hope you enjoy your cake and gift; the cake is homemade. (And you can only imagine what I went through while making this as my parents are both dentists!)
Love From,
Hermione
Harry sat down on his bed and finished unwrapping the gift. Harry felt sure it would be an incredibly heavy, thick bound book that was full of information on elementary topics such as The Origins of the Universe or The Meaning of Life.
To Harry's surprise, he was only half right.
Sitting on his lap were actually two leather-bound books; Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures and The Unofficial Strategy Guide of Europe's Top Quidditch Teams.
When he opened the Defense book, a note fell out. He held it up to the light to read it.
Harry,
The Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures book is one of my favorites; I've read it at least twelve times. Although it doesn't contain any new spells or magic, it gives an in-depth analysis of every magical creature in existence, dark or otherwise. (Since the author states that any magical creature can be used by Dark Wizards for their own purposes)
And I also know you love Quidditch, so I picked this up the last time I was in Diagon Alley. I hope you don't mind, but I read through it once and the plays are very fascinating!
I hope you enjoyed your presents and cake!
Love From,
Hermione
"Thanks Hermione, these are great!" Harry said in an awed voice. He instantly began to leaf through the pages.
As Harry began a chapter entitled House-elves Turned Evil, his mind immediately pictured the vile Kreacher, who was no doubt still alive somewhere in Grimmauld Palace, lurking in some storage room littered with pictures of Sirius's dark wizard relatives. He felt cold fury reach up into his throat, and, taking slow, steady breaths, he willed himself calm. He could do nothing about Kreacher now. Someday, he promised himself, someday there will be a reckoning.
Suddenly, a large, brown barn owl flew threw Harry's window and landed neatly on his bed. Sticking out its leg, Harry carefully untied the note and the scroll and watched it fly back out. He recognized the handwriting. Only one person he knew could write with such a clean, imperious script.
"Percy." Harry muttered.
He quickly read the note. It was short and to the point.
Harry,
I know what I did and I regret it. I also heard what Dolores did in Hogwarts, and I am truly sorry for that. The corresponding scroll is the result of my own and the minister's devotion to Hogwarts and the wizarding world. I hope that you can, in some small way, consider this a birthday gift from me to you, as I was pivotal in bringing this about. The scroll is a copy, but you will be the first besides the minister and myself (And, of course, the indicated party) to read it. The news will be released the Daily Prophet later today.
Percy, Court Scribe
Feeling the rage build up in his stomach from reading Percy's shielding of the ministry, Harry threw the letter on the floor. Feeling the need to calm his nerves and satisfy his stomach, as he had no breakfast this morning, Harry reached over and cut a rather large slice of Hermione's homemade cake. He ate it with relish.
Harry suddenly felt a calming, peaceful sensation sweep over his body and flow through his veins. His rage at Percy had nearly disappeared. He felt more content at that moment than he did all summer. A moment later, a revelation hit Harry.
Hermione had made him a homemade cake. She knew he was more troubled than he revealed in his letters, and had likely added the potion Draught Of Peace to her cooking to help calm his frayed nerves. He laughed out loud. Hermione knew him too well, he thought for the hundredth time this summer.
Now in a much better mood, Harry broke the seal on Percy's scroll and laid it flat on his bed. He read through it once, then read through it again, absolutely delighted.
This letter hereby signifies that Dolores Umbridge, senior undersecretary to the minister, has been removed from her position and will have her employment at the ministry brought under review by a Wizengamot.
Harry picked up Percy's crumpled letter, smoothed it out, and wrote, using his new pen, telling Percy to speak with his mother.
Immensely satisfied with his birthday morning, he fell back onto his bed and allowed the Draught of Peace to take him into a deep, dreamless slumber.
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When Harry awoke, he did not realize that he had slept nearly another five hours. For the first time in several weeks, Uncle Vernon's booming voice stirred him from sleep.
"BOY GET DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW! WE DON'T ALLOW YOU TO BE HERE JUST SO YOU CAN SLEEP TILL NOON." Uncle Vernon roared; who was shouting all the way up the steps and continued to shout right outside his door. "YOU ARE GOING TO PULL YOUR WEIGHT AROUND LIKE THE REST OF US"
Harry had a fleeting thought of Dudley 'pulling his weight around' before shouting back, "YEAH I'LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE."
A moment of silence passed before his Uncle muttered "Good." and stalked off.
Once Harry was sure his Uncle was gone, he quickly pulled out several pieces of parchment. On the first he wrote:
Hermione,
Thanks for offering your help and aid; I can't begin to explain in words how much you've helped me over the summer, but when it comes to my dreams I only want Dumbledore helping me. If Voldemort should possess me suddenly while we're practicing…well, you know.
And Ron invited me over to the burrow. I've been permitted by Dumbledore to live over there for the rest of the summer. They'll pick me up in a few days when Mr. Weasley returns from eastern Europe.
The two books you bought me were great, Hermione; I've already begun reading them and, though I have never been into books much, have learned loads. Thanks a million.
Looking forward to seeing you soon!
Harry
He carefully set the note aside and then began to write a letter to Ron.
Hey Ron!
I can't wait to come over; I'm not sure how much longer I can stand living with my aunt and uncle.
And you will never believe who wrote to me this morning. Percy. He owled me a letter and a scroll that announces Umbridge's demotion from Senior Undersecretary, and also hints at her being fired from the ministry all together. Don't look in the Daily Prophet now, he said I am the fourth person to know about it, so you will not read about it until tomorrow.
Thanks for the gift, its always amazing what you find in those vendors!
Harry
And lastly, Harry wrote a brief "The Dursley's have been alright." to the Order.
He brought Hedwig out of her cage, and attached all three letters to her. Hedwig looked at him incredulously.
"I know its a lot but I need them delivered," Harry said, "Get these to Hermione, Ron, and Lupin and then go to the Burrow. I'll meet you there in a few days. See you then." Hedwig hooted softly and flew through the window, slowly disappearing into the daylight.
Harry smiled as he turned away from the window, and gazed into the mirror. A young man of sixteen stared back at him. He was surprised at what he saw.
His eyes, bright like emeralds, were set upon a tanned face with sharper, more defined features than a year ago. He had definitely grown taller over the past year. His shoulders were now broad and he was no longer scrawny and thin. Although he still never ate as much as he wanted to, his relatives had given him more food than in past years. Harry figured it was due to the Order's threats of retaliation rather than kindness on the part of his aunt and uncle. That, combined with his near daily jog around the neighborhood, kept him fit and strong. I will be in excellent shape for Quidditch season, he thought.
His thoughts were rudely interrupted by Uncle Vernon's bellowing voice.
"BOY! I WON'T TELL YOU AGAIN!"
"Coming," Harry yelled back. He took one last glance at his reflection, threw on one of Dudley's old, over-sized shirts, and ran out of his bedroom door.
His uncle stood at the foot of the steps. "Don't expect breakfast or lunch," Uncle Vernon said venomously. His head and neck were a deep shade of red. "You don't get food for being a sloth. Mow the lawn, wash the dishes, clean the floor, dust every single object in this house and vacuum the living room. Then, maybe, you can eat." he added maliciously.
Harry's stomach grumbled restlessly. He hadn't eaten anything besides Hermione's cake today; and that was nearly five hours ago. It wouldn't do him any good to go back up there now, though, as his uncle would never let him go there until he was finished with his work.
"Oh and boy," Uncle Vernon said, teeth glinting and bared like an animal. "You will do an excellent job if you know what's good for you. This house better be spotless when Dudley's friends come over this evening for his party."
Harry groaned inwardly. He had completely forgotten that Dudley was hosting a celebration for his victory in the heavy-weight boxing tournament. His aunt and uncle would be leaving around five o'clock to go out to eat while Dudley and his friends had what they believed would be a 'small tea party with some light food and games'. In reality, it was just an excuse for Dudley and his cronies to bring over booze, cigarettes, and weed and become drugged out of their minds. Harry was continually amazed about how ignorant his relatives were about their only son.
"Oh, I'm so proud of my Diddykins." Aunt Petunia chirped from somewhere in the kitchen.
Uncle Vernon and Harry spent the next minute staring at each other, each sizing the other up. Vernon's face steadily became darker and deeper, until he finally said, "Well what are you waiting for, boy? GO!" he spat.
Harry grudgingly broke the eye contact and headed for the door.
Earlier this summer, he made a secret vow never to owl the Order with a complaint about the Dursley's; even if they did begin to treat him worse than normal. On the surface, he believed that complaining would only make him weaker and give Uncle Vernon the pleasure of knowing that he had finally crawled under his skin; which so far resisted even the worst punishments and chores the Dursley's could throw at him. Harry felt that he could never allow Uncle Vernon such a victory.
However, deep down he harbored a secret distrust for the Order that had kept him in the dark for so long last summer. He wanted to finally prove to everyone that he was not some boy who would whine to his guardians because of some vague hurt his relatives had given him. He desired to be considered a man and not a child who would be consistently denied the truth because of some fear that it would break his delicate mind.
This and no other reason made him tolerate the Dursley's all summer. Taking his time, Harry walked around the house into the garage, and pulled out the old push-mower that the Dursley's kept in poor condition just for him.
Of all of Harry's monotonous chores, mowing the lawn was the most bearable. At the very least, Harry did not have Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia staring over his shoulder watching his progress. He allowed his body to fall automatically into following the same practiced paths of lawn mowing as his thoughts wandered about. His mind sometimes strayed into the next school year, his O.W.L results, and his course selections for next year; but mostly he dwelt on the death of Sirius and the prophecy. Whenever he thought of Sirius, a well of sadness filled his body; the feeling that he had lost another parent. He quickly mastered his emotion, and concentrated on the present and future. Long ago, it seemed, he cried for hours on Sirius's dead, thinking about the many 'What if's' and he nearly always reached the same conclusion: Sirius died because of his own choices. After countless letter exchanges with Hermione, he finally had come to terms with his godfather's fate. That did not, however, mean he would not cry when he was reminded of something Sirius did, or an event that he missed. Harry kept the mirror that he shattered earlier this year. The mirror, Harry believed, was something that they still shared.
The rest of the afternoon passed uneventfully; except for the one time, while Harry dusted a rich, mahogany table, he accidentally knocked over one of Aunt Petunia's prized glass vases she bought at an auction. The ornate, carved glass tilted and fell from the table in slow motion as Harry, petrified, watched it shatter on the wooden floor.
Mercifully, Aunt Petunia was shopping for groceries for Dudley's party, Uncle Vernon was watching television in the upstairs bedroom, and Dudley was playing his playstation two with the volume to the maximum so that no one would even know if a bomb exploded in the kitchen. Quickly, Harry brushed the hundreds of pieces of broken glass under the couch and continued as if nothing happened.
When give o'clock finally came, Harry had just finished washing the dishes and began to climb the stairs to his room when Uncle Vernon stopped him halfway.
"Come here boy," he growled, motioning Harry to stand next to him.
Harry approached uncertainly. Uncle Vernon now wore a dress suit and a plain, magenta tie that perfectly matched his face.
"Closer." he ordered, pointing to the exact spot in front of him where he wanted Harry to stand.
"Now you listen here, boy, and you listen well." he said in a voice barely above a whisper. Harry now stood so close to his uncle that he could count every piece of food in his bushy mustache. "While Dudley has his party, you are to stay in your room and never leave until we get home. Never. I will not allow you to ruin Dudley's special day," Harry rolled his eyes, "With your..." he struggled with words, "Unnaturalness."
"If I hear that you as much as left your room during the party, you will starve for the rest of your stay. Are we clear?" His eyes were practically bulging from their sockets and Harry could feel Uncle Vernon's hot breath on his face.
"Completely." Harry said, adding a nod for good measure.
"Good," Uncle Vernon barked, now backing away, his face considerably lighter. "Your dinner is on the table," He point towards a plate with what appeared to be a few slices of bread on a paper plate and a glass of water. "Take it to your room and disappear." Uncle Vernon dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
"Bye my sweet ickle Duddykins," Aunt Petunia crooned. Harry walked far enough down the steps to see his aunt peck Dudley on the cheek and then hug him. "I am so proud of my little boy!"
Vernon gestured to Dudley's boxing trophy that now stood proudly on the mantle of the fireplace, shining brightly from Harry polishing it earlier that afternoon. "That's m'boy, Dudders. Always was a winner."
Aunt Petunia began to cry. "Oh Duddykins and all of his little friends. Such a sweet boy." She wrapped her arms around her thick son in an awkward sort of hug.
"Now, now," Uncle Vernon said as he approached them, grinning broadly, "Let's go out so we can leave Dudders to all of his friends. He knows he deserved it, don't you, you little tyke!" He gave Dudley a punch on the shoulder, and Dudley smiled happily.
Then, with Uncle Vernon giving Harry one last scowl before heading out the door, they left.
"You heard my dad," Dudley said, smirking, "Get to your room."
Knowing Dudley too well to take the bait, Harry shrugged and left, closing and locking his bedroom door.
Immediately he flopped onto his bed and, after a moment of relaxation from a day full of mostly dull tasks, he stood back up and pulled Hermione's cake out from under the loose floorboard in his room. He cut a rather large slice, and, after devouring it and gulping down his water, he closed his window and fell back onto his bed; allowing sleep to take him. His bread slices laid forgotten on his dresser.
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Harry awoke to a determined tapping of a beak against his window. Shaking the drowsiness from his head, he sat up and glanced at his clock. It was eight o'clock in the evening. Judging from the dull thumping of music and the footfalls of people running madly around the house, Dudley's party was in full swing.
He stood up and staggered over to the window, still feeling a bit tired. Next time, he thought, he will not take such a large slice. He opened the window and a small, gray owl fluttered in and landed on his bed. Harry removed the letter attached to its leg, and, after a hoot of good-bye, the owl flew out again and disappeared.
Harry quick scanned the scroll he was holding, wondering wildly who would be writing to him this late. He didn't recognize the owl, either. As soon as Harry saw the seal of the Ministry of Magic, he knew instantly what it was.
"Finally, my O.W.L's." he muttered, carefully breaking the seal and reading the contents.
Mr. Potter
Number Four, Pivet Drive
Little Whinging
Last Bedroom on the Left
The following are your results for your fifth year in Hogwarts School of Wizardry:
Transfiguration: E
Potions: O
History Of Magic: P
Astronomy: A
Charms: E
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O
Divination: A
Care of Magical Creatures: E
Herbology: E
Your preliminary career choice was: Auror
Suggested N.E.W.T. level courses: Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions and one elective.
Selected courses for your sixth year should be sent to: Office of the Headmaster at the Hogwarts School of Wizardry
Please enjoy the rest of your summer.
Oswald Lewis, Senior Clerk
Harry's reactions ranged from delight to confusion.
"How the hell did I get an 'outstanding' in Potions?" he asked aloud, utterly confounded.
A tiny part of him sensed that there was some third party intervention that made him do so well, but the more rational part of himself suggested that, although Snape continually gave him bad marks simply because he existed, he actually knew a lot about creating Potions.
Harry suddenly remembered Lupin's birthday gift. How did he know? Well, he thought, the Order does have members in the ministry, so perhaps they told Lupin. Therefore Remus, knowing Harry's wish to be an Auror, automatically assumed he would take N.E.W.T potions.
Harry frowned slightly, then decided that that was the most logical explanation, and placed it back into the recesses of his mind for later use.
Already knowing what classes he wanted to take, he rummaged through his room for a spare piece of parchment and a quill. After finding them, Harry addressed the letter to Dumbledore and listed Charms, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Potions for his sixth year courses. Then, realizing Hedwig was probably at Ron's by now and that he had no owl to send it with, he folded it and placed it under the loose floorboard right under his wand.
Quietly, not wishing to attract any attention from Dudley's rowdy friends, he crawled into bed and tried to sleep. Due to the constant racket and booming from underneath him, Harry had little success. Hermione's cake beckoned him to take another piece; to help him shut out the noise and to sleep through Dudley's party. However, he resisted the temptation. If he ate it at this rate, he would have nothing left by tomorrow evening. Now feeling slightly grumpy, Harry stood up and ate a slice of bread that he had left earlier on his dresser.
Suddenly, Harry heard a heavy thud outside his door. He stood frozen, listening intently.
"Shut up, he'll hear you!" someone hissed.
"You shut up, you git!" the other person responded, slightly louder. Harry recognized the voice at once. It was Dudley.
Harry began to panic. Whatever they were up to, it was not anything good for him. He could not even use his wand. He was helpless. Almost helpless, he thought; studying his toned arms and nimble legs.
"Get ready," Dudley whispered, "On one...two..."
But he never got to three. Harry, running at full speed, slammed into the door and pushed it open outward. The door smashed into one of Harry's would-be ambusher's nose, causing him to fall to the ground clutching his bleeding face. Dudley fell onto his bottom in surprise at the speed that everything was happening. Harry darted down the steps, looking wildly around at the mess surrounding him.
The living room was strewn with beer trash and garbage. Some boys lay passed out on the couch, while others were leaning unsteadily against the wall, holding plastic glasses of an amber-colored drink. Empty pizza boxes were piled in large, swaying stacks while heavy metal music blared out of a set of dual speakers set up across the room. Several people stood nearby, waiting for the song to end so they could play another one. Harry could not begin to imagine how Dudley planned on cleaning all this up before his aunt and uncle got back, but solving that mystery wasn't a high priority as Harry heard Dudley and his friends stomping down the steps behind him, hoping to smash him into a pulp.
Harry lightly jumped down the remaining steps and dashed off in the direction of the front door. Upon seeing a thick crowd of people surrounding it, Harry skidded and turned right without bothering to slow down and ran into the kitchen, catching a quick glance of his cousin panting heavily behind him with his face pink from exertion. His friends were trailing behind him; not wanting Dudley to think that they were better than him at anything.
Before Harry realized where he was going, he reached a dead end at the corner of the kitchen. He spun quickly around in the hopes of making a lucky escape, but his hopes were dashed when he saw Dudley and his two friends haughtily stride towards him, fists raised. Trying to keep himself as calm as possible, Harry scanned the kitchen briefly in search of anything that could be used as a weapon. Failing to find anything, Harry raised his own fists defiantly.
Dudley laughed, "You think you are going to fight me, you little ****?" he taunted.
"No," Harry replied, adrenaline beginning to flow through his body, "It looks more like I am going to be fighting you and your two pals. You're a lot braver when I don't have my wand, aren't you, Duddykins?"
Dudley's eyes flash dangerously. "Is that right? Come over here you little..."
He did not bother to finish the sentence. His fist swung wildly out at Harry's head, and Harry easily ducked under the punch. Wanting to end the fight before more of Dudley's friends came, Harry gathered all his strength and slammed his fist into his cousin's fleshy gut. Dudley bent over in pain.
Taking advantage of the brief distraction, Harry pushed Dudley's two friends out of the way and ran towards the living room, knocking people down as he went. One of the friends, now realizing what was happening, screamed "GET HIM!" and took off in pursuit.
Harry sprinted through the living room, trying desperately to make it across the room so he could open a window and jump through. Several people stirred and awoke from their stupor long enough to glare at him angrily before collapsing again on the floor. Suddenly, a particularly tall and strong one of Dudley's friends grabbed him by the arm and shoved him forward against the mantle above the fireplace, laughing uproariously as he did so. Harry smashed into mantelpiece with his shoulder and then dropped to the ground. The mantle shook violently from the impact, and, after several seconds, the entire
board collapsed onto the wooden floor near Harry. Dudley's prized trophy struck the stone corner of the fireplace and a resounding ring reverbed throughout the house. Harry, now back on his feet again, saw the newly dented trophy and fled the rest of the way across the living room and dived through the open window without bothering to look back at the stunned partygoers.
He picked himself back off the ground, and, after glancing briefly around him, leaped over the porch railing and fled down Pivet Drive.
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It was at least two hours later that Harry realized that he would have to go back. He had no money, no food, and, worst of all, he didn't have his wand. He assured himself that he would only have to spend another day with the Dursley's before going to the burrow with Ron and Hermione. Suddenly a new thought struck him: What if Uncle Vernon refused to let him leave? Harry felt his face go pale. He began to regret sending the letter to the Order that morning.
The Order won't be coming for another five days, at least. By then Ron will have already come and gone. His mind raced with the new terrifying possibility of spending the rest of his summer with the Dursley's. He involuntarily shuddered.
Being alone in the darkness isn't exactly wise, he thought, especially with Voldemort on the loose. Go back now.
A voice in his head answered him in his head; But...but you destroyed Dudley's trophy!
So what, he responded, what will Uncle Vernon do? He's already practically starving me. If worse comes to worse I could always go to Mrs. Figg.
Finally, he began to slowly shuffle his way back to number four, Pivet Drive, his mind drenched with foreboding. While he walked, he collected his Gryffindor courage and mastered his panicking emotions.
When he stepped onto the porch at number four, he was positively calm. Without a hint of hesitation or reluctance, he knocked on the door three times.
He only had to wait a moment before the door swung open to reveal an extremely purple, heaving Uncle Vernon. His hair was standing up in places where it looked like he ripped it out. Harry stopped himself from taking a step back.
"YOU..." He roared. He seemed at a loss for words. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and his hands were clenched menacingly.
"Yes, me." Harry replied coolly.
"GET IN HERE!" Uncle Vernon reached out with his massive arm and pulled Harry inside and threw him sprawling onto the floor. He was irresistibly reminded of the time Snape physically tossed him out of his office when Harry peaked into his pensieve.
If Harry was not distracted by Uncle Vernon's threatening gestures, he would have been incredibly impressed by the change in the house. It was absolutely spotless. With the exception of the dented trophy on the mantelpiece, no one would know there was a massive party here a few hours ago. Dudley must have forced his friends to clean up too.
"YOU...YOU DID THIS!" He spat, pointing to the trophy and spraying Harry with his spittle.
"Ye-yes he did d-dad," A crying voice came from the next room. Harry was not surprised to see it was Dudley. He gave Harry a small smirk while Uncle Vernon's back was turned before continuing, "Me and my friends were just sitting down to tea and h-he came running down the steps and shouting f-funny words. N-next thing I know h-he knocked over my t-trophy!"
Uncle Vernon glared at Harry, pure venom practically radiating from his eyes. "GO-ROOM-NOW! NO-LEAVE-UNTIL-I-SAY! GO!" Uncle Vernon than leaned heavily against the wall, exhausted. Clearly he was furious beyond words.
"But if I used magic," Harry argued angrily, his rage flaring up again, "Then I would be expelled. I didn't-"
"GET TO ROOM NOW!" Uncle Vernon shouted, his face darkening even more. He was apparently in no mood for logic. Harry never saw him so enraged before. "YOU-WILL-LUCKY-ESCAPE-BEATING-GO!"
Now becoming frustrated with this exchange, Harry stomped up the steps and entered his room, leaving a very purple Uncle Vernon and a sneering Dudley behind him. Cursing both Uncle Vernon and Dudley, Harry soon fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
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When Harry awoke the next morning, he staggered down the steps and went into the kitchen, smelling the warm scent of fresh fried eggs and bacon. Not expecting any food from last night, and guessing that Uncle Vernon would be furious to see him down here after last night, he walked into the kitchen.
The three Dursley's looked up at him, as if seeing him for the first time in weeks. Harry stopped and stared, waiting for Uncle Vernon's reaction.
"Well, boy, are you going to stand there and stare or are you going to get some food in you to begin the day?" Uncle Vernon asked, pulling him up a chair and smiling broadly.
"Errrr- sure." Harry replied, not quite sure what to say.
Harry sat down and waited, expecting himself to wake up any second or for the Uncle Vernon
to grab him now that he was within beating range. Harry gazed around the table. Aunt Petunia was serenely stirring her coffee, a slight smile playing on her lips. Dudley was helping himself to a heap of greasy bacon and four eggs.
"Well come on," Uncle Vernon said, still smiling, "Eat up." He pushed a plate with two eggs and five strips of bacon towards him.
"Any toast?" Harry ventured, testing his limits.
Uncle Vernon's smile faltered momentarily, and, recovering, he said, "Of course." He looked towards Aunt Petunia. "Could you make him some toast, dear?"
"Why certainly," She said.
Harry could sense there was a catch to this. He studied his food carefully, checking for signs of poison or danger. After finding none, he nibbled cautiously on his bacon. It was delicious. He devoured the rest quickly, not wanting it to be taken away.
When Harry finished, Uncle Vernon folded his morning newspaper, set it down, and said "Oh, and Harry, you'll be having a visitor this afternoon."
Harry froze. "Visitor? Who?"
"Well," Uncle Vernon said, now grinning more broadly than ever, "Its a surprise. You can go back to your room now. You are excused from your chores for the rest of the day." Harry heard him distinctly mutter "I daresay you'll be otherwise occupied." under his breath as he picked his newspaper back up and continued reading. Occasionally, his eyes would flicker from over the top of the newspaper into Harry's direction.
Briefly contemplating dashing out the front door and running down Pivet Drive to escape Uncle Vernon's 'visitor', Harry found his legs automatically lifting him from his seat and taking him up the stairs into his room. When he sat down again on his bed, he felt fear enter his mind.
"Dear God, what has he done?" he said, staring at the ceiling. Realizing what he was doing, Harry took several deep breaths and slowed his heart rate.
This cannot be good, he thought, I've never seen Uncle Vernon so delighted. It must be something really horrible.
His next thought made him laugh aloud. It can't possibly be worse than Voldemort...after all the dangers I've survived, I am fearful of some strange punishment that my uncle has concocted. What was I thinking?
Now smiling, Harry picked up Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures and started on a chapter
titled Centaurs Gone to the Darkness, thinking vaguely of Bane.
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It was about twelve o'clock noon when Harry heard someone knocking on the front door. Harry was abruptly reminded of his 'visitor' this afternoon and he felt his breathing slightly increase.
He crept silently over to the stairwell outside his room, and, straining his ears, listened intently to the conversation that was taking place in the living room. Harry gulped. Uncle Vernon must have practically ran to the door in order for them to be inside already.
"Yes I understand completely, Mr. Dursley, we get these sorts of errrr cases all the time." Said an oily voice.
Uncle Vernon's booming voice echoed up the staircase, "We care for the boy a lot, but when he lost his parents in that car crash...well..."
"And you're sure you don't want him, uhhhh, committed?"
There was a silent pause. "No, we care for him too much," Uncle Vernon said reluctantly, "No but we'll gladly pay for you to come over every weekday. We don't think we could bare letting him leave our home."
"Yes, well uhmmmmmmm, that certainly can be arranged." The voice responded delicately, "May I see him now?"
"Of course, right this way, Dr. Perry."
Harry dashed back into his room and closed the door, breathing heavily. From what he had heard, it sounded like Uncle Vernon hired some sort of muggle psychiatrist. He looked quickly around his room and groaned. It was littered with spell books, quills and various presents from his birthday. He must not let the muggle in here.
Thinking quickly, he opened his bedroom door and found himself staring face-to-face with Uncle Vernon. Harry could see a maniacal glint in his eye and his face seemed to be contorted with a massive grin.
"Well is this the, uhhhhmmm, subject?" A voice tentatively asked from somewhere behind Uncle Vernon. Harry positioned himself so he could get a better look at the man who was standing directly behind his uncle.
He was a thin, older man with graying hair and long, nimble fingers. He wore a pure white uniform with a symbol above his right breast that Harry did not recognize. His right hand clutched something that looked suspiciously like a billy club and Harry found that the man was studying him carefully as well; much like a spider would survey a flailing fly.
"Harry, I would like you to meet Dr. Perry; a correctional officer from St. Brutus." Uncle Vernon's eyes bulged with excitement. "Dr. Perry, this is Harry Potter, the individual whom I discussed with you about earlier."
"Ahhhhh," Dr. Perry said, his voice more oily than ever, "Hello, uhmm, Mr. Potter. How wonderful to finally meet you in, uhh, person." He extended his hand around Uncle Vernon
Harry looked at Dr. Perry, then at his uncle, then back at Dr. Perry again. He felt uncomfortable under the sadistic glare that radiated from the doctor's eyes. "Pleasure to meet you." Harry said, sounding more confident than he felt. He made no move to shake the doctor's hand.
"Yes," The doctor withdrew his hand, and Harry saw a flicker of irritation cross Dr. Perry's face, but it quickly disappeared again under a mask of amiability. "We will have much to talk about, you and I."
"Alright," Harry tried to slide his way around his uncle to go downstairs, but his uncle grabbed him hard around his forearm.
"Where are you going," his Uncle asked evenly, not betraying any of the jubilation that he obviously felt.
"Downstairs so me and Dr. Perry can talk." Harry replied, not daring to turn his head away.
"No I think its best if I have the interview in, uhmmmm," Dr. Perry said, taking another step towards Harry, "His natural, errr, environment."
"My thoughts exactly," Uncle Vernon agreed, now releasing Harry's arm, "Get into your room, boy."
Dr. Perry put his arm around Harry's shoulder and led him into his bedroom. The doctor sat down on a wooden chair in the corner while Harry sat on his bed a few feet away. Dr. Perry pulled a clipboard out from under his uniform and set it on his lap. He folded his hands and waited.
"Well, all seems to be in order," Uncle Vernon said, his eyes straying onto the billy club Dr. Perry carried on his side, "If you need any...assistance...I will be downstairs." And with one more approving glance at the billy club he left the room, closing the door behind him.
Dr. Perry's face instantly turned from amiability into shrewdness. He scanned Harry's bedroom, his gaze sometimes pausing on a spell book or a quill. Harry felt his face begin to burn. Dr. Perry's brow furrowed, and he frowned slightly. He sighed and picked up his clipboard. He scribbled something down, and then looked up at Harry.
"Your uncle tells me they took you in because of your parents, errr, died." he said, apparently waiting for some sort of reaction. Harry merely nodded.
"Do you find yourself often thinking about the, ummm, car crash they died in?" Dr. Perry asked in his most sincere and oily voice.
"They didn't die in a car crash." Harry muttered, beginning to feel a rise in anger. He quickly willed it down.
"Oh, I see." The doctor said, jotting something down on his clipboard before continuing. He tried to appear sympathetic but his voice hinted at an air of excitement.
"Let's talk about it," Dr. Parry said, his excitement rising. Harry could not understand how anyone could get such a thrill out of discussing his private life with him.
"No." Harry said with finality.
"Perhaps you could, uhhh, tell me how they really died."
"No." Harry repeated, this time with more force.
The doctor frowned, looking slightly disappointed. He began to scribble something on his clipboard. "I, umm, understand completely. We will talk about this, uhh, tomorrow maybe?" Dr. Perry looked up at him hopefully. Harry did not respond.
"Well, uhmm, tell me about your life here with your aunt and uncle," He made an attempt to smile benignly but failed completely.
"They're fine." Harry lied. He hated talking to Dr. Perry. He just wanted him to leave so he could have a slice of cake and sleep off the rest of the afternoon.
"Uh-huh," The doctor said, nodding his head, "They do seem like nice people." He jotted a short note on his clipboard.
Harry willed himself not to comment. Whenever Dr. Perry wrote something on his clipboard he was strongly reminded of Umbridge jotting notes down during the teacher inspections at Hogwarts last year.
The doctor's gaze locked onto a book that laid on Harry's nightstand. Harry immediately recognized it as the Defense Against Dark Magical Creatures book that Hermione gave him for his birthday. Dr. Perry set his clipboard on the ground, leaned over, picked up the book and set it on his lap.
"May I?" He asked without looking up. He began to leaf through the pages, eyebrows slightly raised.
Suddenly, he came to the letter that Hermione sent Harry along with his birthday gift. Harry had placed it inside the front cover of the book so that he would not lose it.
Dr. Perry unfolded it, and carefully began to read the contents. Harry had a fleeting thought of tearing the letter out from the doctor's hand, but he immediately reminded himself of the billy club the doctor carried on his waist.
"Hmmmmm," Dr. Perry said, his face betraying nothing, "This-" he stole a quick glance at the letter again, "Hermione is your, errr, girlfriend correct?" He asked.
"No. We've been friends for six years." Harry said, wondering what the doctor was getting at.
"Ahhh, I see," Dr. Perry said, smiling knowingly. He cleared his throat and then said in an oily voice, "She is, errr, very helpful, isn't she?"
Harry chose not to respond.
The doctor, slightly satisfied, folded the letter again with his long, pale fingers, and then placed it neatly in the book again.
"If you don't mind, would you tell me the purpose of this book?" he asked in his most insidious voice, which was tempered nicely with a touch of oil.
"Yes, actually-"
"I think its time you, uhmmmm, shared something with me, Mr. Potter." he said, his eyes now lighting up and his mouth twisted into a sick sort of grin.
Harry unconsciously shifted in his bed. "Well, you see," Harry began, desperately thinking of something to make up, "Its a...book on mythology."
Dr. Perry's eyes narrowed. He opened the thick tome again and leafed through the pages.
"It seems that the book is...errrr," Dr. Perry struggled for the appropriate words, "Taking for granted that these creatures ummmm, exist. Even suggests certain..." He paused, his eyebrows raised, "Defenses against nonexistent beasts." He closed the book slowly.
Harry watched silently as Dr. Perry's long fingers felt the design on the book's cover and traced the ornate grooves on the spine.
"Tell me, Mr. Potter," The doctor began, taking his gaze off the book in his hands and once again staring at Harry with cold eyes, "What is, errr, Occlumency? It was mentioned in your, ummm, friend's letter."
Harry kept his face from betraying the turmoil within him. "Its an ancient practice by the old celtic druids," he said calmly, "Hermione shares that interest. Its an inside joke." He added lamely.
"Uhhhh, sure..." Dr. Perry said, obviously not completely satisfied with the answer but abandoning the thread of questioning anyway. He carefully placed the book back on Harry's nightstand and picked his clipboard up off the ground. He quickly scribbled some notes down before meeting Harry's eyes again.
"Ummmm, Mr. Potter, I have the distinct, errr, feeling that you are not being entirely truthful with me." He said in his usual, oily voice. He paused, clearly waiting for a response.
Harry waited, then shrugged his shoulders. "I am not lying."
Dr. Perry sighed, then stood up from his seat. He paced slowly around the room, sometimes pausing to study a peculiar trinket on Harry's dresser or desk. He folded his thin arms around his back.
When he spoke again, he seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. "Mr. Potter, the reason I am here is to establish a, err, bond of trust between me and you. Your relatives insist that you must stay here, though now, after meeting you, I find myself disagreeing." He shook his head. "I must confess that I do not like being lied to, and, after today's discussion, I find myself planning to bring some of St. Brutus's more, uhmmm, influential instruments to aid me in the healing process. I believe that you are still struggling with denial over your parents' deaths in the car crash, and that this is causing your rather," he gestured to the scattered spell books, quills and parchment, "Abnormal behavior."
"Now I am a lenient man," He said, now looking directly into Harry's eyes. He felt the hairs on his back stand up. "I will try once more. I pride myself on being patient, and I often find many of my more, uhmmmm, restless subjects become more honest after I tell them this. If not..." The doctor frowned and shrugged, "I must resort to other, more, ummmm, uncomfortable methods." Dr. Perry's eyes widened when he finished his speech; looking as if he would enjoy nothing more than to try some of his more 'uncomfortable methods' on Harry right now.
Harry nodded and said, "I understand."
Dr. Perry nodded emotionlessly, straightened his impeccably white uniform, then sat down again on the wooden chair in the corner.
"So, let's try this again, shall we?" Dr. Perry said, bringing out his clipboard again. He attempted to smile reassuringly but it came out as a sadistic grin.
"Your Uncle tells me that you are quite the, errr, troublemaker." The doctor began, willing his normally oily voice to resonate strongly in the room. "Damaged your cousin's trophy, he says."
"Yes I did." Harry admitted. He didn't bother to elaborate on the situation.
Dr. Perry nodded, looking considerably more satisfied with himself, and then said, "He also said you, uhmmmm, attacked your cousin last summer."
Harry looked up, and before he could stop himself he said rather loudly, "I was saving him!"
The doctor glowered. "From what, exactly?"
Harry was trapped. He mentally kicked himself for losing his control and blurting out the truth when the damnable doctor obviously wanted and only believed lies. "Nothing." He muttered.
Dr. Perry's face became a deep red. He slowly set his clipboard and pen down, and, in a voice just barely above a whisper, he snarled "There will be no lying here, Mr. Potter." The doctor stood up, his hand clutching tightly on the billy club. He was no longer bothering to hide his anger. Harry tensed.
A moment passed, and then the doctor released his grip, apparently deciding against punishment.
"I will be back tomorrow, Mr. Potter," He said; his voice betraying a feeling of fury, even though he spoke in a deathly quiet voice, "With some of my more...insidious devices. We will have the truth out of you yet and only then can you heal."
Then, without another word, he snatched up his clipboard and swept out of the room, leaving frozen to his bed.
"Where did Uncle Vernon get this bastard?" he said out loud.
There was a murmur of voices coming from downstairs, and moments later his uncle appeared in his doorway, looking ecstatic.
"Beautiful day, isn't it?" Uncle Vernon said in a booming voice, "I take it your
meeting went well?" He added.
"Oh yeah," Harry said sarcastically, "It was real smooth."
Uncle Vernon threw him a dark look before disappearing from the doorway. Almost lazily, Harry closed his bedroom door, brought out his birthday cake, took a large slice and ate it slowly, savoring it. After he was finished, he buried his head in his pillow and slept the rest of the afternoon, trying hard not to think of what terrors Dr. Perry would bring back from St. Brutus's.