The Dursleys returned from their trip late that night to a dark house, but it was obvious Harry was still there. Vernon and Dudley retired to bed, leaving Petunia to clean and lock up the house. She noticed Harry had been in the living room, certain things weren't in their places, like the TV remote and crumbs on the table. 'Sloppy boy,' she thought. She wiped the crumbs from the table, and as she went to deposit the crumbs in the trash bin, she noticed them.
Petunia picked up the letters in the trash bin, and examined them; there was one opened and three unopened letters. She read the opened letter, and gasped at the strong warning and instructions given to Harry. She looked at the others, and thought they were important. These she'll save for him. He must have dropped them in the bin by mistake. She put them in her pocket and walked up the stairs to the bathroom, to bring the soiled linens down to the laundry, as was her habit. The stains on the snow-white towels were unmistakable as blood caused her to be concerned for her sister's only child. Something happened while they were out and she felt something for her nephew she'd never felt before. He'd never been hurt so bad as to bleed like this.
She carried the soiled towels downstairs and thought about the letters in her pocket. One had the unmistakable handwriting of a girl, two were a bit sloppier, and the fourth was very official looking. She was afraid to open them and thought for a brief moment to tell Vernon. She knew his reaction would be bad, almost violent. Anything dealing with Harry brought out the worst in her husband.
Looking at the letters, she felt there was only one thing she could do. She had been worried not only because of the warning they received, but because he was, after all her blood relation. She knew he hadn't eaten enough since he had been back to feed that bird of his. The letter she drafted was full of concern, not just for her family, but also for his safety.
Miss,
I'm afraid I don't know your name, and I apologize for that. I know you are one of Harry's closest friends, and you need to know he's not been himself. Not that I can claim to know much about him these past five years, I have noticed he's really changed. He's become moody and withdrawn since he returned.
I know he'll never tell us or me what's wrong, or why. I need to tell you this because today we had left him alone to visit family, and on our return I noticed things weren't right. I found some letters to him left in the trash bin, unopened; I believe one was from you. And I found towels in the laundry, soiled and bloody.
I haven't seen him in several days as he refuses to leave his room or eat. Although I know he's there, we hear fitful screams at night. Vernon screams back for him to be quite, but I feel there's truly something wrong.
I found a number of his letters in the trash today, unopened. I'm holding them for him, in case he looks for them. If he doesn't want them, I'll save them for you to give to him.
And please don't tell him I wrote to you, I couldn't have Vernon discover that.
Please, he needs the help I can't give him; he won't accept it from me anyway.
Petunia Dursley
She sealed her letter and tried to find a way to have it delivered. As if in answer to her question, Hedwig flew into the room. Startled, she looked at the bird, as it held a leg to her.
"Is there something you want?" She asked the bird. She only hooted softly and pecked at the envelope in her hand. "Can you deliver this? I need to go his friend, the girl he talks about, I don't know her name."
Hedwig reached out and took the letter in her talons, hopped to the front door and waited for Petunia to open it. Once the door opened, she let out another soft hoot, as to show her concern for him too, and flew into the moonlight.
Harry had heard them return to their home, and stayed in his cell, not wanting to deal with the relentless comments from Marge would have said about his heritage. 'If the bitch is bad, so will the pups,' he remembered. His hatred for the fat blimp of a woman grew whenever he thought of that night, but he always smiled when he remembered the outcome of his anger.
He heard Vernon and Dudley go into their rooms, and make the usual bed time noises- toilets flushing and a grunting sound from his fat oaf cousin's room. Merlin alone knows what he's doing and Harry didn't want to let that thought into his mind. He opened his Divination text again, hoping to gain more insight. He listened as he heard a gasp and sigh from the bathroom, knowing it was his aunt cleaning the laundry.
'I'm going to have to remember to get Dudley alone tomorrow and set him right about Mark,' he thought.
The back of his head still ached, as did his leg. The bruise just above his knee had grown and had turned almost black. 'Lucky it wasn't broken,' he told himself. The day was a hard one, and he felt really tired tonight.
He opened the window, "Here girl, go find something to eat." Hedwig hooted to him, nipped his ear affectionately and flew off into the moonlight.
He stripped off his clothes and crawled into his bed, praying for a dreamless night. This was a tough night to try and sleep. Every time the pillow touched his fresh wound, he grimaced in pain. His thoughts drifted to good times with his two best friends.
Images of Ron and Hermione flooded his dreams, images of the two young men flying freely in the fields of the Burrow. Images of Hermione dancing at the Yule ball in their fourth year with Victor. He smiled as a dejected Krum walked away from Hermione, and the smile faded when he saw her tears. The sweat formed on his brow as he watched his friends' battle and fall in the Ministry only a few weeks ago, a tear formed in his eye when Hermione fall to the curse. The images drifted to a familiar scene, the Whomping Willow stood in the distance, Harry and Hermione crouched behind a stand of pumpkins behind Hagrid's hut. She threw a stone at the hut, smacking another Harry in the back of the head. He felt a twinge shoot through his fresh wound at that memory. He watched for the millionth time as a large shaggy dog grabbed his best friend by the leg, the stomach turning crack of his leg sent a twinge through his own knee. The unity of the three in the shack that night, the willingness of others to forgo their own safety to fight for a just cause brought a rapid beat to his heart, knowing true friends was all he had, knowing true love was all he wanted. All these images flooded his mind that night.
The myriad of random images left his sub-conscious to be replaced with another distinctive image.
"Who the HELL do you think you---"
"SILENCE! Where's the mudblood bitch, muggle?"
"HOW DARE YOU SPEA----"
"CRUCIO---"
"CRUCIO---
Both torture spells hit the man protecting the woman with full force, causing his body to slam into the kitchen
wall. Blood begins to leak from the corner of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. His eyes gaze to his wife, but
he's unable to even mouth a last word, or move his head. The sicken crunch of bone on bone tells the tale, every
bone in the poor man's body was shattered. She watched his body fall limp to the floor, Sharp shards of bone
slicing through his flesh.
"NOO…"
"STUPEFY…"
"Damn muggle… CRUCIO---", the combined force of those spells tosses her small frame into the
kitchen table, snapping her back. She can feel her life draining as the flow of blood begins to fill her stomach.
"YOU FOOL… He wanted them ALIVE!"
The pain from his forehead snapped him from his torched sleep. He tried to think back to the images. Who were those two people he saw die? The distinctive sounds, the grinding of bone against bone, the pain in the last gasps from the woman as she lay dying. It was hard for Harry to shake the image of the fear in her eye. Without another thought, he isolated the images to a corner of his mind, sat at the desk and began to clinically transcribe the images. He was beginning to build a rather large journal of his dreams; it'll take Luna weeks just to read through it. Satisfied he wrote the entire dream as he remembered it, he glanced at the clock, 4:50. It was too early to get up, almost too late to go back to sleep. Now would be a good time for a kitchen raid, not that there was any food left over. As the Dursley's spent the day away, all that was left was some old liver and onions.
'I need something to drink…' he told himself. Still in just his boxers, he quietly tried his door. It was unlocked. He made his way down the stairs, and passed the trash bin where he deposited his letters. He remembered them and reached in, thinking maybe he'll read them. The bin was empty. A sigh left his lungs as he realized the thoroughness of his aunt's cleaning wouldn't have allowed a scrap of paper out of place. It was too late.
In the kitchen, he opened the fridge, looked in and found a fried egg and cheese sandwich on toasted bread. She must have made this for that git of a cousin in case he needed a snack. His loss. The sandwich was devoured in minutes, followed by a large gulp of milk.
He turned to leave the kitchen, and was blocked by a figure standing in the doorway.
"Enjoyed the sandwich Harry?"
"Aunt Petunia… I was hungry, and I couldn't sleep."
"Yes, I know. I could hear you tossing all night. Please sit for a minute."
"Why? What would you care?"
"Please, Harry. I know things with you have been hard. I know we've not helped at all. I know you hate us all, as much as Vernon despises what you are. I've come to terms with it. But I can't tell Vernon. I found some things of yours in the trash bin, some letters."
"YOU DIDN'T READ THEM, DID YOU?"
"No. Only the one that was open. You really need to tell your friends you need their help. I can't help at all. You need someone like you to help."
"What did you do with them, there were mine and personal. You had NO RIGHT to read them."
"I didn't know what to do. I've saved them for you, if you want them." She slid the pile of letters across the table to him, but she wouldn't admit to sending one of her own to Hermione. "I also found your towels in the laundry. Will you tell me what happened?"
"You don't want to know. You'll just think I'm making things up."
"I heard there were hoodlums attacking people, is that what happened? Was it D-Dudley's friends?"
Harry's eyes widened at the revelation that Petunia knew far more then she let on, just like she knew more about Dementors. And she was actually being KIND to him. This was not only out of character for her, but strange. It was almost a mother-son talk. Something she didn't even do with her own son.
"Harry, I need to tell you what your headmaster told me when you first came, but not now. Vernon will be getting up soon, and so will Dudley. I'll knock on your door after they leave for the day and we will talk. Now, back to bed."
Still in shock, and the realization that the sandwich was actually meant for him, he closed his mouth, (it had hung open most of the conversation) and did something out of character for him, he threw his arms around her neck for the first hug she's ever gotten from him. "Thank you. I needed this." He placed a kiss on her cheek before walking upstairs.
The following morning he woke wondering if it was yet another bad dream.
Harry thought about what happened last night. Was it a dream? He remembered the visions of his friends and the visions of the two people that were killed, wishing he know who they were. He looked at his desk and at the pile of unopened letters next to the parchment with fresh text scribbled on it, he re-read what he wrote, and came to realize that part was real. He read the writing and stopped at " Where's the mudblood bitch, muggle?" who ever it was, they were after a muggle born witch, like Hermione.
It was a warning. That's all he could think. They were after his friends because they were close to him. Now was the time to change that. They were only his friends because of what he was anyway. Not because of him, but because he was a 'hero'. He steeled himself in the resolve to finish the fight alone. No one else will get hurt because of him. He'll sever his relationships with them all; they'll live without him. He was going to either kill or die at Voldemort's hands anyway. First task would be to write Ron and Hermione to break up their 5-year friendships, then to write to Moody and tell him to leave him alone. None of this could happen until Hedwig returns.
That morning Harry knew several things were going to happen, and he prepared himself. He expected a visit from someone in the Order, and a conversation with Dudley. He stayed in his room until he heard the telltale sound of his uncle leaving for work. Dudley would be heading out to meet his gang in an hour or so. This was the only chance he had to correct an injustice.
He pulled on the cleanest cloths he still had and left his cell for the kitchen. Once there, his aunt noticed the resolve on his face, knowing this wasn't going to be pleasant, left the room with the excuse of changing the laundry.
"What are YOU doing here, Potter?" Dudley smirked; he still felt HE had the upper hand.
"I had some things to fix, you're the first. I had a run in with you're 'friends' yesterday."
Dudley's face paled, fearing it was bad news. Harry's rage and anger toward a certain dark wizard was unfortunately focused at this minute on a 16-year-old muggle that only had a faint idea of the hurt the wizard could inflict.
Harry's nostrils flared with anger as he began, "They attacked me from behind, but rest assured, after what I've faced before, they were the ones to run. Remember what happened last year? That was nothing compared to the fight I was in this past June. I also understand you've been bothering a young boy named Mark, know this, Dursley, if YOU or any of your gang bother him, I'll find out. I WON'T be as forgiving next time. And as for that decree for under-aged wizards, well, they have more to deal with now than if I turn someone into a toad."
Dudley swallowed hard. He had never seen the anger glowing in his cousin like this before.
"AND… if you think YOU can scare me, remember that wizard that 'warned' your father 2 weeks ago? Well, I can be worse then him." And to emphasize the point, Harry kept poking Dudley in the shoulder with a finger, as if it were his wand. "And I have friends watching me and this house at all times, so, any funny business, and at all, and you'll wish you're parents NEVER met. UNDERSTAND?"
"Y-Y-yes." He mumbled as he slinked out of the kitchen, no doubt to change his shorts.
It took Harry a few minutes to regain his composure and let the rage ebb from his mind. That's when Hedwig returned with a letter. This one was from Hermione. He ripped it open and began to read it, forgetting he wanted to ignore them.
Harry,
We haven't heard a word from you since your first letters, why haven't you written or called? I sent you my number, and since I'm staying with Ron's family, they're concerned too. Ron was afraid he offended you, and you were angry. He won't tell me why he thinks so, or what he wrote, but believes I have a better chance of getting a reply.
My folks went to America to visit relatives there without me, somewhere hot and sunny I think, and I wanted to be here with the both of you.
Please, write or call me, my phone is 07202349845. I know how you feel about Sirius and remember we all lost a good friend that night; I don't want to loose another.
Please keep yourself safe, please be safe.
Love always,
Hermione
PS. If you have some wild idea that we'd be safer without you, you'd better think again, Mister.
Sirius. I'd almost forgotten. How could I forget him? She has no idea who she thinks she's dealing with? She doesn't know what he's capable of, she has no idea who I am. And what did Ron mean by that? Forget it, it just makes it that much easier. They're better off without me, I don't need them.
He picked up a sheet of regular paper, and wrote his 'status report' to Moody, 'they want details, then fine'.
Moody,
As I'm sure your stooge has already informed you, I got into a fight yesterday with some local bullies. I made sure they wouldn't bother me or some of the kids here again. I'm capable of taking care of myself, no thanks to any of you. So unless something happens, I'm not wasting another drop of ink.
Potter
He folded the note and handed it to Hedwig. "Here girl, take this to Moody. I need to get him off my back". His trusty owl looked at him as if he forgot to give her a letter to deliver, hooted at him and pecked at his hand. "No, I'm not sending anything to Hermione. She'll get over it." He now waited for the fallout.
His aunt, watching from the other room, began to fully realize the harm they did to this boy. Harry picked up his letter, forgot the grumbling in his stomach, and left for his cell. Petunia's revelations will have to wait.
Back in his room, he resumed his work, trying in vain to add more detail to his dreams. The only word he could write was 'Sirius'.
He stared at the writing for what seemed like hours; laid his head on the desk and his grief began to catch up with him again. He lost the only person that treated him like a son, and it was his fault. He quietly sobbed himself into a fitful sleep.
The abyss he was falling into was as dark as the night in the room where he watched Sirius die. He always loved to fly, but he wasn't flying. He knew what it feels like to fall. He fell off his broom two years ago and almost died then. He fell, passing images of others that also fell. Cedric, Sirius, his mother and father, some unknown man, aged and broken, countless faces of countless people, all had fallen to Lord Voldemort. He looked into the black and could see a series of images as clear as day, happy images, but whose? The images he saw were taken from another's eyes.
He saw through her eyes the visions of a newborn baby being placed in her arms; bright new eyes stare into a new mother's eyes, a tiny hand reaches out to grab a handful of hair. A young girl playing happily with her father, the long brown curls bouncing with joy as the two chase each other in the yard. A self-confident girl climbs the steps to the train taking her to a new school. The edges of the images began to fade. H e saw a smile as she and a young man approach in the crowded airport terminal, surrounded with love. He saw a thin line of light. As he felt the passing from one life to the next life, a jagged blade pierced the young woman's beating breast, pouring her life's blood from her body. The last image he saw was a jagged scar.
He passed these images, feeling his own scar burn on his brow.
He saw the end of the abyss, the darkness faded into a shimmering pool, fed from images he passed as he is awakened with a distinctive ringing in his ears.