Our journey might turn out to be in vain
But it's the path itself that's worth the pain.
--Karin Boye
Harry felt nothing but comfort beneath the blankets covering him as the specter of sleep waxed and waned. He had been having trouble sleeping, but now, with the workouts Dudley had put him through the last two days, he slept like a rock, feeling secure within the protections that Dumbledore had promised Harry existed around the small house on Privet Drive. Suddenly, Harry was wrenched from slumber at the sound of a faint crack, not unlike the sound of someone Apparating. Harry looked cautiously around the empty room, his senses beginning to sharpen immediately. He reached slowly for his wand, hidden beneath his pillow, when he heard the soft whisper of a voice that had haunted him for the better part of seven years.
"Not today, Harry Potter," breathed the snake-like visage that emerged from the shadows. Harry's wand flew from beneath his pillow and clattered to the floor near the armoire. "You and that wand have caused me great and troublesome delays in my attempt to regain my rightful place in this world. I am afraid that you will simply have to face me alone and unarmed."
Harry dove off the side of the bed, hastily dodging the blast of red that issued from Voldemort's wand. His mind raced as he tried to escape in the narrow confines of the tiny bedroom. How?! How can he be here? Dumbledore said that as long as I was here, he'd be unable to harm me? Did he make a mistake about that as well? Suddenly, an icy chill spread through Harry as a nearby blast impact threw him across the room, dropping him on his back. If he's here and attacking me openly, then that means the Dursleys are...
"You are correct, Mr. Potter. Those filthy Muggles have indeed been eliminated, and it was so easily done. Now, come to me, Mr. Potter. Come and face your destiny. Face me and rejoin your family," Voldemort hissed as Harry, lying on the ground, stared into the depthless red eyes. Harry's chest clenched as he tried to back away from the seemingly enormous yew wand which pointed toward his scar, tip beginning to glow a sickly green. His hands scrabbled for his wand, but he could not find it anywhere. His emerald eyes reflected the light from the Killing Curse as Voldemort began to laugh. His final thoughts as Tom Marvolo Riddle cried out "Avada Kedavra" were simple...
I never told my friends goodbye.
***************************************
Harry's cry of terror pierced the dead stillness of Number 4 in the hours approaching dawn. He bolted upright, eyes scanning the room wildly, looking for some sign of his nemesis' presence. As his heart rate and breathing slowed, he could plainly make out the entirety of his room, and no sign of a dark lord anywhere. He wiped away the sheen of sweat from his face with a shaking hand, his breath flowing raggedly into his lungs. He swung his pajama clad legs over the edge of the bed, and propped his aching head in his hands, trying to ignore the burning in his throat as he fought back the tide of bile struggling for release.
He stood and slipped his way quietly to the bathroom in order to get a drink. After retrieving the glass and splashing his face at the sink, he made his way back to his own room. The edges of the sky began to turn blood red as he watched the horizon from his window, barely able to see the sun through the now ever-present mist. Harry's heart twinged as he thought of the dementors freely roaming throughout Britain, multiplying their numbers and killing innocent people just to feed.
Shaking his head at the futility of his thoughts, he pulled a planner from his trunk and collected the eagle quill Hermione had given him. He flipped through the pages till he came to the end of Hermione's notes on class schedules and study times. A wistful small stole across his face as he thought of his days in fifth year, days when he had only the worries of the DA, and Cedric's death weighing upon him. He chuckled mournfully as he realized what he was doing.
`I'm looking back fondly on Umbridge and the Inquisition of Hogwarts. How far have we fallen for that to be one of my golden moments?' He dipped the quill into the inkpot on his nightstand and began to write.
June 29, 1997
I have decided to record my thoughts and plans in this book, so that one day people may know what I faced before I have even come of age. I do not know if I will survive the fight with Voldemort, but I intend to make a good showing at the least. Tomorrow, Ron and Hermione will join me here at Privet Drive to go over our plans. After which we will travel a bit, before heading to the Burrow for Bill and Fleur's wedding. I admit to being very impressed with Fleur. She could have turned her back on Bill when he was hurt, taken the easy way out, but she chose love over what was easy. Dumbledore was right when he said that doing what was good required great courage.
I have to confess that I was a bit concerned about Ginny's attitude towards Fleur after the battle at Hogwarts. I would have thought that seeing Fleur stand by Bill no matter what would have changed Ginny's opinion towards her, but she seemed to only grudgingly accept that the wedding would take place. Why does she dislike Fleur so much?
Harry paused as he thought of the flame haired girl who had captured his attention this past year; at the thought of the way her hair seemed to burn in the sunlight and the way she moved on her broom. Within his chest, the scaly beast stirred, purring at the thought of the youngest Weasley. He quickly tamped the feelings down, unwilling to think along those lines. He reluctantly returned to the notebook.
I can only hope that we can find the information that will lead us to the artifacts that we need to destroy. Professor Dumbledore was never able to finish what he had started teaching me. I still have no IDEA where to find the items, or how to destroy them. I have faith that Hermione can find whatever I need. With the library at Grimmauld Place being as large as it is and the family's history with Dark magic being what it is, we should find at least some better references than the ones that Tom and Hermione found at Hogwarts.
I've been having nightmares of Voldemort coming for me. The worst part is that I make some pretty basic mistakes in the dreams and those mistakes always end in me facing the Avada Kedavra before I wake up. I'm not afraid of my own death, but I am afraid of making a mistake and watching someone else I care about die. My only wish is that I do not fail my friends when the time comes. He has taken so much from me; I cannot lose them as well. And if I do, he won't live long enough to gloat and I won't be long after.
My name is Harry Potter, and I am the Chosen One. Chosen by Voldemort to face him in the end, chosen to kill the greatest Dark wizard or be killed by him.
God help me.
Harry dropped the quill as his arm muscles began to scream in protest. He massaged the offending muscle as he began to think about what he was facing. The coiled knot of dread that had buried itself in his stomach began to make itself known once more. He looked at himself in his mirror, unable to imagine that the haunted eyes staring back at him were not even seventeen yet.
He ran his fingers through the beginnings of tangled growth that sprung from his chin, thinking caustically, `With my hair as bad as it is and this rat's nest of a beard, I look kinda demented.' He chuckled as he thought of what his friends would say if they could see him right now. 'Ron would think I'd gone spare and Hermione would go spare at the bags under my eyes and the bruises. Speaking of, I should ask Professor Lupin if there's any way to fix those before they arrive. I'll do that later. Ditric Saari is calling.'
Harry slid the book from under his pillow and carefully arranged himself on the bed. Opening the book to the page he had marked, he began to read.
It is the flame of hope and courage that can defeat the darkness within man. Every Dark wizard ever faced has shared certain characteristics, no matter what their background. They are afraid: Afraid of defeat, afraid of death, afraid that those close to them will one day overpower them. They spend every waking moment doing all they can to defend themselves against these fears, to protect themselves from their own terrors. Their lives are consumed by the quest for immortality and power, never realizing that the greatest strengths are those that they despise most of all: Faith, Hope, and Love.
The Muggles have held and known the secret to great power since the execution of a lowly carpenter almost two thousand years ago. All truly great emotions, and by default great power, stem from these three foundations. Compassion, mercy, courage, trust: all of these have a single common element within them. That element is none other than Love. Without love, and by extension friendship and compassion, we would never seek to stand against the Dark Wizards who plot death and plan destruction. It is only our desire to protect and defend those that cannot defend themselves that drives us to fight. It is that which brings men together to fight against Dark forces, banding them together in a common cause. It is this that gives us the strength to stand even when we are about to die, so that evil will not reign victorious.
Harry could barely breathe as he stared at the words of a man who had lived over a hundred years before. Finally, here was the explanation to Dumbledore's repeated emphasis on Harry's ability to love being the power Voldemort didn't have. He felt tears in his eyes beginning to form as he thought of Dumbledore sitting behind that grand desk, eyes twinkling as they always did when Harry had succeeded in figuring out the next piece of the puzzle that would hopefully become his victory. Dashing the tears from his eyes, Harry smiled wistfully as he looked at the object he had been using as a bookmark: Dumbledore's chocolate frog card.
"Even in death, you're still teaching me things, Professor," Harry whispered to the image of his old Headmaster. He suddenly stilled, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He looked closely at the picture again, wondering if he was going mad. I could have sworn I just saw him wink at me. But the image on the card did nothing else and soon the image disappeared from the card. I must be going mad.
In that moment, the alarm began to blare. Harry was jolted out of his thoughts, his eyes flying to the window. Dim light filtered through the curtains of the tiny room, shafts of light illuminating dancing particles of dust. Harry cursed vehemently as he quickly stripped off the oversized pajama pants he wore and threw on his training suit. Lacing up his trainers as fast as he could, he slipped his wand into place and headed out the door. His progress was halted abruptly as an enormous, well-muscled arm nearly clotheslined him. Harry's Quidditch instincts halted his mad dash, but the attempt to stop so suddenly caused him to fall backwards. His older cousin smiled coolly down at Harry as he extended a helping hand.
"Good morning, cousin. Ready for another day in boot camp?"
Harry managed a tight smile as he stood up, rubbing the back of his neck. Dudley seemed to really enjoy his new status over Harry, showing a little of his old self without the implied threat of death or betrayal. He shifted the tape deck inside his shirt and moved toward the stairs, Dudley following him closely. As Dudley closed the front door to avoid the squeak of the hinge, Harry slipped on the headphones and switched on the player. Dudley looked at the headset in surprise, and the pair started running down the block.
Half an hour later, Dudley led the way back towards Privet Drive. Harry's breath came in short huffs as he watched his cousin wend his way back into the yard and began stretching out. Harry shook his head in exasperation at the difference in fitness levels between himself and his once-bloated cousin. Harry was beginning to realize that chasing a Snitch wasn't nearly as physically strenuous as boxing was, although the danger factor was much higher. His respect for Dudley's dedication to his sport over the last two years increased slightly. One of the few regular exercises that he had done was that he had spent the last six years climbing countless flights of stairs at Hogwarts.
"Don't stop moving. Either stretch out or run in place. If you stop moving too soon, your muscles can cramp. We'll have some breakfast in a jiff," Dudley said as he reached for his toes, holding the stretch for a ten count. "If you don't do things in a proper manner, you'll only cause more harm than good. You shouldn't rely on your 'special skills' all the time. Sometimes you won't be able to do that stuff. Knowing how to deal with things outside of...you-know-what will give you an edge over this bloke and his goon squad."
"Hey, Big D! New kid just moved in down the way. You wanna come give 'em a special howdyado?" Harry's head snapped around to see the group of thugs that Dudley had run with for some time. The lot of them seemed even more ape-like than usual, their faces twisted with spite and malice. Harry felt a chill travel up his spine as he realized where he had seen those looks before. The High and Mighty Malfoy the Wonder Ferret and his cronies used to look like that whenever they felt like proving themselves lords of Slytherin. They watched Dudley intently, waiting for a response that, when it came, surprised them immensely.
"Sod off, you wankers. I've got more important thing to do today than to rough up some new ponce. You're so keen on it, do it yourselves. Just don't bother me today!" Dudley growled, his indifferent posture belying his seeming anger. The boy seemed almost amused by the situation, finishing his stretches before heading for the door. "Coming Harry?"
Harry carefully hid a beaming smile at the gang's reaction to Dudley's polite recognition of Harry. Restraining the desire to look over his shoulder, he preceded Dudley into the house, more proud of his cousin than he could ever remember. Dudley cautiously shut the door, as unwilling as Harry was to arouse the suspicion and ire of Vernon Dursley. As the latch clicked and the house remained silent, the two boys shared a look of mutual relief. Harry nodded towards the kitchen and Dudley strode after him.
"For that little performance, I'll whip you up an omelet, Dudders. You know, I don't think I've seen them look that buggered in, well, ever," Harry stated as he moved to the icebox and withdrew the various ingredients he'd need. He spread them on the counter and reached for a pan as he continued. "You did a good thing there, Dudley. A good thing and you should be proud of that. Professor Dum...Dumbledore," he choked, "said in first year that it takes a great deal of courage to stand up to your enemies, but even more to stand up to your friends. So, good one," Harry finished in a whisper, his emotions and memories suddenly flooding through him. He quickly tried to tamp them down, to hide his tears before Dudley saw.
"Harry?" Dudley looked at his cousin with mild discomfort. The elder Dursleys were notoriously unaffectionate toward the boy, and a lifetime of emulation had embedded the same behavior in himself, but he also felt a growing urge to find out what had made Harry so upset that he would have to struggle not to show it. Harry quickly waved away the older boy, unwilling to trust his voice to not break when he spoke, as he began cracking eggs over a mixing bowl.
Dudley watched the younger man standing at the counter make breakfast like a professional chef. It was in these moments that he saw how much had fallen on his younger cousin's shoulders. Not only the burden of his servitude under the thumb of Vernon and Petunia, but the fact that he bore it all with only a few outbursts to mark his emotional state at the situation.
Harry was thankful for the lull in conversation, as it allowed him to collect the tattered remains of his self-control. He quickly whipped the eggs into a uniform consistency and began making a pair of omelets. The various toppings were added as the eggs cooked, and before long, the simple breakfast was finished. After sliding them onto plates and quickly wiping down the surface of the stove to remove any trace of mess, Harry placed the food onto the table, glad that the house was still silent as he was sure Vernon would throw a fit at seeing Harry eat so well. The two boys dug into the meal ravenously, washing away the spices with orange juice and milk. When they had finished, Harry quickly rinsed and dried the plates and cooking utensils so that Petunia would have no reason to snap at Harry for his messiness.
As the two boys made their way down the narrow hallway beside the cupboard that had once been Harry's home, Dudley looked quizzically at Harry. "How did you get the cassette player, Harry? I know that the one I used to have got smashed a long time ago."
Harry smiled as he replied, "My best friend Hermione picked it up for me. It and a tape of music for me to listen to. I sent her some Galleons I had left over from last term, she got them exchanged, and sent me this in return."
"Your best friend is a girl?"
Harry bristled at the tone of Dudley's voice. "She is one of my two best friends, yes. She happens to be top in our year at Hogwarts, and bloody brilliant at anything she tries to do. She's helped me out of more scrapes than I could ever hope to thank her for."
Dudley looked askance at Harry before asking, "Are these two best friends going to be coming to get you?"
"No, they're actually going to be staying over at Mrs. Figg's house for a few weeks to train with me, and to keep me company. Then, after I turn seventeen at the end of July, we're going to go.... hunting is the word for it, I guess. And I can't tell you any more than that. I made a promise to Dumbledore, and I need to keep it." Harry quickly whipped open the cellar door, hoping to forestall any further conversation. Dudley, however, had different ideas on the subject. He touched Harry's arm to halt the smaller boy's attempt to escape questioning.
"Dumbledore was that old codger that came in last summer and was knocking around on Dad's head with that teacup, yeah? He was an odd one, that," stated Dudley as the pair headed down into the basement. Harry didn't know whether to be offended or not, when Dumbledore's first words echoed in his ears.
"Yes he was. One of the first things he said to welcome us to school let us know exactly what he was like. I remember he said," Harry quickly shifted his voice into something resembling Dumbledore's, "Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit, Blubber, Oddment, and Tweak'" Harry chuckled at the memory. "Some of us thought he was absolutely barmy after that one. Then around Christmas, I found this mirror that allowed you to see your one true desire. I saw my mum and dad in it, and spent a lot of time there after that, just so I could see my parents."
They reached the bottom of the stairs and Dudley, looking solemnly at Harry, began slipping on his boxing gloves as Harry continued, "Dumbledore confronted me one night a week or so later about all the time I had spent staring at the mirror. He said that we shouldn't dwell on dreams and forget to live, and that people had actually died because they had preferred what they saw in the mirror to their own lives. He made me promise not to come looking for it again. I promised, then I asked him what he saw in the mirror. He said that he saw himself holding a pair of thick wool socks." Dudley snorted at that, trying not to laugh as he handed Harry the second pair of gloves. Harry sighed before continuing, "But he was one of the wisest and bravest wizards I've ever known. When I wasn't trying to hide things from him, I could talk to him about anything. But he was so blasted stubborn about some things, and because he didn't listen to me, he got himself killed." Harry clenched his fist tightly, staring at it as he pictured himself pulverizing Snape.
Dudley moved over behind the bag, and cleared his throat to get Harry's attention. Harry looked up sheepishly, quickly stripped off his shirt, and slid on the pair of gloves. Within minutes, his chest glistened with a sheen of sweat as his fists rhythmically struck the bag that Dudley held. Harry's arms were sore from throwing punches and blocking Dudley's return slaps. His hands felt like lead, his arms beginning to tire from the rapid blows. The punches were beginning to slow in speed before Dudley called a halt to the practice. He came around to face Harry and moved into a guard stance.
Harry barely had time to raise his hands as a fist the size of a ham came barreling at his head. Years of dodging bludgers came swiftly back as he shifted his head away from the oncoming fist. He quickly stepped inside of Dudley's guard and delivered an uppercut to his stomach, which the older boy diminished by moving with the blow. The two faced each other warily, circling, looking for an opening in the other's guard. The muscles in Harry's arm began to burn as he held his gloves up, protecting his head. Dudley lashed at Harry with a series of blows to the head and torso. None of them were more than taps against the skin, but the speed and number of strikes still had Harry's ribs feeling sore.
Harry slipped inside Dudley's guard as the older boy tried for a haymaker. Using speed honed by years of grabbing a Snitch, Harry popped his fist into Dudley's midsection, causing the boy to exhale mightily. Harry backed away quickly, waiting to see what the larger boy would do. Dudley stood up slowly, controlling his breathing until he was no longer gasping.
"Nice job Harry. I, uh," Dudley chuckled, "I think that we're done for the day. I'm sure dad has some chores that he wants you to do." Harry groaned as he tossed his gloves on the trunk by the basement stairs. He quickly ascended the stairs, hoping to get to his room without being sighted.
"HARRY POTTER!!" Harry skidded to a stop as the venomous bellow of Vernon Dursley pierced the tranquil morning. Harry cringed as the massive bulk of his Uncle filled the hallway in front of him, blocking his path to the upstairs. Vernon's face had attained a shade of purple usually reserved for royalty. His mustache quivered as he pointed an accusatory finger at Harry. "Just what the devil do you think you are doing in the basement at this time of morning? I'll have you know that I purchased that equipment for my son's exclusive use, not for some little freak to be messing around with it. I forbid you to go down there without our express permission!"
Harry restrained himself from snapping at Vernon and replied in a sickly sweet tone, "I'm sorry, Uncle Vernon, but Dudley needed someone to hold the bag for him while he practiced. He should be up in a bit. He just wanted to do some…shadow boxing I think he called it." Harry controlled his smirk as Vernon blustered about for a moment, trying to find a way to punish Harry.
At that moment, Dudley emerged from the basement. He walked over to Harry, and with a punch to the arm sneered, "See you tomorrow morning Cousin." Harry inwardly smiled at his cousin's performance as he rubbed his shoulder, glad for the assist. Vernon gave a final huff and, with a look of absolute loathing, headed for the kitchen where the scent of eggs that was filling the downstairs originated. Harry watched the retreating form of his uncle then turned to smirk at Dudley. The expression of suppressed anger on his cousin's face stopped Harry from making any sarcastic comments.
"Don't," Harry whispered, "It will just make things worse. Let it go." Dudley looked at him and simply nodded. The two made their way upstairs, eager to get out of the sweaty clinging t-shirts they wore. Dudley went to shower while Harry made his way to his room. Harry locked the door and stripped down to his boxers. He quickly pulled a set of clothes out of his dresser, then caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The years of Quidditch had tightened and toned his arms and stomach, and he had not yet suffered the rib-baring nutrient deficiency that he usually experienced when living with the Dursleys. Glad that this morning's bruises were not going to be too bad, Harry prepared for the day.
Pulling on a pair of oversized shorts and one of his cleaner school shirts, he tucked his wand into his back pocket and headed for the front door. As he descended the stairs, he saw Aunt Petunia walking into the living room. Harry stopped on the landing and cleared his throat.
"Aunt Petunia, I'm going to go to Mrs. Figg's for a while," Harry stated.
Petunia paused in the living room door as Harry waited for her response. Her calculating gaze swept Harry before she nodded sharply. "Be back before lunch. And I want you to aerate the plants out back when you return."
"Yes Aunt Petunia." Harry quickly descended the rest of the stairs and ran out the door before either of his relatives could call him back. Once outside, he took a deep breath as he looked around at the neighborhood. It was Sunday on Privet Drive, and people were heading off to church or working on their landscaping. The prevalence of moisture in the air had not made it necessary to use the hosepipes this year, so much of the work was simply pruning and weeding, work that Harry was more than used to after so many years of doing those exact tasks for Petunia Dursley.
Some of the neighbors looked at Harry openly, others merely watched him from the corner of their eye. Having endured a variety of gazes in his years at Hogwarts, Harry ignored the stares of the residents of Little Whinging. Then the appearance of an unusual character on the street brought Harry up short. The sight of lime green hair and a ripped baby-tee this close to Number Four, Privet Drive almost made Harry double over in laughter. He could only imagine the Dursley's faces as he walked over to the newest almost-member of his extended family.
"Wotcher, Harry," Tonks cried as she wrapped Harry in a bone crushing hug. Harry grinned at the woman's exuberance, although he felt the blood race into his cheeks at such a public display. Tonks, of course, seemed oblivious to this. "Remus and I were wondering how you were, so when they asked for volunteers for `Harry Watch' rotation, I requested today so I could walk you over for your report to headquarters."
Harry backed away from Tonks as her words sunk in. `Even after all that has happened, they still have to have someone watch me.' His cheeks flushed again for an entirely different reason, but he bit his tongue and brushed by the now startled woman, his stride carrying him quickly toward Mrs. Figg's house. Tonks scurried to catch up and almost ended up sprawled on the sidewalk from a rogue rollerblade until Harry spun around to help steady her.
"I take it that I said something to get your goat, eh Harry?" The apologetic look on her face threatened to crack the feeling of righteous indignation that had formed inside. He sighed as he slowed his pace to allow her to keep up. "You want to talk about it before the whole Order starts in on you?"
"It's just that… not long before Dumbledore died, I had come to accept what it was I had to do, who I had to be until this war was over. I thought that with everything I've done, with all that I've seen," At this Harry stopped, unwilling to look Tonks in the eyes, "I thought that the Order would finally believe that I could handle myself. That I didn't need anyone babysitting me. But now you tell me that they're still at it, not trusting me to handle myself, even though Dumbledore himself said that Voldemort," Tonks squeaked, but Harry ignored it, "couldn't touch me while I was here. What's the point in wasting perfectly good manpower on a target that isn't and cannot be a target?"
Tonks let a huge smile break across her face as she tugged on his chin so that Harry was forced to look her in the eyes. She then grabbed his head with both hands and planted a kiss square on the famous scar on his forehead. Harry felt his cheeks burn as he turned a shade of crimson that could rival Vernon on a good day. With a slight laugh, Tonks shook her head as she replied, "Harry Potter, you daft little git. I can't speak for the others, but the reason I'm here is not because of that," she motioned to his scar, "but because Remus, the man I love and would do anything for, worries so much about you. You've got so much on your shoulders, as the last person with a direct connection to your parents he feels responsible for your safety and well-being. He'd be here himself if not for the fact that he had to go back undercover, so I told him that I would look out for you."
Harry felt his eyes moisten as her words struck the very core of his being. That he would hear such things here on Privet Drive, in the one place he had never felt loved or at home, made his heart swell. Then he noticed the mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"Besides which, if I can ever manage to out-stubborn him, I'll be your good-as-blood aunt. So just watch yourself, Potter. Don't make me have to get tough." Harry chuckled at Tonks's attempt to intimidate him, then motioned that they should continue.
"You realize, my dear almost-Aunt Nymphadora, that you will find it most difficult to intimidate someone who has shared a mind with the Darkest Lord in a century." Tonks huffed loudly, her exasperated expression cracking apart as she began to laugh. Harry couldn't help but join her as they continued on to Arabella Figg's house.
***************************************
Harry waved goodbye to Tonks as she headed off to find a decent observation point of the house. With a wry grin, he turned and rang the doorbell. Within the house, the sound of mewling cats grew until the glass almost seemed to shake from the hubbub. He faintly heard a voice admonishing the cats, telling them to quiet down; his smile grew as he remembered all the times he had been forced to deal with the creatures. Soon the curtain obscuring the small window by the door shifted and a voice called out from within.
"Who is it?"
"Harry Potter, ma'am. I'm here to report in, and to talk about tomorrow."
"What is the name of the gray Persian with the sock on his left foreleg?"
Harry cursed silently under his breath as he began scrabbling through his memories trying to think of the names of the myriad cats she had. Finally his memory came up with, "Mr. Tibbs."
He waited for the door to open, but when it didn't, his mind flashed back to Mr. Weasley's actions during
Harry's first morning at the Burrow last year. With a sigh, he responded, "What was Mundungus going to check
on when he deserted me summer before last?"
"Cauldrons that had fallen off a truck." The sound of several clicks and rattles preceded the door opening. Mrs. Figg stood there smiling before pulling Harry inside. She seized the boy in a swift hug before looking him over. "Well, they seem to be treating you all right so far. How are you feeling, my boy?"
Harry's embarrassed feelings at the impromptu hug were quashed as he replied, "Well, considering the circumstances, not too badly. I noticed you watching me yesterday when I was running."
"Ah, yes. Violet wanted out that morning to get a bit of a runaround. I have noticed you seem much more active recently as compared to the last couple of years. Planning on entering a marathon," she teased, causing Harry to break out in a small grin.
"Something like that. Well, shall we," he asked as he motioned to the fireplace. Mrs. Figg went to the hall closet and pulled out an old rusty coffee can. She peeled off the lid and held it out to Harry so that he could take a handful of the dust within. Clearing his throat, he threw the Floo powder into the fireplace as he called out "Number 12, Grimmauld Place." The flames turned bright green, the dancing light briefly reminding him of the color of the AK in his dream, but with a shake of the head, he thrust his face into the fire.
"Hello, is anyone there?" Harry waited a moment before he heard a familiar thunk-step. Within moments, Mad-Eye Moody emerged into view, his false eye boring in on Harry.
"Good to see you intact, Potter. Understand you've been putting yourself through a bit of training, eh?" The edges of the former Auror's mouth quirked up for a moment before resettling into his perennial scowl.
"Yeah, I thought that since I couldn't legally do magic for another month, I might as well be doing something. So I've been exercising every morning, and I do keep my wand with me before you ask Professor, and my cousin Dudley has recently begun training me in boxing."
Mad-Eye's mad eye began whirling as he leaned closer. "That's interesting, Potter. What kind of potion did you feed the boy to get him to do that? Or did you threaten him into helping out? "
"Not really my doing, if I understood him right. I'm not sure of the details, but he said it had to do with the summer before fifth year and some things Professor Dumbledore said this last summer. Besides, I can't make potions at home anyway. I'm underage, remember?"
Moody's frown became a sinister smile as he whispered, "And just how exactly is the Ministry supposed to detect you brewing potions, Harry? After all, you don't have to use magic to make a potion, do you? Not that I'm suggesting you turn your room into some sort of laboratory, but if you really need something, like a bruise removing potion say, I see no harm in it." Harry's eyes widened as he realized what Moody was saying. `Potions are just mixtures of different ingredients, not magic of any kind. I can make potions at the Dursley's, and the Ministry would never know!'
The possibilities that suddenly opened up before Harry's eyes became endless. He smiled at Moody as he nodded. "Thanks, Professor. That's good to know, but that aside, I just wanted to check in and let you all know that I'm doing well."
"Very well, Potter. Keep up with it, and remember: CONSTANT VIGILANCE!!!" Moody's loud cry, even though expected, almost caused Harry to smack his head on the lintel of the fireplace. He grimaced at the aged wizard before pulling his head from the fireplace.
He turned as he stood to thank Mrs. Figg when he realized she was nowhere around. He wandered toward the kitchen, well-honed Quidditch skills enabling him to maneuver through the morass of cats that carpeted the hall between the two rooms. He finally managed to jump to an empty spot near the kitchen door, barely maintaining his balance by grasping the frame. Mrs. Figg looked over from the countertop and chuckled as he walked gingerly into the room.
"Just thought I'd make a spot of green tea and some sandwiches, all right? You still take your tea with two sugars, yes?" Mrs. Figg smiled as Harry nodded. She quickly added the flavoring and put two sandwiches onto a tray that already contained the tea set. She handed the lot to Harry as she shooed the cats from in front of her, clearing a path for Harry to follow to the living room. Harry set the tray down on an end table near Mrs. Figg, who promptly handed Harry a steaming cup of tea. He took a sip, relishing the bite of the tea, and reached out for a sandwich before Mr. Tibbs could grab it.
"I wanted to talk to you about the arrangements for Ron and Hermione before I left. Did I get you enough to cover expenses?"
"Oh dear me, yes Harry. I even had Kingsley come down and put up a few extra wards. I've got the rooms they will be in ready, and enough food to feed an army."
Harry smirked as he reached for his money pouch. "You might need more, if I know Ron. He could eat enough for an army by himself." She held out a hand to stop him.
"Don't worry about that now. If it comes to be necessary, we can take care of it, but until then, keep your money." Harry looked abashed, but put the money back into his pouch. He stood then and held out a hand.
"Thank you, Mrs. Figg," Harry stated, his gaze intense. "Having them here, with all that is going to go on, means more to me that you can imagine. If you need anything, anything, you let me know, and I'll do what I can." With that, he gave a small bow and left the room. Mrs. Figg heard the slam of the front door a moment later, and began clearing the end table of the china. As she lifted up the saucer that Harry had been used, she found two golden coins winking up at her. She sighed expressively as she picked up the two Galleons.
"That boy. Can't tell him anything, because he never listens anyway." She looked down at the black and gray kneazle that rubbed against her foot. "I only hope that he doesn't get too deeply into things. I hate to think of something happening to him."
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