Glacies Nexium
Chapter 1 - The Point
by hpotter225
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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I'm not nearly as creative as the rest of you at disclaimers.
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Alone, at last, Harry gently pushed the door shut behind him and closed his eyes as it clicked shut. No more noise, weeping, moaning-it was gone, finally, and Harry was left to his own devices; left to revel in his own thoughts. Yet now that he was out of the nightmare, it had moved inside of him.
Dumbledore was dead.
A pained look stretched across Harry's face as he dropped his trunk on the floor and leaned back. He could still hear the old wizard in his head telling him that everything would be fine. He could still see the twinkle in the old wizard's eyes as he offered him a lemon drop. He could still feel his guts wrenching as the old wizard toppled over the railing of the Astronomy Tower.
It was Harry's fault.
If Dumbledore hadn't taken the split second to bind Harry, then he would have had enough time to disarm Malfoy and hold off the oncoming Death Eaters. If only Harry hadn't been the useless, defenseless child that he was.
Even though everyone else believed in him, he knew they were only seeing what they wanted to see. He wasn't a great, powerful wizard at all. He was just a boy-an unskilled, untrained boy fighting against men. No matter how many times he was encouraged, he still felt a twinge of guilt that he was failing. This was too soon for him to fight. He wasn't ready.
With a soft grunt, Harry grabbed onto his luggage. His arms felt like rubber tubes as he hauled his belongings upstairs to his room and dropped them in the doorway. It was exactly as he had left it: spotless and barren with a single, cheap cot in the corner.
"Here you go, girl," said Harry soothingly to his snowy, white owl, Hedwig, opening her cage door. "Try to stay out of sight, will you. And don't pick up any letters, please. I'm not in the mood."
Hedwig, indignant as always, ruffled her feathers and hopped over to the windowsill, which Harry pried open. With a squawk that Harry interpreted as "Don't worry," she leaped out and was gone.
By some unfortunate stroke of luck, just as Harry was closing the window, an eccentric little owl zipped under it, colliding quite ungracefully with the wall and sending letters flying everywhere around the room. Harry rolled his eyes and stooped to fix the mess.
"Good morning, Pig," he said dryly. "I bet you think this is hilarious." He glared at the small, incompetent ball of feathers. "I'm not laughing."
Pig rotated his head at an impossibly awkward angle and chirped loudly, then took flight in random, loopy circles around the ceiling.
Harry sighed and began to sort through his mail.
Harry,
You're not right in the head, mate. Staying at your old relatives' house is bloody insane. I don't know why you did it, but once you're tired and fed up with your fat, obnoxious cousin you're welcome to stay with us. Any company is welcome right now.
Don't you even think of taking off without me or Hermione. Even as dim as I am, I can still tell when you're being dishonest. We're your best mates. We're with you to the end.
That sounded really mushy. I'm sorry. We're all out of our minds over here. Mum's gone mental with washing dishes and cooking food (not that I'm complaining!). Everyone else just sits around the house silently.
If we're not there by the time you're done reading this, then we'll be there soon.
Ron
Harry crumpled the parchment and tossed it across the room. He didn't want any company. He just wanted to be alone.
Unfortunately, the sound of a doorbell interrupted his thoughts. He sighed deeply and then went down to answer it.
The door creaked loudly as Harry pulled it open wide, and a gust of wind blew back his already messy hair. To his right, Hermione was standing with her legs planted together and her arms pulled tightly around her chest. To his left, Ron stood, looking quite shocked and stupid with his fist in the air, ready to knock.
The grass swayed like waves on either side of the aggravatingly straight walkway to the front door. For a moment, the sun was entirely blocked out by a passing cloud, and the kids playing across the street stopped and stared into the sky with innocent looks of pleading on their faces. A cat on the neighbor's fence eyed the three patiently from the side.
Harry coughed and then stepped back from the door to let Ron and Hermione in. They both shot him pitying looks as they entered, and Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder in attempt to comfort him.
He slipped under it and closed the door, then turned to face his two visitors. No words were necessary for a greeting.
Hermione, however, was always one for formalities. "Hello, Harry," she whispered, her eyes bent with concern.
Harry nodded. "Hello, Hermione," he said quietly. He was about to tell her that she did not have to whisper because his relatives were on vacation, but he feared that it might start a conversation.
"Bloody hell," Ron burst out suddenly, causing Harry and Hermione to jump at the loud noise. "If someone doesn't speak soon, I'll hex you both!"
"Language, Ronald," Hermione said. Then she turned to Harry and crushed him in a tight hug. "It's so good to see you again."
"Urm, Hermione," said Harry awkwardly. "It's only been a day."
"Of course," she said, stepping back and eying him curiously. "But since I spent the whole night stressing over you running off without us, it seems like ages."
"The idea may have crossed my mind once or twice," Harry said sarcastically. "Then I saw horrible images of you and Ron hexing me into the ground and I thought again."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know we wouldn't do that."
"Maybe we wouldn't," Ron interjected. "You'd be hurling slugs for a month, you git."
"He didn't do anything, Ron. At least not yet..." Hermione eyed Harry warily.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "This isn't your fight."
"This is everyone's fight Harry," snapped Hermione. "Just because you're the one to deliver the final blow doesn't mean that you have to get there yourself. Think about all of the people who died for this cause before you were even born. This isn't your battle; this is everyone's battle."
"Right," said Harry curtly. "Why don't we get a bite to eat. I'm starved."
Ron's face lit up with a huge grin. "You spoke my thoughts exactly. Lead me to the fridge."
The "we'll finish this later" look on Hermione's face didn't pass his notice as he and Ron walked by her into the kitchen.
As Ron pounced on the refrigerator, Harry and Hermione took seats around the table, sitting directly opposite to each other. Her eyes were slanted and her glare was so strong that Harry felt like it was cutting through his chest. He shifted uncomfortably.
"We're staying here with you until your birthday, Harry," declared Hermione suddenly. Ron, who had just raised a cheese sandwich to his mouth, stopped mid-bite and looked over at Harry.
"No," said Harry simply, a small smile creeping onto his face.
"We've thought about it, and we're not leaving you alone again. Despite your good intentions, you do have a knack for getting into trouble," Hermione argued. "Besides, you'll need someone around to brainstorm."
Harry shook his head, still smiling. "I don't think so. It won't be safe with you two around me. You should spend as much time with your families as you can. Who knows how much longer you'll be able to see them?"
"You don't understand," Hermione said. "We've made up our minds. We're staying." Ron nodded in agreement from the counter.
This, Harry knew, was a battle he was not about to win. He decided to let his relatives deal with it. Already, visions of Uncle Vernon blowing a gasket appeared in Harry's mind. Maybe it wasn't that bad after all.
"Right," said Harry. "I'm still trying to figure out what to do until I'm of age. Sitting around here doing nothing isn't quite the carnival I thought it would be."
"Well, you have to prepare for the war," said Hermione thoughtfully. "We should also work out what we already know of You-Know-What's and figure out where we should look next."
In the background, Harry could hear Ron's jaw opening and closing on his sandwich, perfectly content and satisfied. His Aunt Petunia would probably grill him for information about the missing cheese later, but he hardly cared. Other, more pressing matters were on his mind.
Of course he had to prepare for the war, Harry thought miserably. Unfortunately, he was two months from his 17th birthday, when he would be of age to use magic outside of school. He supposed if he relented to Scrimgeour's pressing that he could get an early emancipation, but that would go against what he and Dumbledore were fighting for. No, he couldn't do that. He had to wait it out and find something to do in the meantime.
Despite his misgivings, Harry had actually considered reading until he was of age. That, however, reminded him far too much of Hermione for his liking, so he dismissed the idea, knowing she would cover that base for him.
Harry glanced up at Hermione and saw that, though her face was impassive, there were dark bags under her eyes. She had probably been unable to fall asleep because of worry, Harry reasoned. In his opinion, she had always been the type to care too much, fawning over the smallest injuries and hurt by the most innocent jibes. That was Hermione and he wouldn't want her any other way.
Ron was similar, except that he expressed his hurt through rage. All of the Weasleys were prone to violence when their protective nature was provoked. Their loyalty put even Hufflepuffs to shame.
Suddenly Harry folded his arms across his chest, narrowed his eyes, and then said nonchalantly, "Do either of you realize that Voldemort is ten times more powerful and more knowledgeable than me? I don't have a chance in a million against him. I'm just an unschooled, untrained amateur."
"You're a great wizard, Harry," responded Hermione forcefully. "You're a great wizard with the power to defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore believed in you and so do I. And so does Ron." She stared pointedly at Ron.
"What she said," Ron mumbled while downing his last bit of sandwich.
Harry shook his head. "Both you and Ron could beat me in a duel, and Voldemort could easily beat both of you in a duel. Other than that, I can only beat Voldemort by sheer luck."
"That's why we're going to train," explained Hermione, smiling. "We'll find the power Voldemort knows not. We have to."
Ron nodded. "Look, mate, no one said it was going to be easy. Though I don't think you are giving yourself enough credit. You did fight Voldemort five times already and lived. And you also cast a Patronus in your…"
"It was all luck, Ron," said Harry impatiently. "That had nothing to do with me. I got lucky every time. There's a reason why Voldemort was scared of Dumbledore and not of me-because Dumbledore was powerful and he knew what he was doing. I'm not Dumbledore and I never will be. There aren't any get-smart-quick Potions I can take, right Hermione?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Harry, but there are loads of books that you can read. And once you are of age, you can work on stretching your magic levels. It isn't all that difficult, you know? It's just… a bit painful."
"Painful?" asked Harry. "How painful?"
"Well…" began Hermione, her face blanched. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."
"I'll find out either way," Harry said determinedly. "Might as well tell me."
Hermione looked troubled. "I've never done it, of course, but the books read that it feels like your skin is being cut from your heel, up your calves, thighs and chest, then down your other side. And you'll be rendered useless for a few days afterwards while your magic regenerates. It's proven to work, but I don't know if you can afford to be without magic for any period of time."
"I don't bloody care if it feels like I'm burning alive," Harry said through gritted teeth. "When do we start?"
"I'm not sure this is a good idea…" said Hermione reluctantly.
"It is," Harry assured her.
"There are other ways."
"Quick ways?"
"Well, no," said Hermione slowly. "But we have time."
Ron walked around the counter and took a seat next to Hermione. "Hermione," he said, gazing into her eyes until she looked at him, "we don't have time."
"I…" began Hermione, looking back and forth between Harry and Ron. "Oh, alright," she complied. "We have to wait until you are of age. On the day you turn seventeen, your magic will have fully matured. It's not good to start before then because the limit of your magic will be lower, and it may even begin to drop."
Harry leaned on his elbow, interested. "How often can I do it?"
Hermione gasped in shock. "You don't mean to do it more than once, do you?" Even Ron looked a bit perturbed.
"Why not?" asked Harry. "I'll do anything that will help."
"You don't mean that," stated Hermione. "That would make you the same as Voldemort, doing anything for power."
Harry sighed in frustration. "Look," he said, irritated, "if everything to do with gaining power is something Voldemort would do, then that rules everything out. Stop comparing me to Voldemort-we know that I'm not Voldemort and that I never will be Voldemort. Now, how often can I stretch my magic?"
Both Ron and Hermione had odd, almost pitying looks. "Probably once a week, Harry," Hermione answered, "but that won't give us any time to search for You-Know-What."
"It will help us retrieve them, though," countered Harry.
Hermione sighed. "I suppose," she conceded. "But don't do it when I'm around, please." Her face was blanched at the thought, as if the idea of pain disturbed her.
"Of course," Harry said, smiling. "And I've decided what we'll do until my birthday."
"Oh?" asked Hermione, raising an eyebrow. "What's that?"
Harry grinned and made eye contact with Ron.
"We're going to be Muggles."
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A/N:
First off, I do not intend to update this story regularly. If I promised that then I would set up myself and any readers, if any, for a disappointment. This does not mean that I will not attempt to update regularly, because I will. I just can't guarantee it.
Please tell me what you think, make suggestions, berate, flame, anything you please. I have the ending and the beginning planned out vaguely, so your input will help shape the story greatly.
Thanks for reading.
Until next time…
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