Owls
Harry hadn't thought much of his work as he walked the two miles from the mine's opening to his apartment. He was thankful, yes, that he had another long and arduous day of picking and shoveling. It kept his mind off the fact that he was completely and totally exhausted. Harry looked down the hill as he walked, certain that had his walk home had been up hill he would have taken up the offer his neighbor and fellow miner David had presented. David always headed to the town's one bar after work, eager to avoid his wife and their son.
Harry shook his head as he walked. He couldn't imagine wanting to avoid his wife or child. There were things in life he could imagine avoiding, yes, but family would not have ever been one of them. David's truck roared past Harry, sending up a cloud of gravel dust. Harry cough and choked, his eyes teary, but waved at his neighbor and continued down the road to where the miner housing was so neatly pressed at the base of the land.
He lived in slight denial every night when he came home from work. He would open the door to the one bedroom apartment and stand there in the doorway expectantly. Even after all this time with out hair or hide, he always hoped that today would be the day that he would open his door to find someone, anyone at this point, standing in his living room waiting for him. In the early months, he thought of how Hermione would have come to her sense and be there, waiting. She would throw her arms around him and they would head wordlessly to the bedroom. Nothing would need to be said, and they would just pick up where they left off.
"You are an idiot," Harry said aloud to himself as he shut the door behind him. He took off his helmet, having decided it was probably unlikely his roof would cave in on him, and hung it on his coat tree by the front door. Though he had never had a mother, he could hear Aunt Petunia's voice in his head telling him not to track his shoes through the house. Harry pulled free his work boots and left them by the door. Heading straight through his little kitchen, he stood alone in his tiny laundry room that was nearly too small for a house elf. Harry stripped down to nothing and piled his dirty clothes straight into the wash, setting it, before heading to his much needed shower.
Harry tried not to think of anyone while he was in the shower, finding not only nearly impossible but also rather evident as he looked down at himself how Hermione made him really feel. Despite being alone, he felt himself flush with the thought that she attracted his interest so. Harry laughed at himself, thinking of what Ron would say to this interesting turn of events. Harry had never been one to let his body get the best of him, and yet it was clear what his body wanted was something Harry could not give it.
Dressed in his favorite, yet rather old looking pair of pajama pants, Harry sat down at his computer with a bowl of cereal in his hand. He had never been one to throw himself in front of one of these things like his cousin, but found that it was nearly impossible to find out any news from the United Kingdom here in Golden Valley. They had two news papers that came out on either Wednesday or Saturday, neither of them worth the paper they were printed.
"Hey, Brit, you in `ere?" David called as he opened the door to the apartment. Harry looked up at his friend who was looking rather dingy as he strolled into Harry's house.
"Oi, over `ere," Harry said with a mouth full of cereal. David glanced at Harry sitting at the computer and laughed.
"Please tell me that you are lookin' at porn or somethin', an' not readin' the news," David begged with a smile on his face. He shut the door behind himself and strolled over to the computer, peering at the screen. "Jeeze, Brit, you are lamer than Betsy with all this readin' stuff."
David had signaled to the rest of Harry's meager living room. While neat, Harry's living room was cluttered with shelves upon shelves of books. He owned a television, naturally, though it had been ages since he had actually sat down and watched anything on it. Harry had never been much of a reader, except of his Quidditch book that Hermione had given him. He couldn't pin-point when he had started reading. It had to have been a few years ago, not too terribly long after he had come here. He had been lonely, and walking the streets of the little mining town. It was completely by accident that he had turned down the alley and found at the far end the book store.
Harry had started reading as a very vague and distant way of connecting with Hermione, despite having no idea where she was or what she was doing. He knew it was childish and ridiculous to think that by him reading a book, it made her closer but some how, he felt that by reading, he understood Hermione more. When things seemed their bleakest, the words were familiar and comforting. He could imagine the thrill Hermione felt when she opened a new book, like a new world, previously unfamiliar to mind and heart. He hoped to share that with her one day.
"You know, it wouldn't kill you to keep up on current events, Dave. I mean, granted nothing changes here, except of course the day the town drunk is arrested, I bet it will be Wednesday this week, by the way, but things change outside of our sleepy little mining town," Harry said as he glanced at the screen. He never expected to learn of anything in his world, no, but perhaps a hint in the muggle world that all was as he had left it, rebuilding and calm.
"I know, I know," David laughed as nodded. David yawned. "Anyway, Bets asked me to stop by an' invite you to Sunday supper again. She says I am not to take no for an answer, so you comin' right?"
"Sure," Harry said after a stretch of time. Why not? It wasn't as if he ever had any plans.
"Hot damn, good! Means Bets'll be nicer to me t`night," David grinned as he headed back to the door. "You goin' to need a ride up in the morn'?"
"Do I ever?" Harry asked as his friend headed out the door.
"Nah, but you know I thought I'd ask," David laughed as he shut the door behind him and left Harry's apartment feeling strangely quiet. Harry finished his cereal, thankful to see there was nothing new to report on the old UK news websites. Harry headed to his bedroom, flicking on the light. His eyes lingered on the picture above his bed. It wasn't the picture that held his interest, but what he knew was behind it. Harry headed to his window, pulling the curtains tight against the pitch dark night.
Glancing around needlessly for Harry was always alone in his bedroom, he climbed on top of his neatly made bed and lifted the heavy picture of a big black dog from the wall. He set it aside and looked intently at the cold steel door that stood like a square blemish on the otherwise unmarked walls. It was nearly a foot and a half tall and wide with a large black dial on it, covered in numbers.
Harry couldn't forget the code had he wanted to; it was something he couldn't dream of forgetting in a million years. He spun the dial until it clicked in release and the door swung open, allowing him access to the contents inside. He reached for his wand, but was distracted by the movement of a picture that was resting below it. Harry pulled the framed picture of the group he had created back when he was at school, the DA, loving coined Dumbledore's Army. Connie Cho was standing next to him, Ginny on his other side. Ron and Hermione were there, George and Fred, Neville and Luna, as well as many others that Harry had called friends.
Harry, even at this point in his life, couldn't help but miss his friends. They had been with him, been there for him, when it seemed like everyone else wanted him to fail. He had seen those he loved perish because of him, and yet that never drove them away. Harry smiled as he looked at Hermione and Ron, hand in hand in the picture. He had never noticed in their fifth year how close they were becoming, and it gad been downright a shock that they were a couple in their seventh year.
Harry knew why they had kept it a secret, and had Harry thought more of it, he and Ginny would have done the same. Secrecy was security. That had been Harry's first mistake, not keeping his relationship with Ginny a secret. It had never occurred to him to keep anything like that a secret, and it had opened them all up to unnecessary danger. Harry was smarter now, but then he thought he was smart enough to keep everyone safe.
Harry replaced the picture and pulled out his wand. It had been months since the last time he had held it, and the wand seemed angry with him for denying himself magic for so long. Harry stroked the wand with his fingers, thinking of all of the great witches and wizards that had held this wand over the years. He held the most powerful wand ever, and by default it made him one of the most powerful wizards ever. Harry was anxious of the power it granted him just because he had won the wand's allegiance from Voldemort.
"Sorry, boy, but I am a muggle for now," Harry whispered to the wand as he replaced it in the wall safe next to his cloak and other things that hinted to the past he was suppressing. He prayed that one day he would be able to rejoin his friends and the rest of the magical community. His fingers lingered a moment longer on the faces of his dear friends before he retracted his hand and closed the safe. He spun the wheel and replaced the picture of the black dog. A smile crossed his face, as it always did when he thought of how much the dog looked like his Godfather, Sirius, had when he was a dog.
Harry pulled his pants off and climbed under the bedding, willing sleep to come quickly. His body was tired, aching from the lack of substantial sleep from the night before and Harry hoped he would be able to nod off quickly. He sighed as his mind began to kick into high gear.
"Not again," Harry groaned to the darkness, and instead of fighting another night of sleeplessness, he climbed out of bed and went searching under his bed for his running shoes. He found the left one easily, but the right shoe seemed elusive. Sighing he pushed himself further under the bed, thinking he might need to do something about the endless pile of stuff hidden under there. Seizing his right shoe finally, he pulled it out from its hiding place and tossed it on top of his mussed bed.
Harry pulled on sweats and a hooded sweat shirt, pulling shoes on over his sock-covered feet. He left his apartment quietly and headed towards town. He could tell by the glow of his wrist watch that it was already so late, nearly eleven. It seemed like time sped by when it wasn't welcomed. He turned the corner of the alley his visited so often to find the book store was still open.
"Brit, what are you doing out so late?" The old woman who ran the store asked as Harry entered. She was maybe seventy, possibly eighty, with wiry white hair and nearly blind eyes. It was odd how she always knew he was there, though she had never seen his face.
"Good evening to you, Mrs. Jordan," Harry murmured as he closed the door tightly behind him. "I was out for a run and thought I would see what you have here in the store."
"Not much more than I had yesterday, dear," Mrs. Jordan said as her hand went to his cheek endearingly. She patted it and walked toward the counter. "I did get a miss shipment, though, and I thought I would return it, but perhaps it would spark your interest?"
"What is it about?" Harry asked as the woman held what looked to be an old leather bound book.
"I am not sure," Mrs. Jordan said as she ran her fingers across the spine. A smile crossed her face wistfully and she held the book out to Harry. "It just feels special, and I knew if anyone would appreciate that sort of thing here, it would be you."
"Thank you," Harry said. He pulled out his wallet, surprised he had remembered to grab it. It was as if destiny ensured that he would be able to get the book that night. Harry looked down at his bank card: Britten Donovan. Harry shook his head, thinking that perhaps his name should have been a bit cooler.
"Now, son, don't stay up too late reading that book tonight," Mrs. Jordan warned with a kind smile, her walking stick clicking on the stone floor as she led Harry back outside into the cool night air.
"Yes ma'am," Harry said as he held the book in his hand. He waited until she locked up and was safe inside her store before Harry headed back to his apartment building on the other side of the coal mining town.
Once locked safely in his apartment and stripped down to his boxers, Harry climbed back into bed with the new book that he had purchased. Harry ran his fingers over the gold embossed lettering: A Fairy Tale by: J. Longlove. He felt himself shiver though he wasn't certain why. He had never heard of Longlove before, and wondered if this Longlove fellow was any good.
"Hm, Lon-glove? Well, Mrs. Jordan had recommended many books before I would have never read, and they all turned out so well. I am not really into fairy tales, but this is certain to be interesting," Harry murmured as he opened the book.
There was a prince who was the greatest prince in all the land, who survived when the king, who was not of his blood, wished to kill the true heir to the throne. With the queen slain in a most heinous way, all was certain to end for the young prince, but the evil king who had stolen the throne was thwarted when his evil sword failed to slay the young prince shortly after his first birthday on All Hallows Eve.
Harry stopped reading; a cold chill had overcome him despite the tightly sealed windows. He shook his head, thinking while this sounded very familiar, it just couldn't be. This was a muggle book he had bought in a muggle book store. Harry laughed aloud suddenly. It was just a book after all; a fairy tale the muggles probably all told their children. Harry laughed again at himself, thinking that his friends would think of him as a prat to think he was so labeled a prince in a book.
The young prince, now an orphan was banished to live with the evil half sister of the now slain queen, who insisted the boy never know of his true heritage. Moreover, for ten long years, the boy lived side by side with a cousin that was treated so much better than he was. The boy was ignored and abused, but never knew of his royalty and how truly special he really was. That boy's name was James.
"See, it's not me," Harry said aloud to himself, almost hysterical. He looked at his clock, seeing that time had seemed to slow down and it was still a bit until midnight. Harry settled against his pillows and pulled the book closer to continue.
James couldn't believe his luck when the master of kings and queens, princess and princes summoned him to come and live in the largest and grandest castle, away from his aunt, uncle, and cousin who had strived to never allow James to know who he really was or what he was capable of. James traveled the usual way and there he met his two best friends, for good measure we will call Jane and Hank. The three fought gallantly next to each other through the years, and finally, when they were seventeen, they killed once and for all the evil king who had once been thwarted in his attempts to kill James.
James had a secret that only Jane knew, though, and while it wasn't clear, it was something that James could never share with Hank. After all, Hank was betrothed to Jane. James was sent far away to a place where hell knows no heaven, alone and scared, while Jane and Hank were married. In addition, for some long years, James thought his friends had forgotten him. It was until an owl arrived, it tapping on James' window, alerting to him something was very wrong back home in their kingdom.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Harry's eyes darted up warily to the glass window. He frowned and looked at the window, covered tightly with the drapes. His imagination was playing tricks on him, surely. He laughed at himself again and went back to reading the page.
Thinking his imagination was playing trick on him, James ignored the tapping on the window. It seemed unlikely that after six years that anyone was coming to rescue him or request him from the belly of hell. So he ignored the tapping that seemed to get louder and harsher by the minute until near madness consumed the young man and he leaped from his bed, tore back those hideous curtains that he thought looked good in the window, and allowed the owl to enter.
Harry looked at the curtains and frowned. What had David said they looked like? A mix between poop and vomit? Harry laughed at the thought, but his laughter was cut short by the sound of tapping on the glass of the window, unseen by the aforementioned curtains. Harry let the book slip from his lap, it landing on the floor rather unceremoniously as Harry headed to the wind. His stomach was a bunch of nerves as he reached his hand and gripped the rough material of the curtains. Harry jerked them back and jumped.
He peered out the window, a large finger of a branch from the tree planted in front of his window was tapping rather plainly as the wind kicked up, shaking the branches. Harry laughed at himself, his heart to his chest. He could feel his heart pounding hard. Harry pulled the curtain closed, still laughing as he turned around only able to get a glimpse of a person before a fist collided with his jaw, knocking him unconscious.
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