Chapter 4: A Winter Wind
At promptly nine the next morning, Harry rang the doorbell at Mrs. Figg's house. She appeared almost immediately, bustling Harry inside and greeting him warmly. "Oh, it's so lovely to have you here," she said, directing him into the lounge. "The last time you were over you were just a little sprog. Why, you weren't half the size then that you are now! Growing up so fast…"
The familiar, musky smell of too many cats contained in too small an area assaulted Harry's nose and he grimaced. He remembered all too well being forced to stay here as a child while his relatives enjoyed vacations and parties. He could hardly believe it when Mrs. Figg confessed to being a squib last year. The change in her behaviour towards him after he had been made aware of exactly who she was still astonished him. He had never had the slightest idea that she might have been something more than she appeared in all of those years of knowing her. Harry imagined it must have been very difficult to pretend to be something she was not for such a very long time.
"I heard you and Mr. Tibbies had a wonderful visit yesterday!" she bubbled while waving him towards a blue upholstered chair. She disappeared into the kitchen as soon as he sat down. The moment he had settled himself, three overgrown cats climbed up next to him and flopped down on his lap. He stroked them awkwardly while he listened to Mrs. Figg bustling in the kitchen.
"How do you take your tea, Harry?" she shouted.
"Plain, I reckon," Harry answered.
Mrs. Figg emerged from with a tea tray and set it on a low table in the centre of her lounge. She served Harry and then herself before settling down on the couch opposite him. Harry surreptitiously plucked a cat hair out of his tea while she was adding milk to her own. He knew better than to drink anything here without checking it for foreign objects first.
"Are all of these cats actually kneazles, Mrs. Figg?"
"Yes, the whole bunch. There are a couple of alley cats who make their way in here around feeding time, but all of the permanent residents are kneazles. They live longer than normal cats, so many of them have been here watching you since you first came to live with your relatives."
Harry couldn't help but feel mildly uncomfortable with the idea of trained cats watching his every move. "How is it that you're able to understand them? Can you talk to kneazles?"
"That's right! Well, it's more that I can understand what they're telling me without words. I suppose it's my gift. Merlin knows I couldn't cast the simplest charm if my life depended on it, but I have a rare talent with kneazles. It seems about fair to me. It's also allowed me to make a decent living - breeding and selling them. But demand for kneazles hasn't been quite what it used to be… everyone wants an owl these days," she sighed. She took a sip of her tea and her expression brightened. "Of course, the Order offered me a salary to watch over you, but I told them to put that right where the sun didn't shine! I know what you've done for us. Besides, I've always taken quite a bit of pride in my position. Who would have thought, a mere squib looking after the Boy Who Lived!"
For some reason, this idea seemed very fitting to Harry, but before he could say so, the fire in the hearth swelled and turned a bright green. Albus Dumbledore stepped out a moment later. "Ah, Harry! I'm pleased you could make it," he said and vanished the soot from his robes. "I apologise for my tardiness. I've been interviewing candidates to fill the vacant Defense Against the Dark Arts position."
Harry was curious in spite of himself. "Have you found someone, then?"
Dumbledore smiled serenely and accepted a cup of tea that Mrs. Figg had hurried to prepare upon his entrance. "Alas, no. The search has been a remarkable failure thus far."
Harry rubbed his trouser leg and resigned himself mentally to another year of useless Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons. "Just as long as it isn't anyone evil this time."
"I shall do my best," the headmaster replied cheerily. He took a long sip of his tea before setting it back down on the tray. "Thank you for the tea, Arabella, and also for allowing us the use of your floo. It's quite gracious of you. I'm afraid we must be rude and take our leave immediately, however. Harry and I have much to discuss."
"Oh, of course, of course," Mrs. Figg replied. "You're always welcome here. Please take care."
Not long after, Harry was stumbling out of the fireplace in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. Dumbledore gestured to one of the high-backed chairs that sat facing his desk and Harry took the proffered seat. He was only mildly surprised when the headmaster took the other one instead of the rather throne-like chair behind the desk.
"It's been a difficult year for you, Harry," Dumbledore began. "I hope that the summer holiday is allowing you at least a small chance for respite."
Harry stared at him blankly. "I'm with the Dursleys. It's not terribly conductive to respite. You know that as well as anyone."
"Yes, I suppose you are right," the headmaster sighed. He was about to speak again, but Harry interrupted him.
"Wait. I've wanted to- well, I've wanted to ask you something since you've told me about why I've had to stay with them, but I've never had the chance yet. And I'm just going to wonder about it forever if I don't ask, so I'd like to be able to now."
Dumbledore peered at him intently. "Go on, Harry. You are free to ask any question you wish."
"You've admitted that you had people watching my house, watching me since the day I went to live with the Dursleys. Obviously, you must have known how it was for me there. But yet, nothing was ever done about it. I suppose I don't understand why."
"That is a difficult question for me to answer," Dumbledore sighed. "Or rather, a difficult question for my conscience. When the nature of the blood protection became known to us, it was apparent that this would provide the greatest defense for you we could possibly endow. As the conditions of your life there became obvious, my first instinct was to immediately set upon the Dursleys and demand an improvement in your care. I could not bring myself to do so, however, because of a great fear I harbored. You see, if your aunt ever decided, even in her mind, that the blood protection should no longer exist, it would immediately cease to be. Once it is lost, it can never be restored. It was my fear that if I were to confront her about your care, she would no longer tolerate you in her home and the protection would be lost. I have struggled with the choice between your safety and your well-being for the last fifteen years."
Harry considered this silently for a moment. "It just seems like you were taking quite a risk, leaving me to fend for myself in that place. This is terrible to say, but in some ways, I understand how Riddle could have grown up to be so angry. Not having a home is awful, Professor. And in some ways - a lot of ways - coming to Hogwarts has made it so much worse. Before I met my friends, before I had people who genuinely cared about me… I hadn't known what I was missing. But now I look back at that time - ten years - and I can hardly bear to think of it. I'll never get that time back. And with the way my life is going, time is becoming more precious to me by the day."
When Harry had finished, Dumbledore removed his spectacles and folded them, placing them in his lap. His blue eyes seemed dull and cloudy, and suddenly Dumbledore did not seem like the greatest wizard of the age. Instead, he seemed tired and old… as if the weight of all of his choices was now bearing down on him. When he began speaking, his voice was grave.
"When one finds oneself in a position of power, he or she is often called upon to make decisions of terrible importance. These decisions can have far-reaching consequences that even the very wise cannot always foresee. Often, one decides a course of action that seems ideal… one that appears to satisfy all ends. A plan is set in motion and soon it becomes like a living thing, changing and twisting with time. As it follows its course, it can become unrecognizable; something entirely divorced from your original intention.
"Since the night I bore witness to the Prophecy, I have been making such decisions concerning you. In my attempts at ensuring your safety, I have instead thrust you into dire peril. By trying to allow you to enjoy a normal life, I have stripped you of the chance at one. And yet, you are still alive today to speak to me. Even more remarkably, you have become a young man of such virtue, compassion and strength that I cannot help but stand in awe of all you have accomplished and all you have become. I am humbled each day in your acquaintance.
"If I had made another decision that night, I do not know who would be sitting before me today, or even if anyone would. No, Harry. My regret at the horrors you've endured, at the tragedies and injustices in your life, and most especially my part in capacitating them cannot be articulated. But if I had the same choices to make again, I do not know if I would choose differently. You see, I cannot regret the outcome, Harry. And for that I am truly sorry."
Harry had nothing to say to this, so instead he turned his head and stared into the fire. A few minutes passed in silence before Dumbledore replaced his spectacles and began to speak again.
"You will always be at liberty to ask questions while you are here in this office. I am certain that, as we continue to meet, you will have many more to ask me. For today, though, we have much to discuss and a limited time to do so. Shall we go on?"
Harry turned back to his headmaster and nodded. He would deal with his feelings later. "I want to learn Occlumency."
"I am very pleased to hear you say that, Harry," the headmaster said. "It is of the utmost importance. I apologise again for not explaining my reasons for this last year. It was a terrible failure on my part and we are now reaping the rotten seeds I have sown. You understand, now, why you must master this discipline?"
It was a rhetorical question, but Harry answered anyway. "I don't want him in my head. And you mentioned protecting the Prophecy in your letter."
"Yes. The final lines are a great weapon we may wield against Voldemort, and he must never uncover them. Since his plot to lure you into the Department of Mysteries in an effort to obtain the Prophecy failed quite spectacularly, I believe he will only become more and more obsessed with learning its contents. You see, Harry, Voldemort fears the Prophecy above all things. When he confronted you as an infant, your turning his own curse against him only leant weight to his belief that you were his fated adversary - that it was you who were destined to bring about his downfall.
"Indeed, since that night so long ago you have inspired a terror in Voldemort that has become your armour against him. He does not understand how you defeated him so many years ago. He does not understand how you evade him still. And in his madness over all these things he does not understand, he cannot help but wonder if finally defeating you will bring about his ultimate end. What if by killing you, he is destroyed as well? What if by not killing you, you grow more and more powerful until one day it is but a trifle for you to smite him down? He is sick with not knowing.
"We, of course, know the Prophecy does not answer these questions and that the ending is, in fact, quite ambiguous. As long as he does not discover this, he will continue to be at a great disadvantage."
Harry had never considered the Prophecy in such a manner and his thoughts raced after this explanation. When he had first been told what it contained, he had found it terribly frustrating. His whole life to this point had been dictated by five simple sentences, and yet they didn't really tell him anything. They described a power he supposedly had - a 'power the Dark Lord knows not' - but they didn't say what it was. They had stated that either he or Voldemort must die at the hands of the other, but this only raised more questions in Harry's mind. Did that mean that nothing else could kill him? Did it mean that he and Voldemort would both be destroyed if one killed the other? If not, would the victor become immortal? The idea of living forever, much less Voldemort living forever, did not appeal to him.
But now he realized how much more frustrating it must be to know there was a prophecy stating there was someone with the power to destroy you, and yet to not know exactly what it said. Harry considered this for a long time.
"I'll do whatever it takes to master Occlumency," Harry stated at last. "But I won't learn it from Snape. There has to be someone else who can teach me."
"I agree, Harry," Dumbledore said. "To force you to continue your lessons with Severus would be folly. I will teach you myself."
Harry nodded and he agreed this would be the best solution. Between them, they worked out a schedule to meet twice a week - one day for lessons, and another for discussions.
"In the meantime, I have collected several books on the subject. I would like for you to begin reading through them," Dumbledore instructed. He pulled a small stack of books from his bookshelf and handed them to Harry, who glanced through them quietly. "It is my understanding that in your previous lessons, you have experienced a number of legilimency attacks. You should therefore be familiar with how the legilimencer is seeking answers to specific questions within your mind during the course of their attack. A successful attempt means they have found the answers they seek. If they do not, then their attempt was unsuccessful.
"Occlumency is not nearly so straightforward. Instead, it is divided into two distinct disciplines that are best used in tandem. The first is preventing access to one's mind altogether. The occlumencer deflects the attack, either consciously or unconsciously, and the legilimencer is turned aside, receiving nothing from their attempt except, as is often the case, a terrible headache. The second discipline is far more difficult. It involves willingly allowing the legililmencer into the mind for the purposes of deception. The occlumencer appears to offer no defense and answers are presented to the legilimencer's questions. However, these are not the true answers, but instead detailed fabrications crafted by the occlumencer to present a false reality. In this way, the legilimencer believes they were successful, and will act on the unknowingly false information presented to them."
Harry felt a familiar ire creep up inside him. He had spent nearly a six months at Occlumency lessons and yet this was the first time he had heard such an explanation. How difficult would it have been for Snape to set aside his childish grudge against his father for five minutes to have taught him this? "I know how an attack feels. Everything else you just described is new to me."
Dumbledore sighed and shook his head. "Then it is as I feared. In all honesty, I could not understand why you were having such difficulty learning this skill last year. Occlumency is, at its most basic, an application of will. You proved your will to be stronger than Voldemort's when you forced the echoes from his wand during the Priori Incantatem that night in the graveyard. I suspect that, with the proper training, you will master the discipline quickly."
"Why is it that Snape didn't teach me correctly? I don't understand him…"
"I cannot say for sure, Harry," Dumbledore intoned sadly. "Severus has spent so much of his life holding grudges, I believe even he does not understand the depth of their influence on his behaviour."
"It just seems so unfair that I have to keep paying for the actions of my father," Harry said lowly.
The headmaster smiled sadly. "As I'm sure you've long discovered, life is not always fair. Our time today is drawing short, Harry. I'm pleased with how much we've covered, however I feel it would be best to delay the conversation about your passing through the anti-apparition wards until the next session. Was there anything else you wanted to know until then?"
Harry straightened in his chair, curling his fingers around his new books. "Yes, actually. The Dursleys haven't been bothering me about not watching the telly or listening to the radio after I've finished my chores, so I've been trying to keep up with the news. I haven't heard anything unusual all summer, though. Has anything happened?"
"Nothing of note has happened concerning Voldemort, but there has been a lot of activity in the Ministry. There was a great deal of public outcry over your treatment last year now that it has come to light that Voldemort has indeed returned, and Cornelius has lost much of the support he previously enjoyed. Many of the departments are scrambling now to undo the mistakes of last year. You will also find that the public's perception of you has also changed. Much has been written about what took place at the Department of Mysteries that night, and your role in the capture of so many high-profile Death Eaters has been much publicized."
Harry looked incredulous. "My role in their capture? You've got to be joking."
Dumbledore leveled him with a most serious look. "Whatever mistakes may have led up to or resulted from that night, a great deal of good has come out of it. The importance of now having the public at large accept that Voldemort has returned cannot be overemphasized. We could not possibly have begun to mount a true defense while simultaneously fighting the Ministry and the Wizengamot. Additionally, the loss of so many of Voldemort's most trusted followers will be a terrible blow to him. It will also engender a feeling of hope among the population and that is a most powerful advantage."
"I can't take pride in the very thing that caused Sirius's death," Harry stated coldly.
"Sirius died so that others may live," Dumbledore said softly. "The best way you can honour his sacrifice is by accepting that his death was not without meaning."
Little else was said after this, and Harry left soon after to return to Privet Drive. That night, he lay awake in his small bedroom for a very long time, thinking about his godfather, Voldemort, and the Prophecy. When sleep finally overtook him, his dreams were filled with a dimly lit tower and a timeless voice that called to him...
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When Harry informed his aunt that he would be leaving the house several times a week to attend lessons with Dumbledore, he was unprepared for her reaction. There had been no shouting… no shrieking… no outrage at all. She had merely waved her spindly fingers at him in a meaningless gesture before turning to stare out the window. Harry was beginning to feel like he did not know who this woman was - this stranger with a familiar face who knew of magic but could not seem to manage the vigour necessary to hate it.
Even several days later, when Harry arrived at his first true Occlumency lesson, he found it difficult to hide how unsettled he was. But if the headmaster picked up on his uncertainty - and Harry was not nearly confident enough in his Occlumency ability to believe that he hadn't - he did not mention it.
"Calm your mind, Harry," Dumbledore instructed quietly. "Imagine your thoughts like liquid pouring from a flask. A simple barrier, like a rubber stopper, will prevent them from escaping far more effectively than any exertion of force. Concentrate on the image of your thoughts slowing to a trickle and then stopping altogether."
Harry nodded stiffly, but he was finding it difficult to curtail his natural instinct to tense up each time he felt the legilimens intrusion. Dumbledore's methods were far less sadistic than Snape's, however, and the thoughts they were mutually experiencing were not painful childhood humiliations, but instead moments of calm and peacefulness.
Harry expelled a deep breath of air and waited until the disorientation from the constant flow of memories dissipated before concentrating on the feeling of his thoughts flowing between his mind and Dumbledore's. He picked one thought out of the tide of images - a memory of walking across the grounds of Hogwarts after a snowstorm and seeing the fields of white stretched before him as far as the eye could see - and concentrated on it exclusively. He tried pulling it back to him to block it, but instead, the image seemed grow stronger in his mind and all the other thoughts faded away.
"Well done, Harry!" Dumbledore praised suddenly. "This is a most intriguing development."
The intrusion in his mind ceased and Harry opened his eyes in confusion. "What? I know I wasn't doing it right."
The headmaster shook his head, still smiling. "It is true that you did not succeed in blocking your mind from me, but I was not expecting you to accomplish that feat after only one lesson. However, what you did do was much more impressive… you concentrated on a single memory and presented it to me, preventing me from receiving any others. That is the exact process that is used when tendering false memories in response to a legilimens attack. It is much more difficult to accomplish than a simple blocking of the mind. It is quite curious that you can achieve this, but you have not yet been successful in bluntly turning aside attacks altogether."
Harry blinked, surprised that his mental fumbling could be considered a success of any sort.
"Let us try one more exercise before we end today's lesson," Dumbledore said, raising his wand again and smiling. "This time, I will be searching for memories of when you were physically warm. Once you feel my intrusion, I want you to concentrate on the memory of that snowy day just as you showed me before. This thought will not be brought to the surface in my attack, so you must will it into your mind. Picture it exactly as it was: the crisp feeling of winter… the deep footprints you left in the snow behind you… your breath crystallizing in the air… legilimens."
At once, a rush of memories assaulted him, and in his mind, Harry watched his younger self shifting uncomfortably in the hot cupboard, twisting wildly in a series of complicated manoeuvres on his broom to dodge a blast of flame from the Hungarian Horntail, and brushing his hair back from his sticky forehead as he cleaned the attic not one week before. Harry shook off the familiar disorientation and closed his eyes, forcing the image of that wintry day into his mind. It seemed much more difficult to focus on this time, but Harry put all of his effort into willing the scene to the forefront of his consciousness. He thought of the wonderful cold, of the beautiful grey sky, and of his heavy cloak with the trim wet from dragging in the snow. As he concentrated harder, the memory became more and more distinct until the other thoughts once again faded away.
When he opened his eyes, he found that he was shivering and his cheeks and ears were stinging as if he had been fighting against a blustery wind. When he let out a slow breath, it fogged in the air in front of him before drifting away.
Dumbledore was grinning at him madly. "I must say, Harry, you are proving to be a most interesting pupil."
Harry was less enthused. "What just happened?"
"You succeeded once again in stopping the flow of thoughts and instead presented a single memory. You seem to have some natural skill in Occlumency - with continued training, your mastery of the discipline may be formidable, indeed."
Harry could not help but feel slightly gratified to hear this. There was a small part of him that had been afraid that he was going to be as miserable at Occlumency as he seemed to be last year, regardless of who was teaching him. But it wasn't really what he had been asking. "I meant- did you feel that? It's freezing in here. Is that a result of the Occlumency?"
"No, Harry, Occlumency is a type of mind-magic and does not affect the physical world," Dumbledore explained, still looking quite pleased with himself. "It was your will that caused the change in temperature. And this makes an excellent segue to our discussion about your unexplained displacement when Mundungus's curse was about to strike you."
"Are you saying the two are related somehow?"
"They are two separate and distinct applications of magic, but they were both caused by your determination to achieve something… whether that determination was conscious or otherwise."
"You're saying that I unconsciously willed myself through the wards because I wanted to get out of the way of the curse?" Harry asked sceptically. "But, if that's true, why did I send myself to my old school? I hated that place and I certainly wasn't thinking about it at the time. Wouldn't it have been more logical to send myself out onto the lawn or something?"
"I believe you answered that question yourself during the discussion with the other members of the Order," Dumbledore hinted gently.
"What do you mean? I didn't…" Harry trailed off and tried to think back on all that was said that night. He sorted through that part of the conversation in his mind, trying to remember his own words… and suddenly, it came to him. "I had already done it. I had already disappeared and reappeared on the roof of the school, so, subconsciously, I must have known it was possible. It's like with my Patronus - I couldn't cast it correctly until I realized I had already done so with the time-turner."
"Wonderful, Harry! I was prepared to have you think on the possibilities for a homework assignment until our next meeting, but it seems I underestimated your perceptiveness," Dumbledore said, smiling and combing his fingers through his long beard. "Yes, I do believe that is the answer. You unconsciously remembered accomplishing this feat and your magic was therefore able to reproduce its effects. I suspect that now that you aware you can do this, with practice you will be able to wield this ability consciously."
Harry's mind was racing. "Are you saying that I'll be able to pop myself through wards?"
"Likely not, although the limitations of this ability will only become clear with practice, as is the case with most forms of unusual magic. I believe that the wards on Privet Drive are uniquely affected by your magic, due to their being based on your own blood. You may not have the same success with other locations. Regardless, I must caution you not to use this ability carelessly," Dumbledore stated firmly. "Wards are powerful magicks. I do not believe it would be arrogant for me to say that I am a rather capable wizard… but even I would not attempt to circumvent warding measures without serious consideration."
Harry could appreciate the wisdom in this and he nodded. "I understand."
"Good," Dumbledore replied, nodding. "If you wish to practice this ability, I would recommend attempting to travel from one room in your house to another. Perhaps with Mrs. Figg's permission, you may try to pass through your wards again and arrive in her home. Do not forget that you must not use this ability anywhere that you are likely to be seen by muggles. It will certainly attract Ministry attention if a group of non-magical witnesses claim to have seen a human being appear out of thin air."
"Do you mean that I can practice this during the summer? What about the underaged sorcery restriction?"
"The Ministry cannot track apparition, Harry - it can only respond when it is presented with information that someone had attempted it and failed, leaving splinched legs or arms where unsuspecting muggles might find them," Dumbledore stated in his most unconcerned voice. "Your ability should be similarly beneath their notice, as long as you take care not to leave behind any obvious body parts."
"But how do I practice this? I'm not even sure how I did it in the first place."
"You must will it to be so, Harry… just as you did during our Occlumency lesson when you managed to cool the air around you by concentrating on the picture of your snowy memory," Dumbledore instructed simply. "Visualize yourself in a place familiar to you, and take care to recall all that you can about your chosen location. It will come alive in your mind and then it is a simple matter of commanding your magic to take you there. I imagine the process is not too far removed from traditional apparition."
Harry didn't think this sounded at all like a 'simple matter'.
Dumbledore must have noticed his slightly sceptical look, and he leaned forward in his chair. "Remember, Harry, that you have already accomplished this. And as your Occlumency ability continues to grow, you will find it much easier to achieve the desired concentration. With practice, you will be able to do this almost instantaneously, just as you will be able to organize and present false memories in response to a legilimency attack before any of your true thoughts are able to come forward. Do not allow yourself to become discouraged."
Harry nodded with a bit more confidence. "I'll start practicing as soon as I get home."
Dumbledore stood up and patted Harry on the shoulder before moving to the chair behind his desk. "I believe we have covered enough for today. Our next meeting will be on Thursday. I look forward to hearing about the results of your practices, but do not forget to continue your review of the Occlumency texts I gave you. Good day to you, Harry."
"Goodbye, Professor. And thanks."
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Harry sat on the edge of his bed with his forearms resting on his knees and focused on the thought of disappearing and reappearing somewhere else. He had been practicing for two days, but he hadn't yet managed to displace himself again - clearly Dumbledore's assertion that this would be 'simple' had been too optimistic. Harry's frustration was beginning to get the better of him, and he felt like his blood was too warm by several degrees. Uncomfortably stiff and with his mood darkening, Harry furrowed his brow and tried one last time.
In his mind, he focused on the image of the downstairs lounge and tried to imagine himself appearing there. He concentrated fiercely and closed his eyes. He thought hard on displacement, on the feeling of disappearing and reappearing as he had before…
Without warning, the bed Harry was sitting on vanished and Harry tumbled to the ground in an ungainly sprawl. He lay there dazed for a moment, wincing at the hard impact, before he realized what had happened. Launching himself to his feet, Harry grinned and raised his fists in triumph. He was about to let out an excited whoop when he noticed the decrepit cooler next to him.
He was on the roof of his old school.
"Sod it, not again," he muttered, sliding his palm across his face in frustration. Looking up, Harry squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight and the feeling of disappointment began to fade. Whether he had ended up exactly where he had meant to or not, he had still displaced himself. His grin reappeared and he jogged lightly over to the edge of the roof, feeling energized by his success. When he glanced over the side, Harry froze for a moment before dropping down quickly behind the low wall. The commons were filled with summer-school students lounging around and waiting for their parents to pick them up. Harry hoped none of them had spotted him.
He listened quietly for anyone yelling about a crazy suicide jumper on the roof but heard nothing but the low mumble of bored conversation. Harry kept his body low to the ground and moved quickly back towards the centre of the roof. He knelt down near the cooler and pondered what to do. He couldn't use magic again, especially not with so many muggles around. He could call for help, but Harry's pride vetoed that idea as quickly as it came - he would rather fling himself onto the pavement below than suffer another visit with the fire department. He would have to displace himself again.
Harry stood up, determined to get it right this time. Closing his eyes, Harry began to organize his scattered mind and thought hard on his house at Number 4 Privet Drive. He focused on the memory of the impromptu Order meeting ten days before. He recalled the electric fireplace that had befuddled Mrs. Weasley, the grey, bland carpet that Moody had thumped his wooden leg against, and the image of all the Order members sitting quietly on the furniture while listening to his story. He imagined the room just as it had been that night and the picture in his mind became clear and vivid. He concentrated hard on this image and waited for the familiar swooping feeling of displacement…
Harry cracked his eyes open, noting he was still on the roof with a sigh. Screwing his eyes shut once more, Harry tried again and again without success.
Several hours passed and Harry's impatience mounted. He was beginning to think that his skill was quite useless. Once, he had felt himself being displaced but when he opened his eyes in elation, he found that he was not in the lounge at the Dursley's house as he had expected. Instead, he was still on the roof… he had only moved several yards over to the spot near the old cooler where he had first arrived earlier that day.
By now, the chattering noise of the people below had died away and the sky was turning pink with the coming dusk. Feeling rather foolish and not at all like a powerful wizard, Harry resigned himself to finding another way down. Not wanting to risk magic again, he skulked around the edge of the building until he found an exposed drainpipe and used it to awkwardly climb to the ground.
He had scraped his knuckles quite severely during his descent and he blew on them uselessly before turning to go. His hands may have ached, but it was his battered pride that he nursed the entire walk home.