Chapter Text
Chapter One: How Fast Things Change
‘I was broken from a young age
Taking my sulking to the masses
Write down my poems for the few
That looked at me, took to me, shook to me, feeling me
Singing from heartache from the pain’ – Imagine Dragons (Believer)
The ministry seemed to be spinning, flashes of green from the fireplaces behind, a world in slow motion. The Death Eaters encroaching on the side-lines beginning to fade and blur… Sirius- Where… where was Sirius?
The wild, dark hair engulfed in wispy white film- Gone.
Gone.
He was on the floor, on the floor and crying; wet, hot, tears flowing down his face. Harry felt himself kneel, steadying, pressing his palms hard into the floor. Felt the shards of glass digging into his fingertips, eyes closed tight, chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. Sirius was gone.
Harry’s breath faltered, hands splayed out into the glass, losing the sensation would cause him to lose traction on reality. He had to keep going. He had to get up.. He had to… He had t—
“CRUCIO!”
Harry crumpled, forearms giving way, sliding through shattered glass and tile. Curling in on himself, on his side, writhing, spasming, face twisted by agony. When the second curse hit him, tears were streaming over his cheeks once more, mouth open in a silent scream, body bent double in tortured contortions. The third crucio hit him and…
The agony stopped, a stinging sensation flowing through his limbs, he lay rag-dolled on the ministry tiles, shivering. Vision blurred through crushed ceramic and tears. Harry forced his eyes to focus vaguely taking in the shaky image before him.
Professor Dumbledore stood before him, back to the boy, throwing curses and counter curses back and forth, locked in an intense struggle with Voldemort. The elder man’s elegant grey robes charred at the edges, air rushing around them from the force of both wizard’s spells.
Dumbledore fell to his knees, braced, wand arm outstretched.
Voldemort’s laugh sounded around the space, the shards of glass rising up, twisting and glinting in the space between the two. The glass flew forward.
Harry whimpered, curling tighter against his knees, expecting shards to crash down around him. A pulse of pale silver-blue light emanated out from around the elderly wizard, his powerful counter curse disintegrating the glass, a wild sandstorm whipping up around he and Harry.
They had time, Harry thought, Dumbledore had bought him time to make a stand…Together they might be able to-- He couldn’t push up, his legs felt like string on the marble, tensing and trembling uselessly. Time, he just needed more time—
“Depulso-” The Dark Lord’s banishment charm hit the aged professor square in the chest. Dumbledore flew backwards, back cracking against the edge of a ministry fireplace. Falling hard to the floor not five feet from Harry himself as he fell unconscious.
Harry’s mind screamed out in protest, willing his impotent limbs to do something. To do anything. He could help. He had to help. He couldn’t just let You-Know-Who approach Professor Dumbledore and—
The dark wizard’s hand lifted, a viciously elegant flick of the wrist. Harsh green light flowed toward the Professor, “Avada Kedavra.”
Professor Dumbledore’s form stilled, the rise and fall of his chest ceased, frail and lifelessly final.
The colour drained from Harry’s face, a horrified keen falling from his throat as the breath left his lungs. No. NO.
This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be real. No. He couldn’t, he wasn’t…
Then the eyes were on him, the towering pale figure turning to him, his sickening laughter bouncing venomously back off the tiles once more as he approached Floo network fireplaces still refracting the mild green light round the space, casting shadows over the threatening snakelike visage that lowered to kneel next to him. The cruel smirk twisting its features.
The words seemed to reverberate around his skull, like the other wizard was actually speaking from inside his head, “Oh Harry… Harry, harry, harry.” The smirk grew into a malicious grin, Voldemort aimed his wand down toward Harry’s chest “Deprimo,”
Harry winced as he was pressed down against the tile, the force of the pressurising spell on his chest, he could feel the tension in his lungs, ribs straining, close to giving way under the pressure. It was excruciating.
Voldemort’s eyes glazed over with a look of sinister enjoyment, wand still pointed at Harry’s chest, he hissed, “Defodio,” a harmless looking pale stream wound its way out of the wand, then it hit Harry’s chest.
He screamed. The additional pain bought new action to his efforts as he flailed. The gouging spell worked neatly on rock, but on flesh it was something else altogether, deep, rugged gashes welling red into his shirt front, carving haphazard lines agonizingly slowly into his chest as he felt one rib crack under the previous charm, Harry writhed under the torture, struggling to raw in each breath.
“Poor little Harry,” The Dark Lord smirked, tone dark and threatening, “the boy who lived so eager to risk his life, so willing to die. I see you Harry Potter, know the darkest depths of your heart. Alone. Unwanted. Clawing desperately to the slightest scrap of understanding or affection. So… Weak.” Voldemort shifted his aim, cutting into the flesh of the boy’s shoulder, words reverberating resonantly in his head, “Dumbledore was foolish to think you strong enough to defeat me, a stupid old man so easily beaten and tossed aside. And you, how simple it was to twist you, to dig into your trust and find its centre, you are but a child, so much potential wasted on naivety.” Voldemort’s tone was malevolent, condescending, “It would be so easy to kill you now, so very apt a punishment for your foolishness… you have broken yourself down, destroyed that which you love, you drag your allies into danger with your own cowardice, doing nothing to fight back.” Harry paled at the words, cowering, flinching back from Voldemort’s hold on his mind.
The dark wizard stood again, the world slowly coming back up to speed no longer separated through Dumbledore’s shield spell. From the corner of his eye Harry could see people and he could hear the shouts of the DA as they ran into the once grand entrance of the Ministry.
Voldemort sneered, releasing the pressure of his curse, leaving a final gash carved deep over Harry’s jaw. “I shall not kill you yet Potter, you are too weak, it provides no challenge, no entertainment,” he knelt down once more, chilling words hissed directly into Harry’s ear, “let these new scars remind you boy… a symbol of your powerlessness. Still, I cannot take full command whilst you prove a thorn in my side. You remain a threat, even when so weak... When the time is right, Potter. You will die.”
The green flames roared to life in the fire grates, twisting and twirling. Harry’s heart rose into his throat. The sight in his periphery a salve to his panic. A group of order members stumbled from the fire, Remus, and Arthur Weasley, among others. It was enough to make a weak smile twitch across his lips despite the pain.
Lupin’s eyes found Harry as soon as he stepped off the grate, a darkly protective streak flickering across his features at the sight of Voldemort stooped over the boy. His best friend’s son would not be harmed. He growled.
“EVERTE STATUM.” Voldemort was thrown backwards into his crowd of Death Eaters, the shock of the moment meaning that the flash of lilac from Lupin’s wand hit him with immense force. The Dark Lord’s expression darkened imperceptibly, eyes narrowed, with another flick of the wrist he disapparated, a loud crack echoing through the hall. Time seemed to stop, all action slowing in the wake of Voldemort’s escape. The crowd of Death Eaters and handful of Order members shifted, wands steadied.
Then all hell broke loose.
Curses flew. People ran. The sound was immense. Flashes of light and fabric and glass and tile rocketed in all directions. Luna and Hermione stood back to back facing off against two younger looking death eaters, Ginny lead another small herd of DA members though the chaos. Arthur and Molly, Tonks, Charlie, and… Professor Snape. There were too many people to keep track of.
From across the rabble one voice stood out. Harry tensed as the distinctively tormenting tone of Bellatrix Lestrange cut through the battle. “I killed Sirius Black! I killed Sirius Black!” Bellatrix cut down people indeterminately all around her, crowing out the sing-song mantra with sickening joy. A newfound anger filled Harry. He felt a sudden rush of energy, adrenaline flowing through him, Potter forced himself into a kneeling stance wand raised. He ignored the screams of protest from his shoulder and ribs, dangerous rage lighting his features. One dark thought commandeering his mind. She would pay.
Harry mustered all the hatred he could, bellowing the first curse that entered his head without a second thought, “Crucio!”
The witch easily countered the unforgivable, tossing her head back in a disparaging howl of laughter. Snapping back to lock eyes with Harry, smirking in a madder mirror of the Voldemort’s earlier expression, Lestrange rankled “How dare you! Why you little—” she paused, the non-verbal cutting curse knocked Harry back. As he ineffectually attempted to right himself he felt the blood seeping out of the new gash carved deep into his chest, he saw as Bellatrix raised her wand higher “Avada—”
Harry didn’t hear the rest of the curse, though he knew what it was; as his field of view was blocked by a shock of red hair and a low rumble of, “NO! Harry—” as he was shoved aside. There was a familiar flare of green as his head slammed into the floor once more, the fighting nearby intensified as the rest of the order had congregated and were collectively being backed into a corner of the hallway. Harry’s heart sank, his face paled.
A tall black clad figure knelt beside him, gathering the boy into his arms, “Potter-” the nasal hum was the last thing Harry heard as the familiar tug of an apparition spell grabbed at his stomach, and the two swirled into darkness...
Harry lurched awake, drenched in a cold sweat… the ministry disaster had happened over six months ago- it was over now.
Harry pawed blindly at his bedside table, reaching for his glasses and yawning. He sat up, propping his pillow up against the wall by his bed and leaning back, his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as he looked around the small room. The orange glow of the street lamp fell through the barred window muddying the grey-blue bedspread, giving it an ugly beige hue, and highlighted various objects and hard edges- the wardrobe, shelf, desk, and suitcase; providing a very faint outline of Harry’s little room. Hedwig shifted in her corner, a quiet clatter against the bars, blinking softly at Harry, stretching proudly then burying her face back under a peppered wing. This wasn’t much, but it was his.
From his nightstand Harry’s tiny battered alarm clock blinked red in the darkness, 11:58 pm. As had become a sort of custom at nights now, Harry sat in the dark, and counted down the minutes; eleven fifty-nine… Midnight. It was Christmas eve.
Not that that had ever mattered before, he barely got to celebrate Christmas with the Dursleys anyway, he was just expected to keep his head down. Harry shivered and pulled the duvet tighter around his shoulders. Uncle Vernon had never repaired the broken pane of glass in his window after the flying car incident, though he had replaced the bars, and added three more locks to the bedroom door. Harry ought to be grateful he supposed, at least Vernon hadn’t forced him to move back into the cupboard like Harry had been sure he would.
It wasn’t quite so bad anymore, since the dementors Dudley and Petunia had reached a silent understanding of sorts with him, each pretending not to notice the existence of the other. Although this formed a slight respite, after realising that it was no longer three against one, Vernon’s aggression had increased sevenfold, the man’s rage was inescapable. As much as breathing could bring forth his wrath, let alone mentioning any of that “disgusting freak business.”
His thoughts kept spinning down in spirals, in and out of coherence, giving way to the sinking pit of sleep as the clock ticked slowly on into the early morning.
“Merry Christmas, Harry,” he whispered, wishing himself, as usual; blearily blinking himself awake. He shifted and winced, hand jumping to the newly bruising patch of skin that marked where his Uncle’s boot had met with his side the previous night.
Silently, but not for the first time, he wished he was able to perform even simple magic outside of Hogwarts-- bloody trace. Even though he knew he wouldn’t get any gifts, he couldn’t help but hold out a faint hope that maybe Hermione might have sent a letter. Harry’s heart ached, it was unbearable. He knew why Ron had stated antagonising and avoiding him, he knew it was his fault, even if the twins offered him sad smiles in passing and still offered a friendly, “hiya Harry,” as one. They had all still lost their father, because of him, and he could understand that. What truly hurt was that Hermione had begun to distance herself from him too; she didn’t actively encourage the redhead’s antagonism, but when Ron decided to explode she just sat there and pointedly avoided Harry’s eye contact. His only true friends were drifting away from him, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it… Harry sighed forlornly.
Just then, a small brown object crashed into the window pane. Harry started, and stumbled out of bed to see what had happened. Harry saw on further inspection that the little brown blur that had caused the dull thud was in fact, Pidge, Ron’s tiny Scops owl. The boy’s mood soared. He reached a hand through the bars -that Uncle Vernon had put on the inside of the window to prevent further escapes- and lifted the window open. Pigwidgeon chirruped happily, squeezed through the gap in-between the bars, and darted inside. Harry grinned and laughed as the bird nuzzled into his neck, he took the opportunity to remove the letter from the little owl’s leg, scratching him fondly, Harry wandered over to Hedwig’s cage and unlocked it. The two birds clattered around the room, the fluffy little snitch and the large puff of white emanating whistles and hoots of greeting, they had grown close the previous year. Harry sat back at his desk and smiled at the letter, thinking of how much the tiny pidge reminded him of Ron and Sirius, the mixture of memories distinctly bittersweet. Slowly he opened the envelope, unfurling the parchment. His face fell.
It wasn’t Ron or Hermione that had written.
It was Mrs Weasley; he hadn’t spoken to her since Arthur’s funeral, and even then, it had been a short conversation choked up with tears.
Merry Christmas Harry,
I did mean to write sooner, but you know how hard things have been here at the burrow of late. We are all doing well though, Fred and George’s little joke shop has been very successful. I don’t wholly approve – but I know that Arthur would chuckle at the mischievous uses the boys have found for his muggle gizmos! Percy has been promoted at the Ministry, bless him, he’s doing us all proud.
I do hope that you have been doing well Harry, the twins and Ginny have been asking after you. Hermione is here with us for the holidays too- I know that you and Ron haven’t exactly been getting along… I am sorry Harry love, you know how his moods can get, it is terribly upsetting not to have Arthur here with us any longer. I do hope you aren’t convinced that you are to blame, Ronald does care for you greatly dear, even if he may say regretful things. Arthur knew what he got into, joining the order, and I know he thought you as much of a son to him as any of our boys.
Please remember that our door is always open to you here at the burrow, it is as much your home as ours. It would be lovely to have you stay for a while dear – it has been such a long time since we all saw you, and it would mean the world to have a full house for new years-
Stay safe Harry dear. All our love—
Molly Weasley & Family
Harry felt a lump in the back of his throat, blinking back the pinpricks in the corners of his eyes. It suddenly hit him how much he had missed the woman’s warm tone. He missed being part of something. Perhaps he had misinterpreted the twins’ interactions with him, maybe genuinely were being friendly, rather than acting out of obligation for Ron’s apparent hatred. He didn’t know what to think.
THUD. Harry flinched. Pigwidgeon was bouncing chaotically from the wall to the doors and back.
“Oh god,” murmured Harry under his breath as the tiny owl crashed back and forth. There was no way his relatives hadn’t heard that. Harry heard heavy footsteps on the hall floor, right on cue.
“What the devil is going on in there!” Harry scrambled to grab Pidge desperately, “how many times must I tell you to be QUIET boy!” Uncle Vernon’s voice echoed through the house, the man pounded on Harry’s door.
“oh no…” Harry breathed out, “Sorry!” he shouted back, rambling an apology until he heard Vernon waddle back up the hall. He put Pidge into the Hedwig’s cage to keep him calm, hurriedly scribbling a reply to the Weasleys’ letter.
Mrs Weasley,
Thanks for the letter, I’m glad you’re all doing well. Congratulate Fred and George for me won’t you. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get away at any point soon, it’s a shame, it’d be great to see everyone. Sorry I can’t make it down to the burrow, do have a good new years.
Please wish ‘Mione, Ron and the rest a happy Christmas from me,
Harry.
Ps- I’m sorry about Mr Weasley, I can’t imagine what the holidays are like without him around.
Harry signed the parchment haphazardly, let Ron’s owl out of the cage, tying the hastily scrawled note to his tiny leg. The little bird gave a quiet hoot, nestling his beak into Harry’s palm in a daft farewell. Then, in much the same hurry as his arrival, the little brown blur darted back out of the window. Harry and Hedwig were alone once more…
The rest of the morning passed mostly uneventfully, Harry was forced to go downstairs and watch Dudley unwrap his mountain of presents with a plaster-cast smile on his face, Harry made breakfast.
Vernon smirked, and Petunia smiled wanly as they handed Harry a small package from the bottom of the pile. It was wrapped with newspaper. Harry carefully unfurled the paper from around the small object, then he paused-- It was a toothbrush.
Harry thanked them carefully, knowing it would be rude to appear ungrateful. After that he excused himself. Uncle Vernon narrowed his eyes and complained about him being a good-for-nothing ingrate but let him leave the front room.
Harry was stopped on the landing by Dudley’s voice from the stairs behind him.
“Hey, Harry?” Dudley’s low rumble made harry tense instinctively, turning, expression wary.
“What do you want? ‘re you here to hit me, or to just ridicule me like your dad?” Harry whispered defensively. He knew this truce wouldn’t last. He had wondered when things would revert to their previous state.
“What?” The larger boy’s eyes widened, confusion flitting over his face, then realisation, “No. I just wanted to talk—” the same and hesitation in his eyes was quickly covered by a glare, he stood, stammered, then fell silent.
Harry’s jaw dropped, then he collected himself and considered the reasons for this request. Fine. “Okay, so talk.”
“Look… You saved me.” Harry could practically see the cogs turning in his cousin’s brain, “so… yeah. Thanks- for saving me I mean. I would’ve understood if you didn’t,” Christ he was really forcing these words out, “and I, well. I’m sorry, because I treated you pretty bad when we were younger and stuff.”
Eloquent, Harry thought. He knew how hard it must be for Dudley to swallow his pride. Even so, Harry wasn’t sure he was ready to forgive his cousin, but he still owed the other boy a reply, “Oh,” was all that came to mind as he turned back toward his room. “Merry Christmas Dudley.”
“You too, Harry,” came the response from the bottom of the stairs.
Harry closed the door behind him, slumping down onto the bed, as awful as the Dursleys were this place was one of few were he could think. Everywhere else people were always expecting things from him with no real reason, here nobody thought he was worth more than he knew he was. Here he could just exist, without being expected to do and say certain things at least when he was alone in this small room, here he could fade into the surrounding silence.