Chapter Text
Weeks into the summer holidays, Harry lay awake. It was late, but since the end of his fourth year, he’d been restless, though that statement was rather mild. Plagued by nightmares, some real and some imagined, some waking and some not, he was exhausted, but somehow wide awake.
With his things locked away, nothing but menial tasks to sustain him, and having not heard from his friends, he’d had time to do nothing but think, cry, and rage. All of his thinking had made him come to certain realizations.
He remembered the sting of betrayal, as everyone save Hermione, Hagrid, and perhaps Sirius, turned away from him, didn’t trust him, didn’t believe him.
He remembered the stillness just before the heat of a dragon’s flame was much too close.
He remembered the shocking chill of the icy water of the Black Lake.
He remembered the burn of anger and the pang of hurt, seeing Cho and Cedric in each other’s arms.
He remembered the gut-wrenching anguish, as the life left Cedric.
But most of all, he remembered being powerless, tied to a gravestone.
He didn’t want to feel powerless anymore. He’d do something in the morning about it, he would.
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Rather than taking charge of his life, instead Harry’s morning saw the completion of several chores. Weed the garden. Clean the windows. Sweep and mop the floors. Clean the kitchen. His head still hurt from where it had collided with the inside of the stove when Dudley’d shoved him in it. He didn’t see the end of his list of chores until two o’clock. Happy to have finished his chores, he slowly made his way into the kitchen, hoping for something to eat. Unfortunately, instead of an empty kitchen, he was greeted by the sneering face of his aunt.
“I do hope you don’t think you’ll be eating, boy,” his aunt’s tone was scathing. “You’ve tracked mud through the back door, and you’ve left tools all over the yard! Clean it up!” Nose almost comically in the air, she made her way into the living room.
Harry grumbled internally as he felt his anger ebb and flow. He’d done his best today but in the true form of his relatives, nothing was good enough. Pacing in the hallway, he passed the cupboard under the stairs. Glaring, and wishing he had a way to get to his things, he felt magic welling up within him. He gasped, knowing that if anything happened, he’d be in trouble, even not having meant to perform any magic. He breathed in and out slowly until his magic calmed, then he stole upstairs as silently as he could to get a hairpin.
Picking the lock was a lot more difficult than Fred and George had made it out to be, but he’d been successfully able to unlock the cupboard, all without being noticed by his relatives. His thoughts turned gleeful. He couldn’t take everything, but he did grab his wand, money pouch, and invisibility cloak.
He made his way slowly to the back door, slipped on his cloak, and made his way out into the garden. He’d forgotten how free he felt under his cloak. He traipsed through the yard, and out onto the lane. Making his way down the lane, to the most secluded area he could find, he summoned the Knight Bus and made his way to the Leaky Cauldron.
Once inside the pub, he didn’t really know what his next steps should be, only that he was glad to be free. He spied a copy of The Daily Prophet forgotten at the bar and considered ordering a meal and perusing the paper while he formulated a plan.
“Mister Potter. I have been looking for you for quite some time. How fortuitous that I might find you here,” murmured a slight man, tall and spindly, to Harry’s right. Harry nervously gripped his wand in his pocket.