Chapter Text
Harry POV
The sky was dark and cloudy. There was no light in sight, but that of the moon. There was forest all around, even as gravestones rose around him. His heart clenched with terror, his blood was like ice in his veins. Something was going to happen, he had been here before. He whirls around, wand in hand when he sees a smiling fac of brown hair and grey eyes. The boy seemed kind, before his eyes widened in fear and the boy fell to the ground in a flash of green. He felt his hands tremble, gripping his wand tighter as a cold, cruel laugh echoed through the graveyard, and he looked around immediately, only to be met with a merciless red gaze and a deep crimson light, pain flaring through every nerve in his body-
Harry awoke in a cold sweat, biting down hard on his arm as he fought back a scream. After a few minutes, his scream faded, and he just sobbed, trembling. It was his fault Cedric died. He shouldn't have been off his guard. Harry looked out the window as he wiped his tears away, making sure that Hedwig was quiet in her cage. It was still night out, but a quick glance at his patched-up alarm clock showed that it was almost 3:30 AM.
Harry sighed heavily as he got up, ignoring that it was well before sunrise as he crept carefully downstairs, with parchment and quills in hand. He won't be sleeping well anyways, so he might as well use his free time to get some homework done; as soon as he mentioned witnessing a murder and fighting Voldemort to Petunia- because while she did hate him, she was still Lily's sister, and therefore deserved to know that the man who killed his mother was back- Petunia had all but demanded he focus on studies. She was afraid, of course, that Voldemort would come for her perfect little family, and Harry was the only wizard in the house; he didn't really care for her selfish reasoning, since it meant that his only job was cooking, and that he could get his summer homework done for once.
Perhaps, if Harry had been more foolish, he would have kept even Voldemort's return a secret from his untrusted "relatives"- but his Gryffindor pride would not serve him here. In Pivet Drive, Harry needed every drop of his cunning and strategy; it's how he survived, how he managed to actually learn things outside the school curriculum, and Cedric would want him to be prepared. The thought brought slight comfort; Cedric had trained with him, during the Tournament, he had insisted to teach Harry spells outside of school textbooks and taught him well. "You can never know if you need to be prepared, after all."
Cedric's words echoed in his thoughts for only a moment as Harry turned on the lights and sat at the dining room table, not daring to glance at the kitchen as he worked on his Herbology essay. Even with the Dursleys' newfound "generosity" with his schoolwork, Harry was still forbidden from touching food that was not given to him, and he did not dare anger Vernon or Petunia right now.
Harry sighed, a little softer, as he blinked down at his half-finished essay, which had something underneath it. He pulled it out to reveal a photo of him and Cedric, after the First Task; they were smiling, happy, and close as brothers. Not even Ron and Hermione had ever been so free around him, they mostly cared for either their grades (Hermione), Quidditch (Ron), or just solving adventures with him over the years. Cedric, who he had known only mere months, had taken time to teach him new things and didn't get frustrated easily when he didn't get it right immediately (Hermione wanted perfection), he had talked to Harry when he noticed him down (instead of telling him to brush it off like Ron), and he had respected Harry's privacy when he avoided mentioning the Dursleys (Ron and Hermione always pried wanting information on the Boy-Who-Lived).
Harry's hands trembled as he put down the quill, his essay completely forgotten as he rummaged through his trunk- it was always right by the table now. He desperately looked for the pictures of him with Ron and Hermione, or the other Gryffindors- but there were none. All the pictures in his yearbooks were of the other Gryffindors, of Seamus and Dean laughing, or Ron and the Weasley twins playing chess. There was even a picture of Hermione in the library. The only pictures that had him in it, was the one of Gryffindor winning the House Cup, or him grabbing the Snitch during matches. Normally, he would be fine, but he knew that everyone else had multiple pictures, and he hadn't even been present in any of them. Only in the ones where he benefitted the House. He knew that anyone would want the so-called Boy-Who-Lived in their House, he knew that his accomplishments meant a lot to Gryffindor, but Cedric had been kinder. Even the other Hufflepuffs, when they realized he hadn't cheated, had helped him and Cedric practice instead of scorning him. The other Gryffindors had only laughed and celebrated his successes, but they had never helped him achieve it.
His mind travelled back to his years, the thoughts coming unbidden. In his first year, they had a right to be upset over the loss of House points, but that did not excuse ostracizing him; even Ron and Hermione at least had either their brothers or study groups, respectively. In his second year, the Gryffindors had once again abandoned him when they discovered his Parseltongue; even after the Chamber incident, Ron had decided to ignore the existence of his Parseltongue altogether, and Hermione frowned so disapprovingly whenever he mentioned snakes, he had given up. In his third year, Ron and Hermione had spent the entire time fighting with each other, Hermione had hidden a probably-illegal Time-Turner from them, and the entire student population had blamed him for the Dementors being at school and Sirius being a wanted criminal on the loose. Last year was only one betrayal of many, Harry realizes, and the thought made him see red.
Harry put the books back in his trunk, fuming with anger. How dare they? How dare Gryffindors act like he was their tool, to discard at any convenience and drag him back when he does something to get Gryffindors some glory and fame. No wonder Cedric had seemed awkward around the Gryffindors; he had known it was wrong, long before Harry himself realized. Cedric, who had become something akin to a brother to Harry, in such a short year. Part of Harry wanted to scream, to curse those who exploited him so easily or leave Hogwarts altogether, but he stopped and forced himself to think, the betrayals and lies still seething in his mind.
Harry's fuming anger slowly cooled into a cold, quiet, dangerously calm rage, which he buried deep below his mind until he was calm and normal again. No, he would not let the Gryffindors see him break, he would not let them see his anger. Right now, his courage meant nothing without planning, and his first priority was to get away from them. He frankly had no care for the Gryffindors, nor revenge; the Gryffindors will pay, but he will need to leave them first. He can't bear to return to such a toxic environment now that he knows, and his anger will mean nothing if he doesn't act. It hurt. He had trusted them.
He calmly pushed aside his essay, his grip firm on the quill, his hand carefully steady as he wrote. Four years of Hogwarts, along with dealing with bruises and such both at Pivet Drive and the Hospital Wing, had taught him how to steady his hand when writing. He knew it was a long shot, barely a month before the school term starts, but Harry needs to know if it's possible. After a few minutes, he put down the quill and read his letter while it dried.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
I know you probably don't expect this letter, considering the time of year. I'm sorry to disturb your summer, but I would like to ask if Hogwarts, being a boarding school separate from the Ministry, had its own Charter? If so, is it possible for me to get a copy of said charter? I would also like to ask if it's possible to re-sort, although I believe the charter might answer that question. I don't believe Gryffindor is the right place for me anymore, and recent events have made me reconsider a lot about myself.
If you have any advice, I would appreciate it; I'm unfortunately still new to most of the Wizarding World, and this can't go on if I intend to survive there. Your help would be most appreciated, but I understand if you don't have time for this. Have a great rest of your summer, Professor.
- Harry Potter
Harry pulled out an envelope, wrote McGonagall's name, and he sealed the letter before he could hesitate, silently walking up the stairs to his room.
"Hey girl," Harry whispered softly, letting Hedwig out of her cage. Hedwig hooted and pecked affectionately at his finger, before holding her leg out. Harry chuckled softly and tied the letter to her leg, letting Hedwig fly off as the sun started rising.
Harry sighs softly and walks back downstairs to start breakfast, already dreading the coming school year, skillfully avoiding the Dursleys as he cooked. It was clear that he would have a lot of work to do, and if anything was a place to start, then hopefully McGonagall would have a response for him. He could only hope that he didn't fail anything before then.