Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Harry had never looked like his father. It had been obvious from the first time he ever saw a picture of his parents, but it had never bothered him until people started comparing him to James Potter. It had become one of those vague things he heard every time someone mentioned the Potter’s, even though nobody said it out loud, obvious from the way people's eyes moved across his face, the slight pause before they settled on saying something diplomatic. He has Lily's eyes, they usually said, often after an odd hesitating moment, which was absolutely true, but left much else unsaid.
James Potter's hair had been black and untidy. Harry's was golden blonde and wavy. James had thin, sharp features. Harry's face was fuller, his cheekbones higher and more prominent. People did compare him to his father when he did something brave, or reckless, or when he flew, definitely when he flew — but those were things you did, not things you were. Sometimes it felt like the only thing genuinely connecting them was a Quidditch position.
He'd even caught himself wishing he was near-sighted. Just to have something. Anything that tied him to the man who had died for him. But no, perfect vision. Just another thing to make him different from James Potter.
Harry had lived with these facts for a long time, had accepted them, not really actively bothered by them anymore. But then Sirius had made it loud again, though Harry didn't think he'd meant to. His last words before flying away from the dementors, from the aurors, from everything, had been you have your mother's eyes. Not you're so like James. Not your father would be proud. Just Lily's eyes, and then he was gone. That alone shouldn’t have been enough to bother him. But it was the thing he’d left unsaid, that long moment where Harry was sure he was going to say something else. That was what had him stumped.
He’d been replaying it in his mind in nearly every moment since. All throughout the last few days of term, on the train ride home, even as he stepped off the Hogwarts Express and onto Platform Nine and Three Quarters.
All around him on the platform, students greeted their families with hugs and noise and the warmth of people genuinely glad to see each other. Harry felt none of it. He walked toward his uncle, who stood apart from it all with his arms crossed and his expression set somewhere between bored and irritated.
Harry felt empty.
It was easier to feel nothing than to sit with the dread of returning to Privet Drive, especially given that for just a shining moment, he'd thought he'd never have to. But of course Sirius was back on the run, hounded by dementors and aurors alike, and the brief dream of a cottage in the countryside was just another thing in Harry’s life that hadn't come true.
"Hurry up, boy. I don't have all day," Vernon huffed as Harry drew close enough to hear.
That was easy for him to say. He wasn't offering to help with a year's worth of luggage and an owl cage, which Harry noted and said nothing about. He picked up his pace, his suitcase clicking along behind him. He briefly considered a cutting remark, and then let it go. Vernon had a long memory, and there were still seventy-three days before Harry could go back to Hogwarts. In Privet Drive time, that would feel like centuries.
With only that as a greeting between them, Harry followed Vernon out to the King's Cross car park, where Petunia and Dudley were already watching from the car with matching expressions of impatience.
"Where am I supposed to put Hedwig?" Harry asked. The previous two years he'd put her cage on the backseat, but with Dudley and Petunia already there that wasn't an option.
"That ruddy bird," Vernon grumbled. "We're going on a trip. She can't come."
"So where is she meant to go?"
"I don't particularly care where she goes," Vernon waved a hand.
Harry said nothing. He let out a breath and reached down to unlock the cage door. Harry winning an argument against his uncle was rare, and this probably wasn’t the moment for Harry to stand his ground. Besides, it was probably better for Hedwig not to be at Privet Drive anyway. At least wherever she went, she wouldn't be stuck in a cage. Though it did mean that Harry would be entirely on his own.
"Sorry, girl," he said quietly, brushing the back of his hand along her feathers. "You might have to go back to the owlery for a while."
She nibbled affectionately at his fingers before launching herself from the cage and disappearing into the sky. Harry watched her go longer than he should have.
"Hurry up!" Vernon squeezed himself into the driver's seat, and the car frame groaned beneath him in a way Harry found privately satisfying.
Harry slid in beside Dudley.
"What took you so long," Dudley said.
Harry ignored him. Dudley's face screwed up in annoyance, but he knew a losing battle and turned instead to chatter excitedly with his parents. Harry let their voices blur into background noise and stared out the window.
He was still staring out the window when a plane roared low overhead and shook him out of it. He followed its path through the glass and watched it descend beyond a large fence in the distance. This was definitely not the direction to Privet Drive.
"Wait," Harry said. "Where are we actually going?"
"Haven't you been listening to a word we've been saying?" Vernon caught his eye in the rear-view mirror. "We're flying to Boston. Dudley’s made the international finals in his Boxing Competition." He said it in the tone he always reserved for Dudley, doting and boastful. Harry had always thought it sounded like the way Mrs. Figg talked about her cats, cooing at them after they had torn up her furniture and scratched at her.
He turned toward his cousin and really looked at him for the first time since getting in the car. He was clearly much healthier than the last time — still a big boy, but the puppy fat had hardened into something denser. It made sense. If anything was going to motivate Dudley toward a healthier lifestyle, it was the prospect of being allowed to hit people in the face. Dudley had always been good at that.
"Why do I have to go? Couldn't I stay at Privet Drive?"
Vernon let out a single sharp laugh. "And have you infect our house with your freakiness while we're gone? I think not."
Harry opened his mouth to complain, but Vernon cut him off.
"You are coming with us and that is final," he said, eyes finding Harry’s in the mirror.
Harry slumped back in his seat. Anyone else might have been excited about visiting a foreign country. A holiday with the Dursleys wasn't anyone's idea of a good time, foreign country or not.
The flight was exactly as uncomfortable as Harry had expected.
He'd spent the better part of eight hours wedged beside Dudley, whose sleeping form seemed to have developed an unerring instinct for snoring directly into Harry’s ear. Still, Harry supposed it was preferable to Dudley being awake.
Sleep was out of the question. His mind kept drifting back to the same moment— Sirius, and the way Harry had known he was going to say something more. He wanted to believe he was stressing over nothing, that there was no evidence of anything out of the ordinary. But he couldn't quite make himself accept that. Sirius had wanted to tell him something. He grew more certain of it with every hour that passed.
He was still thinking about it when they landed, still thinking about it on the way to the motel the Dursleys had organised just outside the city, and still thinking about it the next morning when Dudley knocked into him on the way to Vernon and Petunia's room for breakfast.
"When are we going to that bay place?" Dudley asked excitedly, throwing himself into a chair at the small round table and stuffing his mouth with a muffin. “What’s it’s name again?” he asked, bit of muffin flying out of his mouth.
"It's Amnesty Bay, and we're going to your boxing meets first. We can go after," Vernon said.
"What's at Amnesty Bay?" Harry asked.
Dudley turned to face him with an unusually animated expression. "There's a rumour it's where Aquaman lives!" He seemed to remember who he was talking to and rearranged his face into a sneer. "Don't you know anything?"
"Aquaman?" Harry raised an eyebrow.
Dudley huffed. "Of the Justice League?"
At Harry’s blank look, he glared. “Don’t you watch any TV?”
"No, actually. Muggle technology doesn't work at Hogwarts."
"Weird lot," Vernon muttered, making no particular effort to be quiet about it. "Can't even keep up with basic technology."
"Actually, the reason muggle technology doesn't work is because there's too much magic in—"
"Don't." Vernon jabbed his spoon in the air, punctuating each word. "Use. That. Word."
Harry found that about as threatening as a Puffskein. He shrugged and looked away, unbothered. His lack of fear only seemed to make Vernon's face redder. Harry paid him no further attention, shifting his gaze to the motel car park outside the window. It was a deeply boring view. Still considerably more interesting than Vernon.
"Dudley, Petunia, we're going," Vernon ground out eventually, pushing back from the table. "We have a match to get to."
Harry frowned. "I'm not going with you?"
Vernon turned a furious glare on him. "Don't be absurd. You'll stay right here where you can't bother anyone."
Harry rolled his eyes. He wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or relieved. He didn't want to spend the day with the Dursleys, but he didn't particularly want to be trapped in a motel room either, especially one too far from the city to do any exploring.
"What am I supposed to do all day?"
"As long as there's no funny business, I don't particularly care," Vernon said, a mean little smile settling onto his face. "There's a TV in your room. Watch that. And you are not to leave the motel grounds."
"And food?" Harry held his uncle's gaze. "Should I just sit here and go hungry?"
It wouldn't have surprised him enormously if the answer was yes. Vernon grumbled, drove a thick-fingered hand into his pocket and produced a couple of thin notes, which he dropped onto the table without ceremony.
"There's a vending machine outside."
Without another word he steered Petunia and Dudley out the door, and then they were gone.
Harry looked at the notes on the table for a moment.
Now what?
The days that followed proved less terrible than Harry had expected.
He was sick of the motel room, sure, it was cramped and the mattress felt like lying on a hardwood floor, but coming straight from the Hogwarts Express meant he still had all his school things, and he threw himself into his holiday homework with more enthusiasm than he'd have thought possible under the circumstances. Two days of solid work and it was done, probably faster than Hermione had managed hers, though he'd never say that to her face.
Vernon's suggestion about the TV had turned out to be pretty good advice, in the end. Harry had never really been allowed to watch it at Privet Drive, and he could see now what he'd been missing. It was through the TV that he'd come to understand Dudley's enthusiasm for Aquaman — a character from an unusual film about an alien invasion of Gotham City, told in the style of a news documentary. It was odd but compelling, and Harry could see why Dudley admired him.
Aquaman was extraordinary, able to command sea life, possessed of immense physical strength and wielding a golden trident with enough force to take out one of the villain Darkseid's eyes. The beautiful Wonder Woman had helped with that particular moment, but it was Aquaman who'd driven the blow home.
Best of all, he'd barely seen the Dursleys. They returned briefly each night from the boxing meets and seemed to have collectively decided that Harry wasn't there, which suited him perfectly. No communication, no problem.
But now the competition was over, and Dudley was pressing his parents loudly about Amnesty Bay.
"How far is it?" Dudley asked as they headed toward the car.
"About an hour," Vernon answered.
Harry had enjoyed the solitude of the past few days, but the motel room was beginning to feel like a cell. Without stopping to think about it, he pushed out the door behind them.
"Can I come?"
"We've been over this," Vernon growled, not bothering to turn around. He kept moving toward the car as though that settled the matter.
Harry didn't see why it should. He crossed to the back door and climbed in beside Dudley.
Vernon went very still. Then he came around the car and pulled the door open.
"What do you think you're doing, boy?"
"Coming along," Harry said simply, clicking the seatbelt into place.
"Get out," Vernon said quietly.
The vein on his temple flared. Harry had seen his uncle angry plenty of times, but this was somewhere near the higher levels of his rage. It didn't matter. It was too late to prevent the anger now whether he gave in or not, so he might as well see it through.
"I'm not staying in that motel room again," Harry said.
"Yes, you are!"
Harry was obstinate. "No, I'm not. Whether I come with you or not, I’m leaving this motel today. But if I don't go with you, I might not find my way back. I’m such a freak, you see, and I get confused very easily," Harry held his uncle's gaze. "Do you really want to explain to Professor Dumbledore how you lost me in a foreign country?"
Vernon's mouth opened and closed several times. The vein pulsed again. Then he stepped back, slammed the door shut, and made his way around to the driver's seat without another word.
Harry allowed himself a small, private smile. Vernon didn't fear Harry, had never feared Harry, but Dumbledore was another matter entirely. The name alone was enough.
"Dad, Harry can't come!" Dudley whined.
"Quiet, Dudley." Two words, absolutely flat.
Vernon turned in his seat and fixed Harry with a look that made his intentions very clear. "I don't want to hear a single word out of you. Not one."
Harry almost asked if Vernon wanted him to wear his invisibility cloak, just to poke him that little bit more. He decided against it. He'd already won and there was nothing to gain from pushing further, except for a momentary joy that Vernon would probably squash if Harry made him angry enough. He settled back into his seat and let Dudley's whining wash over him like background noise.
Amnesty Bay, Harry decided, would be a very nice place to live.
It wasn't a big place, probably only a few thousand people, but that was half the appeal. There was a small-town quality to it that no city could replicate, its main road nothing more than a handful of shops strung along the waterfront. He could see himself somewhere like this one day, far from the fame and chaos that seemed to follow him around magical Britain like bad weather.
It would have been considerably nicer without Dudley, who had spent the entire hour-long drive making his feelings about Harry's presence abundantly clear. He hadn't let up for a single minute, despite the fact that Harry hadn't said a word in his own defense. Vernon and Petunia were doing their usual trick of trying to appease him with promises of gifts and food, which never actually helped since it only taught Dudley that if he kept going long enough, he'd get what he wanted. Harry tuned it out and watched the coastline pass.
They drove straight through Amnesty Bay and continued along the coast for a few minutes before turning down an unassuming dirt road toward the water. Half a minute later they were parked on a clifftop overlooking the ocean, a tall white lighthouse standing at its edge with a small, cosy house nestled at its base.
Harry barely looked at the lighthouse.
He had dreamt about seeing the ocean his whole life without ever quite believing he would. The largest body of water he'd encountered until now was the Black Lake, which suddenly seemed about as impressive as a puddle. The ocean had no real edge he could find. It simply continued, endlessly vast, until the sky came down to meet it. He understood, standing there, why people had once believed the world was flat.
He got out of the car without thinking about it and walked slowly to the cliff's edge. Below him the waves rolled and broke, leaving trails of white froth across the rocks. Something in the sight pulled at him, something deep and wordless, and he had to consciously resist the urge to simply step off the edge and fall toward it. The drop would almost certainly kill him. He'd never even learned to swim, even if he miraculously survived the fall. None of that seemed quite as relevant as it should have.
It felt right. Natural. Like recognizing something he used to know intimately and had somehow forgotten.
The sound of it rushed through him, enveloped him completely, drowning out every other thing in the universe. Individual waves broke against the cliff below, powerful and unyielding, and he could feel each one slapping against the rocks, each one distinct, a deep rhythm that seeped up through his legs and into his chest. He had never expected the ocean would sound like that. Would feel like that.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that Dudley was making a scene, yelling at the house and banging on the front door, invading someone's privacy without a second thought. He couldn't quite bring himself to care. The ocean held him completely, and the rest of the world felt very far away.
It wasn't until Dudley was right beside him that Harry realised his cousin had been talking to him.
"What is the matter with you?" Dudley demanded, arms crossed over his broad chest. "You were the one who had to come, and now you won't even come and see if he's in there?"
Harry rolled his eyes, pulled unwillingly from the view. "You think I came to stare through someone's window? Helps to have a sense of shame."
It wasn't the smartest thing to say. Dudley was already volatile just from Harry's presence, and being dragged out of his reverie had left Harry irritable in a way that wasn't entirely rational. He knew it even as the words left his mouth.
Dudley's face contorted with rage. He wouldn't take an insult from Harry on his best day, let alone today. Before Harry could do anything about it, Dudley stepped forward with a roar and shoved him hard with both hands.
What followed seemed to happen in slow motion.
Harry stumbled back. Dudley's expression shifted from rage to something closer to horror, and then Dudley was getting smaller, his face retreating behind the clifftop as Harry fell away from it, dropping toward the blue depths below.
The last thing he heard before he hit the water was Petunia screaming.
It didn’t feel like the danger it should have. It felt like going home.