Chapter Two
Harry awoke with a start. What was happening in his mind was not dreaming. Like a wooden dummy, he was being forced to relive all of his most terrible memories. Lord Voldemort was still controlling his thoughts, he knew. The scar he'd received as a baby was from a killing curse. Instead, it rebounded onto the Dark Lord, and Lord Voldemort nearly died himself. Unfortunately, because the murderous lord still lived, there was a deep connection between the two that surpassed the knowledge of even the most wizened old wizards.
Only last year, at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, did Harry find out Voldemort could access his mind at times when Harry’s defenses were lowered. Last night, Harry could hear him laughing, mocking his tormenting memories.
Harry’s scar prickled. “I sure could use Mum or Dad right now,” he mumbled.
At least he felt he could handle these dreams- if that was what they could be called. It was almost as if dementors surrounded him whenever he fell off to sleep, sucking the happiness from the room, and forcing him to remember- with all of the inherent imagery- all of his most terrible experiences. He’s just trying to get to you, to hurt you however he can. Block him out! the Hermione-like voice urged.
It may have been easier if Harry had actually tried to learn Occlumency last year. Yet, how could he have been expected to clear his mind of emotion when Snape was deliberately making it difficult? “Damned Snape,” cursed Harry under his breath.
It was only after a moment of staring at the ceiling, that he realized he had been talking to himself an awful lot lately. A rare shade of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. Sirius would have thought it was hilarious. Sirius would also have known how Harry felt, being cooped up all of the time. Ability to perform magic was cutting into his social life on Privet Drive. Of course, the kindly snoops of Privet Drive all thought Harry was a criminal, because the Dursleys didn’t want anyone to know Harry was a wizard.
The only difference between Sirius’ situation and his was that his godfather WANTED to get out. Harry didn’t care. He was as haunted inside as he was out. Plus, the sun would probably burn his retinas, as he hadn’t had a breath of fresh air in some time.
Harry grudgingly let his feet slip to the floor, but when he tried to stand, his feet rolled over something hard, and he fell with a mighty crash to the floor. “Ouch” was an understatement. He was inspecting his bodily damage when an almighty roar rose outside his bedroom door. “You! You sniveling little criminal! What the hell are you doing? You nearly woke up Dudley-“
Harry snorted while he slipped on his glasses. Wild centaurs couldn’t have woken up his dolt of a cousin, Dudley.
“You know he has a boxing competition! We should have let him practice on you . . . yes! That’s what we’ll do.”
“That’d be a bit difficult-“
“What do you mean, difficult?”
“Well, he has no head. He made me angry last night, you see, and-“ he said, quite conversationally.
“WHAT?”
“On second thought, his aim is bad enough with his head. Maybe it has improved without it. You know how his brain has been holding him back. I suppose I’d better bring my wand to fight against such a strong, headless adversary.”
“Don’t you talk about your . . . freak equipment! I’ll have you thrown out of this house!”
Harry only laughed in reply. This sent Uncle Vernon into a wild frenzy, spitting out all sorts of obscenities. Eventually, he ran out of steam, and settled for raging at Petunia downstairs.
Lately, he'd been venting his fury on the Dursleys. They so rarely actually spoke to him, so the moment they did, he hit them with every taunt in his arsenal.
With his anger still pulsing, Harry went over to the mirror. The knob on the bed had smacked him right in the eye. At least he didn’t have his glasses on at the time. His right butt cheek seemed to have suffered a similar fate as his eye. There would surely be bruising.
Harry groaned. He didn’t want to explain to anyone how he slipped- he looked to the floor to find his broom sitting amongst other items uncared for, looking not at all disheveled. Oh well thought Harry. At least the Dursleys are too afraid to come in my room, let alone be close enough to see my eye.
Mad-Eye Moody, a suspicious ex-Auror and a current member of the Order of the Phoenix, would probably curse Dudley, Vernon and Petunia to Hades if he thought they gave him a black eye. So the morning wasn’t a loss after all.
Thinking about Moody reminded Harry that he needed to write the Order and let them know everything was all right, while it still was.
Just as he began to unroll a bit of parchment, there was a loud “thunk!” at the window. A generic-looking tiny brown owl fluttered there. He was overly excited, and just a little stupid. “Pig!” he started as he went to open the window. “I wasn’t expecting you for a couple days.”
Harry allowed Pig to eat at Hedwig’s dish. It was something Harry’s owl was never thrilled about. She squawked her displeasure, but moved to the side nevertheless.
Harry opened the letter he had retrieved from the tiny owl, and plopped down on his littered floor to read the letter.
-Be ready at 5 O’clock tonight.-
A true smile broke across young Potter’s face for the first time in weeks. He was leaving Privet Drive- the setting of all of his terrible childhood memories- and much sooner than expected. Although, remembered Harry, Hermione did mention something like that in her letter the day before. He was so happy, he thought the slice of bread Aunt Petunia left under the door for breakfast looked positively appetizing. "Not even a speck of mold!" he said to himself, happily.
While scarfing the food with utmost indecency, he looked again at the letter. It was Ron’s handwriting, of course. He couldn’t wait to be back with his good friends. Wait! he thought, It doesn’t say anything about the Dursleys. Are they going to be here?
The thought of another confrontation between the Dursleys and the magical world they tried so hard to ignore wasn’t pleasant. He didn’t really care about how the Dursleys felt, or how frightened they would undoubtedly be. He only didn’t want them to insult any of his friends.
It was already late morning, judging by the rumble of Saturday activity occurring outdoors. Privet Drive was nestled in a very quiet, standard neighborhood. Men were washing their two cars while their 1.2 kids ran around screaming. Wives were sipping tea in the shade, admiring the view. Harry wished things were so simple for him, but he mustn’t think about that. On to happier thoughts . . . I’m leaving!
Harry decided he’d better send Pig on his way back to his friend, Ron. He stood and found an old tissue clinging to his bottom. “Gross!” he said, and tossed it on the floor. Looking around the trashed room, he thought it might be quite a task to pack, and so, got started early.