Apprentice Potter
Consequenses
By Draco664
A gentle tapping on the door of my room partially roused me. I grinned wryly to myself while rubbing the sleep from my eyes after this rather unusual method of getting me out of bed; Aunt Petunia had not forgotten what happened the last time she burst into my room screaming. I suppose having to wash a partially digested rodent from your hair would focus the memory somewhat. The thought of having to do the same quickly washed all traces of fatigue from my mind.
"I'm up." I called out as I swung my legs over the edge of my bed and grabbed my glasses from the bedside table. The world swam into focus to reveal that Hedwig had pulled her head out from under her wing and was giving me a filthy look.
"Sorry. Go back to sleep." I yawned, stretching my arms. She gave me a hoot of annoyance and put her head back beneath her wing.
"Not a morning owl, are you?" I whispered fondly with a smile.
So far this summer, Hedwig has been the only one I can talk to without getting angry. My Aunt learned this pretty quickly and has avoided me as much as possible. Recently, the only communication I've been getting from her is a tap on the door in the morning and a timid admonishment some time during the day not to step outside. My Uncle has been putting in a fair bit of overtime this summer. As such, he's generally gone before I get up and gets back late in the evening when I'm in my room reading over my old textbooks from last year or practicing occulmancy.
He claimed that business isn't too good at the moment, even going to the extent of blaming the Patterson's water usage at number eight for driving up the water rates, somehow extrapolating that the economy was being ruined as a result. I'm not sure exactly who he was trying to convince, and I'm quite sure that anyone who actually believed him must have a lower IQ than my Uncle themselves.
In my opinion, he's just staying as far away from me as possible, for as long as possible.
And that's fine with me.
Dudley on the other hand has been much braver this summer. I was stunned to learn that in the past year he managed to win the South-Eastern England amateur boxing title for his age and division. He still resembles a beached whale, though in all honesty, perhaps a youngish beached whale. Maybe even a youngish beached whale that has been on a diet for a while.
His success in the ring has given him the confidence to face up to his fear of magic, at least his fear of my magic. I only had two days of peace when I suggested putting in my three-daily letters that I was recovering from a black eye. While the respite was welcome, he didn't grab his backside and whimper as he usually does. Maybe I should owl the twins for some 'assistance' in making my beloved cousin wish he'd been a little nicer to me. Yes, I do believe that would be a good idea.
I grabbed an old, frayed towel from the back of my chair where I last hung it, and wandered into the bathroom for a shower. Less than a minute later I was standing under a hot spray, letting the heat soak into and relax my stiffened muscles.
I got a exactly one second's notice in the form of the sound of a toilet flushing before the temperature of my shower changed by what felt like two hundred degrees. My startled yelp elicited a horribly familiar laugh from the toilet in the next room.
Oh yes, Hedwig will definitely be visiting the twins some time today.
~~~
The worst time of day this summer is, without a doubt, breakfast time. I'm still expected to cook for my Aunt and cousin, which in itself isn't too bad. After all, compared to previous summers, only having to prepare breakfast is a real holiday. But being required to sit opposite Dudders at the table and watch him inhale his food is just the ticket should you feel an urgent need to go on a diet.
Merlin's beard, he's disgusting. Five bacon rashers, four sausages, three fried eggs and two grilled tomatos have just been sucked into his gaping maw in under a minute. I honestly doubt any particular item touched the sides. I could probably write some new Christmas carol lyrics dedicated to Dudley's breakfast; all I have to do is work out how to get him to eat a partridge in a pear tree.
Oh shit. He's grinning at me. What is he-
A sharp pain shot through my leg, and it took a great deal of discipline not to cry out and grab it. The bastard had just kicked me under the table.
That's it.
"Did you enjoy your breakfast, Dud?" I asked, once I was sure my voice wouldn't waver.
"Uh-huh." he said, smirking at me.
I let a slow grin grow. "Are you sure? You started looking a little peaky when you swallowed that third bacon rasher." I said slyly.
Dudley's grin faded just as slowly. "What?" he asked dumbly.
"Oh, nothing Dud. I was just making sure that there was nothing wrong with the bacon." I let my grin become a smirk. "I wasn't sure if I added the right amount of... seasoning."
I really must remember that one. Dudley rushed up the stairs to the toilet, where seconds later it became obvious that he had stuck his fat fingers down his throat. I made a mental note to include this morning's events in my pending note to the twins. I'm sure they'll get a good laugh. Mind games really are much more fun, plus I'm not likely to get a warning from the Ministry. Unless of course Fudge decides that I need even more character assassination. Which I suppose is highly probable, a least now, after it came out that he has been covering up the Dark Wanker's return for the better part of a year.
Publicly consorting with Malfoy senior before his unmasking as a Death Eater wasn't a terribly bright move either. Rita Skeeter has been making a big deal of the fact that I told Fudge exactly who was present at Voldemort's rebirth after the events of the Third Task. Publicly throwing your support behind someone who you've been told is an evil prick, and then having to admit you were wrong to the world isn't precisely a world class political move.
Aunt Petunia came running at the sound of Dud chucking his guts up. How she expected to fit into the toilet with Dudley kneeling in the way is something I doubt she's considered. It was surprisingly tempting to follow her. I'd give a great many galleons to get a photo of Dudley 'driving the porcelain truck'.
I calmly finished my breakfast before Aunt Petunia discovered that her presence was probably not appreciated by her son, and she stormed into the kitchen.
"What did you do to him?" she demanded.
I gently wiped my mouth with a napkin before answering. "Do you mean before or after he kicked me under the table?" I calmly replied, putting the cloth down neatly next to my plate.
Before she could reply, something behind me caught her attention, and she gave a short scream. A massive owl swooped through the kitchen window, only just able to tuck its wings in enough to fit through the narrow opening. It landed on the table in front of me, fluffed its feathers and blinked at me expectantly. The bird was a little over two feet tall. Huge for an owl.
"See! I knew you did something!" my Aunt crowed, once she recovered.
My confusion was quickly overtaken by anger. Has the Ministry or Dumbledore increased my 'protective surveillance' so much that a simple suggestion or threat of using magic is caught? Even so, how on earth could that be a crime?
With confidence I did not feel, I gave the enormous owl a bacon rind and removed the missive attached to his leg. "I bet your name is Goliath." I said to him, trying to force some humour into the situation. I couldn't have my Aunt thinking I was afraid of the Ministry.
Looking at the seal on the scroll, I gave a little sigh of relief. It wasn't from Mafalda. The wax seal had a large, ornate and stylised 'W' surrounded by a emblem that looked vaguely familiar.
It wasn't the twin's store's logo though, and I'd recognise the Weasley crest anywhere. Steeling myself, I broke the wax and opened the scroll.
Ah, it was from the Wizengamot.
Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,
We hope this missive finds you and your family well.
As you may be aware, a full investigation is underway into and surrounding the events of the evening of the 26th of June, 1995 in the Department of Mysteries. The Wizengamot has been charged with obtaining statements from those present, and has been given the power and privilege to question those involved.
It is our understanding that you played a significant role in the aformentioned events on the aforementioned date.
You are therefore summoned, by the authority invested in the highest wizarding court in the land, to appear before the full Wizengamot to deliver your statement and to be questioned about your recollection of events.
Due to your unique circumstances, a senior member of the Ministry will be charged with escorting you and all required and relevant documents and artifacts to the Ministry offices on the 14th of July, 1995 at precisely two o'clock.
You will be required to divulge any information and/or culpability related to the capture, injury or death of those-
With a snarl, I quickly stood and violently tore up the note in two without finishing it, then screamed, "Get the hell out of here!" point blank at the Ministry's owl. Feathers ruffled in shock, the massive owl gave a terrified hoot and instantly scrabbled backwards in an effort to put as much distance between me and him as possible. It turned and took off, leaving an indication of its fright on the table in the form of a white stain. Rage flooded through me, and I clutched the edge of the kitchen table and heaved upward, sending the entire breakfast setting flying. The sound of breaking plates and bowls didn't register on me.
In the last year, I've been forced to defend myself against both Voldemort AND dementors sent by the Ministry, and now they think that with a polite letter they can just demand my cooperation? That I trust anyone in a position of power in the Ministry enough to escort me anywhere?
Not going to happen. Not in this lifetime.
I turned and grabbed my chair in both hands and raised it above my head. An instant later, I smashed it down as hard as I could with a shout, feeling the heavy wood twist and break nicely in my grip. I threw what was left of the chair still in my hands at the window, shattering three of the four panes of glass easily.
Sirius' haggard features came unbidden to mind. His hatred of his family home as his new jail, his frustration at not being able to do anything. More memories surfaced, of Snape goading him, of Dumbledore's condescending platitudes. I felt his sense of impotence, of being unable to do anything. The feelings were so similar to those I've felt my entire life, of never being in control, always being controlled by others.
No More! Never again! I will not be manipulated! I will not be controlled!
I pushed my fists into my temples, clenched my eyes shut and screamed. Months of anger, hatred and frustration combined in my belly. I forced it out, pushing out hard against the world, wanting nothing more than to be left alone by everyone and everything. I distantly noted the sensation of power flowing through me, as I tried to purge myself of my fury.
Every single breakable object in the kitchen shattered, including the one remaining intact window pane, my glasses and the chipped porcelain coin jar on the top of the refrigerator. The plumbing burst too, showing the room with a high pressure stream of water.
The blurred expression of fright on my Aunt's face was the last thing I saw as darkness gathered in my field of vision.
~~~
The next thing I remembered was a cool, damp feeling on my forehead. As I focused on that single sensation, voices intruded on the blessed silence. Instinctively, I refrained from moving a single muscle, waiting to determine if I was safe or not.
One voice seems anxious. "But how much longer will he be unconscious?"
"I cannot be sure, Miss Granger. With the amount of power he expended, he may not respond for many hours yet."
Well, I guess I'm safe if Hermione is here. But the stern tones of Professor McGonagall caused me to remain silent and still.
Someone, I assumed it was Hermione, replaced the damp cloth on my forehead. A small trickle of water ran down the side of my scalp, lightly tickling me. "Professor, if you want to reassure the Dursleys, I'll stay with Harry."
A small pause, and I can just imagine McGonagall's stern features evaluating Hermione's suggestion. I heard the door close quietly. Perhaps McGonagall nodded instead of replying.
"Is she gone?" I rasped softly, my throat dry and hoarse from my earlier screaming.
"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, and I felt her hug me tightly. After a few seconds she let me go.
"Harry James Potter! You frightened me half to death!" she continued.
I slowly cracked my eyes open. "What have I done now?" I croaked.
"Your little pyrotechnics show." she huffed. "Professor McGonagall escorted me this morning to the Ministry to give evidence before the Wizengamot, when alarms started going off everywhere. Professor Dumbledore must have increased the wards over Privet Drive after what happened last summer." Hermione started blushing. "I sort of demanded to come along."
I snorted softly, which causes me to cough. We both took a moment and manage to get ourselves composed and under control. Hermione wordlessly handed me my newly repaired glasses.
"So am I in trouble?" I finally asked.
"No. The wards picked it up as an unfocused, psycho-kinetic surge, similar to the one three years ago when you inflated up that awful woman. Only-"
"What?" I asked, after a long pause.
Hermione was clearly uncomfortable. "It was a huge surge, Harry. Larger by far than the other one. At first the aurors thought it was a powerful adult wizard, and that you were under attack."
"Like they care."
"Don't say that! Of course they care."
"Yeah? When was the last time someone had to defend themselves from both Voldemort and the Ministry?
"What do you mean?"
"Has a Ministry official ever ordered dementors to attack someone who was simply claiming something they wanted to cover up?"
"That was Umbridge's fault Harry, not the Ministry's."
I forced myself up onto my elbows. "The Ministry seemed pretty keen to claim everything that cow did as official policy last year."
"They wouldn't have condoned an attack on a student."
I again felt my anger rise. "You forget they were trying their damnedest to make sure I wasn't a bloody student." I snapped. "You know, you're beginning to sound remarkably like Percy."
Hermione bit her lip, an expression of dismay on her face. "Harry! Please, I'm not an apologist! I didn't mean-"
I waved away her response and slowly climbed out of bed. Even without looking at her, I could feel her watching me uncertainly as I stretched and twisted, loosening my muscles. Even after my little 'nap', I felt drained.
"Harry, what happened today?" she asked timidly.
"Nothing." I said sullenly, not turning to face her. "It doesn't matter."
Her slim arms encircled me from behind and I stiffen in reflex. Even though we've been friends for five years, I could count the number of times Hermione has hugged me on one hand. "It does matter Harry." she said.
"Oh yeah? What would have happened if the same surge came from Neville's place?"
"Well-"
"Nothing! That's what! He'd get a letter saying a surge had been detected, and to please explain. When it's me, I either have to defend myself from expulsion, defend myself in the press for getting special treatment, of defend myself from attack because no one else will! I'm sick of it! I'm tired of having to justify my actions to others."
"They only want to make sure you're all right."
"Bullshit. Dumbledore just wants to make sure his bloody secret weapon isn't damaged." I growled.
I closed my eyes tightly in shame. Bugger. I didn't mean to say that.
"Weapon? What do you mean?"
"Nothing. Forget it."
Hermione let go, only to put her hands on my shoulders to gently but firmly turn me around. I kept my head turned away from her. "Harry? What's wrong? Why are you so angry?"
I slowly shook my head, feeling my stomach tighten. "I can't. I'm sorry."
"You can tell me." she said softly.
Again, I shook my head. "I know, but not just yet."
Hermione's lips pressed tightly together, reminding me of our Transfiguration teacher downstairs, but she hugged me again anyway. Almost as if summoned, the door to my room opened to reveal the presence of the head of Gryffindor house. Despite the manner of her arrival back at Hogwarts, she has obviously not quite fully recovered from being hit with multiple stunning spells, as she was walking with the aid of an glass and amber cane.
"Ah, Mr. Potter. You are awake. Good. There are some people downstairs who have some questions for you."
I'm not sure whether it was her condescending tone or her presumptive command that instantly made me defiant. My heart rate quickened, and I ground my teeth together in anger. How dare she just come in here and issue orders. School is out, and I am not bound to listen to her. I gave her a long, flat, unfriendly look. "Get out." I said from between clenched teeth.
McGonagall's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and I felt Hermione stiffen. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Potter?"
"I said get out!" I shouted, pulling myself out of Hermione's suddenly slackened arms. "Get out of this house! You are not welcome! You are not wanted! Piss off!"
I ignored Hermione's shocked gasp of, "Harry!", and continued to march up to McGonagall. The stern teacher hadn't moved an inch, and it was only the slight tinge of red in her cheeks that indicated she heard me.
McGonagall took a deep breath. "Mr. Potter! You appear to forget to whom you are speaking!" she snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously.
"I know exactly who I'm speaking to! Someone to fucking stupid to understand when their presence is not wanted!" I took a deep breath myself, sucking in all the frustration I've ever felt. "GET OUT!" I screamed, as loudly as possible.
It felt good to push against the world again, trying to get her out of my life. Cracks shot through the windows in my room.
McGonagall's eyes widened. "Mr. Potter, you need to control yourself. You are not in control, and you may pose a danger-"
I stood on the tips of my toes and leaned in until my nose almost touched the tip of her own. "LEAVE! ME! ALONE!" I yelled in her face as loudly and as clearly as I could manage with a rough throat. I'm quite sure my face was a similar shade of purple as Uncle Vernon's when he lets loose.
I pushed past the stunned teacher and stormed downstairs, where a pair of aurors were coming to investigate the noise. "That goes for you too." I shouted. "Out! Get the hell out of here!"
The pair shared a look, before turning to face someone in the lounge. I followed their gaze to see Kingsley Shacklebot rise from the couch, a deep frown on his features. I'm quite sure he is the first and only black person ever to enter this house while the Dursley's were present. Hell, probably the first and only bald person too.
"Harry, you need to calm down." he said, keeping his deep voice level.
"Don't tell me what I need to do! All of you, get out and don't come back!"
"Harry, you need protection." he continued calmly.
"I can protect myself! I've done it before, from both Voldemort and from your precious Ministry. I don't want your help, and I sure as hell don't need your help." I screamed straight back at him.
The look of relief on my Aunt's face was almost comical. I turned to her. "Make sure Dudley is alright. I'll take care of this." I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument.
She nodded quickly, a grateful look on her face, and she ran off up the stairs. I turned back to Kingsley, my face again darkening. "Well? Why are you still here?" I snapped.
"Harry, listen to me. You need to calm down right now."
"I won't ask you again! Get out!"
"You need to tell us what happened here."
"I don't need to tell you diddly squat."
Kingsley gave me a disappointed look before looking behind me. "Can you talk sense into him?"
"I wouldn't presume." McGonagall said stiffly. "It appears that Mr. Potter would prefer to keep his own counsel."
"Minerva, that surge was-"
"I know, Mr. Shacklebot." she interrupted. "However, Mr. Potter has spoken. Come along, Miss Granger."
"If you don't mind, Professor, I'll stay." Hermione replied from the top of the stairs, an uncharacteristic hardness in her voice.
McGonagall turned and gave her an appraising look. "How do you intend to get home?"
Hermione waved the question away. "I can order a taxi Professor."
"Very well. Come along gentlemen."
McGonagall walked past me with her nose so high up in the air she resembled Narcissa Malfoy. Kingsley and the other two aurors followed, but not before he gave me one last disappointed look. I stared back challengingly, my eyes wide, just daring him to say anything. With a sigh, the auror finally left, closing the front door behind him. I put my hands on my hips and let out a deep breath I didn't realise I was holding.
"Are you proud of yourself?" asked Hermione in an unfriendly voice.
"No." I answered truthfully. "Why would I be?"
Hermione blinked at the unexpected question. "Harry, you were awful. There was no need to treat them like that."
I slowly raised my head and stared steadily at her. "If there was no reason to, why do you think I did treat them like that then?" I asked softly, all traces of my anger gone.
It amused me no end to see her blink in surprise. After five years of dealing with my default setting being defiant and impetuous, I guess she expected me to be sullenly defensive. It is good to know I can surprise her occasionally.
"I have no idea." she finally managed.
"Then are you in any position to judge my behaviour?" I replied, an identical hard edge to my voice.
"So because I don't know everything that is going on, I can't offer my opinion?"
"I think you just answered your own question. You don't know what is going on." I said, turning away and walking to the kitchen to inspect the damage.
The room was impeccable. Even the slight rust stain no amount of my scrubbing could remove around the sink drain had disappeared. I sat down at the newly repaired table and covered my face with my hands.
I heard Hermione sit down opposite me. She just sat quietly, waiting patiently for me to begin.
--