Fan Fiction ❯ Promises Fulfilled ❯ Owl Post ( Chapter 1 )

Legal Disclaimer - I claim no ownership over Harry Potter or any of the related characters. They are all the property of the wonderful J.K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing them for my own purposes. I make no profit off of this story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Promises Fulfilled

 

Chapter 1

 

Owl Post

 

 

 

 

It was a dark, slightly chilly night on the silent street of Privet Drive. The half moon hung over the street, illuminating all the identical houses with an eerie bluish glow. The only sounds were the rushed scurrying of small rodents and the steady hum from the streetlights around the block. All were sleeping in this neighborhood, dreaming their boring dreams only to wake up the next day in their boring house to go to their boring jobs to support their very boring, very muggle families.

 

Indeed, the whole block was made up of these non-magical folk who knew nothing of the wizarding world. They knew nothing of flying broomsticks, or magic wands, or spell books. They knew nothing of the most feared wizard in the entire world. And they certainly did not know that the one person, who was the only hope for both the wizarding world and their own, was a young, skinny teenager who happened to live right in their own neighborhood.

 

Yes, in a community where if you even mentioned something out of the ordinary, your neighbors would avoid you like the plague, there lived a wizard. Of course, no one knew he was a wizard. No, no. It was all kept very hush-hush by his relatives. For if it were to get out into the community that they were sheltering a wizard under their roof…their perfect reputations would be ruined. Their perfect little life would be shattered into a million pieces the day they were associated with that lot.

 

No, no. That could never get out. Therefore, they concocted an outrageous story that he attended St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys during the school year and then they had to deal with his annoyingly criminal attitude when he returned for the summer. The neighbors accepted this story—this lie—and stuck their noses as high in the air as they could go without leaving their faces at him when they saw him.

 

It wasn't as if the wizard cared any. No, he had much more to think about than being loved and adored by his neighbors…

 

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It was cold. There were streams of different colored lights bouncing everywhere. Curses, yells, and screams erupted from all corners of the room. And yet, in the middle of it all, there it stood: black malevolence swirling, fluttering peacefully in a non-existent breeze. He watched from a far off corner, a scene that he had seen over and over and over again. Every time, he so wanted to change it, but he couldn't. It was as if someone had let concrete dry around his ankles.

 

And he could only helplessly watch as that one cursed moment, the moment that would replay in his mind every time he closed his eyes, happened once more: The memory of his godfather, Sirius Black, falling backwards towards the fluttering veil where his life was so unfairly taken from him. He watched as the scene played out in slow motion—Oh! If only he could get there and stop it! That expression on Sirius's face, the graceful arc of his body as it fell through the veil. And just like that, Sirius Black was gone; gone until the next time that he would fall asleep and have to bear witness to his godfather's death.

 

Then, his feet seemed to move. The concrete broke and he was running, screaming. It was okay! This time, Sirius was going to get up and push back that infernal veil and be smiling, ready for battle again. He was running towards the dais and just as he was about to reach it, a strong hold around his middle prevented him from moving forward.

 

“There's nothing you can do, Harry—” It was the voice of Remus Lupin.

 

That night, he hadn't noticed how his previous professor had choked that one sentence out.

 

“Get him, save him; he's only just gone through!”

 

That night, he hadn't even noticed how his own voice sounded: so thick with desperate emotion, hoping, praying, begging that the one last bit of family he had left wouldn't leave him too.

 

“It's too late, Harry—”

 

Those words meant nothing to him at that moment in his life. They were just words coming from a person who was keeping him from going to his godfather, from helping him to stand back up and fight again.

 

“We can still reach him—”

 

Oh, those words were in vain. Was that the point in which tears began to bite and tear at the corners of his eyes? He could remember the sting as he fought to control him. That wasn't the only thing he had been fighting. Lupin just wouldn't let go. He wouldn't let him go to Sirius.

 

“There's nothing you can do, Harry…nothing…He's gone.”

 

That one sentence shattered him. He could hear Lupin's uneasy breath as he tried to keep him from running. He hadn't heard it that night, but the nights following that he heard the nearly silent sob that managed to escape Lupin's tight throat. He then realized that Lupin had been just as floored as he was.

 

“He hasn't gone!”

 

It was a desperate cry. He wished that the memory would disappear. He didn't want to hear himself sound so broken.

 

“SIRIUS! SIRIUS!”

 

“He can't come back, Harry. He can't come back because he's d—”

 

Adrenaline had been pumping through his veins. He fought Lupin. He had to get to Sirius. He had to go help his godfather. His godfather, his one last bit of family, was not dead. No, he wasn't dead. Just hiding. Just playing with the Death Eaters. He was going to pop out of no where and launch a major surprise attack on them.

 

“HE—IS—NOT—DEAD! SIRIUS!”

 

Bellatrix Lestrange was laughing, he was so angry. Why had Sirius taken so long? Why wasn't he coming back?

 

“He's gone.”

 

It rang in his ears. Sirius was gone, dead. Forever. And it was all his, Harry Bloody Potter's fault. All his fault.

 

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Harry sat up in bed, drenched in a cold sweat, shivering and shaking from the aftermath of his nightmare. Every time he would dream about that fateful night, it was almost as if he were reliving it. Even some things that he hadn't noticed that night had been imprinted on his brain. When he would dream he could see, hear, and even smell everything. It made it seem so real, as if he could do something different. But he couldn't. He was trapped in his own Hell of just sitting there and doing nothing, watching a piece of his life just die right there, again and again. It was true: a part of Harry died that night along with Sirius.

 

“He's gone.”

 

That's what they said to him the night Cedric died too. That it was over, Cedric was gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. The night in the graveyard came back to him, every single detail, especially the blank, staring eyes of his late classmate. Harry had never been too fond of Cedric Diggory. He was handsome and good at Quidditch and he had gotten a date with Cho Chang, his crush of, at that time, two years. But after that night, Cedric was no longer any of those things. He was stone dead. He would never ride a broom again and he would not return to his sweetheart, Cho.

 

Harry was overridden with guilt. Couldn't there have been something he could have done?

 

“Let's take it together.”

 

“We'll take it at the same time. It's still a Hogwart's victory. We'll tie for it.”

 

He scowled in the dark at himself. If only he had pushed his pride away and just taken the stupid cup himself, Cedric would still be alive. But no, he just had to go and make sure that everyone was happy.

 

Standing up, Harry turned on his bedside lamp and began to pace the room in his bare feet. His watch told him that it was around three in the morning. He stopped and sighed, putting his head into his hands. Walking back towards the bed, he lay down and pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes for a moment before running his hand through his already mussed up hair. A small smile tugged at his lips as he thought about his father doing exactly the same thing…

 

The smile fell. Harry sat up and looked out the window; everything was blurry without his glasses on. He didn't reach for them, but merely closed his eyes and tried to see if he could picture all of Privet Drive in his head; he had been staring out of the window all summer so he figured he had the whole area memorized by now. Yes, he could see the red-tiled roofs of the neighbors and the gardens out front and even the little gold numbers on the side of their mailboxes. He saw one of Mrs. Figg's scrawny old cats prowling the block. And then he saw…a Dementor.

 

Emerald eyes snapped open, gazing on the street below. He fumbled for his glasses and put them on. Looking out the window, Harry peered up and down the road, searching for some sign that a magical being had been there. No Dementors were around Privet Drive. He had to learn to calm down; his knuckles were white from his hand squeezing his wand too tight. His quick breaths slowed down and Harry leaned back from the window, shoving his wand back under his pillow.

 

He was too paranoid. Why was it that when things became too quiet or irksome, Harry automatically grabbed his wand, ready to fight? Oh, yes. Voldemort. Voldemort was back. And not just back, he was powerful too. Harry could still see the red slits of his eyes and still feel the ice-like chill of his spidery finger where Voldemort touched his face…Shivering, Harry pulled a blanket over his shoulders and continued to stare out the window.

 

Yes. Voldemort. That fiend was the reason that Harry could not sleep at night, the reason that so many families out there were missing a familiar face at their dinner table, the reason that Harry had no parents, or godparents, to run to when he felt afraid or insecure. Voldemort shattered so many lives. Harry thought about his own problems, but then he felt himself thinking about Neville Longbottom.

 

The image of a round-faced, forgetful Neville swam before his eyes. Poor Neville. Harry had always been upset that he didn't have parents, but when he found out about Neville's predicament, he was somewhat glad that his parents had passed. What could be worse: your parents being gone and dead or your parents still alive and kicking, yet unable to recognize you? Something pulled dreadfully hard at Harry's heart when he thought about that. He could imagine the look of complete and utter sadness on Neville's face when he heard…

 

Harry shook his head. He already had enough guilt on his conscience, the last thing he needed was to think about the Longbottoms. He ran his fingers through his hair trying to calm himself down; he had gotten himself all riled up, making it almost impossible for him to lie back down and go to sleep. Even still, he really didn't want to go back to sleep. Images and memories haunted him in his dreams, turning even the sweetest fantasy into a nightmare.

 

Lying back down, Harry diverted his thoughts elsewhere. Shocking red hair came to mind and Harry smiled at the thought of his best friend, Ron Weasley. He wondered what Ron and Hermione were up to this summer. Harry vaguely remembered Hermione saying something about Spain…geez, for dentists, the Granger's certainly did take a lot of very expensive vacations. He could imagine Hermione in Spain with her parents, driving down the hillsides, exploring beaches and small towns with tall, towering church steeples, all the while laughing and smiling with her parents…

 

Shaking his head, Harry thought about Ron. Ron was probably at home. The Burrow came to mind with its comforting atmosphere and warm feel along with that barely-there scent of ginger cookies always baking. Harry frowned slightly. No, Ron wouldn't be at home. He'd be at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. Harry felt bad for Ron, having to be cooped up in the dark all summer, not being able to go outside at all. Harry had lived that way his whole life, so it wasn't something new to him, having grown up in the cupboard under the stairs, but Ron was different. Ron was used to waking up and eating a good, solid breakfast before walking up the hill of Ottery St. Catchpole with his brothers and sister to go play a nice game of Quidditch. Yes…Ron would need all the practice he could get for this year's House team.

 

Harry wondered if he'd be allowed to play the coming year. He painfully thought of his Firebolt, bound and shackled in Filch's office. But the thought of his broom brought forth thoughts of Sirius. Harry shook his head. He didn't need to think about that. He still needed some time to cope with what happened; the memories were like pouring salt and alcohol into open wounds. Wounds…Harry unconsciously touched the spot on his right arm and rubbed at it gently. He could still feel the steely tip of the dagger that Wormtail had cut him with; it still stung slightly.

 

Sighing to himself, Harry sat back up and started looking out the window again. He thought about his two best friends again and a ghost of a scowl tugged at his lips. Sure, they had tried to write to him, but the letters were always short and the excuse was that they couldn't disclose too much information in case the letters were intercepted. That's what everyone kept telling him nowadays. Short, to the point, nothing “earth shattering” if you will. Basically the letters consisted of one line which they all seemed to be made of the same simple structure: Hello, busy here, bye. That was really it.

 

In his letters to the Order, he tried to make some kind of conversation by writing at least half of a piece of parchment. And then he would wait anxiously for the return of the letter, only to become saddened to find that it was the usual, toneless: Hello, still busy here, stay out of trouble, later. Harry distinctly remembered sitting on his bed for almost three hours, turning the paper over and over, hoping there was some more to the letter. He tapped it with his wand, held it under light, used a Revealer, and still, nothing but a couple of lines. No one really seemed to want to talk to him. It made him feel cold and numb inside.

 

Harry sighed and looked out the window again. Everyone seemed to be doing something else. Something useful, and there he was, doing absolutely nothing, as he always seemed to be doing. It was frustrating. Everyone was trying to keep him out of danger, yet it always seemed to find him anyway. It's not like he could actually relax and enjoy his summer. No. Not until Voldemort was gone and all of his Death Eaters were locked up would Harry rest easy.

 

A small creak from the upstairs landing made Harry jump and reach for his wand. But when he heard the clumsy shuffle of a pair of large feet and the half-grunt, half-snore that came from the bathroom, Harry was sure that it wasn't anyone trying to do him in. Why would they use the lavatory before coming to curse him into the next lifetime? Harry waited, however, with bated breath as he listened to the flush of the toilet and then the sound of the faucet being turned on, then off. The sounds of the feet returning to their room on the opposite side of the house declared that it was Uncle Vernon on a midnight stroll to the loo. When his loud snore clarified that he was indeed back in bed and asleep again, Harry relaxed and let go of his wand.

 

“Paranoid much?” Harry scolded himself quietly.

 

Turning his gaze back out the window, Harry saw something flying towards his window. He reached for the latch on the sill and pulled, sliding the glass over to the side. The cool night air slapped him in the face and stung his eyes, but the crisp feeling that entered his lungs was enough to make him feel a wave of relief, that he didn't know he needed, rush over him. The owl was nearly to his window, and Harry realized that it was his own pet, Hedwig, her white feathers gleaming in the scarce moonlight.

 

She swooped into the open window and landed on his desk chair, holding out her leg which had a large piece of parchment tied to it. Harry walked over to her and untied the letter from her scaly leg and began to open it. Hedwig hooted in annoyance at being ignored after she had done her job so well. Smiling sheepishly, Harry stroked her chest with his fingers until she seemed content. Nipping his finger affectionately, Hedwig took flight from the chair to her cage where she took a quick drink before heading out into the night to hunt.

 

Harry watched her leave, squinting after her pinprick form as it nearly disappeared into the indigo sky. There were traces of purple and baby blue now mixing with the darkness to the east and Harry deduced that dawn would be coming soon. He walked over to his bed and broke the seal on the letter before unrolling it and reading what it said. A puzzled look came over his face when he read over the letter. Well, he wouldn't describe it as “reading” but…The only thing on the parchment was a series of numbers:

 

23-7-9-30

 

Harry turned the paper over and over again. Was this some kind of new code or something that he should know? How did he even know that this was from the Order? Sure, the handwriting looked familiar…but could the letter have been intercepted? Or were they using codes now so no one could figure out their messages?

 

He stared at it for a long, hard time. Harry could figure it out. He tried to figure out what type of pattern the numbers were in, and then if they were prime numbers, but he was left stumped. Growling in frustration, Harry put the letter down and got up. He walked around the room a couple times. He stopped after a while and plopped down in his desk chair, staring moodily at the calendar on his wall. He still had over a month until he went back to Hogwarts. He continued to stare at the calendar, as if it were to blame for his unhappiness. However, after a moment, recognition dawned on Harry's face and he reached for the letter on his bed.

 

Looking at the calendar and then to the letter, he realized how simple the code was after all. The twenty-three represented the day; the seven was the month, while the nine and the thirty was the time. So, the Order was trying to tell him that something was going to happen on July twenty-third at nine-thirty. Maybe they were going to come and get him? Harry's heart began to race at the thought. Would they bring him back to Grimmauld Place? He felt cold at the thought of the dark, dank house of his late godfather. No, they probably moved it. Yes. It would be safer if they moved Headquarters to a different location.

 

Harry folded the letter up and put it in his trunk that rested by the end of his bed. He then went to the wardrobe and started to take the few articles of clothing out of it. Folding and packing only took him about twenty minutes. After that, he was completely packed and ready for the journey ahead of him.

 

 

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Well? What do you think? Like it? Hate it? It's my first ever Harry Potter fic!!! Please tell me how I did!!!