Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Prologue

The golden candlelight flickered off the stone walls, walls built before the founding of Hogwarts, before the campaigns of Charlemagne, before the birth of Christ. These walls endured the battles of Pharaoh, and of Caesar, and saw the creation of magic in the earliest of days. The rhythmic chant of the sixteen, cloaked in black, resonated against the walls, which somehow knew what was to come.

A thin, toothless, smile creased her aged face, worn by years of waiting, but now... now the time, at last, had arrived. With the sacrifice set, she closed her eyes and nodded, and the sixteen thrust forth their daggers. She could taste the blood, and her smile broadened; the age of Pravus and Morgana had returned... a new age reborn... the age of Voldemort and...

"NO!" she screamed, sensing, too late, his presence.

Harry woke with a start, his sheets soaked with sweat, a mixture of the night's heat and the new nightmare. Her screams still ringing in his ears, he adjusted his pillow, flopped back down, and... smiled. For the first night all summer, he woke to a dream that had nothing to do about Sirius Black.

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Harry Potter and the Burden of Becoming

Chapter 1 - A New Beginning

The air was hot and humid as Harry lay on his back watching the clouds fly over Privet Drive. Droplets of sweat fell from his forehead making his hair wet. Under the shade of two large bushes he found himself again, as last year, outside the Dursley's open window hoping to hear some word of what was going on in the world, hoping to hear some sign that might give him a clue as to what Voldemort and his followers were up to.

He had received a few owls from Ron and Hermione, and one from Remus, each wishing him well, and reassuring him that all was quiet in the Wizarding world. Yet, Harry knew that Voldemort's greatest strength was stealth, an ability to move unseen and undetected. All might be quiet, but that didn't mean that nothing was happening. So he listened intently for the smallest of clues, the least story that was out of the ordinary, and in those moments during advert breaks, his mind mulled over the prophecy of his fate... a fate only known by Harry and Professor Dumbledore. One day, Harry and Voldemort would meet, and only one of them would survive.

The newscaster led the stories of the night with a five-car pile-up outside Bristol. A petrol tanker had caught fire and three people had died. "A drop in the bucket," thought Harry, "if he has his way." In a few minutes, the news turned to the weather. "Hot, hot and hotter!" chirped the weatherman. With this, Harry's mind wandered to the parchment Ron had sent him earlier that afternoon. He pulled it out of his pocket and read it again. It was the most newsworthy note he'd received all summer.

Harry,

Sorry to hear you're so miserable. I thought for sure you were going to be able to stay with us this summer, but things have taken a bit of a turn. Dad was appointed to direct the Ministry's efforts in the capture of You-Know-Who and his followers. Dumbledore says that the appointment has put our whole family on the Death Eater's hit list. We've had to leave the Burrow to live in the one place I don't think you'd want to come back to, at least not yet. It's not the same here as it was last Christmas, that's for sure. Mum says as soon as we get things straightened up you should come to stay. Be strong, Harry! It should only take a few weeks.

Be careful!

Ron

Harry knew, of course, it was his godfather's house, Sirius Black. They'd spent Christmas there last year. It was the happiest Harry had ever seen Sirius; the pleasant daydream swirled in Harry's mind, but then, as it always did, his mind shifted to the scene it had played all summer long. He saw himself yelling at Hermione, demanding that Sirius was in trouble. He saw himself lead his friends into danger. He saw Sirius coming to the rescue... Sirius battling Bellatrix... Sirius falling through the curtain. If Harry hadn't been so arrogant, his godfather would still be alive, and as much as everyone had tried to reassure him it wasn't, he knew it was his fault. He groaned just thinking about it again, the pain palpable in his heart. Had Sirius lived, Harry would be with him right now. The Ministry had cleared his name, and the Daily Prophet was declaring him a hero. Sirius Black, the closest thing Harry had to family, and he had led him to his death.

There was a loud pop from across the street and Harry jumped up, twisting just in time to miss the opened window. He'd grabbed his wand from his pocket, but it was just the carpenters finishing up some remodeling work on the old Wythe house. In front was a new SOLD sign. The house had only been up for sale about a week; Harry had never seen a house sell so quickly on Privet Drive.

"Put that down, boy!" his Uncle Vernon hissed, staring down at Harry from the open window. Sweat dripped down his Uncle's ruddy face as his eyes flashed up the street. "If you want to eat, get in the house... now!" Harry slid the wand back in his threadbare jeans and walked around to the front door.

Not much had changed since last year. Even though the Dursley's knew that Voldemort had risen again, and that he was out to kill Harry, no one would speak of it. In fact, nothing had really changed at all except for one thing. Dudley, Harry's oversized cousin, was now speaking with him, and not just jabs and insults. They were having real conversations. Harry was amazed Dudley could even string three good sentences together. At first, they were just questions: "What were those things that attacked us last year?" "Why couldn't I see them?" "Who's Voldemort?" "Why is he after you?" It seemed the more he learned about Harry and Harry's world, the harder it was to hate him. Dudley still had his gang, but when any of them tried to punch Harry in the ribs, or trip him while he was walking past, Dudley would simply say, "Lay off." And now, they simply did just that. Not only was Harry free to walk the village without fear of being pummeled, he was able to talk to other kids without having to worry that Dudley's thugs would come after them. The one thing Dudley wouldn't do was talk with Harry in front of his parents. So, after another silent dinner of cabbage rolls and cottage cheese Harry climbed the stairs to his room.

It had been an exhausting day of nothingness, and instead of reading the Quid-Ex magazine Ron had sent him, he decided to go straight to bed. "Clear your mind," Harry thought. "Relax." He had resolved to practice Occlumency over the summer, and was actually getting quite good at it. He was able to sleep at night without dreaming of Voldemort, and his scar had stopped burning. Thoughts of Ron's letter left his head. The film of Sirius' death stopped playing in his mind; and soon he was asleep.

The sound of a loud squeal like fingernails on a chalkboard broke his slumber. At the sudden noise, he sat bolt upright in bed. The sun was streaming through his open window; it was morning already. There was a loud clanking and banging in the street outside. Harry rubbed his eyes, trying to adjust to the light; he grabbed his glasses from off his nightstand, and walked over to the window.

Outside, a moving truck had pulled up to the house across the street. A rather beaten up four door sedan was parked out on the curb as well. Movers were opening up the large truck and talking to a rather tall, dark haired man, whose eyes kept darting up and down the street. The morning was warm, but he wore a long-sleeved shirt, as he seemed to be pointing out what he wanted done. "So that's my new neighbor?" Harry thought. "I wonder what he's looking for?" A dark haired woman stepped out of the house. Unlike the man, she was wearing a T-shirt, but her eyes too were looking up and down the street. "Mrs. Neighbor?" Harry whispered. "What are you looking for?"

The woman cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled, "Gabriella!" Then, turning, she yelled something to the man in a language that Harry could not understand, and the man yelled back in the same tongue, clearly irritated. Was it Russian? Greek? Again the woman called, "Gabriella!"

"Yes, Mama!"

A tall slender girl appeared from behind the house. She had long black hair that was tied back in a ponytail. She too wore jeans and a T-shirt, but somehow they seemed to suit her better than her mother. Was she about Harry's age? Her mother stepped down from the front door, grabbed her by the arm and took her over to her father. He began to yell, but what was being said Harry couldn't say. The daughter kept replying in English, but the parents... he couldn't tell. He leaned out his window slightly to see if he could pick out some word he might interpret when an owl carrying the morning's Daily Prophet hit him square in the face.

The owl squawked loudly, somehow entangling itself on Harry's glasses. "Get off me you bloody bird!" Harry felt himself slipping out the window. He reached up, grabbed the bird and tore it from his face, the bird screeching louder. Just in time, he caught himself from falling on the side of the window frame, and then looked down. Below in the street, the yelling had stopped. Everyone had turned to view the second story of number four Privet Drive. The movers looked perplexed, the mother and father stared blankly, and the daughter seemed to be laughing with her hand over her mouth. To Harry's horror, he realized he was hanging out his window in his boxers with no shirt and, of course, a severe case of bed head. He quickly pulled himself back up, flashed a half-hearted wave and smile, and shot back into his room.

What a glorious way to start the day. There he was, thinking perhaps that his new neighbors might be in league with the Dark Lord. Instead, a perfectly normal family moves in, and he almost breaks his neck falling out a second story window nearly saving Voldemort the trouble of killing Harry himself. He went to put a shirt on when another owl arrived, this time with a letter from Hermione. He sat down on his bed, trying to gather himself, and read.

Harry,

I hope this note finds you very well. It won't be long until we're all together again! I know it's only been a couple days since my last post, but I'll be traveling for about a week and I won't be able to write. Don't worry though, everything's fine! Just a short holiday. I'll write again as soon as I get back.

Love,

Hermione

Not a moment later a third owl flew in; this time it was a letter from Ron.

Harry,

Things have been getting pretty busy around here. So I won't be able to write for a few days. Don't worry though, it's nothing really important.

I'll write back as soon as I can.

Ron

The owls began to fight with each other, their feathers littering Harry's room. Hedwig hooted reproachfully from her cage in the corner. Harry ignored the commotion. Instead, he reread each letter trying to figure out what was going on. Obviously, he was being left out of something. Was he too much of a liability to start helping the Order? It was perfectly clear in Harry's mind that they were asking Ron and Hermione to help out. "Bit of a holiday!" Harry spat. They were probably being asked to travel somewhere, to get information, or maybe to try and capture one of the escaped Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange? Did they expect Harry to just sit in his nice cozy room and wait for school term to begin? He tore the letters in his hands and scattered them with the feathers across the floor. "Get out of here you filthy birds, I've got nothing for you! I never want to see another owl again!" He chased them from his room and slammed his window shut. Hedwig gave a scolding hoot in her cage. "Sorry girl, I just... I just... sorry." He laid his forehead against the pane of the glass, and watched the movers below take furniture into the new neighbor's house. He stood there, watching nothing, until Aunt Petunia called him down to start breakfast.

Breakfast at the Dursley table was much the same as dinner the night before. Harry knew better than to say a word, and instead he let his mind turn over the early morning's events. What was the Order up to? What had they asked Ron and Hermione to do? Why did they both tell him not to worry? Who was the family moving in next door? Was the girl part Veela?

"Uncle?" Harry had found the words falling from his mouth before he could stop them. "Do you know who's moving in next door?"

"And what business is that of yours, boy!" The question had clearly brought something to the surface, reminding Harry of why he was never to speak at the table. Uncle Vernon's face began to grow scarlet, and his eye began to twitch. He turned to Petunia. "Perfectly fine neighborhood! Perfectly fine! And now! Now! Ruined." His last word squirted out like a deflating balloon.

"Now dear," Aunt Petunia spoke in her nicest and most proper voice, "they may be perfectly fine."

"Have you seen their car? How could the vermin even afford to live in this neighborhood?" Aunt Petunia simply shook her head, but Harry caught Dudley's eyes and he clearly detected a look of disgust. "They probably came in to some money the wrong way, if you ask me. How else, eh? How else?"

After breakfast, Harry went outside for a walk to the park and met up with Dudley who was heading down the street toward Magnolia Avenue. "What was the ruckus at breakfast about?" he asked.

"The neighbors of course." responded Dudley thickly.

"I know it was about the neighbors, what's wrong with the neighbors?" Harry asked, trying to spell it out for his cousin.

"Well, they're not from around here, are they? Dad says they're from somewhere in the Middle East, he figures they've got to be terrorists or something. God, he's bloody ignorant!" Harry just nodded and listened. "The woman was over working on their house the other day, and asked me if I wanted some cookies from the lunch basket she'd brought. They looked weird, but it was the best meal I've had in ages!" A look of rapture had spread over Dudley's face.

"You don't suppose they're really dangerous?" Harry asked, wondering if maybe there was a connection, however remote, with Voldemort.

"Look, anyone that invites a stranger in and gives them food is number one in my book!" Dudley exclaimed. Harry couldn't help but wonder what Mad-Eye Moody would say.

That evening during the news, Harry found himself under the bushes again; listening to yet another account of stories that meant nothing. When the adverts started, the film of Sirius' death began to play again in his head, only to be cut short by the sweet sound of whistling... a tune Harry had heard playing on the radio over and over for the last few weeks. He sat up and peered through the bushes. Across the street was the girl, her hands clasped behind her back, she was simply whistling and looking at the flowers in the front of her garden. Harry looked and listened for a moment, and his heart seemed somehow lighter.

From inside the house he heard his aunt call out, "Dinner!" Quietly, he stood up and walked over to the front door. The whistling stopped. Harry could feel two eyes staring at the back of his neck. He thought to turn around, and then caught a glimpse of himself in the window; his clothes were covered in dirt and debris from the bushes, and his hair had something imbedded in it that resembled a bird's nest. He was frozen for a moment. Quickly, he rushed through the front door, shutting it behind him. He looked back through the pane of glass, but the girl was gone.

He laid his forehead against the door, and sighed. Why should he care what he looked like? She was only a Muggle after all, but then another voice in his head whispered, "... a very pretty Muggle."

That evening, preparing for sleep, he sat down on his bed and began to clear his mind. It was more difficult tonight; there were many voices bouncing about his head. Why didn't anyone think Harry could help in the war? Why was everyone ignoring him? "They'll come to regret it!" he thought.

He imagined Ron and Hermione dueling with a Death Eater, "If only Harry were here!" The Weasleys being attacked at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, "If only Harry were here!" The girl across the street, in a long white dressing gown, "If only..." There were loud shouts, and Harry's dream came to an abrupt halt. He knew the voices. In the darkness, Harry got up and went to his open window; the lights were on across the street. Through a downstairs window he could see the parents fighting again. The father was clearly agitated, pacing back and forth; the mother seemed dismissive, which only heated the argument further. The father kept pointing his finger at the ceiling, and Harry looked up.

His heart skipped a beat, and he quickly jumped back. At the window directly across from his, stood the girl, looking back at him. "Did she see? It's too dark," he thought. Slowly, he edged back toward the window. The girl still stood there, but she wasn't looking back at Harry, she was gazing up at the stars. Her dark black hair was free of its ponytail of the morning, and was draped over a white nightgown, which was blowing gently in the warm evening breeze. She seemed somehow sad. He stood, gazing across the street, for how long he didn't know. The yelling downstairs had stopped; she stepped back and drew her curtains shut. Harry lay down on his bed. He had utterly forgotten about Ron, or Hermione, or number twelve, Grimmauld Place, but it still took some time before he could clear his mind.

The next morning he found himself outside with a clean pair of jeans and the best T-shirt he could find that wasn't three sizes too big. He was looking for weeds in the sidewalk, even though he'd just pulled them all two days earlier, when he heard a door open and close from across the street. Casually, he straightened up and turned around. It was the mother. He exhaled. She was taking out some rubbish, when she caught Harry's eye. She tossed a plastic bag in the bin and looked back at him. Instantly, a light spread across her face and a huge smile appeared. Darting across Privet Drive, she walked straight toward Harry. She was a smaller woman with round brown eyes. Her smile revealed a golden tooth as she came close enough to hold Harry by the arm.

"Are you alright?" she asked with a very slight accent Harry had never heard before.

"Er, yeah."

"You gave us quite the scare. I've never seen so many birds attack a person like that before."

"Oh, yeah... I guess."

"Have you had breakfast?"

"No," he lied but not by too much. For breakfast, Aunt Petunia had served cold toast with cucumber jelly.

"Come here then." Without ever letting go of Harry's arm, this small woman with surprisingly great strength was marching him to her front door.

"No, really, I can't," he sputtered. He was telling himself how crazy this was to go into the house of a potential enemy. He began to pull back, but the woman held tight and thrust him through the door.

"Don't be silly!" she said with a hint of mischief in her voice.

All about the entryway and into the living room were boxes and boxes waiting to be unpacked. The air was filled with a warm sweet aroma, and Harry felt his stomach give a slight jab as if to say, "Shut up stupid!"

"Gabriella!" the woman called.

A moment later, the girl descended the stairs in shorts and a halter top. "Yes, Mama?"

"Breakfast is ready, and we have company; that young man from across the street!" Harry had never been referred to as a man before, at least not in a polite way. He felt his stomach give another lurch.

"I met your brother the other day!" said the mother brightly. "Although," she looked Harry up and down, "you don't seem much alike."

"He's my cousin," Harry responded dully still looking at Gabriella. She was standing only a few feet in front of him, and he could feel the tips of his ears redden slightly. Her eyes were as black as her hair, and her skin a dark copper brown. She had a dazzling smile, and seemed to blush slightly herself.

"We saw you yesterday morning," she said still smiling, "fighting off some attacking birds! Why did they come after you?"

"I don't know... never seen anything like it. That smells wonderful." He changed the conversation and looked toward the kitchen, but he could see her eye him up and down much like her mother as he looked away.

They ate breakfast while Harry shared what information he could about the village. Beyond pointing out what was where, Harry wasn't much help. With Dudley and the gang off his back, this was really the first year he'd ever had a chance to meet anyone. He did emphasize that Vernon was his uncle, and Petunia simply his aunt, and that they were most definitely not his parents. But, when they started to ask more about his Dursley family roots he quickly turned the conversation by asking questions himself. He thought, perhaps, too quickly, as Gabriella's mother seemed to have noted the second shift he'd made in the conversation.

Gabriella was born in Lebanon, a place called Tripoli. The language he heard her parents, Grigor and Soseh, speaking was Armenian. Her father had taught physics at the University of Balamand in Tripoli, and her mother was an artist. The opportunity for what they thought would be a better life came up when Grigor was offered a job at Pensley College outside of Little Whinging with their Astronomy Department.

"He's always had his head in the stars, and now he can get paid for it!" Soseh smiled. "Life in Lebanon is improving, but the country is still a very dangerous place. Life here on Privet Drive will be much safer; a chance for Gabriella to walk the streets without worry." Harry's mind flashed to his encounter with two Dementors less than one block away just last summer.

"Yeah!" he said with a half-hearted smile. Her mother's English was nearly perfect; he could barely believe she was the same woman shouting at her husband the night before. They spoke for quite some time before Gabriella's mother offered them some very strong coffee in tiny cups. It reminded Harry of some potion that Professor Snape would concoct, but he smiled and thanked her for it, drinking it down in one gulp, without too much of a grimace. Gabriella seemed to think it funny, and laughed.

"Perhaps some sugar?" she offered.

Asking for sugar would mean another cup however small, and Harry didn't think sugar would help, but he couldn't stop himself from handing her the cup and saying, "Sure." Their hands touched and he could feel his ears reddening a bit more fully this time.

"Mama? Perhaps Harry could show me the neighborhood this morning?" she asked, as she put a small spoonful of sugar in the cup and then handed it to her mother.

"I think it's a marvelous idea, darling." Soseh filled the cup with coffee and handed it to Harry. "Here you go. It will put hair on your chest!" she grinned. Harry pictured himself topless hanging from his bedroom window. "Will you have time this morning, Harry?"

Time? Time was something Harry had too much of. His time was spent thinking about Sirius' death, of Voldemort's return, of his two best friends taking on adventures he could only wait to hear about. "Absolutely!" he smiled, sipping from the tiny cup. Within ten minutes, he and a very beautiful girl were walking down the street, talking about anything but the Wizarding world.