Harry Potter and the Brothers of the Wolves

Chapter I: Promises

Harry Potter was stretched out on the wet ground on his back on a cloudy June day. Staring up at the wisps of clouds left over from the showers earlier that day, Harry reminisced of how easy his life would be if he was just any other normal boy. No danger, no sacrifices, no grief...

But then again, he thought, if I was any other teenage boy, how would I spend my spare time? Videogames?Television? As much as Harry thought of it, the more he realized he didn't mind the pressures of being an almost fifteen year old wizard being targeted by the most feared Dark wizard for the past half century.

Harry was interrupted from his musings by an unfortunately familiar voice drifting out of the house Harry was resting near...

"You, lazy scum! Get off your worthless arse and do something worthwile for once!"

Harry sighed as he slowly pushed off from the ground. Life wouldn't be so bad if the Dursleys weren't so harsh, he thought. Harry trudged to the back of the house and opened the door cautiously, anticipating the relentless barrage of insults and commands that awaited him, and come they did.

"Worthless prat, you need to start pulling your own weight around here!" Uncle Vernon bellowed at him.

Harry was silent and waited for an elaboration.

"Don't just sit there like a moron, boy, say something!"

Harry responded quietly, "What do you want me to do?"

"Why, get a job, you blasted fool!" Vernon was absolutely shrieking.

"Fine, then. Found one yet?" Harry doubted he would have any favorable offers.

"Indeed, I do have one. You, my dear bag of meat, will be refurbishing the landscaping. You won't be modeling it to your fashion, however, as Petunia here will steer you to her likings."

Harry dwelled on this; the spacious backyard was Harry's favorite place to rest, and it definitely needed a tune-up of sorts. However, he was sure that following orders from his aunt might not be the most pleasant thing he'd ever done.

After a moment's hesitation, Harry agreed to start the next day.

*    *    *    *    *

He got up at six o' clock that day, threw on some old, grubby clothes, and headed down the stairs. Aunt Petunia was groggily moving around the kitchen, impatiently awaiting her tea to boil.

"About time!" she hissed. "Having a nice lie-in, boy?"

"It's six o' clock," Harry said cooly.

"Get in the backyard," she spat, ignoring his reasoning.

Harry meandered into the middle of the backyard and stopped. He never realized just how big the yard was, and concluded that he had quite a daunting task ahead of him; the backyard was truly overgrown, as well.

"Alright, get to work! I want you to de-weed everything first, and then come to me," Aunt Petunia ordered.

So Harry started his first day of torture. The backyard was so overrun with weeds and such that he wasn't finished with his first task unitl ten o' clock. By then, he was both physically and mentally worn out as he went and plopped on the ground about ten feet from Petunia.

"About time, boy! I'm exhausted!"

Harry's jaw dropped. "YOU? You're exhausted?!" She had been lying on a lounge chair for the past four hours!

"Yes, now go take a break so you don't pass out on me." That was strange. Sympathy? From a person who reveled in his misery for so long? However, he couldn't say no to taking a break.

Harry went inside and poured himself a glass of cold water. His mind started sinking again, as it did every time he had a moment to himself.

Harry had seen a fellow man die. Surprised, Harry realised it had been less than a month, and there was still no news from the wizarding world of any danger from the Dark Lord. Grief overcame Harry and he was forced to sit down as he silently wept. Why did he have to die? Why wasn't it me? Harry had cried alot lately. Death was traumatic, no matter what way he looked at it.

"Crying again, little pansie?" came a sing-song voice from the hall and Harry jumped from his seat. Dudley waltzed into the room (or waltzed into a room as much as a baby-elephant-sized boy could).

"What do you want, Dudley?" Harry was embarrassed of his sobbing. He was a fifteen year old boy! Crying was unacceptable to him.

"Mum wants you back out now. Says you've taken long enough." Harry looked down at his watch and saw he had taken a full half hour dedicated to anguishing over Cedric Diggory's dead body. It was pointless to cry over what was past and done, but every time he thought about it, the grief would wash over him.

Harry trudged back outside to find Aunt Petunia cleaned up and looking more in command than ever. "You're now going to fill that gaping hole in the corner there, plant an array of seeds over that, mow the grass, tend the daisies..." The list went on and on. "...and finally, water down the whole mess of it."

So Harry mechanically went through the multiple tasks, completing each of them as best as he could. As strong or masculine as Harry had regarded himself as before, he couldn't help but think how weak and powerless he was. Taking a promise to himself, he vowed to work as hard as he could to build himself up physically. Every day he would come out and fix up the backyard, and, he thought, I'll even take up running.

By the end of the day, Harry was beat. He remembered his promise and set his alarm clock to five o' clock so that he could squeeze in some running before six rolled around. Before Harry's head hit the pillow, he was out.