Harry Potter and the Green Flame Torch

CHAPTER TWO

~Vernon's big mistake~

It was 4 hours later when Harry finally finished his letter. It seemed that once he started, he couldn't stop until it was completed and sent off. Even after Uncle Vernon had barged his way in, demanding Harry do the chores he had asked at breakfast. It had only taken a couple of minutes to quickly rid himself of his uncle, calmly informing him he had more letters to write, before he resumed writing his letter. The final copy seemed to be satisfactory enough, he concluded, as he reread it for the last time:

Dear Minister for Magic,

For the past year, you have belittled me, tried to expel me, and made me out to be some kind of a joke to the rest of wizarding society. I lost friendships; people were scared of me and believed me to be a liar. However, that is not why I am writing this letter to you. I no longer care how irresponsible and stubborn you have been to admit Voldemort's return or how cruel you have been to a mere underage student just to protect your position as Minister. What I do care about goes much deeper than that.

It all goes back to the events at the end of my third year. All that year, you along with the rest of the Ministry of Magic and the staff of Hogwarts, strove to protect me from the Azkaban escapee, Sirius Black.

I will pause at this stage because I know that you now have an idea on what the purpose of my letter it. I beg you to read this letter through, because if you don't, I will have no choice but to send my letter and the real story to the Daily Prophet. This is no threat, just a promise. I will go to any lengths to clear my godfather's name. It is the only way I know how to overcome my grief.

You are already aware of the identity of my godfather. Don't bother to deny it. Yes, my godfather was Sirius Black, but not Sirius Black the murderer, or Sirius Black the escaped criminal. No, he was Sirius Black, an innocent man framed for crimes he never committed, condemned by society and falsely imprisoned for twelve years.

I told you at the end of my third year that Sirius Black was an innocent man, but you chose not to believe me, just like you didn't believe me when I told you that Voldemort had returned. No matter how much you tried to deny it, I wasn't lying the second time. Voldemort has returned and now you have proof, so why is it so hard to accept that I wasn't lying the first time either?

Isn't the incident at the Ministry enough proof that Professor Dumbledore and myself have been telling the truth the whole time? What would we gain out of this by lying? Appearances can be deceiving, Minister, you of all people should know that by now. Lucius Malfoy is a perfect example of that, don't you think? You rallied behind him, believing him to be a well-respected member of society, only because he donated a generous amount of money to the Ministry. Look at him now. A Death Eater, as I've always known, locked away in Azkaban prison.

It's probably pointless to say this as I've already told you the full story of my godfather; how he lived, how he suffered - but have you heard how he died, or what he died for? Despite being hunted by the Ministry, he still fought for the wellbeing of your idiotic government. He fought against the Death Eaters and Voldemort, not alongside them, as you foolishly insist on believing.

You have no idea how hard it has been for me to write this letter to you. Ever since the attack at the Ministry, I have tried and tried to forget about what happened to him, but I can't, just as I can't go on letting other people be oblivious to what a great, selfless man has done for me, for you, and for the 'light side' or whatever you want to call it.

Please, Minister, allow Sirius's memory to be put to rest. He does not deserve to be labelled a Death Eater, especially after fighting for the light side - the side that still condemns him from society, and the side that still hunts him down like some kind of animal.

If you truly want to make up for your horrible behaviour towards me, consider this; please make a public announcement about my godfather, Sirius Black. Declare his innocence, clear his name.

I await your reply.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Potter

He sat back in his chair, feeling half relieved that it was all over, and half grieved by the fact that he had relived all those painful memories all over again. It was true that up until that point, even the mere mention of Sirius's name had felt like a painful thrust to the heart.

Whenever somebody (mainly Hermione) would say something about Sirius in their letters, Harry would either pretend that they had never mentioned it, or insist he was fine. What could he really say to them? That he was dying inside? That if it wasn't for him, Sirius would still be alive? That every night he would replay his godfather's death in his dreams?

No, it was better off if he simply kept those feelings to himself. Harry could almost imagine Hermione and Ron's reaction if he told them. Hermione would probably launch herself at him, hugging and crying at the same time ... promising that she would look up some Muggle psychiatry books to help him, and of course chide him gently for not being more dedicated with his Occlumency. Ron on the other hand would probably react like Harry would; an awkward pat on the back, at a good manly distance, then a suggestion to play a game of chess or something.

Writing this letter, though, was somehow different, therapeutic even. He felt almost like he did back at the end of the Third Task - that retelling what had happened seemed to siphon off his own emotions and grievances, that it would purge him of these painful memories.

Harry sighed, carefully rolling up the parchment. The last thing he needed was the Minister to send it back because it had ink fingerprints and creases all over it.

"Send this to the Minister for me, will you, Hedwig?" Harry instructed his softly, tying the lengthy letter to her leg. She gave his finger an affectionate nip in return then took off out the window.

Harry watched her for a few more moments, before his stomach gave a loud protest, no doubt from missing lunch. He turned towards one of Dudley's old digital clocks and with a sudden jolt, realised it wasn't only past lunch, but almost nearing sunset. There was no point in fixing something now. Dudley had probably made sure that there wouldn't be a morsel of food left over for Harry as soon as he had laid eyes on the food.

It was still fairly light outside, so Harry decided to instead spend the remaining hours left in the day outside in the backyard. He had found a far more comfortable spot in between two of Aunt Petunia's rose bushes to lie on this year, well away from that cursed window. Even better was that he was half concealed from the house, so the Dursleys couldn't complain about him being within their eyesight all the time.

Usually Harry spent his time there thinking ... it seemed lately he had too much to think about, and his brain felt like it was on overload. Most of these things he was thinking about couldn't even be discussed with other people. The prophecy was the one that usually came up, and today was no different.

Harry couldn't decide whether or not to tell anybody else about the prophecy. He wasn't entirely comfortable with the thought of telling his friends that he would either end up killing Voldemort or end up being killed by Voldemort. It was just too weird to think that he was the only one able to kill Voldemort. He was still only a teenager - he wasn't an excellent student at Hogwarts, nor did he have even a quarter of the talent Dumbledore has. He didn't even think he had any 'power that the Dark Lord knows not'. Just because he had a heart and could feel strong emotions such as love, hate, and despair, didn't mean it would save him from death. It saved him from being possessed, but nothing else. It didn't save Sirius.

He shifted onto his stomach abruptly and came to a final decision, ignoring the rip his t-shirt made as it snagged against a thorn off one of the rose bushes. Even though there was still a selfish part of him inside that yearned to tell somebody so that they could console and comfort him ... tell him it would be alright ... it would probably be better if he kept it to himself when he went back to Hogwarts.

"Come and make dinner for yourself, boy," Aunt Petunia called from the kitchen window, her voice drifting outside straight to Harry. "Vernon and I are taking Dudders out for tea tonight."

Harry rolled his eyes, untangling himself from the bushes. At least he wouldn't have to put up with them tonight, he thought optimistically as he walked into the kitchen.

"Ahhhh - get out, get out, GET OUT!"

Harry ran back outside, narrowly avoiding a frying pan aimed at his head. Aunt Petunia meanwhile (with the offending frying pan in one hand), stuck her head out the door, looking at him with revulsion.

"You're not to come in here looking - all muddy and filthy," she screeched, waving her free hand over to the hose. "Go and hose yourself off before you dare to come back in here."

"I'll just get dirtier if I do that." said Harry, watching the frying pan warily. "Besides, what would the neighbours think?"

Aunt Petunia frowned, then grudgingly stepped aside to let Harry in - just like Harry knew she would.

"Up to the shower then, and mind you don't use the water long." she snapped. "Can't have the water running out before Vernon comes home."

"Now there's a thought." Harry snorted under his breath, walking upstairs quickly, before Aunt Petunia could aim the frying pan at him again.

~*~

Five nights later, Harry stood motionless by the window, watching as the stars flitted in and out of the fast moving clouds. Unlike last year's horrible drought, this year had brought considerable showers and wintry weather. At the moment it wasn't raining, but dark clouds loomed ominously over the houses on Privet Drive. It almost looked as though they were fit to burst, Harry mused silently, twirling his wand around idly.

Hedwig still hadn't returned with Fudge's reply, so after watching for another few minutes, Harry finally made his way to his bed to hopefully get some uninterrupted sleep.

If it wasn't for a rather pompous owl, (looking remarkably like Percy), which noisily perched itself amongst Harry's windowsill two hours later, Harry probably would have achieved that.

Moaning irritably under his breath, Harry reluctantly pushed away his covers, and walked back over to the windowsill, where the owl was impatiently standing. It thrust its leg out importantly, where an unfamiliar looking letter had been tied.

"It better not be another bloody person wanting to sympathise with the 'Boy-Who-Lived'." grumbled Harry, taking the offered letter.

It wasn't until noticing the seal on the back that he realised that the letter contained his OWL results. He stared in trepidation at the envelope for a few moments, not even noticing as the owl took off out the window again. All he could think of was the fact that he was holding the results that would determine whether he could be an Auror or not.

He couldn't help but give a sudden laugh as he realised how ridiculous he was sounding - or actually how much like Hermione he was sounding. Ron would kill him if he found out that Harry was actually worried about his marks.

Another glance at the letter prompted Harry to slit the envelope open. No use postponing the inevitable. As he pulled out the first parchment, Harry settled himself into a comfortable position on his bed so he could read it:

Dear Mr Harry James Potter,

Enclosed are your fifth year Outstanding Wizarding Level (OWL) results.

CHARMS

WRITTEN Exceeds Expectations

PRACTICAL Exceeds Expectations

OWL: E

TRANSFIGURATION

WRITTEN Acceptable

PRACTICAL Exceeds Expectations

OWL: A/E

HERBOLOGY

WRITTEN Exceeds Expectations

PRACTICAL Exceeds Expectations

OWL: E

DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS

WRITTEN Outstanding

PRACTICAL Outstanding + 1 bonus pt

OWL: O

POTIONS

WRITTEN Acceptable

PRACTICAL Acceptable

OWL: A

CARE OF MAGICAL CREATURES

WRITTEN Outstanding

PRACTICAL Outstanding

OWL: O

ASTRONOMY

WRITTEN Exceeds Expectations

PRACTICAL Poor

OWL: A

DIVINATION

PRACTICAL Poor

OWL: P

HISTORY OF MAGIC

WRITTEN Dreadful

OWL: D

Altogether, you have received 7 OWL's. Hogwarts will be sending you a letter shortly on your recommended classes for your sixth year.

Yours Sincerely,

GRISELDA MARCHBANKS

WIZARDING EXAMINATION AUTHORITY

Harry's heart sunk as he dropped the paper onto his bed. Even with 7 OWL's he had been right in saying that Potions would be his downfall. Apart from Potions, he would have been eligible for the classes needed to become an Auror. Even though he hadn't failed Potions, as Snape had always believed would happen, an 'Acceptable' was far from satisfactory in Snape's view. There was no way that he could be able to get into Snape's class now ... he needed to have an 'Outstanding' OWL.

"There goes my hopes now." Harry mumbled dejectedly, rolling over onto his side to glance out the window. He wished Hedwig would come back so he could have some company. He doubted the Dursleys would care that his dreams of becoming an Auror had been dashed, because of a Professor who hated him. Even if they did, it was too late to tell them now - they had been asleep for hours. It was, after all past midnight, and Dudley's snoring had filled the house for the past three hours.

Deciding he'd rather suffocate himself with a pillow than have to willingly think about Snape or the Dursleys', Harry quietly picked the locks on his door, and made his way outside. Surprisingly (and unfortunately), he could even hear Dudley's snoring as he seated himself under their front veranda.

Apart from Dudley's snores though, Privet Drive was unnaturally quiet as Harry looked around. Nothing was stirring, not even any of Mrs Figg's cats. It gave Harry a queasy feeling, as he remembered how the Dementors had managed to accomplish the same stillness last year.

As if to seek insurance that there was nothing wrong, Harry leant back against the wall and raised his head to look up at the stars. To his relief they were still there, occasionally disappearing amongst the clouds.

One star in particular caught his fancy, and he gave a twisted smile as he recognised it.

Sirius - the dog star - the brightest star in the sky.

It suddenly and irrationally struck Harry how ironic it was that Sirius's parents had named him after the dog star, without knowing that it would be his Animagi form fifteen years later.

"Wish you could be here right now Sirius." Harry called out softly. "Who have I got that can knock Snape around a bit and threaten him to let me into his Potions class?"

He choked back a sob, his eyes blinking fiercely as he continued on incoherently. "I'm sorry Sirius, it's all my fault...you have no idea how much I miss you ... did you know I wrote a letter to that maniac Fudge? I'm gonna get you freed Sirius ... no more Snuffles for you, hey?"

The dog star disappeared from Harry's view for the last time as the clouds covered the sky completely. He waited for it to appear again, but after waiting fruitlessly for fifteen minutes he gave up and closed his eyes.

That was how he fell asleep; propped up against the wall, wand resting next to him on the ground, his head tilted upwards and a tear rolling down his face...

He was running towards the veil, legs straining as he tried to increase his speed ... he had to reach it before they came ... he had too. Bellatrix Lestrange suddenly blocked his path, mocking him.

"The little baby woke up fwightened and fort what it dweamed was twoo." she cried out, laughing madly.

"SHUT UP!" roared Harry, desperately trying to push past her.

"Aaaaaah ... did you love him, little baby Potter?"

Just like in the Department of Mysteries, Harry raised his wand and bellowed, "Crucio."

Bellatrix disappeared with a scream and Harry let out a triumphant shout, but before he could take another step closer to the veil, he found himself glued to the ground, like the statues in the Ministry. Voldemort was suddenly standing in front of him, his pitiless red slit-like eyes glinting in triumph as his wand pointed directly at Harry's heart.

"You have irked me too often, for too long. Avada Kedav-" ...

"NO!"

Uncle Vernon roughly shook Harry, with his scar only throbbing mildly, out of the nightmare. For once, his uncle's presence was welcomed with relief.

"Get up you silly boy..."

Opening his eyes reluctantly, he found himself almost blinded by the rising sun. With a shock of realisation, he remembered falling asleep under the front veranda, watching Sirius's star.

Harry raised one arm to ward Uncle Vernon meaty hands away from his now sore shoulders, before standing up slowly. He winced as his neck gave an almighty crack, evidence that his night outdoors wouldn't exactly go unscathed either.

"Don't know what on earth you were doing out here all night. Better not be doing any of your freaky stuff ..." Uncle Vernon cursed under his breath.

"Alright I'm up now," mumbled Harry, but Uncle Vernon ignored him.

"... If I'd known that you enjoyed sleeping outside more than in Dudley's second bedroom, I wouldn't bother to let you back in the house,"

Uncle Vernon sneered.

"Just calm yourself down will you? It's not like anything bad happened," Harry protested in annoyance, cutting in before Vernon could add more.

Evidently this was the wrong thing to say to Uncle Vernon and he found himself shoved against the wall.

"Calm myself? Calm myself?" roared Uncle Vernon, digging his fingers into Harry's shoulders again, "What if the neighbours had seen you outside last night? What if they heard your screaming like I did?"

"So what if they had. Maybe it would just reinforce the fact that I go to St Whatsis." Harry retorted bitterly, wriggling away in disgust.

At that moment he really wished that one of the Order was there to hex his uncle ... even Snape would be a welcome face if only to get rid of his uncle for a while.

"St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys," Vernon snapped, "and you'd best remember that."

"How could I forget?" spat Harry. "The whole neighbourhood thinks I'm some kind of criminal."

"You are a criminal, just like your stinking godfather."

Harry froze at the words, his emerald eyes blazing with fury. It was a lucky coincidence (for uncle Vernon) that his wand was still laying on the ground, otherwise, it would have been pointing directly at uncle Vernon's heart. When he finally spoke, his voice was shaking with suppressed anger and he was breathing heavily.

"Don't you dare badmouth my godfather. He was worth more than a hundred of you put together and he was not, nor ever would be a criminal."

To prevent a repeat of third year, Harry forced himself to pick up his wand, turn around, and walk away ... where he did not know, but anywhere but there sounded good enough to him at that moment. He didn't even care that he was directly disobeying Moody's orders to stay put. He figured that the Order would appreciate it more if he kept his Uncle in one piece, and avoided expulsion. After all, where would he go if he had managed to blow up the Dursleys'?

It took two street blocks for Harry's breathing to return back to normal, but the inexpressible urge to hurt Uncle Vernon still remained. The same urge that he felt in his dreams whenever he saw Bellatrix or Wormtail ... or Voldemort. He knew that if he returned back to the house anytime soon, Uncle Vernon would probably end up resembling some sort of farm animal or perhaps just a stain on Aunt Petunia's precious carpet ...

"'Harry."

Being so hooked on thinking of possible curses and hexes for his Uncle Vernon, the voice calling his name caught him off guard and he spun around, his wand already gripped tightly in his hand. He didn't see anyone, but the voice was vaguely familiar.

"Harry." The voice called again. "Over by the bushes."

Harry turned his attention over to the bushes, which had started to move on their own. He watched as Mundungus Fletcher materialised from beneath the Invisibility Cloak he had been wearing.

" 'Sup Harry? What're you doing out 'ere?" he greeted sleepily. Bits of the bushes were clinging to his hair, and it was obvious that he had only just woken up.

"Keeping as far away as possible from the Dursleys," Harry answered neutrally, too grumpy to care that Fletcher had been shirking his job again. At that moment he wanted nobody around him, so as far as he was concerned, Fletcher could go back to sleep.

"Well you shouldn't be out here," warned Fletcher, "I've 'ready got that Weasley woman on my back 'bout last year. She'd throttle me if she found out you'd been wandering 'bout. What'd Mad Eye tell you 'bout sticking to your own place anyway?"

"It's not my place by choice," snapped Harry, "And I'm telling you now, if you make me go back, I'm going to blow them up."

Fletcher laughed, obviously thinking that Harry was joking.

"Sure they're bad, but you can 'andle them."

Harry shot him a deadly glare. "Not if they start mentioning Sirius."

"Ah- well ... " Fletcher shifted uncomfortably, and covered himself up with the cloak again before continuing on. "How 'bout you go for a tea at Figgy's then?"

Harry shook his head. "No, but you can send a message to Professor Dumbledore." he said, looking over to where he thought Fletcher was still standing. "Tell him that unless he wants me to be expelled, then he'd better get me out of here before the holidays are up."

There was a hesitant pause before Fletcher replied. "I uh can't."

"Why?" Harry demanded impatiently.

There was no answer and Harry's temper began to rise again.

"FINE!" he shouted, "Just fine. Ignore me and leave me here, stuck with the worst possible Muggles imaginable. After all what's another few weeks to the fifteen horrible years I've almost spent here already?"

He stormed off angrily to the park with the broken swings without a second glance back. Fletcher probably had orders not to speak to Harry like last year, so of course he wouldn't send any messages to Dumbledore. Harry frowned. Fletcher would just end up getting into even more trouble with Mrs Weasley. Wasn't that just great?

When Harry finally reached the park, he noticed that even the remaining swing had been broken completely this year. It was now lying on the ground, bent completely out of shape. Big D's gang must have stepped up in the world, Harry thought sarcastically.

Kicking the swing with disdain, he searched the park for any other places to sit. The benches by the trees had been burnt down the year before, so they were out, same with the ones by the barbeque. He groaned in annoyance as he walked around the park. The only place to sit was on the ground.

He eventually found a relatively grassy spot where he could comfortably lie on his back. After a while, he could feel his remaining anger dissipate, and he started to relax slightly.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief and closed his eyes, listening as the wind rustled the branches of the trees nearby... listening to the birds chirping ... listening to that owl hooting.

Wait a minute, owl hooting?

Harry's eyes shot open and he caught sight of Hedwig who was flying towards him. She hooted again, before finally coming to a rest on Harry's shoulder.

"Hedwig, what are you doing here?" exclaimed Harry, looking around anxiously in case somebody was watching. Luckily it was still pretty early, and the only people around were keeping well away from the 'Potter' kid.

He turned his attention back to Hedwig who was still hooting softly. With one hand he stroked her feathers, while the other reached out for the letter she was carrying. Almost at once, he recognised the Ministry seal, and he opened the letter quickly.

A few minutes later the letter was screwed up and thrown down by his feet. To Harry, some of the words would be forever etched into his mind.

Harry ... regret to inform you that the Confundus charm must still be in place ... I'll make sure that you get it checked out sufficiently this time ... if you want to remain at Hogwarts, it'd really be for the best if you kept quiet about this fictional story ... Sirius Black ... murderer and an escaped convict ... impossible to clear his name ... absolutely ludicrous ... how about I award you an Order of Merlin instead, for saving the Ministry from You-know-who? ... Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge

"Alright Fudge, if that's the way you want to handle it, then fine," Harry smirked, picking up the parchment again as an idea grew in his head. "I won't give up yet. That was only just the beginning."