Harry Potter and the Power of Bonds

Harry Potter was not a resentful boy at heart. He didn't even mean to be. For him, it was just very difficult not to be these days.

"Is that ruddy bird screeching again Petunia, do you hear it? POTTER! SHUT THAT bloody BIRD UP, DO YOU HEAR?"

Petunia Dursley nearly fell off her chair in fright. Her freshly baked cheesecake fell to the floor with a clang. She was used to her husband's rants of course, they weren't uncommon in the Dursley household, especially when a particular nephew was home for the summer holidays. But why did he insist on ruining her cooking too?

"Vernon, dear..." she started tentatively, and then quavered a little under her husband's glare. He was so red in the face it looked as if his eyeballs were going to pop out of his head at any given moment. She tried again.

" Vernon, do you- do you think you could be a bit more careful, please? I just baked that you know, for Duddykin's welcome home party...now I have to start again from scratch and it's quite a complicated recipe. And all over my clean floor too...I just mopped it yesterday, though I was planning to mop it again today, its gotten rather dirty again, hasn't it Vernon? Vernon?"

But as she was rambling, he had gone tramping up the stairs like an angry elephant, making the stairs shake beneath him, dust falling mercilessly from the ceiling.

Petunia let out a cry of frustration as she saw her furniture slowly get covered with various amounts of dust particles, destroying the image she worked tirelessly to create: a spotless, pleasant and above all normal home where they could live peacefully, without any interruptions to this perfect lifestyle.

It was all because of that Potter boy, her sister's child whom she was forced to raise from when he was a baby, that ungracious excuse for a human who had never once done anything to repay the debt of his existence in the Dursley household. She fumed silently as she bent to clear away the jagged bits of glass that had once been her favourite cake-stand. It had been a birthday present that her late sister, Lily, had sent her, a year before she died that she had tried to ignore for a month before finally, unable to contain herself any longer, she decided to make use of it as long as it was there. Funny, she thought as she swept up the remnants of the cake stand, I always thought the glass was pink?

The glass she was sweeping away was a light shade of crimson. And all because of that wretched boy upstairs, a perfectly good cake stand, her favourite cake stand, was now a meaningless pile of red glass. She cursed him inwardly, then, calm once more, returned to her sweeping.

* * * *

The sour tempered sixteen-year-old that Vernon Dursley was soon to be face to face with cursed out loud as soon as he heard the regular loud thumping on the stairs. This was his Uncle's trademark when he was in a particularly livid state and it sounded to Harry that he was going one hundred miles an hour. Harry, however, was not discouraged by this and kept staring gloomily at the wall he had been gazing at for the last two hours.

Seconds after Harry's acknowledgement of his Uncle's soon-to-be presence in his bedroom, the door was, incidentally, blasted off its hinges by the full force of Uncle Vernon's body weight, which was quite a lot, probably where Dudley inherited all his unnatural flab from.

"What is the meaning of this boy? Can't you shut that thing up?" This was followed by the continuous roars of Uncle Vernon about how disrespectful Harry was being towards the most 'gracious' people who raised him out of the 'goodness of their hearts,' that have never had a moment's peace with him around that had it been up to him, Harry would have been sent to an orphanage this very minute. But Harry surprised his Uncle and also himself by interrupting in a monotonous drawl, rather resembling that of his archenemy, Draco Malfoy.

"That thing is not a thing, it is an owl, which is a bird and she is a white owl. She, like most other pets and human beings on this planet, has a name. Her name is Hedwig, which, in case you wanted to know, [Harry was snickering slightly at his own daring] was a name I found in A History of Magic, one of my magical spell books."

There was quite a large degree of sarcasm in Harry's words, but right now, he didn't really care. Right now he was enjoying the effect of his words.

His Uncle's face had distorted into an unattractive shape, making him look like he was a cross between a pug and a rather constipated man. Harry had achieved the desired effect and was just barely containing himself from bursting into fits of laughter. Normally he would have, but somehow, he got the feeling that he shouldn't push his luck at this point of time.

Purple veins seemed to be pulsating in his Uncle's neck, he was furious beyond comprehension, at the same time surprised. Never had his nephew, though very trying in the past, dared to incense him so much on purpose before. He supposed it to be some kind of teenage mood- swing; Dudley seemed to be having a lot of them lately. Still, this did not excuse the nature of the boy's response.

"What did you say to me boy?" His words thundered dangerously around the room, echoing slightly. Harry, however was not unnerved. Instead, he answered just as sarcastically as before.

" What, didn't you understand? O.K, I'll try again. That 'thing' over there [Harry pointed to Hedwig in her cage], you see her in that cage?" Uncle Vernon was looking bewildered at his Year 1 teacher like tone. "Come now, you do know what a cage is, don't you? Anyway, she is a bird. She is also an owl, a white owl-''

"Enough, enough, I'm not stupid. That's beside the point-"

"What, you being stupid?" Harry was starting to smile.

"What?... ENOUGH! I will have- I will have none of this. None of this I tell you! Or you're out. Out I say! I don't care what those, " Uncle Vernon struggled a bit, " those wizard folk say or do for that matter. This is my house, and I won't have it! And if I hear another word out of you- there'll be hell to pay, or if I hear so much as a squeak out of that bloody owl, I swear Potter, you're out of here."

And he picked up the door, somehow put it back into place and slammed the door as hard as he could muster.

Instead of quavering with fear like a lot of other braver people would have done, Harry sighed loudly and twisted his body into a new position on his bed. The truth was, Harry was too used to his Uncle's ranting sessions to care that he had threatened him. His threats meant nothing because his Aunt Petunia had already agreed to let him stay, for as long as he had to anyway.

He would have done anything to be able to get out of this house forever, the house he had loathed for 15 years. But on the same token, he also knew that it was the only place besides Hogwarts, his school, where he could be truly safe. But why did it have to be the Dursleys? Why couldn't it have been anywhere else? But he already knew the answer to that question. Aunt Petunia was his only relative, as far as he knew, that shared his mother's blood, the one protective force that was his only guard against the infamous Dark Lord that nearly everyone but himself feared.

When he was still a baby, only one year old, his parents had been taken from him, viciously murdered by Lord Voldemort. His mother had died to save him from being taken, in the process weaving an enchantment Voldemort was not aware of until later, after she had died and he had diminished.

Yet he was far from diminished now. In fact, it had only been a few weeks since their last meeting. And he wasn't sorry about that, he didn't exactly fancy coming face to face with the one wizard he despised with all his being. It was never really a pleasant experience for him.

There were precisely two and a half weeks left until term started and Harry had never been more impatient. Day after day, time seemed so endless that when he thought it should be two in the afternoon, it was still only ten thirty in the morning.

The only thing he really looked forward to these days was the letters from his friends and also his issues of the Daily Prophet.

Dumbledore had personally sent him letter by owl concerning this about two weeks before. Attached was thick, lumpy package Harry supposed upon feeling it, to be some sort of notebook.

Dear Harry,

At present I can only allow myself approximately 2 and a half minutes to write this letter to you, so please bear with me if it is too short for your liking. I am no longer concerned about your friends contact with you as Lord Voldemort and his followers already know where you are presently situated. But don't get disconcerted, Harry, you know he cannot touch you while you are under the care of your Aunt and Uncle. However, there is still the fear of letters being intercepted, so I have cautioned all you potential correspondents to write with moderation regarding certain subjects.

I have made sure this particular letter could not get intercepted by placing an impenetrable charm on this scroll, and have advised your friends to master it also, because I have some important news for you that you might react well, or you might not.

Firstly, the thing you no doubt have been impatient for is soon to occur. You will be travelling to, I believe is it 'Binky'? Binky's home tomorrow morning.

Harry laughed, remembering Hermione's code name they had decided upon only hours before through letter correspondence. Hermione herself had suggested it, which surprised Harry and had been inspired by the name of a fellow 6^th year, Lavender Brown's baby rabbit that died in their third year at Hogwarts. Harry had resolved conveniently not to tell her what Ron thought about this nickname.

Please be sure to inform your Aunt and Uncle of this and also that you will indeed be returning to them in the next summer holidays. I am sorry Harry, I know you must be unhappy to hear this ['damn right' Harry muttered] but unless circumstances change, we have no choice but to follow the routine.

The reason why we are sending you to Binky's residence is that we have a theory that Lord Voldemort will not expect me to take such a risk. He might have an inclination towards your staying at the Burrow, and we can't afford the risk. Mr. Weasley will also be joining you there along with Miss Weasley to keep you company, as I am sure you will be glad to hear.

I must now issue you some instructions concerning your transport. Pack up every single item you own and bring them with you, for that is how you will be living from now on Harry, until you get to Hogwarts. It is integral that we leave no trace of your whereabouts, wherever you go because you are no longer completely safe anywhere.

As it is, I have placed the most powerful enchantments I know of around Binky's residence so, just like in your own family's residence, you and everyone there cannot be touched.

I also ask you to take caution, Harry, towards the letters you receive and the dreams you experience. I know you may find this a pain Harry, but I ask you to record your dreams within the enclosed Absorber, which, rather like the diary of Tom Riddle, absorbs information, only you merely have to touch a page and it will consume all that you have dreamt. It is a simple device Harry, though, upon opening it, make sure you always pronounce clearly, Quendata Eriosa, otherwise, it will not open.

Regarding letters, any you do not recognise, though it might be the same handwriting impersonated by an impostor, any you are unsure of, do not follow any said directions these letters might contain, send them immediately to the Order or myself.

Your chaperone will come to collect you at approximately 11:36am and believe me Harry, she will be prompt.

Remember what I have said Harry, consult this letter three or four times before you must burn it.

Best wishes and good luck,

Albus Dumbledore.

Harry was wondering how anyone could write so much instruction in 2-and-a-half minutes. But there was not time to ponder. He read the letter 3 or 4 times as Dumbledore had instructed, then lighted it with his wand. He then went downstairs calmly and walked straight into the kitchen and spoke in a loud, clear voice so as to make sure all the Dursleys sitting around the table understood every word.

"At 11:36 tomorrow morning I am being picked up by a chaperone. I am packing all my things now to be ready. I can't tell you where I am going, but if you try to stop me, something magic will happen."

He said these last words with relish as he heard his Aunt gasp and clap her hands to her mouth like she had just heard that she hadn't won the most "Well presented garden of the Year" award. Dudley merely stared at him dumbly, the same expression of bewilderment his father had shown half an hour beforehand. Vernon Dursley went purple in the face but before he could say anything, Harry was out of the kitchen and up in his room, packing.

He wasn't going to let them do anything, he had been waiting for this moment since the holidays had began. The only different thing from previous summer holidays was that he was going to Hermione's house for the first time. He wondered what her parents thought of being the safe-house for a boy with the most dangerous and feared enemies anyone could have, Muggle or magical. Lord Voldemort was looking for him, had always been looking for him and had succeeded in luring him on five occasions already. And on all occasions, Harry had not enjoyed it at all and yet somehow, he had miraculously escaped each time. And on every occasion, which Voldemort failed to destroy Harry, he had only become more incensed because of it.

"...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

The words of the Prophecy ran through his mind for what seemed like the millionth time this summer. He had tried not to think about it, to put it far from his mind and eventually forget about it, but like it was now, he had found that he simply could not. It seemed so unfair, that it had to be him. So unfair that his parents had died as a sacrifice to save him, so unfair that he had had to face Lord Voldemort five times in his life already, which in his opinion, was more than anyone his age could handle.

Yet he knew that some day, he did not know when, he would have to face him again. It had been so simple before, when he first found out who he was almost six years ago when, on his eleventh birthday he had first heard that there was such a wizard as Lord Voldemort. But he hadn't known this. He had never known about the Prophecy until just a couple of weeks before.

He had barely been able to contain his anger, frustration and hatred inside himself. He had never in his life wanted to kill someone the way he did now. The person who had made his life seem as if it wasn't there, yet he knew it was, because he had to feel the terrible anguish of it every single day. A shallow emptiness consumed him so that day after day, he would sit on his bed and just stare endlessly at the wall, so that he knew every crack and everywhere the paint was faded.

He didn't know anyone who could take so much out of him. His first thought had always been the Dursleys, but that was before he knew about his enemy. First, his parents, who he had never known, yet had heard their voices just before they died in moments of great sadness, when the Dementors had sucked every ounce of happiness out of him.

He had almost taken Ginny, his best friend's sister in his second year at Hogwarts but had failed as soon as he had stabbed the diary through which Lord Voldemort had been gaining strength.

Cedric Diggory, who had been in the Triwizard Tournament along with Harry had been murdered without even the decency of a last word. Harry had had to endure him asking, when he was dead, in a shadowy form to take his body back to his parents, something he was never able to forget.

And now, just this year, one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange had taken from him the one person who had so fully understood him, despite only 2 years of knowing each other. It had only been weeks since Harry had heard his last words to him and it hurt him to think of them, as they were meaningful and wilful to get Harry and his friends out of harm's way.

"Harry, take the prophecy, grab Neville and run!" Those words had made an imprint on his mind for the past weeks since Sirius' death. He could still remember the way Sirius had looked when he had dropped to the floor, a look of disbelief etched on his once handsome [and shaved] face. It was as if he had never expected to die like that, die at all, one of his proud schoolboy streaks never forgotten.

Harry couldn't help feeling that if it wasn't for him, Sirius might not have had to die. He needn't have died at all if Harry hadn't been conned into believing that Sirius was being held hostage by Lord Voldemort, being tortured the way he had in Harry's false visions.

But he wasn't going to think about that, at least not for the time being, yet he knew that he soon would have to. He still needed to accept that Sirius was dead and gone, and that nothing could change that, nothing could ever bring him back.

On the brighter side of things, Harry realised that he had some packing to do. If he was going to Hermione's house tomorrow at approximately 11:36am, he would have to start now. At least he was going somewhere where he would be treated like person, a person that was at least in some way, human. It was going to be a long year, but Harry for one, was not going to miss it.