Harry Potter and the Path to Power

Chapter X

At the Burrow, Mrs. Weasley had already started dinner.

"Want to play a quick game of Quidditch before dinner, Harry?" Ron immediately asked.

"Dinner is in 15 minutes," Mrs. Weasley said while continuing dinner, "no time for Quidditch. Harry dear, why don't you go change? Ron, Hermione - there's pumpkin juice in the cooler. Why don't you go sit on the porch for a while?"

Harry went upstairs and took off his formal robes. He put on his Khaki pants but since it was a warm day he decided against the sweater but instead kept on the shirt.

When he walked onto the porch he saw Hermione and Ron bickering over something unimportant once more.

Did those two have feelings for each other that exceeded friendship, he sometimes wondered?

After last year's Yule ball he had suspected something of that nature, at least with respects to Ron.

Hermione and Ron were both great people, great friends, but somehow Harry doubted they would make it as a couple, they were just too contrary to each other, and not in a good way.

Ron and Hermione as a couple; that brought some images to mind Harry could have done without.

Their first kiss would probably be hilarious. Ron would try at exactly the wrong moment, of that Harry was sure, he knew his friend. And then Hermione would insist on first doing some research.

"What are you staring at, mate? Come get some pumpkin juice." Ron was looking at Harry with a worried expression. Quickly Harry walked over to them and poured himself a pumpkin juice.

"So, what did you think of today's events?" Harry asked to take the attention away from him.

"Well, I think it went really well," Hermione began, "especially when the Magistrate wouldn't let McDourn badger Prof... I mean Remus, about being a werewolf."

"Takes getting used to, doesn't it? Calling a professor by his first name," Ron smiled. "You worried about tomorrow, Harry?"

"Not really, I figure Professor Dumbledore will be helping me to keep calm, just like the first time I told you all."

"HE DID WHAT?" Ron exclaimed. "That's illegal!"

"It is?"

"Oh yes," Hermione started off in her lecture tone. "Tampering with emotions falls under mind control spells, you know, like Imperius. It was outlawed in 1905 by the Wizard's Council because of the..."

"It's illegal, I get it," Harry interrupted. "He had reason, I trust Dumbledore."

"Of course, I'm sure it was in your best interest, Harry." Hermione looked a bit queasy about it despite her words and she was biting on her lower lip.

Harry understood, he felt the same; on one hand he trusted Dumbledore implicitly, on the other hand, illegal magic had been used on him.

Before Harry could give it too much thought, Fred and George arrived. Glad for the distraction, he looked up and saw two identical grins plastered on two identical faces.

"Why do I get the feeling you two have been up to something?" Harry said with a knowing smile.

"We're hurt, aren't we, George?" Fred replied with mock outrage.

"Yes, we are; why you would think we've been up to something is beyond me."

"Experience," Ron snorted.

"Our own dear brother is accusing us, I'm not sure I'll survive the heartache." Fred grabbed his chest and swooned against George.

"Look at what you've done, giving Fred a heart attack. Have you no shame?" George cried out, keeping an amazingly straight face.

"None whatsoever; must be a family trait," Ron bit back.

"Dinner's ready," came from the kitchen, forestalling any other remarks.

****

Late at night Harry still lay awake.

He had short bouts of sleep, but all had been disturbed by nightmares.

Vernon was still the main figure in most of his dreams, but Cedric Diggory, accusing Harry of his death, was there as well. Sometimes the two combined and his mind came up with whole new and disturbing scenarios.

There had only been one dream about Voldemort; somehow he had been pushed to the background. The one dream had been a very vivid one though.

It was the kind of dream that usually gave Harry pain in his scar, but there had been no pain this time.

Now that he thought about it, he'd had no pain in his scar for a while, not since he had been at 4 Privet Drive.

Did this mean that Voldemort was lying low? Out of the country even? Or was the connection gone, now that the Dark Lord had been fully restored?

The last was not true, of that Harry felt certain. He remembered having scar pains at Privet Drive and before that at Hogwarts. The thing was that they were not as painful as what Vernon had done, and therefore not as important at the time.

Harry tried to remember what those dreams had been about, but only had a general impression of blood, pain and Dark Magic.

What had this night's dream been about? It was strange, he could only vaguely remember, for the dream being so vivid, the memory slipping from him quickly.

He could only remember a small part, a conversation, the voices disembodied:

"I say we strike now, my Lord, while they are weak and ill prepared."

"I know that is what you want my servant, but I am also ill prepared.

Spending all those years without a body has weakened me, and my attempts to gain strength so far have not brought me that which I seek.

While I am still stronger than most wizards, I am loath to admit I am not as strong as that Muggle loving fool, Dumbledore. I need time to build up my reserves."

"Then let your servants pave your way to glory, my Lord. We can take out the Ministry easily. The Wizards' Council is still unbalanced; if you wish it, the Ministry could fall tomorrow. Soon after, Dumbledore will be isolated and vulnerable."

"Lucius, you know very well that the old man has worked hard since my last rise. He has agents and resources in many places. My Death Eaters have weakened. Those that are still here are mostly cowards and fools, too insignificant to be noticed by those bunglers at, what calls itself, the Ministry.

Convincing the Dementors, giants and other dark creatures to come to my side takes time. I am content to sit here, infiltrate and plot."

"But my Lord..."

"I have said all I am going to say on the matter. Be silent."

"We could..."

"No one questions my judgement... Crucio!"

Had this been a vision? Harry was in doubt. There were telltale signals that it had been so... but so many things didn't add up.

Why had there been no pain?

Why had he not seen anything?

Why could he only remember part of the dream while still knowing it had been so real to him?

There was little chance of getting any sleep soon. Harry decided to go downstairs; he could read, or just stare into the remains of the fire that would have probably died down by now.

Listening to Ron sleep was no option.

He walked downstairs and into the living room, it was, however, not empty.

Mr. Weasley was sitting there, doing what Harry had intended; he was staring into the glowing coals before him, lost in thought.

Just when Harry had decided to turn around and go back upstairs, Mr. Weasley spoke up:

"Don't keep standing there, Harry, sit down."

Slowly Harry walked towards the second couch, which was on a ninety degree angle with the couch on which Mr. Weasley was sitting.

"I figured that you wouldn't be able to sleep tonight, more the any other night.

Trials have a way of bringing back bad memories; I know." Slowly Mr. Weasley turned his head towards Harry who was now sitting.

"As I said in my note, it is time we had a talk."

Mr. Weasley sighed deeply and began: "That first night I figured you had trouble sleeping some nights...

That isn't quite true, is it?" Mr. Weasley stared at Harry sharply. "You have trouble sleeping most nights."

Harry remained silent. He didn't want to complain about his problems; they were, after all, his problems.

"I used to have the same problem you do, Harry. Not being able to bring yourself to talk about the horrors you've seen. Not wanting to burden others. And finally, not being able to show your innermost fears, to make yourself vulnerable."

Mr. Weasley reached beside his seat and picked up a bottle that had been standing there.

Two glasses followed. After Mr. Weasley had filled them, he handed Harry a glass.

"Let me tell you what the consequences of your behaviour will be."

He downed his glass, gesturing for Harry to do the same. Then he began in an even, sombre tone.

"Let me tell you a story about an Unspeakable. Don't ask me what he did for the Department of Mysteries, I can't tell you.

He was good at what he did. He captured many a Death Eater and he was a devil with his wand.

But no matter how many Death Eaters he arrested, there were always more.

These Death Eaters committed crimes so terrible that even now, some of them are classified.

This Unspeakable was often the first on the scene and was witness to many horrors. He found the victims of torture, both Muggle and wizard. Often they were alive but dying, and many died with only him for comfort." The glasses were again filled and again drained before Mr. Weasley continued.

"In the Muggle world there would have been a psychiatrist to talk to; unfortunately, the wizarding world knows no such concept.

Where to turn?

His colleagues? They mostly had the same problems.

He had a family; a wife, two sons, one of whom was only a baby. This was not the time to bother her; if anything, she should be leaning on him.

So he kept his troubles to himself.

When he woke up at night because of nightmares, he learnt not to scream so as not to disturb his family.

When he saw something particularly disturbing he would take an extra drink and keep a stiff upper lip.

All very proper.

It started to eat him up on the inside.

Nightmares were more and more frequent and more and more distressing. He developed a paranoid streak and his temper was terrible.

Then came the inevitable, he had a breakdown.

Unable to function as an Unspeakable, he was transferred to another department and given a lighter working assignment.

Then and only then, he learned to open up. It was not something he learned by himself but a lesson forced upon him by his wife and his circumstances.

He was never the same, but at least he didn't go completely crazy. Time healed much, but not all." In silence, Mr. Weasley refilled the glasses. After drinking it, he continued.

"Learn this lesson early, Harry, and learn it well. Find someone to talk to; you are not alone in the world. 'No man is an Island' as a Muggle author once said.

Always remember that there is only so much one person can do; don't feel guilty about things you have no influence over; and don't feel responsible for the acts of others."

After this Mr. Weasley rose from his couch and headed for the stairs.

"Don't stay up too late, Harry."

"Who was that Unspeakable, Mr. Weasley?"

Mr. Weasley turned his head towards Harry; he was sporting a small smile, "if I told you that, I'd have to kill you, Harry." Mr. Weasley started up the stairs. "Oh, and Harry, I think it's about time you started calling me Arthur. You're hardly a child anymore."

Mr. Weasley had left the bottle.

As Harry poured himself another glass he pondered Mr. Wea... Arthur's words.

The gist of what he had said was to open up to someone.

But who?

Ron? No, he didn't have the emotional maturity for this. His friend would listen, but then not know what too do, and feel guilty for it.

Maybe not one of his friends, but an adult?

He didn't feel comfortable approaching Dumbledore with this; it was quite obvious that it was he who would have to lead the war efforts. Fudge was an incompetent.

Mr. Weasley obviously had his own problems, best not to bother him.

The same went for Sirius and Remus; although they wouldn't mind, Harry did not think it wise to distract them.

His thoughts turned back to his friends.

Hermione perhaps?

She had listened to him before and given him some of the comfort he needed.

Unfortunately, Harry had felt the strain it had put on her; she had been close to tears that night. The idea was considered and than disregarded. He would not hurt Hermione, never.

The image of Ginny flashed before his eyes but was dismissed as fast as it had appeared. She was Ron's little sister and he barely knew her in many ways. Besides, Harry felt as if there was something unresolved; something he should remember but couldn't.

Harry couldn't sleep for several more hours. Images of the trial kept running through his head making him relive the actual events at Privet Drive.

Steadily he drank on, glass after glass, until the bottle was only a quarter full.

Finally he fell asleep on the couch, only because of a combination of pure exhaustion and alcohol.

*****

"Harry...." A faint voice sounded in his sleep.

"Wake up, boy!"

With a scream of pure terror Harry roused from his sleep. Before he could jump up from the couch two hands held him down.

In his fear, Harry blindly tried to lash out, but was physically restrained; he tried to use magic, but it slipped from him like water.

"Easy dear, it was just a nightmare.

Come on, wake up, Harry. Easy does it."

Slowly Harry became aware of his surroundings.

Mrs. Weasley was holding him down. He was on the couch at The Burrow. For a moment when he had been between sleeping and waking he had heard Vernon's voice; it had been so real that Harry had been convinced he had been back at Privet Drive.

"Why don't you take a shower, dear? You look like you could use one. I'll have your breakfast ready when you get down." Mrs. Weasley had a concerned look on her face.

As Harry made his way to the bathroom he could still hear Vernon's voice.

"Wake up, boy"

It had been his habit to wake Harry with his wand on those rare occasions Harry had been asleep. It had made Harry a very nervous sleeper. To sleep was to be vulnerable.

Stepping into the bathroom, Harry started to undress.

He turned on the shower.

Stretching, he felt the aches in his muscles that reminded him he had spent the night on a couch. He turned down the cold water until it was off. Slowly he felt the heat seep into his muscles. As he stood there, his head leaning against the wall, he relaxed, feeling the fatigue receding a bit.

After his shower Harry got dressed. The mirror was once again fogged up, but since Harry's hair was truly unmanageable this did not matter to him.

What bothered Harry was the fact that he was once more wearing the same clothes, even if they had been partially cleaned by the bathroom-charms. He had to do something about that soon.

The only thing left to do was a quick visit to the medicine cabinet.

*****

In the kitchen Mrs. Weasley had started on breakfast.

"Take a seat, Harry dear. I've made you some scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.

Oh, and you have to drink that potion I set on the table for you, doctor's orders."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley."

Harry took a sip of the potion; it was vile.

"Tastes like something Snape would make," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What was that, dear?" Mrs. Weasley asked. Harry got the impression she already knew.

"Nothing, I was just wondering where the rest were?" Harry replied quickly, and then swiftly gulped down the rest of the potion, trying not to taste it.

"They're not up yet, dear. Fred should be getting up right about now. He's usually the third to get up, but I think Arthur will have a bit of a lie in. He was up late last night."

At that moment a voice shouted: "Oy, who fogged up the bathroom? This place is supposed to be charmed, but I've never seen it this bad."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Weasley sighed, "something must be wrong with the charms. Arthur will have to fix that later and check the other charms. We wouldn't want to have to take a shower with cold water, now would we?"

"I'm afraid it's actually my fault, Mrs. Weasley. I took a hot shower."

"Nonsense dear, the charms should handle that."

Harry did not contradict her words but still thought that maybe he was at fault.

Quietly he ate his breakfast until realisation struck like a sledge hammer: He had neglected to put away the bottle last night, it must still be standing next to the couch.

From the corner of his eyes he looked at Mrs. Weasley to see if she behaved differently somehow. Nothing was apparent.

Quickly he finished his breakfast.

"What's the hurry, dear? Dumbledore is not due for almost an hour. You can take your time,"

Mrs. Weasley admonished.

"I know, Mrs. Weasley, but I ehh... wanted to take a walk outside. Clear my head before we get stuck in that courtroom," Harry improvised.

"Good idea, dear."

As soon as he could, Harry left the breakfast table. When he walked into the living room he saw that the bottle and the glass he had used were gone. Mrs. Weasley must have put them away.

Oh dear Merlin, what was he going to do?

Not knowing what to do, Harry went outside via the front door; he did not want to look Mrs. Weasley in the eye right now.

It was still early; Harry judged it to be no later then 6.30 in the morning.

He walked past the small fence that surrounded The Burrow and headed toward the stream near the strangely built house.

Harry's thoughts kept raging. What was he going to do? Mr. Weasley, or Arthur as he should now call him, had specifically said that Mrs. Weasley would take it badly if she found out.

His thoughts spinning and his stomach in turmoil, Harry crossed the wooden plank that served as a bridge across the stream.

While he walked through the English countryside his thoughts kept turning, trying to find a solution, an explanation, an excuse, anything.

On he walked; passing peaceful meadows, ignoring the cows who vied for his attention.

Harry did not notice how far he walked and suddenly he had the sensation of walking through a barrier. There was no resistance, only a sensation; like the wind blowing over the hairs on his arms, but there was no wind. From the corner of his eyes he saw what he could only describe as the echo of light - there, but not there. He thought he heard a faint crackling sound, like the discharging of static electricity, but there were no sparks.

Too distraught to really care he continued walking, oblivious to the peacefulness that surrounded him.

He now felt fear compliment his worry.

What if Mrs. Weasley threw him out of the house? And what would Hermione say? Suddenly her opinion seemed to matter a great deal.

And what would Arthur think? He would be disappointed; maybe feel that his trust had been violated.

But what other choice did he have? He needed sleep and he had no other means.

Anger reared in the back of his head.

Who were they to judge? They didn't know what he had been through. Voldemort, Vernon, not to mention those smaller pests like an ancient basilisk and Death Eater professors.

Did they know the hardships he had faced?

The nightmares that had resulted? ... The guilt he felt.

The world was not fair.

All he wanted was to be normal, or at least as normal as any wizard could be; to blend in, have some friends and maybe be loved by some... maybe even someone special.

But no, he had to be Harry -bloody- Potter, The Boy Who lived.

He had to have a Dark Lord after his blood and he had to be the Hero of the wizarding world.

Perfect Potter, Malfoy had once named him. The git had no idea what it was like.

How could he live up to those expectations? He was only human.

Did they really expect a fifteen year old boy to defeat the most powerful Dark Lord ever?

No, he just wanted his life back, his parents, HIS RIGHT TO A NORMAL EXISTENCE!

With every thought Harry's anger built until he saw red before his eyes and he was ready to scream his anger at the injustice that was his life.

But instead of a scream, Harry felt something different build inside him.

From inside his very being his anger seemed to take solid form. Its form was that of a raging white light. Far from the tranquil white light he had experienced before, this was a storm without equal.

Harry was torn between fear and elation, between trying to contain it and welcoming it.

He felt it rise and every thought of containing it evaporated from his mind, he only felt the need of it.

This was what would allow him to carve out his own life, his own happiness.

This was true power.

This was his storm.

On and on Harry summoned the thing that had built inside of him, urging it to greater heights.

Every pent up emotion he had created an unstoppable torrent within his soul.

He could feel the approaching release and he welcomed the pain that came with it, for it was both exhilarating and a proper punishment for his failures.

Closer and closer the raging magic came to the surface until with a roar that originated from deep within Harry, a roar of anger and pain, it was finally released from his system.

He could feel the magic pouring from him as if there was no end to it, no limit.

This was power.

This was his birthright; Harry felt this certainty in his very bones.

It was ecstasy, it was torture, but above all, it was his.

On and on it came. And like a raging river that swept away everything in its path, so did this powerful combination of emotion and magic sweep away all conscious thought until there was only Harry and his magic.

But slowly and certainly the power that flowed from him relented, its well dried out. It was both a relief and agony and he moaned for its loss.

The sensation of so much power had been wonderful, addictive even... but it had also frightened him to his very foundation, something he had not noticed during his release.

When the flow finally ceased completely Harry noticed that he was on his knees with his head resting on the ground. He was crying uncontrollably.

He sat there for several minutes, crying, pouring out his anger and grief; not with magic and rage, but with tears.

He felt weak and exhausted.

*****

"Harry..." a ragged voice sounded in front of him. A hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Harry..." the same voice came again, not certain of what to say.

As he looked up Harry saw his godfather kneeling in front of him.

He threw himself against him and continued crying, not able to stop.

"It'll be alright, I promise," Sirius said, but even through all the emotions he was experiencing, Harry heard the lie.

He had also seen what had been in Sirius' eyes. Worry, yes, and love, but also a tinge of fear and desperation.

Slowly, as the worst of the tears subsided, Harry opened his eyes and saw the destruction he had wrought over Sirius' shoulder.

In a radius of at least seventy-five meters everything had been destroyed.

Trees had been uprooted and grass had been burned to a crisp. At the edge of the destruction Harry saw the start of a low stone wall that followed the small road he had been walking on. He realised that it must have been destroyed up 'til there.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry," Sirius said, his voice hoarse and trembling. He was still holding Harry against him and for the first time Harry noticed his godfather was shaking.

Slowly Harry leaned back and saw the tears in Sirius' eyes to match his own.

"Why, Sirius? This is my fault," he said, not understanding.

"For not being there for you after your parents died.

For not getting you away from Vernon Dursley.

For not being there for you after what happened..." the older wizard said in sobs.

"It's not your fault..."

Both Harry and Sirius, a boy and a man who had suffered too much, were crying and comforting each other now.

"I'm sorry, Sirius, but you have to leave. Now," a new voice came.

As both Harry and Sirius turned sideways they saw Albus Dumbledore.

"I am sorry, Sirius, but you have to leave." The old wizard repeated in a sad, almost pleading voice. "Any wizard or witch with the slightest sensitivity within hundreds of miles of this place has felt this... magical eruption. The Ministry, slow as they are, will be here shortly, and they will come in force.

You must leave," Dumbledore again stressed.

"But..."

"I will take care of young Harry. You must go," Dumbledore repeated.

"Go Sirius. You mustn't get caught," Harry now added. "I can't lose my godfather, now can I?" he said with a weak smile.

Looking torn, Sirius finally nodded. "Owl me," he said before he Disapparated.

Harry looked up to Dumbledore, his stomach churning with feelings of guilt for his loss of control.

"I am afraid this is my fault," Dumbledore said before Harry could profess his guilt.

"No Professor, this is my fault," Harry gasped.

"Why Harry?" Dumbledore said in a calm voice while he stepped closer to Harry, laying a hand on the kneeling boy's shoulder. "Because it was you that released all this magic?"

Harry only nodded.

"That, my dear boy, was only the result of my actions.

When I implemented those wards on The Burrow, I took the easy path; thinking it was only for a few weeks.

The wards I created did not dissipate your emotions, but only suppressed them.

Unfortunately, suppressed emotions have a tendency to erupt. Violently, I might add."

"But Professor, it was my fault.

I crossed the wards. I wasn't thinking."

"So you figured that out, did you?"

Before Harry could tell Dumbledore he had actually sensed them, the old wizard continued.

"No, Harry. You crossing those wards was of no consequence. If anything, it was a good thing.

Had you been subjected to them much longer the emotions inside you would only have grown stronger.

All this would have happened later and even more powerfully, the wards would have been torn to shreds and all this destruction would have been visited on another place, most likely in the company of others... most likely at the Burrow.

I made an error in judgement, I see that now." Dumbledore's voice had a finality to it, as if the conclusion was set in stone.

Suddenly all around them there were so many pops it was almost deafening.

At least twenty-five wizards and witches appeared and roared as one: "STUPEFY."

Almost faster than Harry could see, Dumbledore threw up his hands and a transparent bubble appeared around them.

As the curses hit, Harry could hear Dumbledore groan slightly.

After the first wave of curses had hit, most saw who they had been aiming at; Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter were famous faces after all.

Some wizards fired a second volley but were then stopped by their colleagues.

There was, however, not one among them that lowered his wand.

More people began to appear.

Some of them were obviously Ministry workers; others seemed to be spectators, but not many, and these were immediately driven back.

"Well, have you caught them?" it sounded from behind the line of what were now obviously Aurors.

The line parted somewhat and forward stepped a man in a green suit and cloak wearing a bowler hat.

".... Albus?" gasped Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic.

"But what... how...," he spluttered.

"Yes, Cornelius. And I'm sure you recognize Harry Potter.

If you would be so kind as to tell your people to stand down...?"

"Uh, what? Stand down? Oh, yes, yes. Of course.

STAND DOWN... everyone."

Uneasily, the Aurors put away their wands, but their stance and wariness did not change.

Slowly Dumbledore stood up. He seemed to radiate power at that moment and with a single look made every Auror present back off, from the scarred veterans to the most enthusiastic, recent graduate.

Gently the wizened Headmaster helped Harry to his feet.

"What happened here, Albus? Was it He-Who..." the Minister noticed his mistake and quickly corrected, "uhm, Sirius Black?"

"No Cornelius, it was not. I think we should..." Dumbledore started to say but was interrupted by Harry.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Harry?" answered Dumbledore gently, while Fudge gave Harry an annoyed look.

"Could you catch me?" And with that Harry fainted to the ground.

*****

"It couldn't have been him," Harry heard a voice piercing through the shroud that covered his consciousness.

"Oh, but it was, Cornelius, it was."

"But he's just a boy."

"Indeed. But you saw the reports, didn't you?"

"Yes, but... but... this is something altogether different. Is he... safe?"

"You mean will it happen again?"

Apparently someone nodded.

"No, not like this. As I told you, this is my fault. It will not happen again. But there will be," the voice was silent for a moment as if looking for the right word, "incidents."

"Should we allow him back to Hogwarts then? I mean, think of the other students, Albus."

"We are working on a solution. But even if we don't find one, he will have to return to Hogwarts. It is the only place that he can learn to master his powers. As long as I am Headmaster, Harry Potter will be welcome at Hogwarts."

There was some spluttering but slowly Harry sank back into unconsciousness.

*****

HARRY POTTER INVOLVED IN MAGICAL OUTBURST

The Daily Prophet has learned that Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, was involved in a magical outburst somewhere in middle England.

The exact cause if this magical outbreak of incredible proportions is unknown, and rumours to what the explanation might be range from a Death Eater attack like that at the World Cup last year, to Mr. Potter himself.

These rumours are very unlikely as no group of Death Eaters large enough has been spotted since The Downfall of 'He Who Must Not Be Named' and Mr. Potter is only a boy.

More credibility can be given to the rumour that it was in fact Sirius Black who tried to attack Mr. Potter. We must not forget that he has proven himself to be a powerful wizard when he killed thirteen people with one curse.

The Ministry of Magic has given no comment, except that they are investigating the matter.

Because of this event the continuation of the high profile case against Vernon D. has been postponed until tomorrow when Mr. Potter is expected to be fit enough to testify.

Charles McDourn, councillor for the defence in this case, spoke in outrage: "There is no reason to postpone judgement. This is just another example of Mr. Potter's mental instability and proves he is not capable of testifying.

Had it been any other person this would have been concluded long ago."

An appeal of this nature was dismissed by presiding Magistrate Mundungus Fletcher

Page 2 -Eye witness reports- An interview by Rita Skeeter.

Page4 -I got a headache from 200 miles away- An account by S. Meyers, sensitive.

*****

When Harry woke it was obvious he was back at The Burrow. After remembering what had happened, he was actually very glad he wasn't back at St. Mungo's.

How could he have been so stupid?

How could he face the Weasleys?

Never mind the problems he had thought he had before. Now he had completely destroyed a substantial piece of land and everything on it.

They would be scared of him and he couldn't blame them.

What should he do? He couldn't stay in his bed forever; sooner or later he would have to go downstairs.

He had best make it easy on everyone. The Weasleys would feel obligated to let him stay and he wouldn't do that to them.

Maybe he could convince Dumbledore to let him go to Hogwarts early; he had, after all, said that he would always be welcome there.

Slowly Harry stood up, every muscle in his body aching as after one of Oliver Wood's famous marathon length Quidditch practices.

He also had a headache that had nothing to do with alcohol.

Carefully he moved about the room and gathered the few things he had, but he didn't get very far.

Arthur Weasley stepped into the room, probably intending to check up on Harry.

"What are you doing, Harry?"

Without turning around, Harry answered.

"I'm packing my things. I think it best I not stay here much longer.

I'm obviously dangerous and I can understand you not wanting me around here.

I think I can convince Dumbledore to let me stay at Hogwarts," Harry said in the most level voice he could muster.

"Harry, what are you talking about?

You will always be welcome here," Arthur Weasley said with amazement in his tone.

"Look... Arthur," Harry said, still not used to using the first name of a grownup besides Sirius. "After today, no one would want me around, so you don't have to lie.

It must have been difficult to have me here in the first place. All those reporters trying to get at me; not to mention, me being a burden on this household with all my... personal problems.

And now with what happened in the field..."

"Harry," Arthur's voice sounded sternly. "I don't know what gave you this idea, but I will say this one more time and then the matter will be finished.

You will always be welcome in this house. Not only are you Ron's best friend but you are almost like another son to me and Molly, and let us not forget you saved the life of my only daughter for which we can never thank you enough.

Now, I admit that you are not like my other sons in that you are probably more mature than them in some ways, although right now you are behaving like a child. Nevertheless, we all love you and would never send you away."

Harry looked up to Arthur's eyes and saw a combination of anger, affection and a little disappointment there.

"But..."

"There will be no discussion," Arthur interrupted before Harry could continue. "Now, unless you truly wish to leave, in which case I will not stop you, put your things back and come downstairs for dinner.

But, please," and Arthur's voice became soft and compassionate, "don't leave because you think we don't want you here.

*****

Harry just sat on Ron's bed, amazed and not without a significant amount of doubt.

Had Arthur just told him he could stay and meant it?

Who would want him?

He was dangerous, he realized that much.

But the words had sounded so sincere and he so desperately wanted to believe them.

The door creaked.

It was Hermione. She shyly peeked from behind the door.

When she saw that Harry was decent, she came in.

"Hi Harry, are you alright?" she asked.

Still milling around the words he had heard before, Harry's only answer was a distracted "Fine."

Although the answer was almost hurtfully brief, Hermione ignored this. She, better than most people, knew what Harry's emotional state was, what he had been through.

"What happened, Harry?" she asked.

"No one will tell us what happened. Dumbledore is quiet and... and not feeling well, apparently. Mrs. Weasley is fussing over him and that's probably the only reason she's not up here besides Dumbledore's insistence to let you sleep."

Harry was still silent and staring into nothingness. Only a small part of his mind was listening to his best friend.

"Mr. Weasley only told me you were awake and looked upset.

There must be fifty Aurors around and the only reason Minister Fudge is not still yelling is that he was thrown out.

Can you imagine Mrs. Weasley throwing out the Minister of Magic?"

By now Hermione realised she was babbling, but it seemed to pull Harry out of his almost catatonic state as a small smile played on his lips, so she continued.

"I thought he was going to have a heart attack when she told him that if he couldn't behave himself properly she would throw him out, and then when she actually did... you should have seen his face," Hermione said with a giggle.

When she continued her face fell, however, and her tone was gentle.

"What happened, Harry? Tell me, please?

Fudge kept saying that you were a danger.

He kept on saying that you were 'unstable' and that if you could do 'that', you were dangerous.

What did he mean, Harry?"

Harry's voice was hesitant and distant:

"What he meant is...

that I cannot control myself.

I let my magic get out of control.

Oh gods. If you had seen what I did..." he said with a cry.

Hermione wanted to ask Harry what it was he had done, but before she could do so Harry cut her off, his voice flat.

"You should get away from me, Hermione. I'm dangerous, even I can see that."

"NO, Harry Potter don't you even dare suggest that," she said with ferocity.

"Why not? If you had only seen..." Harry's voice trailed off and his eyes became distant again.

"It doesn't matter, Harry. I won't go."

Sensing that he was about to say more, and suddenly afraid of what that might be, Hermione quickly changed the course of the conversation.

"We should go downstairs. Mrs. Weasley has prepared dinner."

Forcefully she pulled him along by his arm.

*****

Dinner was quiet and very uncomfortable for Harry. Now even more than before everyone was trying to be cheerful and not say anything upsetting to him.

Heaven forbid he would become upset.

Dumbledore had stayed for dinner, and for all his complements about Mrs. Weasley's cooking, Harry didn't think that this was the reason he had stayed, even though he was eating with gusto, especially for an old man.

As soon as he reasonably could, Harry excused himself from the dinner table.

*****

In Ron's room he prepared himself for hours of fitful waking and sleeping, but strangely enough this was not the case.

Even though he had slept all day, Harry was exhausted.

His first dream consisted only of disembodied voices.

"You have news?"

"Nothing new, my Lord. According to our spies the Potter boy was the cause..."

"NO. I have taken Potter's measure and he is incapable of such magic; few wizards are, perhaps one in a dozen generations. It must have been someone else... but whom?"

"The Daily Prophet claims Sirius Black, my lord."

"Sirius Black...

Now there is an enigma. How I wanted to recruit him, instead I ended up with you."

"My Lord, I..."

"Oh, be silent.

Find out what happened, find Potter and find his relatives.

I wish to know more of what happened in that house.

Do NOT fail me."

The dream shifted.

He now stood in a graveyard.

Two figures came walking from the mist, it was Ron and himself.

"Wands out, you reckon?"

"Yes, no telling where we are."

In his mind Harry screamed to himself and Ron to get out of there, screamed to his other self that this had happened before, that he should know exactly where they were.

"Kill the spare."

"AVADA KEDAVRA"

And again the dream shifted.

"There is one last thing I want to try."

And again.

"Bow Harry, it's the polite thing to do.

Crucio."

And again.

"Why did you get me killed, Harry? Why didn't you take the cup alone, like I said? Why did you have to be so damned noble?"

And again.

"We died for you Harry, and look what you did with our sacrifice.

YOU ARE NOT OUR SON."

And again.

"As Minister of Magic I hereby condemn Sirius Black to the Dementor's Kiss."

And again.

"He's taken Hermione, Harry. You have to do something. This is all your fault."

And again

"For falsely accusing Vernon Dursley you will be expelled from Hogwarts and your wand broken.

You will NEVER be a wizard."

And again.

"Kill the Spare."

"AVADA KEDAVRA."

And again.

And again.

As in every night that had passed, in for what felt like forever, one nightmare followed another until in the early morning Harry finally awoke.