Harry Potter and the Orb of Power

Chapter 9: Healing

    Harry returned home to Privet Drive with a weariness so intense and so consuming that he felt that he hadn't slept in days. His school supplies were carried to the front door by Mr. Weasley, but he excused himself quickly from helping Harry carry his luggage into the house, citing an urgent call from the Ministry. Harry could have used the help, but he understood Mr. Weasley was a busy man now that Voldemort was back. He carried his luggage on bag at a time, until everything was in the house. He closed the front door behind him, and heaved a great, long sigh. So much had happened in such a short amount of time, Harry couldn't wrap his head around all these complicated thoughts. He had so much to figure out, and so little to go on. Who was this mysterious witch? How could Wormtail and that bat attack him at home? What was Voldemort's plan with the dragon? Harry felt like he should be doing something. Voldemort was planning and executing his strategy, making moves to secure his power. And what was Dumbledore doing? Reacting? That's what they did last time, and it didn't get them far. Harry wanted to see Dumbledore taking action, but what that action was, Harry had no idea. He was so lost in his thoughts that as he walked to the kitchen, he walked straight into Uncle Vernon and knocked his tea all over his once clean, white shirt. Harry saw Uncle Vernon's face turn a deep, unhealthy purple.

    "That is it!" Vernon bellowed so loudly his voice practically shook the house. Harry blinked in the face of Vernon's fury. He was tempted to be sarcastic, to be rude, to be angry in the face of his uncle, but to start an argument with his wizard-hating uncle seemed so petty in light of what had happened at Diagon Alley. Harry just looked at Vernon, and started to walk past him. However, Vernon was looking for a fight, and he shoved Harry back, slamming him against the wall. "That's it boy, I've had enough of your shenanagans. For fifteen years we've put up with your nonsense, and I've finally had enough. You've crossed me for the last time!" Vernon shook with fury, a fury unmatched by any other Vernon tantrums of his time.

    "My shenanagans? What are you talking about? For fifteen years I've stayed out of your way, and you've gone out of your way to make me miserable! If you're looking to blame someone for your misfortunes, for your loathesome excuse of an existance, why don't you take a good, long look in the mirror, Uncle Vernon," Harry shouted back, feeling anger filling him. He was losing his temper too quickly, he wanted to scale his intenseness back. He was fighting against every urge to punch his uncle straight in the face. Uncle Vernon flinched at Harry's outburst, but regrouped and launched another bellow at Harry.

    "Very well, boy, you've made your choice. I've been looking forward to telling you this for fifteen years, Harry," Vernon said, with a sneer filled with hatred and sadistic pleasure. " You are hereby expelled from this house! Pack your things, and get out! Live among the freaks like you! I will not endure you living in this house any longer!" Dudley waddled into the hallway, and glared at Harry. Harry was shaking with fury, his mind racing with random thoughts. His uncle was kicking him out of the house? Impossible. This was not going to happen. He needed to live here, his protection was here. But despite of this logic, Harry felt himself being persuaded by his emotion, letting his anger overrule his reasoning.

    "Uncle Vernon, I'll be as glad as you to leave this house. I never wanted to live here anyways. You and Dudley can run rampant around the house as free as you like, living like the hippos that you are, and you can live knowing that your own wife and your own mother has left you two because you are a pair of twiddling morons!" Harry yelled. Vernon, shocked at Harry's insolence, balled up his hand, and swung at Harry. Harry saw Vernon's fist flying at him, and was about to duck, when he saw Vernon frozen in midswing. He looked like a statue, which confused Harry. He looked behind Vernon and saw Aunt Petunia, pointing her wand at Vernon. She had a look of both fright and of anger on her face, an expression so mingled with conflicting emotions that Harry could hardly read her.

    "Harry, move," Petunia ordered Harry, slowly and distinctly. Harry moved and saw Vernon's eyes following him. When Harry was a safe distance away, Petunia waved her wand, to end the curse. However, it didn't quite work.

    "Stupid wand," Petunia said, waving it wildly. Harry stopped her quickly, before she could do any more accidental magic. He took out his own wand.

    "I'll probably get in trouble for this," Harry muttered. "Finite Incantantem!" Vernon finished swinging, and crashed to the floor when the full weight of his punch carried him too far. He muttered unintelligably, and then staggered up.

    "How DARE you use that...that...rubbish...against me," Vernon sputtered, spitting with rage.

    "You listen here, Vernon. I am sick to death with your go between attitude. You live here, yet you insult us. You eat my food, but you ignore me. You call me a bad mother, and then you turn my own son against me. Enough is enough Vernon. You make your choice. You cannot continue living here if you are going to blindly refuse the facts. I am a witch. Get over it, or move out. I cannot let you ruin my life anymore with your unfounded bias!" Petunia shrieked, her own anger matching Vernon's. Vernon looked shocked at her.

    "Unfounded? How can you call it unfounded and keep a straight face, Petunia? I hate magic for what your sister did to you! This unfounded bias as you call it is only because you hated your sister more than humanly possible! Don't be quick to blame me for your own mistakes!" Vernon roared. Dudley sank to the floor, covering his ears. Harry pitied him; his parents were losing each other right before his eyes.

    "And I have overcome that hatred and realized my folly! If you hate magic so much because of me, then you can stop hating it for me!" Petunia snapped back. Vernon shook, muttering, unable to reply to Petunia's logic. Vernon searched for an answer, a way to justify his hatred, but when push came to shove, Vernon's own illogical bias was thrown right in his own face.

    "Don't challenge me, when you're the one with the problem!" Vernon said to Petunia weakly, knowing that he was losing the ground underneath his feet. Petunia, her eyes filling with tears, spoke in a low, saddened voice.

    "Then you must leave. If you can't accept me, or Harry, then you must go." Vernon shook his head.

    "I am not leaving this house, Petunia. You and your freak of a nephew can leave," Vernon raged back.

    "No Vernon. We must stay in this house, not in any other. You must leave."    

    "And what of your son?" Vernon snapped icily, sneering with victory. Petunia looked at her son, who was crying very desperately. "Make your choice, Dudley, me or your mother!" Dudley shook his head.

    "I want to go home!" Dudley shouted. "This is not my home! I hate you for being a freak! And I hate you for making me make this stupid choice!" Dudley clambored upstairs, a thumping sound following Dudley to his room. Vernon and Petunia were staring at each other, realizing what they had just done. Harry looked at both of them anxiously, hoping upon hope that no more hurt words would exchange between them.

    "I'll leave you guys alone to talk," Harry mumbled. He wasn't sure they heard him as he staggered upstairs into his room. His head ached, and he instantly fell asleep as his head hit his pillow.

*    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *    *

    Harry awoke the next morning, the sun pouring in through his window. The sun was illuminating, the birds were chirping happily outside of the window. The scene was picture-perfect, a cheery day following one of indescribable horror. Harry put on his glasses, and ambled downstairs to get some breakfast. His stomach was growling, he felt unmeasurably hungry. When he arrived downstairs, he saw Uncle Vernon reading the daily newspaper. Dudley was eating some grapefruit, (Back on the diet, Harry thought with relish) and Petunia was cooking a large breakfast for everyone. Harry sat down at the table uncertainly, remembering the fateful dinner night that he had on his birthday. Harry sat in silence as he watched Petunia cook while spying on the next door family. Despite the magic, despite the conflicts within her own family, she still had the time and the energy to indulge her need for gossip. She served the breakfast to everyone (Harry got an equal portion to Vernon, which he attributed to Petunia's magical self-discovery) and started eating slowly. He caught Dudley eyeing Harry with a jealous look on his face, but Harry chose not to rub it in Dudley's face that he got to eat a square meal. Harry took a sip of orange juice when he heard Vernon clear his throat. Harry winced, preparing himself for some sort of derogatory statement about the wizarding world.

    "Seems, Petunia, that the world is in shambles," Vernon said. "Schmucks in office sure aren't taking care of business."

    "Oh, I quite agree, Vernon," Petunia said eagerly. Harry wasn't sure whether or not she was agreeing so that they could be civil, or she actually was agreeing.

    "If I were in office," Vernon announced elaborately, "I would have taken care of this ages ago."

    "Oh, but Vernon, you know they tried. I agree, they haven't gone about things quite right, but they can learn. Perhaps they just need a fresh mind to analyze the situation," Petunia said, refilling Harry's orange juice glass. It took Harry a moment to notice that the juice jar was pouring itself, and Petunia was using her wand. She's getting the hang of this pretty quickly, Harry thought as the jar levitated to Vernon. Vernon must not have noticed, but he didn't say anything about this overt use of magic.

    "Yes, Petunia. They have the same people analyzing the problem. Perhaps it is time to bring some fresh ideas to the mix. I think I shall get involved, if I can spare some time from Grunnings. You know how busy I am, what with the merger and all."

    "Yes, yes Vernon. However, are you sure you want to get involved? You'd be very new," Petunia said nervously, peering at her husband.

    "I want some more," Dudley moaned, his lips pouting as he gazed hungrily at the empty plate.

    "You'll follow your diet, Dudders, and then you can have meals again," Petunia said gently, but firmly.

    "Dad," Dudley started to whine.

    "Don't look at me, my boy. I'm not going to hold your hand as you follow a diet. You need to learn some self-control," Vernon said without looking up from his paper. Harry's jaw dropped. Something was going on between Vernon and Petunia. They may have worked things out between them, but if they were faking civil, they were doing an eerily creepy job of it.

    "Are you guys ok?" Harry asked reluctantly, almost afraid of the answer.

    "Yes, why?" Vernon asked, with a curious look on his face that told Harry to drop it and leave it alone.

    "No reason," Harry said dismissively, taking a bite out of his bacon. He glanced back up at his uncle, who was still reading his newspaper.

    "Like I was saying, I think I might have a go at this political forum," Vernon said to Petunia, who was now collecting empty dishes for washing.

    "Well, Vernon, I'm not sure they would accept you as a viable candidate. You know how exclusive they are," Petunia said, starting the sink.

    "Well why in bloody hell would they not? I have just as much political knowledge as the next person. I think they need a fresh mind on this matter," Vernon said.

    "You said that already," Petunia said, smirking as she scrubbed the soapy dishes.

    "Well, I must get my point across. You know those people," Vernon said, but stopped mid-sentence. Petunia gave him a look of warning, and went back to washing his dishes. Harry gazed back at his uncle, and saw something rather curious. The pictures on the paper were moving, and suddenly everything clicked. He stood up suddenly at the dinner table.

    "You can't be serious!" he yelled, staring at his uncle. Petunia looked shocked for a moment, and then burst out laughing. Vernon looked suprised by Harry's outburst, but then went back to reading the paper. "You're an Effloresca too?"

    "No, stupid boy, of course I'm not," Vernon said, waving his hand dismissively. "I'm keeping tabs on you people. If my wife is to be one of you, I am to be quite well informed about their exploits."

    "But you hate magic!" Harry said, forgetting not to mention magic in front of his uncle. His uncle shuddered at the mention of magic, but decided to ignore the comment. Harry could see that Vernon still harbored animosity towards all things magical, but he was trying. Harry felt that, in time, Vernon could probably learn to accept things.

    "What is this rubbish? You being the savior of the world? This can't be serious," Vernon said, reading a story about Harry and the Diagon Alley incident. Petunia was going to start scolding Vernon, but Vernon waved his hand as if to say he knew. Petunia must have told Vernon everything, which relieved Harry. Although his uncle was being civil towards him, Harry didn't feel that he was ready to talk to his uncle about his parents.

    "Well I'm not," Harry said, giving his plate to Petunia.

    "This Volder...whatever. This Volder character doesn't seem all that dangerous to me. Why doesn't someone just find him and arrest him. I daresay the police detectives can find him," Vernon said superciliously, as if it was that simple. Harry just shook his head, and contented himself in remembering that Vernon was just a simple man.

    "Vernon, dear, why don't you put that paper down? You're confusing yourself," Petunia said, cracking a smile at Harry.

    "I'm not confusing myself, Petunia. This Cornelius character needs to crack down and find him. Why he's parading around, convincing people of lies, I'll never understand. You know, it's completely absurd. Why if I had this position of Minister, I would have dealt with this awhile ago." Harry just shook his head, and was about to leave the room, when he heard his uncle speak again. "And what is this about this Cedric Diggory? Murdered last year? Someone must have bungled big time if that happened." Harry felt his skin grow cold, his heart stopped, and he could swear he stopped breathing. Harry suddenly felt the blood rush from his face, and felt himself go deathly pale.

    "Are you all right, Harry?" Petunia asked, concerned. All Harry could do was nod and then go to his room. He lay on his bed, stared at the ceiling, thoughts whizzing through his head. The guilt of Cedric's death- no, murder -was weighing on his conscience more than ever. It was all his fault, every single word that Vernon was reading. How Cedric was brutally killed, how it was Harry's fault. Harry could hear the conversation now, he could hear his own words echoing in his brain.

    Let's take it together.

    Harry felt a feeling of sadness, a groan of agony welling up inside of him. How could he have been so stupid? So completely out of mind? He should have forseen it! He should have known Crouch was making a move! Why didn't he pay more attention! Why didn't he just grab the Triwizard Cup when he realized it was a portkey. Why did Cedric have to die! It's not...

    "...fair, is it?" Harry heard a voice say. Aunt Petunia was standing in Harry's doorway, looking down on him. He looked away from her, ashamed that he was once again letting his own emotion get to him.

    "He wasn't supposed to die," Harry said, trying to explain. "It wasn't his fault, we weren't supposed to go to the graveyard," Harry said, but Petunia urged him to calm down.

    "We all know it wasn't your fault."

    "I told him we should take it together."

    "And he made a conscious decision to take it with you. Look, I'm new at this magic thing. I don't pretend to be the wise, all-knowing person that I often act as I am. I didn't know this...Cedric...I don't think I know you well enough to begin to understand how you are feeling. But you must understand, this isn't your fault. I was told enough about the incident to know that you were trying to be fair, to be reasonable, and you were trying to share the glory of winning with someone who rarely got any glory. You were doing the right thing. You couldn't have known that all of that bad was going to come of it." Harry shook his head.

    "I should have asked someone to check, I knew someone was trying to make a move during the tournament, I knew someone was going to do something. There must have been something, anything, I could have done to prevent this," Harry said, stubbornly refusing to accept Petunia's words of wisdom.

    "I don't know what to say, except that sometimes, things are not in your control. And it is in those times that we must realize that we are not all powerful, we are not omniscient, and we must learn to cope. So cope with it Harry. You are only fifteen, you are young, you have yet to begin to experience all that life has to offer. You have to stop taking up the responsibility of everyone's safety. But if you feel that's necessary, no one can stop you. Carry the burden if you must, if you insist, but learn to cope. It does no good for you to bear responsiblity for everything that isn't even in your control." Harry contemplated Petunia's words, and the more he thought, the more he realized that it was something Dumbledore might have said. Harry didn't respond, letting Petunia's words hung heavily in the air. Petunia sat on Harry's bed, and put her hand on his shoulder, sitting in silence.