Home
Liberated.
There was no other word to truly describe how he felt other than liberated. He was surrounded by blue, the deepest kind of blue, the kind that stirred something within one's soul. It was the kind that reminded beings how small they truly were, how insignificant when compared to the vast blue that ran deep into the ground, that covered almost everything on the Earth.
Yet, he felt safe. He felt powerful. For as long as he was forever encompassed within the arms of this never-ending blue, he was certain he could never be harmed ever again.
With a silent laugh, he rushed upwards, breaking out of the surface of the ocean and tilted backwards, his speed propelling him into a backwards flip. His scales caught the last rays of light from the dying sun, showing off different hues of orange-gold (with the occasional flecks of emerald shining through) before he crashed back into the deep sea.
Home. This was what it felt like, Harry had no doubt. He had chased for a sense of belonging all his life. But there had always been a dark doubt, a shadow of some sort – be it his childhood identity as a freak, his celebrity status as a Savior or the fact that he was at the end of the day an orphan – that lingered about during those futile chases, reminding him he was the odd one out. That he did not fully fit into the puzzle. However, here in the water, there were no such demons haunting him.
He was a part of this vast blue now. He knew it without a doubt because he could feel the magic that made the ocean itself singing to his very soul as he swam about the sea, unrestricted.
Harry Potter gave out a content sigh, giggling silently as he saw water bubbles escape his mouth in a flurry at the action. He floated to the top, letting himself drift horizontally on the ocean surface, the water acting like a malleable bed of some sorts.
Night had fallen. Though there was no moon, the billions of constellations that dotted the sky had their own kind of magic going on as far as Harry was concerned. He stared at the endless sky. He had seen it so many times before under the enchanted ceiling of the Hogwarts Great Hall and through the old telescopes in Professor Sinistra's Astronomy lesson. Yet seeing it now, without magical lenses or bewitching spells in the way, Harry appreciated the beauty of the endless sky for what it was.
Putting his hand in front of him, Harry cast a silent Tempus, smiling at the feel of his magic pooling at the tip of his fingertips with an ease he had not had before.
Half-past ten.
Well, that still left plenty of time to enjoy the night before he had to make his way back to his new home. Besides, there was no one there to lock him out of his home anymore.
With a tiny hum of happiness that was lost in the night air, the twelve-year-old boy floated there for hours, isolated yet content, unaware of the one lone tear that had escaped his eye when he had been overwhelmed in his joy of being free.
Home. Now that he had found it, he was not going to go anywhere else.
Miles away, on a castle located on the Scottish Highlands, a curious silver instrument in the Headmaster's office room sputtered and stopped as the blood wards it was meant to monitor fell for good.
One of the things Severus Snape hated about Albus Dumbledore (other than the man's ludicrous sense of fashion that often tended to leave others blind) was the fact that the man was an early riser. This was particularly because it meant that the old man was likely to find a pressing issue earlier rather than later due to early rising. That, in turn, translated to him – Severus Tobias Snape, youngest Potion Master of the century, an employee of said Albus Dumbledore – being bothered at either a crucial moment of potion-making or peaceful sleep, on the crack of dawn. Currently, it was the former that had transpired. He had almost succeeded to mix the Moonbeam petals with the Ashwinder concoction when Albus' dratted Patronus had had the gall to disturb him. He was sure the man could not ruin a Potion Master's morning any more than that.
Muttering dark promises under his breath, Severus made his way past the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's office and entered the cheerful office, barely refraining a scowl.
"Albus, you had better have a good reason for this," Severus growled, greeting the disgruntled presence of his fellow colleague with a curt nod of his head. Minerva McGonagall returned the gesture, too tired to be speaking.
"I'm afraid I have troubling news."
The unusual worry lacing his old mentor's tone had Severus' attention sharpening upon the old Headmaster, even while his face betrayed no expression. He noticed Minevera sitting straighter from the corner of his eyes.
"The blood wards around Privet Drive fell last night. The instrument monitoring the wards is not functioning anymore."
Well, would someone look at that! That ruined his morning even more.
Severus Snape had to hand it to the bane of his existence. The boy truly had a talent in making his life miserable, even when he was far, far away from the brat.
They had found out from a sleep-ridden Arabella Figg, a few hours ago, that the boy's relatives were due to return from their vacation sometime in the morning. From the old squib's recount, they had taken the boy with them on the trip.
"As if they wouldn't," Severus thought, "how could they spoil the brat if he didn't come along?"
Since there had been no attacks on the house and the brat was clearly alive and well according to Albus' strange silver instrument, the most likely conclusion they had made from the facts was that the boy had likely run away from his relatives. What they could not figure out, or rather what Minerva and Albus could not figure out, was why. Severus was meanwhile convinced this was simply another act of the boy to get attention. Or maybe a petty action due to his relatives probably denying the brat something during the vacation. They had been prepared to track down the Dursleys when Arabella had flooed in to inform that the Dursleys had returned with no Harry Potter. That had commenced a change of plans for the three to make their way down to Privet Drive, Surrey to speak to the Dursleys in person and discuss the matter of their missing nephew.
Looking back, Severus figured that should have been his first clue to something amiss. For truly if he had thought about it, no loving family that pampered its kid would return from a vacation on time, with no signs of distress over said pampered kid. However, the first sign that Severus picked up on which alerted him to something being off had been the living room of the Dursleys after Albus, Minerva and he himself had been invited (read forcefully entered) into the Dursley house.
The living room was decorated with many pictures of the Dursley family but none of them contained the picture of an emerald-eyed boy he knew of. In fact had he not known that the brat was meant to live there, Severus was quite sure he would have believed there was only one child in house Number Four, Privet Drive. From the way her lips had pursed into a thin line, Severus was certain Minerva had picked up the detail too.
The second sign had come in the form of Vernon Dursley – a whale of a man whose purpling countenance at the mere sight of three magicals in his house set off the alarm bells within Snape's mind. But it could not be true. Severus refused to believe it. Albus had promised that the brat had lived comfortably (not pampered as Severus insisted to believe but comfortably in a loving home) even with Petunia as the Aunt.
The third and most telling sign had been when the rather round offspring of Vernon and Petunia had come bounding down the stairs, yelling at the top of his lungs, unaware that there were other people within the house.
"MUM! Can I get my second bedroom back, now that the freak is gone? I could just leave the rest of the freak's stuff back in his cupboard right?!"
For a moment there had been silence. The Dursley couple had turned white as a sheet. Albus had suddenly looked every bit his hundred and fifty years. Minerva had gone unnaturally still.
And Severus – Severus lost his calm for the first time in a decade.
Griphook paused from his paperwork as the Floo to his personal office flared up. There was only one human whom he had allowed entry into his office.
"Lord Potter."
"Good morning Griphook. I'm ready for my scheduled lessons."
Griphook gave a curt nod in reply, gesturing for the boy to take a seat.
"Yes, but there is a slight change to the schedule."
Harry sat up straighter. That was unexpected.
"Really? Have you finally taken pity on me and decided to grant me reprieve from the hellish learning routine you have subjected me to for the past one month?" Harry jested, giving a pointed look to the clock hanging on the wall that read half-past four.
"If this is hellish you wizards truly are pathetic. And it has been only three weeks," was the reply sneered back at Harry.
Harry simply snickered. He had learnt to see past the short goblin's surly nature long ago.
"Going on to important matters. I believe you are aware of the fact that the notice of the change in guardianship would by now have reached Albus Dumbledore." Harry tensed slightly. "I would give it until this afternoon before he would be here at Gringotts, demanding to see the goblin-in-charge of the Potter account, which would be me, and possibly even you if he guesses that we are in contact with you."
"But he does not know who the new guardian is. Nor that I have claimed more than just the Potter Lordship."
Griphook spared Harry a brief look of approval.
"Good to see you are letting the lessons stick in your head, wizard-child. And yes you would be correct in your statements. He would not know about either matter unless you reveal it to him, which I am assuming you will not seeing as you had worked yourself to a panicking mess the last time while trying to think up ways to get out of Dumbledore's influence."
Harry blushed, his face turning into a nice shade of red. He had not meant to lose his head but the events of the first few days coupled with the revelations on his heritage and the new need to keep his freedom away from the clutches of another supposed "guardian" had caught up to Harry at the end of the first meeting with Griphook. The goblin had gotten a very curious look when he had accidentally revealed (during his unexpected moment of hysteria) that he was running away from his relatives but had thankfully not tried to pry the information out of him. Instead, he had sent for a goblin Healer – Jadeclaw – for a calming draught when it had become obvious Harry was not calming down.
"Between you and me, let's never bring that up again."
"I will think about that."
Harry groaned. He was never going to be off the hook for this. He had a good feeling the evil little goblin would use his one moment of embarrassment against him for the rest of his life. Of all the times he had to have his very first panic attack, he had to do it in front of a witness.
Griphook simply smirked.
"Back to the matter at hand. What do you intend to do when Dumbledore arrives?"
Harry paused. He knew he could never hide from the man forever. He was his Headmaster after all. But if he had to speak about such matters, he would rather it be done in Gringotts territory. He – alarmingly enough – did trust the goblins to heed to his wishes more than the wizards he knew even if it was simply due to the fact that most of the goblins worked with the attitude to be professional despite their annoyance at the wizarding race.
"It would be foolish to avoid the Headmaster. I think I would rather prefer to confront him earlier rather than let him drag it out during my school days. Yet I'd prefer it if you could schedule the meeting to be held at Gringotts," Harry replied to the goblin, "Make it at his most inconvenient time if you can."
Griphook sneered. "That goes without saying."
Harry laughed. He was enjoying working with the goblins way too much.
Harry stared, fascinated, at the ice cube on the floor which was starting to melt slowly.
"Had he just? It couldn't be. But – "
He looked at his hands, recalling what had happened moments before. With a calculating look, Harry turned his attention back to the glass in front of him that had no more water left in it.
It had been an accident, him tipping the glass. He had reacted out of instinct to catch the water (it was a stupid move now that he thought about it…one does not catch water ever). However, interestingly enough the water had stilled its downward movement, suspended mid-air. But it had not simply stayed still. It had grown twice in volume at Harry's action. That had startled Harry so much he had retracted his hands back to his chest, clenching them in the process which had let the water fall down again but triggered another reaction. The water had started boiling.
From a sleep-ridden twelve-year-old point of view (in Harry's defence) that had apparently made him think the water was angry at him, his sleepy self not realising he was the one manipulating the water. So Harry had done the best he could in that moment of confusion. He lifted his arms in surrender, palm facing outward. That had, again, another interesting result. The water – or what was left of the water – had cooled down and frozen into a cube of ice the size of a Rubik's cube.
And that was simply so bizarre, Harry lost any sense of sleep that had clung to him.
With a curious glance at his hand, Harry brought it towards the jug of water beside the glass. He let his palm face the jug, fingers spread apart and willed the water to move upwards. Now that he was awake, he sensed his magic tingle gleefully, a sensation quite different from the hum of magic he was used to when he cast spells. And then the water in the jug started rising upwards. It kept rising, growing to a volume that Harry knew the jug simply could not have contained. With a smile, he willed the excess water to separate from the (now full to the brim) jug of water and spread itself on to the kitchen counter in the shape of a rectangle cube. Holding it in place, he swiftly changed his hand gesture by bring his fingers together and straightening his slightly cupped palm. His magic tingled again and the water froze forming an ice block. With a wider grin, Harry wiggled his hand, staring at it in amazement for a minute or two before turning back to the ice cube. He held out his hand and started to slowly curl his fingers inwards, bringing them into a clenched state. Another tingle ran through his being before the cube started melting, then boiling and finally evaporating to air.
Harry laughed. Magic was simply wonderful.
His laughter was interrupted by the sound of tapping. Turning about, Harry walked over to his living room, heading straight over to the windows.
Hedwig swooped in and landed on his shoulders, nipping his ear before stretching out her left foot to show him the Gringotts letter attached to her claws.
"Clever girl. You always know when to get my letters, don't you?" Harry rubbed her head fondly. Hedwig hooted gently before taking off out the window again.
Harry glanced at the letter in his hands, wondering what Griphook had to inform him.
Dear Lord Potter,
The meeting with Albus Dumbledore is scheduled for tomorrow morning at half-past four. Your lessons would be shifted back.
I would advise you to wear a robe with your family crest upon it for your attire tomorrow. That is etiquette as far as wizarding customs go.
Your account manager,
Griphook of Gringotts
Harry folded the letter back into its envelope.
"Well, tomorrow should be interesting," his inner voice commented.
He glanced out the open window. It was dark but he could still make out the silhouettes of the trees surrounding his new home. And if he strained his ears, he could even hear the waves crashing at the shore from the distance.
Harry smiled. Whatever happened tomorrow, he knew he would never have to go back to the Dursleys. Nobody had the authority to make him go back anymore. Not even his new magical guardian.
He had found his home and he was staying in it for good.
His smile grew wider.
Oh, how sweet freedom tastes.