Seel'vor

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"Indifference and Neglect"
By Seel'vor

Back to::
Harry Potter »
"Indifference and Neglect"

Also available as: Epub | pdf | mobi | lit | txt

Is it a one-short short? Is it a novel? No...

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this
work.

5th-year Boys Dormitory, Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Saturday, 22nd June, 1996
Harry Potter, fifth-year student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was not looking forward to the upcoming conversation. He’d been back at school for a couple of days, since the disastrous mission to the Department of Mysteries, and the loss of his godfather. During the last few days, he’d been pondering life, love and the universe, and his place in said entities. He’d not come to any conclusions, but knew this conversation would certainly reveal something.
“So, what’s up, Harry?” Hermione asked. She’d made her way up the stairs gingerly, knowing that she wasn’t really supposed to be in the Boys’ dorm. Ginny and Luna had followed, along with Neville and Ron.
Harry was sat on his bed, lotus position, looking calm and peaceful. “I thought that you should all hear this.” He said quietly. “In the Department of Mysteries, we saw a prophecy that had my name on it. It smashed before we could hear it, but since it was made to APWBD, we have another way of finding out what it said.”
Hermione was first. “A... P... W... B... D... Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore... It was made to Professor Dumbledore?”
“Yep.” Harry nodded. “He kept a copy of it. This is it: ‘The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies, and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives...’”
Each of the five had different thoughts on the matter:
Hermione; Oh, poor Harry! This is like a Death Sentence hanging over his head... the lightning bolt scar is obviously ‘marked as his equal’... but Harry has some kind of power that You-Know-Who doesn’t know about... I wonder what that is... He’ll need training, and I’ll stand by his side... Well, I guess this answers the ‘who do I go for?’ question. No matter how I feel about Harry, Ron’ll live longer, provided that I don’t end up killing him...
Neville; It... it could have been me... thank Merlin it wasn’t! We’d all be dead now... Harry’s done so much to help me the last couple of years, I’ll stand with him.
Luna; I wonder if they’ll be pudding tonight... Harry needs a haircut... It smells like masturbating boy in here... I hope he wins...
Ginny; He truly is a hero... He’ll need the love and support of a girlfriend... someone pretty, and sexy, who’ll look great on his arm in the latest fashions on the pages of Witch Weekly... I know I’m perfect for that job! He needs the best.
Ron; Bloody Potter... he’s rich, famous, popular, has the best broom in the world, and now he’s got a prophecy named after him? It’s not fair... It should be me. I’d be a better Boy-Who-Lived than Potter...
Harry watched his friends as they pondered the prophecy. He couldn’t read minds, but he could read body language. It seemed that each of them was worried, and quite rightly so, really. He knew that a lot was riding on his shoulders... he only hoped that he could make the right move at the right time.
#4 Privet Drive , Little Whinging, Surrey
Tuesday, 25th June, 1996
Harry’s arrival at Privet Drive had gone quite smoothly. The last few years, upon his arrival, he’d been beaten to unconsciousness by Vernon and Dudley. This year, the threats from the Order at the train station seemed to have worked. Vernon had carried Harry’s trunk upstairs, pushed Harry into the bedroom, and immediately engaged all six locks. He’d then left, and not uttered one word. Nothing about ‘Boy’, or ‘Freak’, or any threats of a beating. That was scarier than a puce Vernon screaming an inch and a half in front of his face, giving him a shower of spit and vitriol.
He’d gone to sleep, thankful that he’d had the forethought to plan ahead for this period of captivity. He’d arranged with Dobby to get a magical chamberpot, which banished the waste from inside every two minutes. Because it was a house-elf enchantment, it wouldn’t register on the Ministry of Magic’s underage sensors. He’d also stocked up on food, each meal miniaturised and held in a stasis charm. He had enough to last him for six weeks, and Dobby had demanded Harry’s promise that if he was running low, he’d call on him. It was strange; basilisks, giants, Voldemort, Umbridge and Acromantulas all paled when compared to a 2-foot-tall House Elf with a desire to feed you.
There was also a magi-fiction book, that changed to one of 1,000 different titles upon completion. So, he wouldn’t starve, he wouldn’t have to hold in his secretions, and it was doubtful he’d die of boredom.
I wonder if the gang’ll write to me this year, or if... Harry’s thought was cut off as Fawkes flashed into his bedroom, carrying a creamy parchment envelope in his beak.
With a heavy heart, knowing that this missive simply could not be good, he took the envelope. As soon as he was released of his burden, Fawkes flamed away. Hmph... for an ageless, immortal bird, he’s a bloody coward. He opened the letter, noticing the distinctive loopy script of Dumbledore.
I hope that your arrival at your family’s house had proceeded smoothly. I asked Fawkes to deliver this letter to ensure that any owls are not tracked, and to ensure that your family’s home remains secret.
It’s not my bloody home. Harry thought to himself. It’s my prison, and my ‘family’ are the guards and torturers.
As such, I have a number of requests to make of you during the holiday period. I must request that you send Hedwig to Hagrid for the holiday period, to ensure that she is not seen. She is a very distinctive owl, and could easily be traced. I will ask Fawkes to stop by every three days so that you can send your reports to the Order.
Send my familiar away? I don’t bloody think so... Harry looked over at Hedwig, who eyed him for a moment, then nodded in agreement with his silent question. Good girl...
Writing to your friends, while enjoyable, should be stopped, to ensure that owls are not tracked. I have asked Miss Granger, Mr. and Miss Weasley, Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood to not send you any mail while you are at Privet Drive. They have agreed to this stipulation.
Harry couldn’t believe what he was reading. They’re taking the piss... They just happily agreed to not write to me? For a whole month, I’m gonna be locked here, and they just said, ‘Oh, we won’t write to him. He’s grieving, but he doesn’t need his friends’. Bastards!
Also, while you are there, I must request that you remain in the house as much as possible. The wards on the property only extend as far as the pavement. In order to make sure you are undetected, please do not leave the house. This is an excellent time to practice your Occlumency skills. Unfortunately, it’s not possible for the Order to give you any information without you being able to safeguard your mind.
Oh, this just gets better and better! Now, I can’t even go to the park to relax. I have to stay in the house. Why not just tell the bloody Dursleys to lock me in my bedroom for the whole fucking summer? Harry felt the temperature in the room start to increase, and knew that if he didn’t calm down, he’d have another massive burst of accidental magic.
Upon your return to Headquarters, I will arrange a time with Professor Snape so that you may restart your lessons. When you return to Hogwarts, we will continue to call them ‘Remedial Potions Lessons’.
Considering I have no intention of continuing with Potions, irrespective of my OWL result, that could be a little difficult to pull off, Dumbledore. Harry shuddered at the thought of another two years with Snape. Greasy bastard... And that smell? You’d think that they could develop a decent anti-perspirant in the wizarding world, but oh no. Got to have Snape, with the grease and the smell. Urgh.
Even though you have now been proved correct about the return of Voldemort, I fear that Minister Fudge will use any magic performed at your home to expel you from Hogwarts. It would be better for everyone if you were to cast no spells while you are there.
I’m surprised you didn’t take my wand off me while I was at school. You may be a great wizard, Dumbledore, but you’re a lousy human being.
There will be Order guards around the property while you’re there, however, I must insist that you do not attempt to speak to them. It may draw attention to them, and we do not want this.
Okay, this doesn’t make sense. The Order guards could be used to pass letters to my friends, and from them to me... but he probably didn’t think of that. Neither did any of them... Huh, good to know my place in things.
You will need to spend at least four weeks at Privet Drive this year, to ensure that the blood protections are recharged. Use this time to grieve, Harry, and prepare for what lies ahead.
“Oh, this is gonna be a great summer...” Harry groused to himself, picking up his magi-novel, and flicked to the first page.
#4 Privet Drive , Little Whinging, Surrey
Tuesday, 23rd July, 1996
During his exile in Durzkaban, Harry had managed to go through 563 books. He definitely wasn’t a romance novel reader, but quite enjoyed the action novels. One of the stories, The Legend of the Boy-Who-Lived had made him chuckle for nearly an hour. The hero, Harold Porter, as a two-year old baby had soundly defeated the Dark Lord Mouldywart after an intense five-hour duel. The author name was anonymous, which didn’t really surprise Harry. Any author that admitted to a story like that would have been killed immediately, then probably resurrected to be tortured, before being killed again. Still, it was a bloody funny story. There’s something wrong when I wish I’d engaged in a titanic five-hour battle. I’ll definitely have to remember to banish my favourite blankie at Voldemort next time we duel.
With a burst of song, Fawkes reappeared in Harry’s room. He’d arrived every three days, as Dumbledore had said, each time wielding a small piece of parchment. Harry’s reply of ‘I’m fine’ had not been commented on throughout the month he’d spent there.
This time, however, Fawkes was carrying a letter in his beak. Harry took it, and waited for Fawkes to flame out. He remained sitting on the headboard of Harry’s bed, eyeing the letter.
“Are you waiting for a reply?” Harry asked in a rusty voice. He’d not actually spoken since Fawkes had delivered the original letter at the start of summer break. The Dursleys had opened his door once a week so Harry could shower, and put a tin of cold soup through the door once every two days. If he hadn’t stocked up before leaving Hogwarts, he’d have near-starved during his incarceration.
With a throaty sigh, he opened the note.
Dear Harry,
You have now spent the required amount of time with your family for the Blood Wards to be effective for the next twelve months. This letter is a Portkey, which will activate at precisely noon on Wednesday, 24th July. It will take you to Headquarters. Please make sure that are sitting on your trunk and have a firm hold on Hedwig’s cage, to ensure that they are transported with you.
I may not be there when you arrive at Headquarters, however, there are things that we need to discuss.
Kind Regards,
Albus Dumbledore
At least the old bastard could have asked, ‘how’re you feeling, Harry? Have you recovered from your trauma?’ But, no... Ah, well. I’ll pack in the morning.
The Black Family Manor, #12 Grimmauld Place, London
Wednesday, 24th July, 1996 – 12:06
A chime sounded in the hall of Grimmauld Place. This was an alarm, signifying that there was an inbound Portkey, that would be materialising within the next sixty seconds. Discretely, Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin made their way into the entrance hall, wands in hand.
Fifty seconds later, with a thump, a trunk and an owl cage landed in the entrance hall. Lupin turned to Arthur, his expression questioning. With a yell of fear, a body materialised at the top of the ceiling, only to drop the ground, fortunately missing both trunk and cage, but landing with an explosive pah , he breath leaving his body considerably faster than it went in.
“That was fun...” A soft voice muttered.
“Harry!” Remus exclaimed, helping the young man to his feet.
Harry tilted his head back, gasping some air into his lungs. He’d been winded quite badly on his landing. Before he could take a second breath, a bushy-haired brunette tackled him in an impossibly tight hug, robbing him of the little breath he’d managed to get.
“Harry!” Hermione squealed into his ear. She put every ounce of feeling she could into the hug. After a moment, she realised that Harry wasn’t returning the hug. He wasn’t pushing her away, but he wasn’t hugging back. After a moment, she stepped back, an odd expression on her face.
Harry nodded to her, panting, before looking up at Remus. “I assume... I’m in the same room... as last year?” Remus nodded. “I’m gonna go and unpack, then.” Without another word, Harry grabbed his trunk and vanished up the stairs.
Turning to Remus, Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Professor Lupin?”
Remus was watching his cub run up the stairs. “Something’s wrong...”
The Black Family Manor, #12 Grimmauld Place, London
Wednesday, 24th July, 1996 – 12:31
Harry had headed to the bedroom he shared with Ron, noting the mess and curiously vile smell that permeated the air, and made a decision. I’m so not staying in here. Like any teenaged male, he instantly recognised the smell of excessive masturbation. Turning on his heel, he headed into the master bedroom, noting that it had been emptied of all personal possessions. Home sweet home. He dumped his trunk onto the bed, before opening it, and beginning to put his few clean clothes away.
The Dursleys hadn’t let him do any washing or ironing while he was there, and his clothes certainly reflected that fact. With a sigh, he grabbed an empty pillowcase from the bed, using it as a laundry sack.
A knock on his door gathered his attention. Without breaking stride from his laundry, he waved his wand at the door, opening it soundlessly.
“What’s up, Hermione?” Harry asked, without turning around. He recoiled back slightly as he found the carrier bag full of dirty socks; a breath of fresh air it wasn’t.
“Is everything okay, Harry?” Hermione asked, stepping into the master suite tentatively. “You seem... it’s like there’s something up.”
“Do I?” Harry asked, still not turning round. He grabbed the pillowcase, and headed out of the door, going down the stairs. Hermione followed him, a bit put out that he’d walked away in the middle of their conversation.
He headed into the kitchen, where he knew the ancient and noble washing machine of Black, White and mixed-coloureds at low temperatures, was stored. Fortunately, though, it was a Wizarding washing machine; it would only take a couple of minutes, and his clothes would be properly laundered, pressed and ironed.
Hermione followed him, growing ever more concerned with Harry’s non-communication.
Inside the kitchen the rest of the Weasleys were gathered, enjoying a spot of lunch. Harry strode past, heading to the utility room located at the back of the kitchen.
“Hey, mate.” Ron called out around a mouthful of food.
“Ron.” Harry replied simply, not breaking stride. “Hello, Weasleys.”
Before anyone could answer, Harry had gone into the utility room. He poured his dirty washing into the machine, flinching as the scent of unwashed socks drifted up to his nose, before slamming the lid down. He heard gurgling, presumably as the machine filled up, but it could’ve had indigestion as well; in this house, you couldn’t be sure. Throwing the pillowcase to the floor next to the machine, he strolled back into the kitchen, flicking his wand at the teapot on the stove.
“How are you, Harry dear?” Molly asked, standing up to hug him. Harry subtly stepped back, keeping himself out of range.
“I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley. Thank you for asking.” Harry replied politely.
Molly looked at her arms for a moment, before she allowed them to drop to her sides.
Hermione watched her best friend with eagle eyes. Uh-oh... that’s not good. Her mind reran a section of a psychology book she’d read when she was younger. People from abused backgrounds often reject physical touch... He certainly didn’t hug me back earlier, and now he’s refusing Molly’s touch.
Oblivious to the by-play and Hermione’s thoughts, Ron spoke up. “So, mate, how’s you summer been so far?”
Harry span round, staring at Ron. The worst part, the scariest part, was Harry’s maddeningly expressionless eyes. After a moment, he snorted, before walking away, out of the kitchen and back up the stairs.
Hermione headed out of the door, intent on
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