Isolation || Harry Potter

Chapter 2

Later on in the evening, Harry had returned to his room, tucking the picture into his trunk along with the remainder of his other clothes in a dull hope that someone would bring an end to his weeks of solitude in which he had faced during his time at Privet Drive this summer. Hedwig, who had finally aroused from her deep sleep, fluttered around his room happily, perching atop his cupboard, then his desk, then back on her cage. She felt as caged as he did. But it was his fault she was stuck inside for he had bought her.

Harry fell into a daze, watching her absently fly around the room as though she had not a care in the world and hadn't been confined to her cage for weeks just because Harry had bought her. He had destroyed yet another thing just by being associated with it. Her white wings, a sign of purity and innocence created a stark contrast to the blackened corners of the room as his lamp just kept his room from being pitch black save for the street lamp situated just across his front garden.

He wanted to fly with Hedwig.

She cooed and cawed as she rounded the room one last time before landing happily atop Harrys knee and nibbling at her wings. He wished to ask her if she lived a good life, if his ownership of her was a fair and just one which brought happiness. But he already knew the answer to that question.

"I'm sorry you're stuck with me." Harry whispered, stroking her tentatively with his index finger.

Hedwig only cawed in response, too wrapped up in her cleaning and pecking to realise the enormity of his words and how they seemed to crumble from his mouth. He wanted to set her free, he wanted for her to live a life worthy for such a beautiful and kind owl but then he would surely be left behind and forgotten once she sought out the real world. She would leave him.

But did he not deserve that? Harry deserved that pain, that isolation for the people he had hurt, for the people who had lost their lives because of him. If she were free, he wouldn't matter anymore. The thought tasted oddly sweet on his tongue, the idea of being totally and entirely forgotten gave him an odd sense of rejuvenation at the thought of finally being able to disappear and make it all stop.

During the summer, Harry had come to the conclusion that if he ceased to exist, then surely so would Voldemort as the two were undoubtedly connected – especially after what happened last year – and therefore made sense that if the one died, the other would soon follow. If he could at least do something worthwhile for once.

Without thinking, Harry got up from his bed, sneaking his thin fingers under the Satch of his window when a loud and thick voice echoed from his door, startling Harry back onto his bed.

"I would keep that window closed, Potter." Mad-eye Moody stood gruffly in his doorway; his cane held up in one hand whilst the other was tucked away in his coat. "I see you've packed." His fake eye whipped madly around the entire room.

"Professor." Harry stammered, pushing himself off his bed again after regaining himself.

"I am no longer your professor, Potter. Is that all then?" He tossed his head towards the trunk.

"Yeah." Harry answered meekly, feeling strangely awkward in front of the man.

"Good lad, Kingsley." Mad- Eye turned to the landing just beyond the view of Harrys room, calling in a tall man dressed in bright robes which magnificently complimented his dark complexion.

"Mr Potter." Kingsley greeted, his accent thick and oddly calming, hoisting up the trunk with surprising ease.

"Yeah, um, hi." Harry greeted shyly back, his social skills now showcasing how low it had depleted since him and Ron fell out.

Kingsley swirled around Harry, grabbing his trunk as if it weighed no more than a simple book and hurled it from his small room in a swirl of dashing purple robes. Harry noticed how much smaller his room appeared to be without his trunk lying draped across the small walkway, almost marking the room as his own. It no longer felt like his room.

"We've come to fetch you." Mad-eye grumbled, stating something so blindly obvious that Harry had to bite back a smile.

"Erm, okay." Harry awkwardly answered back, tucking his hands within one of Dudley's enormous old jean pocket. "Where?" The question had been nagging at the back of his mind the moment Mad-Eye had ordered that his trunk be taken away.

"Honestly," A female voice piped up from Mad-Eye. "you'd think you could manage a small explanation Alister." Tonks emerged from behind Harrys old Professor, smiling lopsidedly at the boy.

Tonks glanced at Harry fleetingly, a small sign of remorse flittering across her face before she spoke. "Wotcher Harry."

"Hi." Harry responded, now feeling ashamed of his dirty room that he had neglected in cleaning from the moment he arrived back at Privet Drive. "So, where are you taking me?"

"To Sirius," Tonks grinned, fingerless gloves etching her hands as she waved her wand towards Harrys room with a simple flick. "Hedwig's cage drifted through the air, flying past Mad-Eye and Tonks, who had dashed aside to let it come past, and presumably travelled downstairs.

"Well, I suppose that's it then, come along Potter." Mad-Eye gruffed, hobbling towards the Dursleys staircase with his thick cane in one hand while the other held some strange contraption that Harry had failed to notice prior.

Guessing his line of gaze, Mad-Eye held up the strange contraption and grumbled, "deluminator" without any further explanation. For peace of mind Harry guessed that this sudden response was due to his old professors strange eye that not only saw all that predicated all – to an extent. It most certainly hadn't seen the sudden capture of its rightful owner last year which resulted in the death of Cedric and the rebirth of Voldemort.

Harry scrambled down the last stairs, noticing the lack of lighting outside his uncle and aunts house, leaving the road outside in an eerie and uncharacteristically dark setting. It perfectly reflected the snobbish and cold inhabitants of Privet Drive who had shunned Harry based on lies spun by his aunt and uncle. Sometimes, and especially during this summer, Harry had wondered how his life may have altered if his parents hadn't been killed and rather were still alive. Would they have frowned upon him as so many do?

Remus Lupin extended a hand towards Harry, grinning fondly at the boy who reminded him of a life he once had. "A pleasure as always Harry."

"Hi." Harry said for what felt like the millionth time that evening.

"We've wasted enough time on greetings," Mad-Eye glanced at his watch. "we're far behind schedule. Hop on a broom Potter and let's be off." He instructed, struggling over his own broom situated just a few steps away from the Dursleys front door.

The flight to the mysterious house was one of splendour for Harry who had so desperately craved the sensation of soaring through the air, the reminder that he was indeed wanted in the magical world brought such solace to him despite all these years. Hedwig, who had been let out of her cage, had flown side by side with Harry all along the way, hooting in delight when they flew above Big Ben and hid in massive clouds.

But it had ended as quickly as it had begun, bringing him to a set of scraggly looking apartments where muggles stared aimlessly at TV screens, or ambled about their homes in search of something to do. At first, Harry had been hesitant as to what he should be seeing, until Moody tapped thrice on the road, revealing a hidden house tucked magically between number 13 and 11. It was nothing too daring once inside, a house decorated with cob webs and old paintings which were barely visible under lamps cascading with age old dust.

"Harry!" A familiar voice called from a small sitting area just off the main entrance. Sirius emerged from its shadows, his face more hollowed and sunken than Harry could remember from when they had last seen each other in his third year. "Been giving Petunia a nasty time?" He winked.

Harry smiled grimly. "Hi." Harry found he was unable to say anything else.

"Still a man of few words." His godfather clapped his hand upon Harrys back and ushered him downstairs where the smell of hot stew wafted towards the pair along with the din of voices.

More specifically, Ron's voice.