Of Badly Hidden Lies (and figuring out cool magic shit)

When you're at the end of the road/And you lost all sense of control

"You may be Albus Dumbledore, but my boy is working hard over there! Out you get!" Mrs Mary said, shooing the old man out. Mrs Mary was Tom's wife, and while she wasn't here but once a week, she had taken a quick liking to Harry. Though he hated the word 'boy', the way Mrs Mary said it made his cheeks flush and his heart swell with joy. The old couple had a grandson who was only seventeen when he passed. He was a well-trained duelist, and Voldemort's men had killed him off. Yet another reason for Harry to kill the old snake face.

"Mary, you must understand-" he heard Dumbledore plead, but Mary's motherly voice drowned him out. She almost reminded him of Mrs. Weasley, but Mrs. Weasley would never stand up to Dumbledore as Mrs. Mary had. Returning to his cooking, Hardy tried to push the negatives from his mind. He still had so much to discover about himself and he couldn't do that with Dumbledore near. The man had cared for him, that much was true, but he wouldn't understand Harry's newfound interests, especially not in Enchantments. Harry's mind thought about the past few days. It had taken a while for Harry to learn what was truly right for him, and he didn't even think enchantments would be his "area of expertise" so to say, but it was. He was damn good at it, to boot.

"Harry, darling, you alright?" He heard Mr Tom ask. Mrs Mary was still staring down the floo that Dumbledore had left.

"Yeah, I promise, just a little shaken up, sir," Harry said. Tom nodded and patted Harry on the head. Much to his dismay, Harry still leaned into it, even after being exposed to the affection for a much longer time now. Still, Harry loved his pseudo-grandparents. He felt a deeper connection with them than he had ever had with the Dursleys. In less than 3 months! It wasn't shocking, per se. He expected it. Still, he could say he loved the Fletchers with his whole heart. They were helpful, considerate, and while Mr Tom was a bit of a stickler for rules and persona's, Mrs. Mary was open-minded and in a way, familiar. She almost reminded him of a mix of Hermione and Neville.

Thinking of his friends, Harry realised he hadn't written to them in a few months. They hadn't written to him either. Still, he was filled with a little guilt. He could have written Neville more. Actually...

"Mrs. Mary?" Harry asked. The woman had come in a little while ago, while he was still stuck in his head. "I'm gonna go write my friend a letter if that's alright?" Mary smiled.

"Of course dear! Just remember to be careful. That old man could still be out there." Harry nodded but grimaced as he slid the sliced tomatoes into a jar. Putting the jar into a magically-chilled box, Harry contemplated the wizarding standards. Sure, through his readings, he had come to realise this 'light and dark' magic idea was a crock of shit, but he did like the idea of rituals. They seemed fun. He would have had a blast finding a deity to worship, to claim as his own. Alas, it was considered 'dark' magic. A few of the points were good, mostly the fact that the Unforgivables are horrible and are in no way useful. At least not now, in the 1990s. The Dark used to argue that the killing curse could be used to give sick patients an easy death, but that was before the invention of the Gendal Potion. Harry remembers reading about that potion sometime in third year. Something about slowly stopping the heart, with enough time to get affairs in order or say goodbye to loved ones, then eventually it puts you to sleep and you pass away. Quick and easy.

Rushing up to his room with a piece of parchment (and almost slipping on his way up), Harry sat down to write to his friend Neville. He and Neville weren't close by any means, but they had a mutual understanding. They were both orphans, both from hard childhoods, and both happy enough to stay out of the limelight. They had gotten close this past year because of Ron and Hermione's actions (which he still wasn't over, if that matters) but once the Golden Trio had gotten back in shape, Harry and Neville sort of drifted apart. Harry didn't want to drift apart from the sweet boy. Harry liked their talks, even if it was solely about one thing. Neville could go on and on about plants, and Harry loved to listen to it. Even though sometimes he had no clue what the round boy was saying, Harry listened vehemently, so much so his Herbology grade improved.