Harry Potter was furious—and not the simple, kick-a-stone-and-grumble kind of furious, but the full-bodied, simmering kind that sits on your chest like a brick. One miserable school year had already wrung him out like a wet rag: the Triwizard Tournament, dragons, mermaids, near death on a weekly basis—and then Cedric Diggory's murder right before his eyes. Voldemort resurrected. His scar blazing like a brand. Trauma bingo: full house.
And yet somehow, he was back on Privet Drive.
Little Whinging—the land of trimmed lawns, beige personalities, and the Dursleys' delightful hobby of pretending he didn't exist unless they were yelling. As if that weren't enough, his so-called friends had apparently taken a vow of silence. The magical world was very obviously spiraling into chaos and Harry was stuck behind a locked bedroom door, refreshing the sky like it was a broken news feed and getting absolutely nothing.
He'd written to them—multiple times, frequently, aggressively. His letters had practically burned with impatience. And what had he received in return?
A series of vague, unhelpful replies that were the emotional equivalent of being pat on the head and told to sit quietly.
We can't say much about you-know-what…
We've been told not to say anything in case letters go astray…
Lots happening, can't explain… will fill you in when we see you…
When they saw him. Brilliant. But when was when? Hermione's birthday card had contained the thrilling, soul-shaking update of soon. Soon could mean tomorrow, next week, or when flobberworms evolved the capacity for interpretive dance. Soon was useless.
Even Sirius—his godfather, his one real adult tether to sanity—had joined the chorus of non-answers.
I know you're frustrated. Keep your head down. Don't be reckless. Everything will be fine…
Don't be reckless. Reckless. Coming from the man who broke out of Azkaban, committed alleged murder on school property, then fled the country on a magical fugitive horse-bird hybrid.
Harry had laughed out loud reading that one. A short, brittle sound. Somewhere between amusement and despair.
All summer he felt like a kettle left too long on the stove—steam building, pressure rising, waiting for the moment he'd either explode or whistle loud enough that someone had no choice but to pay attention.
And judging by the way he paced his room, fists clenching every time an owl flew past without stopping, he was getting dangerously close to boiling point.
...
He was currently moping around in his room wondering whom he could request to give him some news. Unfortunately for him in his four years at Hogwarts he had yet to make any real friends apart from Ron and Hermione and both of them had already stated they were unable to give him any news. He had gotten so frustrated that he had finally written back and told them that if they weren't going to tell him anything then he didn't see any point in writing to them at all. After that he had refused to send them a single owl. Oh, they had sent a few letters after that, but Harry had not bothered to reply and after seeing that they still weren't giving him any information had started throwing them away unopened.
"To hell with them all," thought Harry, "I should have expected it from Ron after the way he behaved last year, hell he didn't even tell me about the dragon even though he would have found out about it from his brother much before I did, but Hermione, somehow I expected better from her. But then, come to think of it, she's always kept her secrets from me. Funny how she expects me to tell her everything but doesn't bother to reciprocate. She kept the time turner a secret for an entire year, then there was the time she went behind my back to McGonagall over the broom. She even figured out that Remus was a werewolf and never said a word, and this was after the two DADA professors before Lupin had both attacked me. Oh no, why bother to inform Harry about a potentially dangerous DADA professor. It's not like there's any precedent whatsoever for the DADA professor to attack him." Harry was getting angrier as he thought about the actions of the girl that till just a month ago he would have called one of his closest friends.
"Hell, she never even told me she was going to the ball with Krum. Why? I wasn't the one to insult her with a poorly worded invitation to the ball. That was Ron. If she doesn't trust me enough to tell me anything then why on earth should I trust her? And now, once again she's not telling me anything. Guess she's just like the rest of the idiots at Hogwarts, probably doesn't want to have anything to do with me now that Voldemort's back. Forget her. And Sirius, like it would be too much trouble for him to send me some news, no-no, probably too busy doing whatever the hell an escapee from Azkaban does. Forget them all, they don't see the need to tell me anything, well bugger them, I don't need them either. Growing up with the Dursleys I knew I couldn't depend on anyone but myself. I grew up without any friends and family to speak off. I was fine taking care of myself then, I sure as hell don't need anyone now."
Harry racked his brains trying to think of who else he could ask for help. He didn't feel comfortable asking Neville, Seamus or Dean for anything in-spite of sharing a dorm with them for the last 4 years. He cursed himself yet again for spending all off his time with Ron and Hermione instead of cultivating better friendships with the other students at Hogwarts.
He considered contacting Remus for a brief moment but discarded the idea almost as soon as he had it, Remus was a werewolf after all, and Harry knew that he had difficulty holding down a job in the magical world due to his disability, as such he probably wasn't the best source of information Harry figured. On top of that, Remus had never looked him up in all the years he had spent living at Privet Drive. For someone who had claimed to be so close to his parents to never even make a phone call to check on him was bloody inexcusable. For that matter where had he been all of last year? Sirius was on the run and he had still managed to maintain contact. Where had Remus been? The more Harry thought about it the angrier he got. He could almost excuse Dumbledore for never checking up on him. Almost being the operative word. After all apparation and portkeys were both nearly instantaneous, so if travel time wasn't an issue how long would it have really taken to stop by a house and speak to a kid to make sure he's all right. Still, after all Dumbledore had to be a busy man, what with his multiple positions in both the wizengamut, the ICW and Hogwarts, but what excuse did Remus have? Just that he was a werewolf?
Come to think of it, there were a lot of things about Remus that were extremely fishy. Take the events of third year. First of all, until the incident at the Shrieking Shack the man had never mentioned how close he supposedly was to Harry's father. He had, in fact, barely mentioned him at all. Plus he never told anyone that Sirius was an animagus. At that time, Sirius was thought to be a psychotic mass murderer out to kill Harry, and Remus Lupin never told anyone about the one piece of information that could have explained how Sirius was sneaking into the school. Why?
All he had given was some kind of piss poor excuse that he had not wanted to disappoint Dumbledore. Wasn't Harry's life and safety more important than disappointing Dumbledore? Obviously not to Lupin.
Then the man very conveniently forgot to take his potion at the worst time possible. He was in a school full of children and he forgot to take his Wolfsbane potion. Either he was incredibly stupid, which Harry knew he was not, or there was something more sinister at work. Suppose, just suppose that he had known about Pettigrew all along. Not only known, but suppose he was working with Pettigrew and Voldemort. Pretending that he had forgotten his Wolfsbane had certainly provided the perfect distraction for Pettigrew to escape.
Snape had been there as well. Harry knew Snape had been a Death Eater. As such he should have known that Pettigrew and not Sirius was the traitor. Yet he had kept quiet all this time. Harry thought back to what had happened when Snape had shown up in the Shrieking Shack.