Capítulo 117: Chapter 117: Runaway
Harry opened his eyes abruptly at 1 am on the first day of August triggered. Unaware of the events that had unfolded while he had been unconscious, his birthday having been mercifully delayed in a sense due to his unconscious state, he was disoriented and confused. He found himself under the scrutinizing gaze of both Sherlock Forester, the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and a man he recognized to be Kingsley Shacklebolt, Forester's Auror friend. For a moment he glanced between the quizzical expressions on their faces, before jolting out of his seat, panic evident in his wide eyes.
"Where's the cloaked monster and horse-headed woman?" He babbled, urgency in his tone. Sherlock's brows knitted together, no doubt puzzled by Harry's cryptic descriptions. After a moment, the professor offered an explanation.
"The 'cloaked monster' is probably the Dementor, the leader of the guard of Azkaban, who has long been dismissed from the premise. As for the 'horse-headed woman,' though... I'm a little confused as to what on earth you're talking about?" Sherlock inquired, genuine befuddlement laced in his voice.
Harry's composure trembled as he elaborated hastily, "It was terrible believe me Professor! She looked like a normal woman with curly pink hair, a chilling smile, but her face - it looked just like a horse!" Sherlock and Kingsley exchanged baffled glances, sharing the bewilderment in the wake of Harry's description. Kingsley finally took the courage to deduce the girl's identity, a bemused expression on his face.
"You must be referring to Tonks. She's a Metamorphmagus, meaning she possesses the ability to shape-shift. Your description, albeit quite absurd, can only match her," Kingsley elaborated, seemingly mulling over the reason behind Tonks' peculiar choice of appearance. "Why she would choose to transform her face into that of a horse is quite baffling... she must have wanted to frighten you.."
Harry gasped, still visibly shaken, "She isn't a monster? She's a person?"
Sherlock gently reassured the boy, patting his shoulder lightly. "Easy does it, Harry. Relax, you're in no danger. We're in the Ministry of Magic, the Auror Headquarters to be specific, you couldn't have found yourself in safer hands," He encouraged. Hearing these words, Harry's visible panic gradually subsided.
After a few seconds, Harry idly scratched his head, then pulled his hand away wrinkling his nose. "Eww- why is my hair all sticky?" Muttering aloud, he searched his fingers for the glue-like substance and smelled it. The faint scent of chocolate reached his nostrils; Tonks must have misaimed her cleaning charm.
Sherlock choked back a silent laugh at the sight of Harry's perturbed impression. He retrieved his wand and offered Harry a choice - "Harry, you have two options here. We clean up that charming chocolate mane of yours using either a cleaning charm, or you can simply make a dash for the restroom and clean yourself up with a splash of water."
"Let's go for the cleaning charm. I have a suspicion that water alone wouldn't do the job justice," Harry decided, still frowning at his chocolate-covered hair. Sherlock obliged, casting the cleaning charm on Harry's hair which now regained its glossy black appearance.
It was only then that Harry realized how naive he had been. He actually believed that Sherlock's jinxed predictions had disappeared, but now it's clear that the temporary failure on the road in France must have been due to some other special reason.
Following this bizarre episode, the night in the Auror Command Headquarters wore on with Harry encountering a few Aurors who were still on shift while the rest had departed. He familiarized himself with Kingsley's role in the Ministry of Magic - an Auror with a bearing that spoke volumes about his experience. After he was shown around for a while Kingsley turned to the two of them.
"Sherlock, Harry, let's grab a quick bite, shall we? There's a Muggle facility that we frequently visit after our assignments," he suggested, steering the conversation and adjusting the mood. He led them to a nearby restaurant; the establishment was a popular 24-hour eatery.
Kingsley couldn't feeling guilty for ruining Harry's birthday unintentionally, and so in an attempt to make up for it at least in part he ordered a modest cake for the three of them. Soon it became clear that Sherlock and Kingsley were conspiring to belt out a birthday song for Harry despite his vehement protests against the idea, even though the restaurant was almost empty by now it was still far too embarrassing.
But the day had taken its toll and as the minutes edged past midnight, his energy quickly drained. Sherlock brought the tired boy back to the Dursley residence, and after he had opened the door with a simple "Alohomora" he started saying his goodbyes.
"This isn't how I wanted your birthday to go, I hope it was better than staying with the Dursleys at least.. Well it's late you should head to bed, good ni-", but before he could finish his words Harry darted inside, swiftly closing the door behind him. Once inside Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He had narrowly avoided another of the professors curses.
However, it appeared that Harry's unfortunate circumstances were far from over. The next morning, Aunt Petunia woke up to find Harry back at the Dursley residence and the moment she laid eyes on him, she began snidely badgering him. Harry found no anger withing him, he was far too familiar with her nasty personality and thusly didn't even acknowledge her.
Refraining from leaving his room the rest of the day, barring mealtime, Harry occupied himself by unpacking the various birthday gifts sent by Hermione, Ron, and Hagrid via owls. Hermione sent a flying broomstick repair toolbox that brought an immediate and toothy grin to his face. Ron gifted him an intriguing magical item from Egypt, a Pocket Sneakoscope which could apparently detect untrustworthy people present in one's surroundings and ring an alarm. Last but not least, Hagrid sent a biting book that took Harry a strenuous effort to settle down and ensure it wouldn't cause unnecessary chaos.
After staying cooped up all day in his room, the call of hunger persuaded Harry to join the Dursleys and Aunt Marge for dinner, a prospect that he confessed to not being overjoyed about. However, as the meal progressed, Aunt Marge's comments took a derisive turn and her insolence began striking closer and closer to home. It seemed the her rudeness was directly proportional to her drunkenness.
Having had a generous helping of wine, she crossed a line which Harry held sacrosanct - his parents. "You see, it's the same thing as with breeding dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, then there's gonna be something wrong with her puppies!"
Her words echoed in Harry's ears as he tried to remind himself of his desperate need for Aunt Petunia's sign-off on his Hogsmeade permission letter. His fists clenched under the table as he swallowed down her harsh insults.
Following another deragotry remark by Aunt Marge the wine glass in her hand suddenly exploded. Petunia and Vernon were startled, they knew what had happened. Vernon turned pale and tried to change the topic, while subtly suggesting that Harry could go back to his room. Dudley stared with his mouth wide open, looking dumbfounded as always.
Harry's hands were trembling uncontrollably. He lowered his head, trying his best to hide his expression from the people at the table. He kept telling himself not to do anything stupid, if he used magic in front of muggles, especially while underage, getting Petunia's permission to go to Hogsmeade would be the least of his troubles.
But Aunt Marge just couldn't help herself and kept pushing further and further until finally Harry snapped after having to listen to Marge contemptuously call his father a worthless, good-for-nothing beggar.
The strain was finally too much to bear, and despite Harry's valiant resistance, he couldn't help it anymore. He shouted at the fat insufferable woman to finally shut up, as he felt his anger boil over. In his enraged state he felt his magical powers flaunting their disobedience, turning Aunt Marge into a blown-up balloon that floated up like it was filled with helium, bobbing against the ceiling.
Fueled with suppressed anger and a tinge of satisfaction, Harry got up to rush back to his room.
"Don't you dare run away now, boy!" Vernon belted at him, his fat neck swinging from the unusual amount of movement his body was experiencing, "Make her normal, again! Fix this mess, NOW!"
But Harry, in a fit of rage, pulled out his wand and aimed it at his uncle, his breath quickening. "She got what she deserved! Now get out of my way or I'll blow you up too!" Not wanting to risk another outburst, he passed Vernon who was left shouting orders and shaking in equal parts anger and fear. Dudley, as always, looked as clueless as one would expect.
But there was no logic to his actions. There was only Harry's anger, a train with no brakes, carrying him to pack up all of his belongings and walk out onto the dark, quiet street in the dead of the night.
His first thought was to go to Sherlock's house, but after his knocks were left unanswered he realized it was empty, much to Harry's despair, leaving him no choice but to continue his journey down the unending road until a magical bus appeared in his path...
As that was transpiring, Sherlock Forester shadowed his movement to the wilderness, enthusiastically conducting safe, high-impact tests on the Levitating Wand System while managing to keep his clandestine operations hidden from Muggle sight.
He dispersed the wands, floating them to the limit of ten meters away, and then incanted the spell. "Expulso."+
"Boom!" A huge explosion echoed in the empty forest clearing, illuminating an area of about ten meters in blue light, also shining on Sherlock's face.
A weakened exploding spell could not produce such great power under normal circumstances. However, with spells like this, quantity mattered more than quality. The combined impact of two weakened exploding spells generated a power equivalent to a normal exploding spell cast under regular conditions. And if he could control even more wands the continuous bombardment with this magic would definitely create a highly artistic scene.
Satisfied with his tests and the success of his spells, Sherlock retreated back to his residence just as the early rays of dawn began blotting out the star-studded sky
As days blurred into nights, the end of August drew near, and on August 31st, Sherlock found himself back in Diagon Alley with one objective in mind - to collect the 50 wands he had paid for previously from Olivanders Wand Shop.
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