Sorry this is a few days late, my router got sick last week. Which meant no internet. And, as I do not have cable, it meant I was trapped with only antenna-stations. Which, as I live in the flipping middle of nowhere, meant PBS. I watched a lot of shows about trains. But the DSL guy replaced my router yesterday and I am now live again!
Thanks to Wilona Riva, fanficfantasies, MsFrizzle, Sailor GaOn Donut, almightyswot, enchantedlight, Lumcer, saggyherman, biancaruth, notwritten, EbonyWing, DarkRavie, LilyIsAwesomerThanYou, Nightshade's sydneylover150, b00kw0rm92, and Anne Camp aka Obi-quiet for their awesome reviews!
Enjoy the last chapter. I appreciate you sticking with this for these last bunch of months!
I have a sequel planned, thus the way this ends. :) Keep an eye out!
Allergic to Potions
A Harry Potter Fanfiction by Cordria
July 30th was a rather dismal day in Harry's opinion. He stood in the middle of the den he'd called home for the past two months, hands stuffed into his pockets, and found himself not wanting to leave. A month with the Dursleys weighed heavily on his mind.
"Are you packed yet?" came the annoyed shout.
"Almost," Harry called back, studying the room. Everything that could be considered his was in his trunk, along with as many of the purple-stained sheets and blankets as he thought he could get away with taking. The pictures of his mother he'd dug out of the books were stacked neatly on a table. The frozen picture of her on the swing was in his pocket. He was going to ask if he could keep it.
Only one book still lay on the cot. Harry took a few steps forwards, reaching down to pick up the book. An Introduction on Darke Creatures: book one. He ran his thumb over the pages, flicking his fingers at the dark magic that crept towards him. He'd read the entire book over the past few weeks, from cover to compulsion-charmed cover. After tapping it against his hand a few times, Harry set it back down on the bed.
Scratching at the palm of his hand – which still itched at times – Harry grabbed his trunk and dragged it from the room. The door to the den clicked closed behind him with a very final sound. Harry felt his heart drop a few inches.
"Finally. I have slow-acting molasses that moves faster than you." Snape was standing by the door, his arms crossed. The man ran his eyes over the clothes Harry had chosen to wear with a scowl.
Harry shrugged, looking around the purple-stained apartment. For the first time, Harry knew who he'd choose if he had to pick between Snape and Uncle Vernon.
The trunk's handle was taken from his grasp and a quick reducio flipped through the air. Harry watched quietly as his trunk shrank to the size of a snuffbox and was handed back. "I have places to be, Potter. I don't have the desire to wait for your dawdling."
"Yes sir," Harry sighed, grabbing his cloak from the hook and following Snape out the door of his apartment.
The castle was silent. Nobody had come to wish him farewell – not even the headmaster. Their shoes sounded loud on the stone floors. Windows let in bits of the morning light that made patterns on the walls.
Harry let out a loud breath as they passed through the main doors and out into the courtyard. Words were clawing at his throat, wanting to be said, but Harry didn't have the nerve to say a single one of them. Not with Snape standing right beside him. Not after Harry had made the choice to go back to the Dursleys.
He looked back at the castle over his shoulder as they walked through the school's main gate. Hogwarts stood high and tall in the brilliant morning light, the thick granite glittering slightly. Shadows seemed to slink away from its walls, leaving the grass around its edges bright and green.
"Have you apparated before, Potter?"
Snape's hard voice brought Harry out of his musings. He shook his head. "No."
The man scowled slightly. "Come here."
Harry took a hesitant step forwards, but Snape just grabbed his arm and yanked him close. Harry had just enough time for a slight yelp and to bring his hand up to push away when the world imploded. It felt like he were being stretched and squished and squeezed through a straw.
The feel of normalcy was sudden and completely disconcerting. Harry tumbled backwards into the grass as Snape let go of his arm. He curled up into a ball, taking a few moments to allow his stomach to settle. Only then did he open his eyes.
"What the bloody Hell…"
Harry's heart stopped at the voice of his uncle. He scrambled to his feet, swaying slightly as his head got used to not being straw-shaped. "Uncle Vernon," he greeted softly.
The man was standing in his bathrobe, a half-open newspaper in his hand. He was rapidly turning a shade of purple that Harry didn't think could be healthy.
"The Headmaster has been corresponding with you," Snape said coldly. "He told you we would be delivering the boy this morning."
Uncle Vernon started to sputter. Harry shrank backwards slightly.
"Vernon? Who is it?" The sharp face of Harry's aunt pushed over Vernon's shoulder. Her lips pursed at the sight. "What are you doing here?"
Snape's eyebrow twitched. "I see where Potter gets his excellent methods of deduction," he said darkly. "The boy is your responsibility until September 1st. At which time, we expect his return."
Vernon seemed to gain his tongue, although real sentences were beyond him. "You- I- See here- I will not- Your lot-"
"Deduction and English skills," Snape corrected. "Good day." His dark eyes found Harry's and there was a beat as he stared into Harry's eyes. Then there was a startlingly loud pop as the man vanished.
"I- He- You-" Vernon was still struggling to form a sentence. "Boy!"
Harry winced. "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"
Harry nodded and scurried inside, ripping the wizard-style cloak from his shoulders before anyone else could. He bundled it in his hands and raced up the stairs, throwing himself into Dudley's second bedroom and getting the door closed behind him. It was going to be a long month.
"A summer's worth of chores in one month," came Aunt Petunia's voice, obviously trying to calm her husband down. "We won't even see him."
Harry dropped onto the bed, wincing at the feel of the old springs digging into his back. "Yay," he whispered. The picture still in his pocket crinkled and Harry winced slightly. He'd forgotten to ask if he could keep it.
He wormed his hand into his pocket and pull out the photo of his mother on the swing. He pressed out the worst of the wrinkles that had developed and held the picture up towards the ceiling. "Welcome to the Dursleys," he informed the smiling face of his mother. Then he set the picture on the small bedside table, planning to find a better spot before his relatives spotted it and destroyed it.
He dug into his pocket again and pulled out the matchbox sized trunk, wondering how he was going to get it to the right size again. All of his clothes were trapped inside. The matter solved itself when Harry dropped the pint-sized trunk on the ground, having decided to deal with it later. Light flashed and the trunk started to grow. Harry tipped his head back and watched it grow upside-down.
He rolled over onto his stomach when the trunk was back to normal size, only to find there was something in his way. Stopping, Harry grabbed a small package off the bed and sat up, holding the box in his hands. "Where'd this come from?" he whispered. He picked at the bit of parchment stuck to the top.
Do not leave your things in my apartment, it said in neat, spidery handwriting. It wasn't signed.
With a small grin, Harry untied the bit of cord holding the box closed and pulled open the lid. Inside was a book with a little dark magic curled on top. Harry picked it up with a snort and a shake of his head. An Introduction on Darke Creatures: book one was warm in his fingers as he flipped it over, then set it on the bed beside him.
Harry dug out the other book sitting below it. A Further Introduction on Darke Creatures: book two. Harry couldn't help the soft laugh as he flipped carefully through the book. Dark magic snapped at his fingers.
Setting the book down, Harry had a brief moment to wonder if Dudley could read well enough to be trapped by a compulsion charm. Then he reached into the box and gently pulled out the third object that lay inside. It was a camera.
Harry slowly turned the camera around in his hands, running his fingers over the large lens. The camera was dusty and dinged. Chips were gone from places and the strap for placing around his neck was worn and frayed. It was an old, used camera that had clearly seen better days.
Then he very slowly traced his finger over two letters that had been crudely carved into the side.