Harry Potter:Raised by Wolves

According to the books, the easiest way to become familiar with one's magical core was meditation.

No wonder the spells on him had made him impulsive, restless. Even if he'd had the urge, he never would have been able to do it.

But with the spells gone, Harry found it easy to sink into his own mind, his breathing steady, his eyes closed. It reminded him, in a way, of his time in the cupboard—escaping into his imagination to pretend he was anywhere but crammed under the Dursleys' staircase. Pretending he wasn't in pain, wasn't starving, wasn't cold.

Except this time, he wasn't creating anything. His mind was empty, still. At least, he tried to keep it that way. It was difficult to push away every stray thought that crossed his mind. But after several nights of dedicated practice before bed, he was starting to get the hang of it.

Leaning back against the headboard, he tried to sink deeper into his body, into himself. He could almost feel it—a warmth running through him, a spark. The book said he had to find that spark and follow it back to his core.

The book also said it was incredibly difficult and took time.

Somewhere, in the corner of his vision—a strange sensation with his eyes closed—Harry thought he could see a faint glow. He tried to focus on it, to pull it closer—

A loud bang outside his room shattered his concentration, followed by a grumbled curse.

Harry scowled, opening his eyes. Checking his watch, he realized it was nearly midnight—too late to try again. He'd have to accept his progress for now and keep at it tomorrow.

It wasn't going to happen overnight, he reminded himself. These things took practice.

But he couldn't shake the feeling of an invisible hourglass somewhere, grains of sand slipping away too fast, counting down to the day when he would no longer have the time or freedom to prepare.

Dumbledore—if it truly was Dumbledore, though Harry couldn't think of many other suspects—would eventually discover that Harry not only knew about the spells but had broken them. He doubted he could play dumb until he turned seventeen. Some days, he doubted he'd be able to keep up the act for more than a week after returning to Hogwarts.

But if there was one thing he knew, it was that he couldn't reveal his hand too early. He needed more information.

He needed to make sure no one could ever suppress his magic like that again.

Shuffling down into his bed, head resting on the pillow, Harry closed his eyes, jaw tight with determination. It was too early for a plan—he still wasn't sure who he was planning against. But he had time. He was only thirteen.

No one would be expecting much of him yet.

That would be their mistake.

At long last, Harry's solitude was broken by the arrival of the Weasleys and Hermione on the morning of August 31st.

He spotted them outside Fortescue's, ice creams in hand, just as he was wandering over from Flourish and Blotts. Ron was even more freckled than usual, and Hermione's brown skin had darkened several shades from the sun.

They beamed when they saw him. Hermione immediately pulled him into a tight hug, and Ron clapped him on the back as he sat down.

"We wondered where you were, mate!" Ron said. "We went to the Leaky Cauldron, but Tom said you'd already left."

"I was just wandering," Harry said with a shrug. "Got all my school things last week, so I haven't had much else to do." He wasn't ready to tell his best friends what he'd been up to for the past three weeks. Not until he knew who he could trust. "How was Egypt? And France?"

"Never mind that," Hermione interrupted with a wave of her hand. "Did you really blow up your aunt, Harry?"

"I didn't exactly do it on purpose," he said, rolling his eyes. "She's fine now. The Ministry sorted it out." Of course, Fudge wasn't going to expel him when a madman was supposedly after him.

"It's not funny, Ron!" Hermione scolded as Ron roared with laughter. "Harry could've been expelled!"

"Yeah, but he wasn't," Ron retorted, still grinning.

Harry seized the opportunity to change the subject. "What's with all the books, Hermione?"

She had an enormous stack next to her—far more than should be on the school list.

"Oh, well, I'm taking more subjects than you, aren't I?" she said, pointing at each book as she explained.

Harry's jaw dropped. "How is it even possible to take that many?"

The course selection form McGonagall had given them only allowed for two additional subjects, three at most. Hermione had chosen five.

"I've got it all sorted with Professor McGonagall, don't worry," she assured him dismissively. "Anyway, Ron and I were just talking—I've got some money left from my parents for an early birthday present, and I was thinking of getting an owl."

"There's a creature shop over there," Harry said, nodding toward the Magical Menagerie. He'd spent quite a bit of time in there, talking to the snakes.

"Perfect. I want to get something for Scabbers too," Ron added, patting the lump in his front pocket. "He's been off since Egypt."

They got to their feet, Harry helping Hermione carry some of her many books.

"Are those new boots, Harry?" Hermione asked, glancing down.

Harry looked at his feet and realized he was wearing his dragonhide boots from Silverling's. He grimaced, hoping Ron wouldn't notice.

"Yeah. I got bored and did some shopping. Dudley's shoes are never gonna fit me."

"They're very nice," Hermione complimented.

Luckily, Ron was already halfway to the menagerie.

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