CHAPTER TWELVE: SOMEWHERE I BELONG

Well, now what do I do? Harry wondered helplessly as he walked along a deserted part of the sandy shore in Nice. He and Arcane had landed at a point not too far from here; it was night so they didn’t have to worry as much about being caught, though they had made sure that no one was around before landing. I suppose I could always play the poor, unfortunate orphan (That’s true enough, isn’t it?) and get someone to take me in out of pity or…but what will I do with Arcane? It’s not like anyone will be able to see him or anything-you’d have to be either a wizard or a squib and have seen someone die to do so-but I don’t just want to leave him out there all alone to fend for himself until I need him again, which I surely will.

But as Harry paced along, contemplating the fate of the trusty thestral, said thestral, sensing what was on the boy’s mind, took matters into his own hands. Harry heard the beating of Arcane’s great wings and turned just in time to see him flying off into the night, looking like a demonic Pegasus. Harry wondered for a brief moment if the thestral had finally decided to leave him, before deciding that this was merely Arcane’s way of letting him know that he could take care of himself and that Harry needn’t worry about what to do with him.

Are all thestrals this smart? Harry pondered, but couldn’t remember learning anything of the sort in his Care of Magical Creatures class. Perhaps it’s just Arcane; I swear sometimes that he must be an animagus. This thought brought him pause, as he fearfully contemplated whether or not that could be true. Seeing as there were very few animagi to began with, and none that had magical creatures as their form as far as he knew (Was it even possible?) Harry decided to dismiss the idea as one of his paranoid delusions.

Continuing along the beach, he came to the sudden conclusion that he had nowhere to sleep for the night. Could he, perhaps, go to some sort of a shelter? He didn’t really know anything about them, seeing as he had never thought that he would actually be in need of one, and he had no idea where he might be able find a homeless shelter around here.

Should I just go to one of the churches and see if they will help me? he wondered idly, in somewhat of a fix as far as what to do Harry wasn’t a particularly religious person; in fact, he wasn’t too sure about his religious affiliation, though he celebrated Christmas every year (at least he did when he was at Hogwarts), but as he had heard many times before “desperate times call for desperate measures.” Cliché, yes, but it was true.

I suppose I could always sleep outside again, he thought with reluctance, What if someone finds me, though? In fact, the more he thought about it, the better the whole church idea was beginning to sound. Surely they’ll have some sort of shelter for the needy? And I could most definitely be considered ‘needy’ at the moment.

Somewhat uncertainly, Harry resigned himself to search for the church as soon as possible. He wasn’t really sure what time it was (he still didn’t even know what day it was either), though it was dark outside, but he figured that some place must be open. If all else fails he could always sleep on a bench in a park somewhere or…something. After all, anything was better than where he’d been sleeping for the past…however long it had been.

Idly kicking a pebble that happened to be in his path, Harry let out a long suffering sigh, the chaotic and enervating state of the past few days finally starting to really wear on him. He had spent so long in Azkaban-it had felt like years-with nothing to keep him busy but his near constant pacing and his even more consuming thoughts of betrayal and despair. And now…so much had happened in so short a time; it was overwhelming.

He had thought, of course, of escaping, but he had never actually considered the possibility of what he would do should he get out. Perhaps he would have, except for the fact that the dementors seemed to suck away any happy thoughts you may experience. Therefore any time he had allowed himself to dwell on the chance of freedom had ended morbidly; sometimes with his imminent recapture or being caught by Death Eaters after all of his trouble. So, what now should he do? He hadn’t the time, like he had in Azkaban, to ponder endless possibilities until a brilliant plan was eventually formulated; he had to come up with something, and quick.

How long would it take them to track him down? Did Voldemort, the Ministry, or Dumbledore have forces in France? Would he have to keep running for the rest of his sorry life? A string of questions swam through Harry’s mind as he allowed himself to really dwell on the predicament he currently found himself in. He kept walking as he did so, going nowhere in particular, as he had nowhere in particular in mind to go to. His thoughts overwhelmed him as he realized how utterly hopeless his whole situation was, even if it was better than being locked away in Azkaban.

He just wanted his old life back. The one where he had been happy…even if it was all just an illusion. He would take that illusion over this harsh reality any day. But he couldn’t; there was no going back. And it’s not like he could go back now, knowing what he does, even should his name be cleared.

He was brought back to reality as he bumped into something in his mindless wandering. Blinking and shaking his head slightly as if to clear it of his musings, he glanced up into the kind and compassionate blue eyes of an elderly old woman who he had, apparently, just bumped into.

“Etes-vous bon?” she asked in lilting French. Harry knew enough of the language to understand what she was saying, it translating to, 'Are you okay?' if he remembered correctly, and was almost at a loss when he heard the concern intermingled in her words. It had been so long since anybody had actually cared, and coming from a stranger…He just stood there for a moment not knowing what to say before he realized that she was still looking at him and waiting for a response. He nodded his head deftly in reply although he felt somewhat hollow doing so as he knew the answer to be most decidedly untrue.

The elderly woman seemed to see through his diminutive response as she peered at him with her wise and knowing, though kind, eyes. She shook her head from side to side slightly, as if to silently tell him that she did not buy into his answer; Harry couldn't help but wonder what he was going to do if he couldn't even manage to lie convincingly to this one old woman. "I'm alright," he spoke at last in a an attempt to pacify her, realizing too late that he had spoken the words in English rather than the French language that he should have.

His eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights as his mistake hit him, and he attempted to push past the old woman then and be off and on his way—wherever that may be—but was stopped by a gentle touch to his shoulder and a few kind words. "Are you lost? Do you need some help?" the woman asked worriedly, as Harry turned somewhat warily around to face her. He shrugged his shoulders somewhat uncertainly in response to her inquiries, uncertain whether he should confide his current plight to this stranger. "Where are you headed?" the woman spoke again at length, peering curiously at Harry's down turned face as she spoke.

"I-I don't know..." Harry confessed hesitantly, deciding that there was no real reason why he should not tell this seemingly congenial woman that much of the truth. He didn't look at her as she spoke and, therefore, missed the sad, troubled look of pity that she sent him after hearing his words.

"Have you nowhere to stay?" the woman pressed with concern as her wrinkled face knotted with worry as she looked upon the young boy in front of her. Harry managed to shake his head in response to her latest question as tears pricked insistently at his eyes, though he did not allow them to fall. "You do not have parents or friends around here?" she continued, and Harry once again shook his head in the negative. "You are not running away from home, are you?" she asked him sternly at last, though her gaze softened as Harry shook his head once more.

"I-I don't have a home," he replied brokenly, feeling his eyes well up with his unshed tears. He stiffed at that admission and hastily rubbed the back of his sleeve against his nose before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands in a useless attempt to keep from crying.

The elderly woman looked sadly at the pitiful creature before her, her heart going out to the poor teenage boy. "Come with me," she finally said, gently and yet compellingly. Harry found himself unable to resist her insistent words and soft touch leading him down the cobbled street in his current state of distress.

He finally managed to pull himself together a little as they came up the walkway of a small, quaint, little house that Harry assumed to be the woman's. He stiffened slightly in apprehension when he realized that she intended for him to come inside it, his thoughts running ramped with images of being trapped inside should he step through the threshold. Realizing that he had nowhere else to go and no one else to turn to, though, he managed to quash his erratic fears and step cautiously into the small house.

"You will stay here tonight," he heard the kind woman speak up from behind him as she closed the worn front door. It took a moment for her offer to sink into Harry's muddled mind as he gazed somewhat dazedly about the family room they had entered into. Once her words did manage to form coherent thoughts in Harry's brain, he turned around sharply, nearly loosing his balance in the process, as he stared in confused wonderment at the generous elderly woman. She smiled slightly at him in response, her eyes lighting up with kindness as she held out her slightly gnarled hand to introduce herself. "I'm Gisela," she informed him plainly, as Harry slowly placed his hand around hers and shook it uncertainly.

"I'm...Harry," he told her truthfully, in a quiet tone, feeling for some odd reason that he could trust this woman with his true name, though he still looked somewhat frightened at what her response to it would be, though he could see no logical reason why he should be. His fears were dispelled as Gisela smiled pleasantly at his response and continued to shake his hand, welcoming Harry—just plain Harry—into her cozy home.

This story is very dark so far and is going to continue to be that way for quite some time. Everyone seems very cruel and manipulative, don’t they? They are, for the most part, although you are only getting everything from Harry’s point of view. There were some people, of course, who thought that Harry was innocent (and Dumbledore knew so) but Harry never realized that and believes that everybody is out to get him (which is true for the most part). And about Sirius, most people don’t know that he was innocent (i.e. the ministry, the wizarding world in general). Those that do know that he was innocent also know that Peter Pettigrew turned out to be a death eater although he seemed to be the victim. And people always seem to be turning on Harry in the books (like the whole Chamber of Secrets incident and how hardly anyone believed that he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet of Fire). The reason why most everyone believed Harry to be guilty even after Sirius will be further explained in later chapters.

The problem of concealing the give away lightening bolt scar is something that seems to be approached in many different ways, though a suggestion of plastic surgery that I got is something that I have never seen before. I suppose it might work...though the fact that it is a curse scar might make the plastic surgery option one that wouldn't work. Then again, I guess we will never know for sure unless JK comes right out and tells us, which I highly doubt.

As for Harry forgiving the bastards that put him away: Not going to happen any time soon, so don't worry. He might eventually come to terms with what happened, though he will certainly never trust them again or truly forgive them.

I haven't really thought too much about Remus as of yet, but I'm pretty sure that he will be in the story later (meaning, of course, that he probably isn't dead).