Harry Potter and the Way of Things

Chapter 8- Studying

Author's Note:  Sorry it's a bit short. Next chapter is Kings Cross! A round of applause for AbnormalAnony and Flashlan, my editors, and the drive behind me getting these chapters published.

AN - Requested and done a day late... sorry for the delay I had a bad headache

I don't own any of the characters, or anything else in this story for that matter. (Obviously)

During the time between getting his school equipment and getting on the train, Harry set an absolutely grueling regime of strengthening his mind, body, magic, and of course, reading as much as he possibly could.

At six in the morning Harry would wake up, and go downstairs to make himself breakfast. At seven, he would eat and go for a run to the local park where his workout would really begin.

Nobody was using the simple, old fashion park gym at this time of the morning, or rather at any time of the day. Harry's physical exercise could last for 1-3 hours, depending on how he felt. He knew that his body was getting strong with the regular nutrition of the last 3 years. After his work-out, he would go back to the Dursleys to shower and dress for the day.

His everyday wardrobe consisted of multiple sets of black dress pants, with different cuts, fits, and a few pairs of dark jeans. His shirts were a variety of darkly colored, button-up shirts, and plain black t-shirts to be worn underneath. He actually had several colors for his button ups; some were black, but most came in deep shades of green, blue, and red. His underwear were snug fitting, mostly black, and extended to his mid thigh. His socks, which were also almost exclusively black, were long enough to cover his knees.

By the time he returned from his morning work out, his raven, Willow, will have been out for her morning flight. Harry would go back downstairs and prepare her food for the day. Willow was likely one of the best fed birds in England. Everyday, she would get a combination of cubed meat, fruits, vegetables, and a seed/nut mix.

Harry had done plenty of reading about ravens once he had discovered his inner animal was one. His local library didn't have a book solely about them, but with the librarian securely under his thumb, it was a simple task to order one. The book had been very well written and researched. It had chapters on diet, socialization, communication, biology, anatomy, mating, raising young, and death. Harry found the entire book majorly helpful in caring for Willow.

Harry had a hypothesis, that animals raised in a magical environment are more intelligent. He had no definitive way to test it, but it was an interesting thought, nonetheless. Willow seemed to agree with him. At least, that's what he thought. Her exact response had been, "Birds stupid, Willow smart." as she proudly puffed the feather on her chest a little.

He would read for hours on end, and spent most of his day consuming the words on the page as quickly as his mind was able to. While he read, he would absentmindedly stroke Willow's feathers and ask her questions about how her flight had been that day. Willow would do her best to describe everything she had seen, though sometimes the words escaped her. Nonetheless, Harry would give her a small, but genuine smile as she uses her broken english to paint a picture for him of her world.

As it turned out, Willow was a very well behaved bird. If she needed to relieve herself, she would tap on the window and ask to be let out in her scratchy voice.

Willow's vocabulary was expanding rapidly. The more he talked to her, the more she seemed to really comprehend what he was saying. Her responses were becoming more intelligent, more inquisitive. They talked about many things that summer. Not the least of which were the Dursleys.

Harry had never been a happy child, not even content. However, sitting in the chair that he built with his magic, in his room filled with things he had bought with his money, and talking to his first friend as he learned all he could about magic, well , that was certainly something.

Just when the sun began to set each day, Harry would leave the relative safety of the Dursely's household, and go deep into the woods. There, he would sit down and close his eyes. Each day he sent out his tendril of magic in all directions into the forest around him. With his magic, he could feel every rock and twig, every tree and creature.

It was an odd sensation, to feel with limbs he didn't have. The closest thing to it that he thought of, in muggle terms, was a phantom limb. It wasn't actually present in the physical sense of the word, but it had a physical sensation to go with what wasn't there.

Using his magic to 'feel' an environment was tricky, a pretty advanced stage of wandless magic. Harry wasn't exactly throwing fireballs (yet), but his magic was like a muscle in the sense that the more he learned, and the better he 'exercised' that muscle the stronger it grew.

Next he would use the information about the landscape that he had gathered through touch and try to build a replica of the scene for viewing in his mind. This was not something he had read about, it was an odd combination of Occlumency and Wandless magic that he had started on by his own means.

Harry had come to the conclusion that magic in general used to be... less structured. All these incantations and wand movement, the specific measure of potions ingredient needed to make a potion, it all seemed very practiced, very traditional, as though magic had come to a standstill. Harry's wandless magic seemed to be as imprecise as it came.

Some nights Harry would pull his violin out from under this bed. He would take his violin carefully from its case and assume the familiar stance with his instrument, held softly in one of his hands; the base tucked under his chin. He drew the bow and softly, almost reverently, began to draw forth that first melancholy note. Then he began to manipulate the strings, writing the seemingly sweet melody. Tinged with sadness, the notes (unknowingly to Harry) would lull his 'family' to sleep every night that he played.

At night, before he went to sleep, Harry would lie on his back, in his bed, with his eyes closed and sort through everything that he had read that day. Every memory was sorted into a book of similar experiences. Some days he would do this twice, or even three times in a day, depending on how much he read.

That night, Harry thought back to his interaction with the Durslys, which were muted, uneventful in a sort of peculiar way. One day, as Harry came in from his run, he passed his Uncle Vernon on the stairs. Vernon started descending about the same time Harry began to climb. They make eye contact and the longer they do the more detached Vernon seems, the more his eyes seemed to take on a glazed quality.

Harry thought back to his early relationship with Vernon, the hate, the fear, from both sides. And his Occlumency practice, how he had used his magic to control his own mind. Before that, he remembered the mantra he had whenever around Vernon, back before Harry had his magic.

'Please don't notice me, ignore me, I'm not here, you don't see me.'

And as Harry passed him and they locked eyes, for that last second Harry realized that though he had just walked past his uncle, his uncle had not just walked past him.

A thousand thoughts flew through his mind at record speed. Slowly learning to manipulate the librarian, touching her mind with a tendril of his magic, feeling his magic radiate from his body, and Harry realized that he was doing more than he intended. Worse yet, he didn't know if he could stop.