Whispers of a Raven by TheBlack'sResurgence

Chapter 7

He was running. It had been so long since he had been able to do so without wincing in pain and favouring his right leg. It may have only been a gentle, sedate pace he had set, but it was something, and it felt wonderful. The surgeon at St Mungo's had done an incredible job, and for the first time in over a year, he felt strong.

He wasn't, not really.

He was still malnourished, underweight and fatigued from his time on the run, but in this moment, he was happy with the simple exertion he was managing.

He continued until he felt his chest tighten from the effort it took to draw breath before slowing to a walk, enjoying the sea air and the wet sand beneath his feet.

It was a hot day, the July sun searing his skin, but it didn't bother him much. He had grown used to it during his youth as he tended to Petunia's garden, the woman uncaring towards the sunburn and bouts of heatstroke he had suffered as a result.

He pushed those thoughts aside. He did not want to dwell his relatives and his miserable years with them.

He was a man, and there was none that could subject him to such treatment now.

Releasing a deep breath, he looked out towards the horizon as he soothed his bare feet in the cool waters of the North Sea.

As much as he was caught up in this moment of jubilation, the darker thoughts he harboured remained on the edge of his conscience. He had made significant progress with the Bones family last night, but it would not be enough.

Voldemort was out there somewhere, gathering followers and already attacking, much of wizarding Britain unaware of what was coming. In truth, Harry was in no better position. With only a list of names and a vague understanding of what had happened here, he too was blind to much of it.

What he had endured after killing Avery did not fill him with confidence. The thought had crossed his mind that he could perhaps eliminate the Death Eaters one after the other to prevent what was coming, but it was not to be.

He would become the hunted once more and he was tired of being on the run. It was not as though he was a mastermind who could hope to get away with such tact indefinitely. No, he had learnt to survive day to day, not how to get away with murder, let alone what would likely be a dozen more times.

It was a frustrating realisation that his task would not be so simple, but life never had been for him.

The dilemma he faced now was what was he to do? Should he bide his time and wait for when he was needed?

He shook his head.

No, that would not do. He needed to prepare as best he could for what was to come. How he would do so, he knew not.

What he did know, however, was that he did have time and he had a new life to adjust to.

As such, he left the tranquillity of the ocean behind him and walked back towards his tent, the burning sand reminding him that this was not an elaborate dream he was experiencing. This was his life now and he intended on making something of it.

Entering the coolness of his home, he looked at what his life had been for the past few years; a portable shelter, questionable in comfort and sorely out of date, even for the time he found himself.