"My dear Harry,
Thank you for your last letter. I don't think I ever had been so happy to see Hedwig knock on my window at 3 am.
How are you doing, my dear Harry? I know it must be pretty hard on you, even after a month, to cope with all those horrible events. I miss Sirius so much, you can't even believe."
"Yes, Hermione, I can believe that, all right?" muttered Harry, staring out of his window, machinally sipping from his Butterbeer in small gulps. The night was slowly turning into another day; the sky lost its blackness and a faint trace of redness appeared above the horizon as the Sun started another shift in its everyday, boring routine.
A month went by after the dreadful events in the Department of Mysteries and still, every night he woke up with a shriek, reliving the picture of Sirius falling through the Veil again and again, Bellatrix' insane laughter as background music. Tonight, the nightmares came as soon as he lay on his bed; he didn't even fall asleep when the cold green light of the Killing Curse zapped across his troubled mind. He did take a dose of Dreamless Sleep Madam Pomfrey had given to him before boarding the Hogwarts Express together with some other potions he might need, but tonight salvation wasn't coming. So, opening up his last, treasured, bottle of Butterbeer, he spent the night reading Hermione's latest letter, his only connection to the world he really belonged, for the umpteenth time.
Even in his miserable condition, he managed a small smile, thinking of his best female friend; on some occasions his only friend. He missed her most from all his Hogwarts mates: her nagging, her irritating furrowing of brows, the feeling of her small hand on his, her sweet laughter; everything that formed the most unlikely phenomenon called sixth-year Gryffindor Hermione Jean Granger.
He hadn't heard anything from the Weasleys this past month; neither Ron, nor Ginny wrote to him and that bothered him more than a little bit. In fact, apart from Hermione's regular correspondence the only letter he had received was one written by Luna, one that had touched him to tears. The letter, charmed to read itself aloud in Luna's dreamy voice, spoke in simple words about loss and grief, but also of finding solace in friends, learning to live with the past and turning over a new leaf.
Attached to the letter was a drawing, a strikingly resembling portrait of Harry himself made by Luna in charcoal. The signature said:
"To my first real friend, Harry"
No 'Harry Potter', no 'the-boy-who-lived', only 'Harry'. And that was something he valued most. Harry did cry reading her letter, but that night he slept without nightmares.
Sighing, he made another sip of his drink and went back to reading Hermione's letter, marvelling her neat writing.
"I'm doing fine, I think. My wound doesn't hurt any more; in fact, it's almost completely healed. There will be a scar across my belly though, a nasty red one; from my left breast down to the bikini line. Madam Pomfrey says cursed wounds always leave scars, but I don't really care. I saw her two days ago at the Leaky Cauldron, by the way; she brought me some potions Snape had concocted for me in case the pain would return and made me promise I would give you her best regards. Can you believe that? Snape making a potion for me? I think it was on Dumbledore's orders anyway, but I don't mind, if it makes the pain go away."
He frowned upon reading about her scar. He was sure – at least he tried to convince himself – that her injury, as well as those of the other four were completely his fault; after all, his friends could have easily been killed just like his Godfather. Clenching his fist, he smashed it on the desk in undiluted anger, wincing painfully as he felt a few of his bones crunch at the sheer force of the impact. Reaching for his wand with his left hand, he muttered 'Episkey' and felt the bones snap back into their place. Not really caring about the forbidden usage of underage magic at this point, he locked his bedroom door and cast a soundproof ward around himself.
It was not the first time he had to use magic during this summer vacation and most certainly not the last one, he suspected. The night Luna's letter had arrived, a week after the events in the Department of Mysteries, Vernon barged into his room, kicking in the door he had previously locked up, trying to locate the source of the female voice. Seeing the enchanted letter talk to Harry, another display of the 'freakiness' he had brought to his perfect home, he unceremoniously punched the boy in his face breaking his nose. Pulling his wand and cheekily smiling at his uncle, Harry used the same 'Episkey' to mend his nose and front teeth, 'accidentally' spitting some blood on Vernon's impeccably clean shirt in the process. The man took another run at him, only to be stopped by a spontaneous outburst of his magic that thrust all 300 ponds of trembling fat and flesh called Vernon Dursley through the door, sealing it behind him.
The day after these events Harry was scared as hell; he was expecting a Ministry letter any minute but it wouldn't come. Two days later, he started suspecting that someone must have pulled some strings to leave him alone; Dumbledore or not, he couldn't care less at this point. He instinctively felt something had gone wrong between the Headmaster and himself when he destroyed half of Dumbledore's office but he still couldn't put his finger on it yet. Vernon was now seriously frightened that the boy had gotten away with using magic and that he might actually use it again, this time against him, so he preferred to let the boy be. He and Harry had reached an uncomfortable status quo and there had been no other confrontations between the two ever since.
"I hope that at least those dreadful relatives of yours are tactful enough to leave you in peace. Merlin, I would give anything if you could spend at least part of the summer here so that you wouldn't feel completely alone in that awful house."
"You can't even imagine how much I'd love that, Hermione," he mused, turning around the photo she had sent him in the letter a few times. A Muggle photograph taken of her a week ago, standing waist deep in crystal blue water in a simple red-and-black swimsuit covering her scars, on the French Riviera. There she was, smiling into the lens as if smiling at him, and Harry felt sudden warmth rushing through him, just like every time she was in his proximity. He never thought of her as a possible dating candidate or girlfriend, their relation went deeper than that; practically inseparable, they were brother and sister, all this time. He most certainly loved the idea of spending the rest of the summer with her, but he knew it was at least as improbable an idea as Professor Snape giving House points to anybody but a Slytherin. Her next words, however, totally startled him.
"Having spoken to my parents and gained their permission, I wrote a letter to Professor Dumbledore the other day and asked him whether you would be able to spend August with us. Unfortunately, he categorically refused this; he told me all about the blood wards he had set up on the night your parents had been murdered and that it was imperative that you stayed with your 'relatives' in order to keep the wards charged."
He almost heard Hermione's venomous voice spitting out the word 'relatives'. In a certain extent, he was sure she was feeling the same way about the Headmaster as well. There must have been a damn good reason behind the way Professor Dumbledore had been acting all these years, Harry thought, but no matter how long he had been musing about the events of the past fifteen years, he couldn't find any reason, any sense, any logic in them, as of yet.
And that left him with the simple conclusion. Something was very wrong about Dumbledore.
For a moment feeling very Hermione-ish, he summoned a clear sheet of parchment and a quill and quickly jotted down a few lines. These questions had been bugging him, this past months, and now he had the perfect excuse to order his thoughts.
In the prophecy Sybil Trelawney spoke about a power I had and Voldemort didn't. Dumbledore told me this power was love. Why did he insist on putting me up with the Dursleys knowing that there had been no love lost between Aunt Petunia and Mum?
Why did he never check on me, all those ten years, if he really cared about my well-being?
How come the blood wards he had erected were never able to defend me from the Dursleys? Were they supposed to work only against Voldemort?
Who performed the Fidelius Charm when my parents went into hiding? If it was Dumbledore, he knew damn well that the Secret Keeper – and the traitor - was Peter and not Sirius. Why did he never move a finger to prove my Godfather's innocence? As Chief Warlock, he could have easily had Veritaserum administered to him; that would have revealed the truth in two minutes.
How come that he, a highly skilled Legilimens, couldn't see through the mask of Barty Crouch Jr., allowing one of the most dangerous Death Eaters hang around the school the whole year and have his way with me? Or maybe he didn't want to see through it?
Why did he leave me completely standing on my own, unprepared, all this year, knowing that Voldemort was back and ready to strike any minute? Why didn't he teach me Occlumency instead of the Greasy Bat?
One could only imagine his surprise as he further read Hermione's letter, confirming his worst fears.
"Harry, I used to have immense respect for Professor Dumbledore until recently, but there is something definitely wrong. I have set up numerous theories, only to discard them immediately; I simply can't figure out what's happening. Come on, you know me; it's killing me when I can't figure things out and I go completely mental on people I don't want to hurt...
Even if you can't stay with us the rest of the summer, we would like to see you at our place, the sooner, the better. We could have a dinner with my parents and catch up on gossips; I have just about a million of photos to show you. I was thinking on this Saturday; you could come in the morning and stay the whole day if you want to.
I need to go now; Dad wants to have me in his 'inquisition chair' to do a checkup on my teeth, even if I keep telling him that Madam Pomfrey fixed all of them; he still wants to be in charge and I can't deny him this small pleasure. After all, I had spent very little time with my parents and I do feel guilty about it.
Please send answer with this magnificent bird of yours as soon as you can. My parents can't wait to see her and I can't wait to hear from you. I want to be sure you are all right, because if anything happens to you there again, I will kidnap you up from Privet Drive even if Dumbledore sends the whole Auror Department to stop me.
With all my love,
Hermione"
Harry put the letter aside and took her photo in his hand, smiling back at paper-Hermione, then lay down on his bed, stretching his aching back. Sleep, curing sleep consumed him almost immediately. In his sleep he kept smiling, never letting go of the picture in his hand, repeating one single phrase every now and then.
"With all my love, Hermione"