The darkness of his room seemed to close in on him. The piles of Dudley's old toys and gadgets piled around him.
"You couldn't save me, Harry."
He pulled his blankets tighter around him in the chilly room. His godfathers almost forgotten voice echoed through his mind. Images that just never seem to leave, flashed before his emerald eyes.
"Why didn't you protect me, Harry."
He shoved his hands over his ears.
"I couldv'e died, Harry."
"Stop it," He whispered to the night.
"Neville should've been the chosen one."
"But I'm your best friend!" His eyes clenched in despair.
"You are worthless. If you can't protect a muggleborn, how will you fight the Dark Lord."
Harry sat up, gulping down the sobs. He couldn't cry. Especially with his Aunt and Uncle down the hall. Quickly throwing off the torn, threadbare blankets, he crawled to his trunk. Snapping the latch open, he immediately regretted it as a picture of the Marauders stood atop his things. Taking a deep breath, he started pushing aside articles of clothing and books, searching through his trouser pockets for the little scrap of paper Hermione had given to him.
It took to going to the bottom of the trunk, but he finally found it. Her neat numbers glowed like the Holy Grail to him.
As quietly as he could, he closed the trunk, and padded his way to the door. Hand on the knob, he twisted it, wincing as the hinges croaked.
Finally, it pulled open.
Next adventure, the terrible stairs he had been forced under for most of his life. But that did give him an advantage. He knew every creak and groan by heart, and soon made it to the bottom, not a peep from his relatives to be heard.
Heading to the kitchen, he started having his doubts. Would she be awake? Would she answer? Would she even want to talk to him? After all, he nearly got her killed, and permanently gave her a scar to remind her of it.
Gathering up all his Gryffindor courage, though it seemed to be wasted on the way down here, he punched in the number.
He could feel a lump forming in his throat. Of sadness or anxiety, he wasn't to sure, but as the ringing stopped, he realized it was too late.
"'Ello?" Came the grouchy, grumpy, but very much alive, Hermione Granger.
"Hermoine," He whispered with relief and yet, guilt, "It's Harry. I would like to take you up on that offer. I would like to spend the summer with you."