The Butcher's Bill
Harry lay awake, unmoving, as his alarm blared infront of him. He knew he should wake and join the Dursleys for breakfast. The Dursleys for the first time had been fair to Harry this summer. They ignored him as best they could and divided chores amongst them. This was to Harry's liking in that he was treated better than he had ever been in the past, but it made him horribly sad in that he had plenty of free time. Free time to think about that empty hole in his soul that was once filled by his godfather. With nothing to fill his time he couldn't help but re-examine how the death of Sirius had been his fault. His pride had caused him to ignore the dangers of leaving his mind open to Voldemort's influence and control. He had learned his fifth year that it was pride that was his fatal flaw. Too much like his father he was.
There was a sharp knocking at his bedroom door. "Turn that ruddy clock off! Or is that an unreasonable request?" Harry's uncle called through the door. He had taken up adding that phrase to the end of his sentences whenever asking something of Harry. Despite the fact that Vernon said it with derision and sarcasm it was true, he would only force Harry to do what was reasonable. Harry sighed and pressed the off button to his clock-radio's alarm function and slid out of bed. There were quite a few chores to do and there was no reason to do anything else. He dressed for the day and walked down to the remains of breakfast.
Vernon and Petunia had always discouraged Harry from sleeping late. They had forced him to make their breakfast since he could handle the pots and pans, lately they had only taken to making an obscene amount of noise outside his room if they felt he was sleeping later than was necessary. People staying up late and sleeping late fell under a type of people despised by the Dursleys. Harry never felt like he had much energy anyway, so he took every opportunity to go to bed early.
After the initial wave of strong emotion he had felt in the week after the incident in the Department of Mysteries he had begun to quiet down internally to the point that he felt nothing. No drive to complete anything, no energy to feel strongly about anything. All he had the energy for was being sullen and depressed. And to relive the events and mistakes leading up to the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries.
His dreams were strangely quiet of late, though his scar still hurt from time to time. He figured that Voldemort realized that he had already tricked Harry once that way, and would not be tricked again. He had wondered idly once what Voldemort thought the full wording of their strange prophecy was, but soon lost his energy.
He ate swiftly and finished what scraps of food were left after the other three Dursleys had eaten. Petunia, who was cleaning their dishes, then ordered him in a more polite voice than he had been used to growing up to clean out the bathroom before he weeded the garden. Harry nodded sullenly before gathering up the supplies he would need for both tasks. He set to work, not having said a single word so far that morning.
The bathroom had become very dirty over the last week. Boxing Championships had not been enough for Dudley, who, after the boxing season had ended, had signed up for football. After muddy games Dudley would often fling his uniform up on the countertops and floor of the bathroom where they would wait until Petunia or Harry would pick them up and put them in the wash. This practice led to the state the bathroom was in now. Not even bothering to sigh Harry got to work.
Hours later Harry came in from the garden, having successfully weeded and cut the bushes of flowers that made up the near perfect garden sported upon the Dursleys' lawn. He showered briefly, careful not to let his dirty clothing contaminate the newly clean floor. Afterwards he went upstairs to his room and began to compose a letter to Ron.
He never really said much in the letters he wrote to his friends. He didn't feel he could express his feelings or his true thoughts in a feeble letter. He would write about how his family was being fair and reasonable with him, about how he was holding up fine, even when he wasn't. Especially when he wasn't. He would often tell Ron to say "hello" to his parents or his sister for him. They were the last Weasley children still living at home, Ron and Ginny, and Harry was beginning to worry about the Weasley parents suffering from empty nest syndrome. Despite the empty nature of the letter he was writing it still took him quite a while to finish it. He waited until nighttime to send it, as Hedwig always preferred to fly by night.
As he watched the shadow of Hedwig fly off into the distance he heard a disturbance downstairs. Not really caring he only listened to what was going on, rather than check it out. He heard Vernon's loud voice so he knew it wasn't a burglar. He was only forced into participation when there was a knock on his door accompanied by a rather aggravated Petunia. Harry opened his door to admit her.
She appeared slightly disheveled and Harry could swear she had blood on her hands. This slight uncharacteristic display was explained.
"Duddy got in a fight with some nasty kids, we're taking him to the hospital, he bled all over the bathroom floor, go clean it up right now."
Harry opened his mouth to say the first word all day "Okay."
Petunia looked surprised that he gave in so easily.
"Harry, is there something bothering you?" She said in an unusually soft voice.
"No, nothing." Harry said shortly. Vernon called from downstairs, telling Petunia to hurry up.
"Harry, we'll talk when I get back, please clean the bath again, I'll make it up to you."
This left Harry feeling angry, how dare she try to understand how he feels after fifteen years of neglect and abuse. How does she expect to know how he feels when she's been ignoring him for all of his life?
"Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity..."
The words of Phineas Nigellus bounced around in the back of his mind, but of course they weren't true. He wanted to be understood, but no one could.
"...So arrogant all criticism bounces off him."
The words of Severus Snape recalled him to reality. He was being prideful again, even though his pride had killed his godfather. Harry sighed and went down to clean the bathroom again.
As it turns out, Dudley's gang had been jumped by a rival gang when they strayed too far out of their territory. Harry found this out from the rat-like friend of Dudley's whose name he had forgotten years ago. The gang was in low spirits with its leader hospitalized. Petunia hadn't come home the night it happened. Vernon came home to make sure Harry had cleaned the bathroom and to tell him to go to bed. His aunt had stayed at the hospital with Dudley. Harry was finding he was looking forward to talking to Petunia about his problems. He had not vented his feelings since his talk with Dumbledore a half hour after the event itself, when all he felt was the raw anger and fresh emptiness. Now his feelings had gotten time to settle and he could perhaps feel better after he had told one of his last living family members about what had happened.
It was the day after the incident when Petunia finally came home, but she was so distraught over her son's condition that Harry thought it wise not to bring up his problems to her. A few days later Dudley came home with a sling for a sprained wrist and a few bandages still wrapped around his body. Vernon and Petunia were celebrating him like some sort of war-hero to have sustained such injuries and be putting on such a brave face. The most troublesome part about Dudley being injured was the fact that Harry was now doing Dudley's share of chores as well as his own. This would often leave him worn out at the end of the day, which was a good thing as far as Harry was concerned. The more tired he felt the less depressed he felt.
Several days later it seemed as if Petunia had forgotten about Harry's mysterious lack of argument and was spending all her time comforting the wounded with whatever was requested. Harry did get his reply back from Ron though. It was not nearly so empty as the one he had sent. It contained all kinds of fun anecdotes of him practicing his skills as a keeper, Mrs. Weasley making a dinner for nine people on accident, forgetting that five of them had moved away. It mentioned that Ron hadn't gotten the results of the O.W.L.s yet and was starting to worry that he might have done so horribly that they didn't even bother sending the results back to him. Harry felt a lot better after having heard from a friend. So much better that he started to write his response immediately.
He wrote about how he was finding it difficult to keep busy. He wrote about how Dudley had gotten hurt in a fight. He wrote about how his aunt was acting much more like a human being to him. He wrote and asked how Ron's arms and Ginny's ankle were holding out. He wrote that he wished he could come and live with them in the burrow, but Dumbledore would most likely want him to stay for the whole of the summer. He wrote also to Hermione, but mostly said the same things. He apologized to Hedwig for giving her such a demanding schedule and sent her off.
The next few days passed in a slight daze for Harry. Hedwig had not yet returned with a response from his friends and Petunia had not shown any indication she wanted to talk to Harry at all. He had fallen back into the hopelessness of depression after a brief surge of hope that he would soon be understood by his aunt after so many years. Dudley got better and was soon ready to go out and get his revenge on the other gang. For once Harry's aunt and uncle were putting their feet down and denying him what he wanted. Only once before had such a thing happened, when Dudley had needed to lose weight and had gone on his diet. They were confining him to the house for the most part, afraid that if he went out on his own he would attack those who had attacked him and would be hurt once again. As such, Dudley was loudly complaining and beating on the walls fervently. It was after a few days of this that Hermione's letter arrived.
Hermione wrote that it was good to hear that Harry was getting on better with his Aunt and Uncle, how if his aunt was attempting to open up to Harry that he should seize on the opportunity and talk to her. She wrote that it was too bad that he wasn't keeping busy, that he might want to write Dumbledore and ask if he should continue the lessons offered by the D.A. as a sort of study session club for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but as an official school-sponsored club. Harry thought this was a great idea, teaching the D.A. how to defend themselves with magic was undoubtedly his favorite set of memories from his fifth year. After he finished reading Hermione's letter, Harry quickly began to write the letter to Dumbledore asking permission to do just that. Without the Ministry breathing down his neck anymore and Voldemort and his followers roaming around Dumbledore should be very much inclined to accept such a proposal. Harry was just about to call down Hedwig to send her off again with the message when he noticed she was fast asleep. He remembered then that she had just flown from Harry's to the burrow to Hermione's house and back to Harry's house twice without a good long break from flying. He decided the letter could wait to be sent, it wasn't as if the summer was already drawing to a close. He opened his trunk and withdrew his Christmas gift from Lupin, the bound set of books, Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts, and cracked open volume two.
With the purpose of planning out lessons for the D.A. and learning about new and more powerful defensive spells he felt better every day. He could still hardly wait for the day to come when he'd go back to Hogwarts. At Hogwarts there would be friends and homework and Quidditch to distract him from his thoughts. He sent off the letter to Dumbledore after giving Hedwig a day to rest. He got his response a few days later, the D.A. was approved as an official Hogwarts club. It felt a little hollow though, as an official club there would be no danger, no element of risk that made every day a struggle against tyranny. He would host fund-raisers, publicly. There would be a teacher as a sponsor. It would never be the same as that first exhilarating year, and if this club persisted it would become increasingly ingrained into Hogwarts culture. Nothing of the original would survive. He considered briefly writing to withdraw his request to form the club, but decided against it. It would most certainly need a new name though.
A week passed and then another. He was corresponding back and forth with his two best friends regularly, which was definitely taking his mind off silent brooding as much as anything could. He found himself laying on his back on his bed one day staring up at the ceiling, reliving the fight in the Department of Mysteries again, trying to analyze what was done right and wrong with each situation. Dissecting the emotionless movements back and forth during their desperate struggle for survival felt like it was helping him to think of the events without growing depressed, thinking of how he was to blame for all that transpired that night. He thought of Neville and Luna, how hard they had fought. He suddenly wondered whether Luna was back from Sweden yet, what Neville had done over his holiday. His correspondence with Ginny, usually through her brother, kept him from thinking the same about her. He half got up to start a letter, he was getting used to writing them, but sank back down. Neville he had known for all his five years at Hogwarts, but he had never been his friend. Luna he barely knew, only having met her for the first time a little less than a year ago. It would be very strange for him to be sending them letters as if he were their close friend.
Another week went by, he had taken to writing up his intended lesson plans for the D.A. with the theory that he wouldn't forget them, even though he knew he wouldn't forget a single thing. He was simply occupying his time. Halfway through the next week it finally came… The letter from Hogwarts inviting him back once again to his sixth year and permission to go visit Ron in the Burrow.
They had sorted out the logistics in one owl there and back again. He would leave the next day by means of Floo powder by using the fireplace in Mrs. Figg's fireplace, he would stay the remaining week of break with the Weasleys and then get to London for the Hogwarts Express by whatever means were being used by the Weasleys themselves. Harry was excited that the start of term was so close, he would soon be at his favorite place in the world doing what he liked best. His trunk was packed, his wand lying safely secured within his trunk for while he was in his muggle clothes, which had no real way to carry a wand inconspicuously. Hesitating for a moment, a strange feeling coming over him, he unlocked his trunk and withdrew his wand. Pulling on one of Dudley's old jackets with a dozen holes in it he placed the wand in an inner pocket.
He walked down the street carefully, trying not to attract too much attention. He would be walking into Mrs. Figg's house appearing ready for a long trip and would not be seen coming out. It would look awfully suspicious and if too many neighbors caught sight of such a thing the questions might point towards him running away. He wanted to avoid looking like a deviant child as much as he could when his aunt and uncle were the source of the rumors in the first place. He knocked swiftly on the door to the familiar house he would frequently have stayed at while the Dursleys were on holiday back while he was in normal muggle school. It seemed so long ago the gentle old lady feeding him terribly tasting cakes and boring him to death with album after album of pictures of the various generations of cats she had kept over her years of retirement. Harry had never thought to enjoy these times back then, he having been a child and thus more inclined to play than to sit quietly. He looked back at those times with no small degree of fond remembrance. He supposed that Mrs. Figg filled the role of a grandmother for Harry in some respects.
The door opened and there was Mrs. Figg, batty as ever, and smiling widely.
"Welcome Harry, welcome. Come in." She said, holding the door open and gesturing with her other hand.
"er… yes Mrs. Figg." Harry toted his trunk and covered owl cage through the front door with a little difficulty.
"I've been expecting you, I made a few cookies they're on the table if you want some." Mrs. Figg closed the door behind him and snatched up a cat from the aforementioned table.
"I'm sure you want to see your friends very much after such a long summer not even leaving the house" She said with a sideways look out of her eye.
"I've been busy with schoolwork." Harry lied, not having been assigned anything to work on over the break after the experience of O.W.L.s. It would have been a welcome break if only he wasn't tormented by the memories of the end of the previous term. Mrs. Figg seemed to detect the lie, but let it slip. She busied herself with some tea.
"If you'll stay I'd like to sit and talk a while, it's been so long since the Dursleys have needed me to look after you." Mrs. Figg was getting out two mugs for the tea, it seemed rude to exclaim his hurry to get to Ron's house when this kindly old lady seemed to want just a little bit of company.
"I suppose I'd like to stay just a bit." Harry said truthfully. He sat in a cushy sofa adjacent to the short table, Mrs. Figg sat in the armchair in the corner.
"How's Hogwarts these days Harry?"
"Oh, it's a mad place for a school, but I can think of no place I like better." Harry responded cheerfully, "It was rather hectic last year though, with O.W.L.s and Professor Umbridge. I expect this year to be a little easier, despite N.E.W.T. level classes starting up." Harry frowned, he had not received an Outstanding in Potions. Snape had said specifically that only those who got an Outstanding O.W.L. would even be eligible to take the N.E.W.T. class at all. To become an Auror he needed the N.E.W.T. level class. He just hoped they would take a deficiency if he cleared the other requirements with flying colors, which he would need a lot of work to do.
"You look a little upset, what's wrong?" Mrs. Figg said, regarding his tight face.
"Just worrying about my O.W.L. results." Harry said, shaking his head, as if to say it was nothing.
"I heard about your little rebellion last year, Dumbledore's Army I think you called it? What is going to happen to that?"
"Well, I applied over the summer for it to become an official Hogwarts club and it was accepted, I still need to get a teacher to sponsor it, but I think I can get whoever the next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is to do so."
"That's nice to hear, do you think you'll still be the leader of the club?"
"Well, no one really thinks I'm nutters anymore, that and I've had even more experience defending myself from the dark arts since last I taught them. I've even come up with a good deal of lesson plans based on my experiences in the Department of Mysteries." That was funny, he said that without flinching or feeling strong emotions build up inside him that time.
"Hrm… I see, perhaps Dumbledore should choose you to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Mrs. Figg was obviously trying to steer the conversations out of dangerous waters. Harry laughed, sure she was joking, but she looked at him seriously. Their conversation began to stagnate a short time after that.
"Well, I think I'd better get to the Burrow now, they're probably waiting for me." Harry stood up.
"Oh, yes of course, this way." Mrs. Figg led him to the fireplace in her den. The small case of Floo powder was hidden behind a loose brick in the mantle.
"To keep out the cats." Mrs. Figg explained as she drew out the small box and offered it to Harry.
"I think I'm a little low, but it should be plenty for one or two more trips."
Harry smiled at her and set Hedwig free, telling her to fly to Ron's house. He then strapped the cage to his trunk. He drew a pinch of powder from the bottom of the box. The emerald green flames rose up as he threw the dust in and set aside the box. Making sure he had everything with him he called out, "The Burrow" and threw in his trunk, then stepped in himself. The now familiar sensation of traveling over the Floo network gripped him. Once again he was spinning and rushing forward with fireplaces all around when suddenly he felt a jerk. He was now traveling in a very different direction, clearly his route had been tampered with.
Harry lay awake, unmoving, as his alarm blared infront of him. He knew he should wake and join the Dursleys for breakfast. The Dursleys for the first time had been fair to Harry this summer. They ignored him as best they could and divided chores amongst them. This was to Harry's liking in that he was treated better than he had ever been in the past, but it made him horribly sad in that he had plenty of free time. Free time to think about that empty hole in his soul that was once filled by his godfather. With nothing to fill his time he couldn't help but re-examine how the death of Sirius had been his fault. His pride had caused him to ignore the dangers of leaving his mind open to Voldemort's influence and control. He had learned his fifth year that it was pride that was his fatal flaw. Too much like his father he was.
There was a sharp knocking at his bedroom door. "Turn that ruddy clock off! Or is that an unreasonable request?" Harry's uncle called through the door. He had taken up adding that phrase to the end of his sentences whenever asking something of Harry. Despite the fact that Vernon said it with derision and sarcasm it was true, he would only force Harry to do what was reasonable. Harry sighed and pressed the off button to his clock-radio's alarm function and slid out of bed. There were quite a few chores to do and there was no reason to do anything else. He dressed for the day and walked down to the remains of breakfast.
Vernon and Petunia had always discouraged Harry from sleeping late. They had forced him to make their breakfast since he could handle the pots and pans, lately they had only taken to making an obscene amount of noise outside his room if they felt he was sleeping later than was necessary. People staying up late and sleeping late fell under a type of people despised by the Dursleys. Harry never felt like he had much energy anyway, so he took every opportunity to go to bed early.
After the initial wave of strong emotion he had felt in the week after the incident in the Department of Mysteries he had begun to quiet down internally to the point that he felt nothing. No drive to complete anything, no energy to feel strongly about anything. All he had the energy for was being sullen and depressed. And to relive the events and mistakes leading up to the fiasco at the Department of Mysteries.
His dreams were strangely quiet of late, though his scar still hurt from time to time. He figured that Voldemort realized that he had already tricked Harry once that way, and would not be tricked again. He had wondered idly once what Voldemort thought the full wording of their strange prophecy was, but soon lost his energy.
He ate swiftly and finished what scraps of food were left after the other three Dursleys had eaten. Petunia, who was cleaning their dishes, then ordered him in a more polite voice than he had been used to growing up to clean out the bathroom before he weeded the garden. Harry nodded sullenly before gathering up the supplies he would need for both tasks. He set to work, not having said a single word so far that morning.
The bathroom had become very dirty over the last week. Boxing Championships had not been enough for Dudley, who, after the boxing season had ended, had signed up for football. After muddy games Dudley would often fling his uniform up on the countertops and floor of the bathroom where they would wait until Petunia or Harry would pick them up and put them in the wash. This practice led to the state the bathroom was in now. Not even bothering to sigh Harry got to work.
Hours later Harry came in from the garden, having successfully weeded and cut the bushes of flowers that made up the near perfect garden sported upon the Dursleys' lawn. He showered briefly, careful not to let his dirty clothing contaminate the newly clean floor. Afterwards he went upstairs to his room and began to compose a letter to Ron.
He never really said much in the letters he wrote to his friends. He didn't feel he could express his feelings or his true thoughts in a feeble letter. He would write about how his family was being fair and reasonable with him, about how he was holding up fine, even when he wasn't. Especially when he wasn't. He would often tell Ron to say "hello" to his parents or his sister for him. They were the last Weasley children still living at home, Ron and Ginny, and Harry was beginning to worry about the Weasley parents suffering from empty nest syndrome. Despite the empty nature of the letter he was writing it still took him quite a while to finish it. He waited until nighttime to send it, as Hedwig always preferred to fly by night.
As he watched the shadow of Hedwig fly off into the distance he heard a disturbance downstairs. Not really caring he only listened to what was going on, rather than check it out. He heard Vernon's loud voice so he knew it wasn't a burglar. He was only forced into participation when there was a knock on his door accompanied by a rather aggravated Petunia. Harry opened his door to admit her.
She appeared slightly disheveled and Harry could swear she had blood on her hands. This slight uncharacteristic display was explained.
"Duddy got in a fight with some nasty kids, we're taking him to the hospital, he bled all over the bathroom floor, go clean it up right now."
Harry opened his mouth to say the first word all day "Okay."
Petunia looked surprised that he gave in so easily.
"Harry, is there something bothering you?" She said in an unusually soft voice.
"No, nothing." Harry said shortly. Vernon called from downstairs, telling Petunia to hurry up.
"Harry, we'll talk when I get back, please clean the bath again, I'll make it up to you."
This left Harry feeling angry, how dare she try to understand how he feels after fifteen years of neglect and abuse. How does she expect to know how he feels when she's been ignoring him for all of his life?
"Never try to understand the students. They hate it. They would rather be tragically misunderstood, wallow in self-pity..."
The words of Phineas Nigellus bounced around in the back of his mind, but of course they weren't true. He wanted to be understood, but no one could.
"...So arrogant all criticism bounces off him."
The words of Severus Snape recalled him to reality. He was being prideful again, even though his pride had killed his godfather. Harry sighed and went down to clean the bathroom again.
As it turns out, Dudley's gang had been jumped by a rival gang when they strayed too far out of their territory. Harry found this out from the rat-like friend of Dudley's whose name he had forgotten years ago. The gang was in low spirits with its leader hospitalized. Petunia hadn't come home the night it happened. Vernon came home to make sure Harry had cleaned the bathroom and to tell him to go to bed. His aunt had stayed at the hospital with Dudley. Harry was finding he was looking forward to talking to Petunia about his problems. He had not vented his feelings since his talk with Dumbledore a half hour after the event itself, when all he felt was the raw anger and fresh emptiness. Now his feelings had gotten time to settle and he could perhaps feel better after he had told one of his last living family members about what had happened.
It was the day after the incident when Petunia finally came home, but she was so distraught over her son's condition that Harry thought it wise not to bring up his problems to her. A few days later Dudley came home with a sling for a sprained wrist and a few bandages still wrapped around his body. Vernon and Petunia were celebrating him like some sort of war-hero to have sustained such injuries and be putting on such a brave face. The most troublesome part about Dudley being injured was the fact that Harry was now doing Dudley's share of chores as well as his own. This would often leave him worn out at the end of the day, which was a good thing as far as Harry was concerned. The more tired he felt the less depressed he felt.
Several days later it seemed as if Petunia had forgotten about Harry's mysterious lack of argument and was spending all her time comforting the wounded with whatever was requested. Harry did get his reply back from Ron though. It was not nearly so empty as the one he had sent. It contained all kinds of fun anecdotes of him practicing his skills as a keeper, Mrs. Weasley making a dinner for nine people on accident, forgetting that five of them had moved away. It mentioned that Ron hadn't gotten the results of the O.W.L.s yet and was starting to worry that he might have done so horribly that they didn't even bother sending the results back to him. Harry felt a lot better after having heard from a friend. So much better that he started to write his response immediately.
He wrote about how he was finding it difficult to keep busy. He wrote about how Dudley had gotten hurt in a fight. He wrote about how his aunt was acting much more like a human being to him. He wrote and asked how Ron's arms and Ginny's ankle were holding out. He wrote that he wished he could come and live with them in the burrow, but Dumbledore would most likely want him to stay for the whole of the summer. He wrote also to Hermione, but mostly said the same things. He apologized to Hedwig for giving her such a demanding schedule and sent her off.
The next few days passed in a slight daze for Harry. Hedwig had not yet returned with a response from his friends and Petunia had not shown any indication she wanted to talk to Harry at all. He had fallen back into the hopelessness of depression after a brief surge of hope that he would soon be understood by his aunt after so many years. Dudley got better and was soon ready to go out and get his revenge on the other gang. For once Harry's aunt and uncle were putting their feet down and denying him what he wanted. Only once before had such a thing happened, when Dudley had needed to lose weight and had gone on his diet. They were confining him to the house for the most part, afraid that if he went out on his own he would attack those who had attacked him and would be hurt once again. As such, Dudley was loudly complaining and beating on the walls fervently. It was after a few days of this that Hermione's letter arrived.
Hermione wrote that it was good to hear that Harry was getting on better with his Aunt and Uncle, how if his aunt was attempting to open up to Harry that he should seize on the opportunity and talk to her. She wrote that it was too bad that he wasn't keeping busy, that he might want to write Dumbledore and ask if he should continue the lessons offered by the D.A. as a sort of study session club for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but as an official school-sponsored club. Harry thought this was a great idea, teaching the D.A. how to defend themselves with magic was undoubtedly his favorite set of memories from his fifth year. After he finished reading Hermione's letter, Harry quickly began to write the letter to Dumbledore asking permission to do just that. Without the Ministry breathing down his neck anymore and Voldemort and his followers roaming around Dumbledore should be very much inclined to accept such a proposal. Harry was just about to call down Hedwig to send her off again with the message when he noticed she was fast asleep. He remembered then that she had just flown from Harry's to the burrow to Hermione's house and back to Harry's house twice without a good long break from flying. He decided the letter could wait to be sent, it wasn't as if the summer was already drawing to a close. He opened his trunk and withdrew his Christmas gift from Lupin, the bound set of books, Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts, and cracked open volume two.
With the purpose of planning out lessons for the D.A. and learning about new and more powerful defensive spells he felt better every day. He could still hardly wait for the day to come when he'd go back to Hogwarts. At Hogwarts there would be friends and homework and Quidditch to distract him from his thoughts. He sent off the letter to Dumbledore after giving Hedwig a day to rest. He got his response a few days later, the D.A. was approved as an official Hogwarts club. It felt a little hollow though, as an official club there would be no danger, no element of risk that made every day a struggle against tyranny. He would host fund-raisers, publicly. There would be a teacher as a sponsor. It would never be the same as that first exhilarating year, and if this club persisted it would become increasingly ingrained into Hogwarts culture. Nothing of the original would survive. He considered briefly writing to withdraw his request to form the club, but decided against it. It would most certainly need a new name though.
A week passed and then another. He was corresponding back and forth with his two best friends regularly, which was definitely taking his mind off silent brooding as much as anything could. He found himself laying on his back on his bed one day staring up at the ceiling, reliving the fight in the Department of Mysteries again, trying to analyze what was done right and wrong with each situation. Dissecting the emotionless movements back and forth during their desperate struggle for survival felt like it was helping him to think of the events without growing depressed, thinking of how he was to blame for all that transpired that night. He thought of Neville and Luna, how hard they had fought. He suddenly wondered whether Luna was back from Sweden yet, what Neville had done over his holiday. His correspondence with Ginny, usually through her brother, kept him from thinking the same about her. He half got up to start a letter, he was getting used to writing them, but sank back down. Neville he had known for all his five years at Hogwarts, but he had never been his friend. Luna he barely knew, only having met her for the first time a little less than a year ago. It would be very strange for him to be sending them letters as if he were their close friend.
Another week went by, he had taken to writing up his intended lesson plans for the D.A. with the theory that he wouldn't forget them, even though he knew he wouldn't forget a single thing. He was simply occupying his time. Halfway through the next week it finally came… The letter from Hogwarts inviting him back once again to his sixth year and permission to go visit Ron in the Burrow.
They had sorted out the logistics in one owl there and back again. He would leave the next day by means of Floo powder by using the fireplace in Mrs. Figg's fireplace, he would stay the remaining week of break with the Weasleys and then get to London for the Hogwarts Express by whatever means were being used by the Weasleys themselves. Harry was excited that the start of term was so close, he would soon be at his favorite place in the world doing what he liked best. His trunk was packed, his wand lying safely secured within his trunk for while he was in his muggle clothes, which had no real way to carry a wand inconspicuously. Hesitating for a moment, a strange feeling coming over him, he unlocked his trunk and withdrew his wand. Pulling on one of Dudley's old jackets with a dozen holes in it he placed the wand in an inner pocket.
He walked down the street carefully, trying not to attract too much attention. He would be walking into Mrs. Figg's house appearing ready for a long trip and would not be seen coming out. It would look awfully suspicious and if too many neighbors caught sight of such a thing the questions might point towards him running away. He wanted to avoid looking like a deviant child as much as he could when his aunt and uncle were the source of the rumors in the first place. He knocked swiftly on the door to the familiar house he would frequently have stayed at while the Dursleys were on holiday back while he was in normal muggle school. It seemed so long ago the gentle old lady feeding him terribly tasting cakes and boring him to death with album after album of pictures of the various generations of cats she had kept over her years of retirement. Harry had never thought to enjoy these times back then, he having been a child and thus more inclined to play than to sit quietly. He looked back at those times with no small degree of fond remembrance. He supposed that Mrs. Figg filled the role of a grandmother for Harry in some respects.
The door opened and there was Mrs. Figg, batty as ever, and smiling widely.
"Welcome Harry, welcome. Come in." She said, holding the door open and gesturing with her other hand.
"er… yes Mrs. Figg." Harry toted his trunk and covered owl cage through the front door with a little difficulty.
"I've been expecting you, I made a few cookies they're on the table if you want some." Mrs. Figg closed the door behind him and snatched up a cat from the aforementioned table.
"I'm sure you want to see your friends very much after such a long summer not even leaving the house" She said with a sideways look out of her eye.
"I've been busy with schoolwork." Harry lied, not having been assigned anything to work on over the break after the experience of O.W.L.s. It would have been a welcome break if only he wasn't tormented by the memories of the end of the previous term. Mrs. Figg seemed to detect the lie, but let it slip. She busied herself with some tea.
"If you'll stay I'd like to sit and talk a while, it's been so long since the Dursleys have needed me to look after you." Mrs. Figg was getting out two mugs for the tea, it seemed rude to exclaim his hurry to get to Ron's house when this kindly old lady seemed to want just a little bit of company.
"I suppose I'd like to stay just a bit." Harry said truthfully. He sat in a cushy sofa adjacent to the short table, Mrs. Figg sat in the armchair in the corner.
"How's Hogwarts these days Harry?"
"Oh, it's a mad place for a school, but I can think of no place I like better." Harry responded cheerfully, "It was rather hectic last year though, with O.W.L.s and Professor Umbridge. I expect this year to be a little easier, despite N.E.W.T. level classes starting up." Harry frowned, he had not received an Outstanding in Potions. Snape had said specifically that only those who got an Outstanding O.W.L. would even be eligible to take the N.E.W.T. class at all. To become an Auror he needed the N.E.W.T. level class. He just hoped they would take a deficiency if he cleared the other requirements with flying colors, which he would need a lot of work to do.
"You look a little upset, what's wrong?" Mrs. Figg said, regarding his tight face.
"Just worrying about my O.W.L. results." Harry said, shaking his head, as if to say it was nothing.
"I heard about your little rebellion last year, Dumbledore's Army I think you called it? What is going to happen to that?"
"Well, I applied over the summer for it to become an official Hogwarts club and it was accepted, I still need to get a teacher to sponsor it, but I think I can get whoever the next Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is to do so."
"That's nice to hear, do you think you'll still be the leader of the club?"
"Well, no one really thinks I'm nutters anymore, that and I've had even more experience defending myself from the dark arts since last I taught them. I've even come up with a good deal of lesson plans based on my experiences in the Department of Mysteries." That was funny, he said that without flinching or feeling strong emotions build up inside him that time.
"Hrm… I see, perhaps Dumbledore should choose you to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." Mrs. Figg was obviously trying to steer the conversations out of dangerous waters. Harry laughed, sure she was joking, but she looked at him seriously. Their conversation began to stagnate a short time after that.
"Well, I think I'd better get to the Burrow now, they're probably waiting for me." Harry stood up.
"Oh, yes of course, this way." Mrs. Figg led him to the fireplace in her den. The small case of Floo powder was hidden behind a loose brick in the mantle.
"To keep out the cats." Mrs. Figg explained as she drew out the small box and offered it to Harry.
"I think I'm a little low, but it should be plenty for one or two more trips."
Harry smiled at her and set Hedwig free, telling her to fly to Ron's house. He then strapped the cage to his trunk. He drew a pinch of powder from the bottom of the box. The emerald green flames rose up as he threw the dust in and set aside the box. Making sure he had everything with him he called out, "The Burrow" and threw in his trunk, then stepped in himself. The now familiar sensation of traveling over the Floo network gripped him. Once again he was spinning and rushing forward with fireplaces all around when suddenly he felt a jerk. He was now traveling in a very different direction, clearly his route had been tampered with.