Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters or anything, except for the ones that I have made up. All of them that appear in this fanfiction that are seen in the real Harry Potter books belong to J.K. Rowling.
Chapter 1: The Letters
It was a hot, August summer day near the little square houses of Privet Drive. Only a skinny, black haired teenager could be seen outside, as he lay near the garden of Number Four. He sighed as he read the letter in his hand, the other absentmindedly stroking the feathers of a large snowy owl.
This boys name was Harry Potter. If you thought the owl sitting next to him was an unusual thing, you obviously don't know just who Harry Potter is, for he's as abnormal as possible. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays, and would have dearly loved to have stayed at school instead of having to go home. He had a pet owl, named Hedwig, whom he delivered and recieved mail with. An odd looking scar on his forehead, which looked like a lightning bolt, could be seen easily through his bangs. And for another thing, Harry Potter was a wizard. Not just any wizard, mind you. He was famous, and was known as The Boy Who Lived, for good reasons.
Harry had only been a baby when the dark lord, Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard in a hundred years, had killed his parents, with Avada Kadavra, one of the three unforgivable curses, fourteen years ago. When Voldemort had tried to kill Harry, though, it hadn't worked, and all Harry got was the lightning shaped scar. What was so unusual about this, was the fact that Voldemort had killed so many powerful adult witches and wizards. What was even more unusual, though, was that when he had tried to curse Harry, the curse rebounded upon himself and had killed him instead, for reasons unknown.
Voldemort might have been killed, but taking so many steps to make himself immortal, one of them had worked. His body died, but his spirit lingered on, however weakly.
In Harrys third year, someone whom most everyone had thought dead, Peter Pettigrew (or Wormtail as some called him), was found to be alive, though only a few knew this. Everyone had thought that Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had killed him and betrayed Harry's parents, when it was really Wormtail. Wormtail had helped Voldemort regain power and a body of his own in Harry's last year at Hogwarts, as Harry knew only to well, since he had seen the dreadful occasion of Voldemort's rising only in his last year of Hogwarts.
He looked down at the letter, which read:
Dear Harry,
I do hope you're alright. Please, please write back to me! You haven't been talking to Ron and I for ages. In fact, you haven't written or talked to us since we were in school, and we're both really concerned for you. You can tell me what's wrong, Harry. If this is about what happened with You-Know-Who and Cedric last school year, I just want you to know that it's not your fault. Please write back so that I can breathe easily for once this summer.
Love,
Hermione
Harry sighed again and let the letter slip out of his fingers and fall to the soft, grassy ground. "I just want you to know that it's not your fault," she had written. How could it not be? He sighed again for a third time. He sure had been doing a lot of sighing this summer. All he could think about was the graveyard, and the Death Eaters, and Cedric's body, lying lifelessly on the ground...and Voldemort, returned to full power... They not only haunted his dreams every night, but as he was awake as well.
"What do you bloody think you're doing! Get up and take out the trash, boy!" Uncle Vernon roared. It felt like the Dursleys weren't as scared of him anymore. They seemed to have concluded to themselves that Harry's godfather Sirius wasn't real at all, and that Harry had made up the whole thing. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry moaned as he took the letter, put it in the pocket of his baggy jeans, and got up. "Go up to my window and I'll let you in, okay Hedwig? I'm sure the Dursley's wouldn't like it much if I let you go about the house." said Harry. Hedwig looked slightly offended, but did as she was told.
Not only did the Dursleys make him take out the trash, but after that, they told him to clean the bathroom, wash the car, mow the lawn, do the laundry, and countless other chores. Harry finally got them all finished, opened the door to his room, and slumped down onto his bed, panting. He wondered if he should tell Sirius about this, so that he'd come over to the Dursleys and remind them that he DID exist by turning them all into bats. He thought better of it, though, because he knew they'd have to be changed back, and he was sure the Dursley's wouldn't be any "happier" with Harry than they already were.
He noticed after he had gotten his breath back, that Pigwidgeon, Rons owl, was bouncing around the room, hooting excitedly. "Settle down, Pig!" he said as he scooped up the tiny gray owl and took the letter off of his leg. He opened the letter, which said:
Dear Harry,
Why aren't you talking to me or Hermione? What's the matter? Hermione says she's sure it's about last year, you know, and I do too. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! Harry, just write to me already! I'm worried about you! We all are! If you're not going to write to either of us, then at least write to Sirius. I bet you haven't been writing to him either, have you? Harry, it's okay. If it's not about You-Know-Who and everything, then please just tell me what it IS about. If you can't write to me because of the bloody Dursleys, then do anything you can to write to me anyway! I really want to hear from you!
Your Friend,
Ron
P.S. Did you hear about Hermione and Victor Krum? They broke up! She said that everything was going fine until she found out one night at dinner that they EAT house-elves there in Bulgaria! I can't even stand thinking about it. Can you believe that? I hope she doesn't go all crazy about that house-elf stuff again, even if that IS just disgusting and wrong... But knowing Hermione, she definitly will.
Harry threw the letter on top of his bedside table. Why was everyone getting so worried about him? "There's nothing wrong with me! Nothing at all..." he thought, trailing off. Was there something wrong with him? He couldn't feel happy at all, even if he really tried. It almost felt as if there were invisible Dementors following him everywhere he went, sucking all the happiness and hope out of him.
He thought about the post script that Ron had wrote. They ate house-elves in Bulgaria? His stomach lurched sickeningly and he shuddered, thinking about all the house-elves he knew, especially Dobby. He could just imagine Dobby lying on a platter with a tomatoe in his mouth, and the thought definitly didn't comfort him. He couldn't believe it. He wondered if maybe Hermione was right to take a stand on house-elf rights, now that he knew about that.
He thought, after how Ron had reacted about Hermione going out with Victor Krum, that he would be happy that they had broken up. It seemed to Harry that Ron had a crush on Hermione for a long time now, though Ron hadn't said anything to him about it. Harry could tell pretty well by himself, and he knew Ron wouldn't admit it if he asked him, anyway.
He watched as Pig flew out of the window, his tiny wings flapping crazily. He noticed it was getting late as he looked at the clock on his bedside table, which read 11:45 p.m. He yawned, stretched, fell onto his bed, and fell into a restless sleep.
Authors Note: Hi there! This is my first time writing on fanfiction.net! I know that the chapters are pretty short, and I might try to lengthen them up a bit later. This'll get much more interesting as I get farther into the story, don't worry! ^^ Though I hope you like it so far! Please review, I'd really appreciate it.
Chapter 1: The Letters
It was a hot, August summer day near the little square houses of Privet Drive. Only a skinny, black haired teenager could be seen outside, as he lay near the garden of Number Four. He sighed as he read the letter in his hand, the other absentmindedly stroking the feathers of a large snowy owl.
This boys name was Harry Potter. If you thought the owl sitting next to him was an unusual thing, you obviously don't know just who Harry Potter is, for he's as abnormal as possible. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays, and would have dearly loved to have stayed at school instead of having to go home. He had a pet owl, named Hedwig, whom he delivered and recieved mail with. An odd looking scar on his forehead, which looked like a lightning bolt, could be seen easily through his bangs. And for another thing, Harry Potter was a wizard. Not just any wizard, mind you. He was famous, and was known as The Boy Who Lived, for good reasons.
Harry had only been a baby when the dark lord, Voldemort, the most feared dark wizard in a hundred years, had killed his parents, with Avada Kadavra, one of the three unforgivable curses, fourteen years ago. When Voldemort had tried to kill Harry, though, it hadn't worked, and all Harry got was the lightning shaped scar. What was so unusual about this, was the fact that Voldemort had killed so many powerful adult witches and wizards. What was even more unusual, though, was that when he had tried to curse Harry, the curse rebounded upon himself and had killed him instead, for reasons unknown.
Voldemort might have been killed, but taking so many steps to make himself immortal, one of them had worked. His body died, but his spirit lingered on, however weakly.
In Harrys third year, someone whom most everyone had thought dead, Peter Pettigrew (or Wormtail as some called him), was found to be alive, though only a few knew this. Everyone had thought that Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had killed him and betrayed Harry's parents, when it was really Wormtail. Wormtail had helped Voldemort regain power and a body of his own in Harry's last year at Hogwarts, as Harry knew only to well, since he had seen the dreadful occasion of Voldemort's rising only in his last year of Hogwarts.
He looked down at the letter, which read:
Dear Harry,
I do hope you're alright. Please, please write back to me! You haven't been talking to Ron and I for ages. In fact, you haven't written or talked to us since we were in school, and we're both really concerned for you. You can tell me what's wrong, Harry. If this is about what happened with You-Know-Who and Cedric last school year, I just want you to know that it's not your fault. Please write back so that I can breathe easily for once this summer.
Love,
Hermione
Harry sighed again and let the letter slip out of his fingers and fall to the soft, grassy ground. "I just want you to know that it's not your fault," she had written. How could it not be? He sighed again for a third time. He sure had been doing a lot of sighing this summer. All he could think about was the graveyard, and the Death Eaters, and Cedric's body, lying lifelessly on the ground...and Voldemort, returned to full power... They not only haunted his dreams every night, but as he was awake as well.
"What do you bloody think you're doing! Get up and take out the trash, boy!" Uncle Vernon roared. It felt like the Dursleys weren't as scared of him anymore. They seemed to have concluded to themselves that Harry's godfather Sirius wasn't real at all, and that Harry had made up the whole thing. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry moaned as he took the letter, put it in the pocket of his baggy jeans, and got up. "Go up to my window and I'll let you in, okay Hedwig? I'm sure the Dursley's wouldn't like it much if I let you go about the house." said Harry. Hedwig looked slightly offended, but did as she was told.
Not only did the Dursleys make him take out the trash, but after that, they told him to clean the bathroom, wash the car, mow the lawn, do the laundry, and countless other chores. Harry finally got them all finished, opened the door to his room, and slumped down onto his bed, panting. He wondered if he should tell Sirius about this, so that he'd come over to the Dursleys and remind them that he DID exist by turning them all into bats. He thought better of it, though, because he knew they'd have to be changed back, and he was sure the Dursley's wouldn't be any "happier" with Harry than they already were.
He noticed after he had gotten his breath back, that Pigwidgeon, Rons owl, was bouncing around the room, hooting excitedly. "Settle down, Pig!" he said as he scooped up the tiny gray owl and took the letter off of his leg. He opened the letter, which said:
Dear Harry,
Why aren't you talking to me or Hermione? What's the matter? Hermione says she's sure it's about last year, you know, and I do too. IT'S NOT YOUR FAULT! Harry, just write to me already! I'm worried about you! We all are! If you're not going to write to either of us, then at least write to Sirius. I bet you haven't been writing to him either, have you? Harry, it's okay. If it's not about You-Know-Who and everything, then please just tell me what it IS about. If you can't write to me because of the bloody Dursleys, then do anything you can to write to me anyway! I really want to hear from you!
Your Friend,
Ron
P.S. Did you hear about Hermione and Victor Krum? They broke up! She said that everything was going fine until she found out one night at dinner that they EAT house-elves there in Bulgaria! I can't even stand thinking about it. Can you believe that? I hope she doesn't go all crazy about that house-elf stuff again, even if that IS just disgusting and wrong... But knowing Hermione, she definitly will.
Harry threw the letter on top of his bedside table. Why was everyone getting so worried about him? "There's nothing wrong with me! Nothing at all..." he thought, trailing off. Was there something wrong with him? He couldn't feel happy at all, even if he really tried. It almost felt as if there were invisible Dementors following him everywhere he went, sucking all the happiness and hope out of him.
He thought about the post script that Ron had wrote. They ate house-elves in Bulgaria? His stomach lurched sickeningly and he shuddered, thinking about all the house-elves he knew, especially Dobby. He could just imagine Dobby lying on a platter with a tomatoe in his mouth, and the thought definitly didn't comfort him. He couldn't believe it. He wondered if maybe Hermione was right to take a stand on house-elf rights, now that he knew about that.
He thought, after how Ron had reacted about Hermione going out with Victor Krum, that he would be happy that they had broken up. It seemed to Harry that Ron had a crush on Hermione for a long time now, though Ron hadn't said anything to him about it. Harry could tell pretty well by himself, and he knew Ron wouldn't admit it if he asked him, anyway.
He watched as Pig flew out of the window, his tiny wings flapping crazily. He noticed it was getting late as he looked at the clock on his bedside table, which read 11:45 p.m. He yawned, stretched, fell onto his bed, and fell into a restless sleep.
Authors Note: Hi there! This is my first time writing on fanfiction.net! I know that the chapters are pretty short, and I might try to lengthen them up a bit later. This'll get much more interesting as I get farther into the story, don't worry! ^^ Though I hope you like it so far! Please review, I'd really appreciate it.