Disclaimer: I own nothing...not Ron, not Harry, not Snape (damn...)
Title: Teacher and Pupil
Summary: In his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry is resigned to his fate. Still mourning Sirius and with only 6 years of magical education, is there any hope that Harry will be ready for the final showdown with Tom Riddle?
Harry Potter sat dully on his bed one rainy afternoon in July. An argument had-once again-broken out at Number Four Privet Drive. The argument-once again-focused around Harry and his abilities as a wizard. Harry had-once again-been banished to his room while his aunt and uncle argued over him. But unlike previous times, Harry didn't spend his banishment pacing worriedly in his tiny cupboard, wondering what the owl, addressed to the Dursleys, had read.
Harry didn't care.
He had spent the last month in horrible isolation. The Daily Prophet owl had been spotted by Uncle Vernon a week into the holiday. The bird had barely escaped with its life, and no further deliveries had been made.
The letters from Ron and Hermionine had sounded forced and almost fake. Cheeriness seemed to be surgically implanted into the them, full of delightful stories about Chrookshank's newest trick or Fred and George's latest product.
Harry had burned every one of them.
He had expected that this summer be better off then last. After all, Dumbledore had ordered the same isolation last year, and look what had...
Harry stopped himself from thinking about Sirius. Sirius was dead, and Harry didn't care.
Sirius, who had been father, brother, confident, friend. Sirius who had cared about Harry. Not his scar, not his Quiddich abilities, not the prophesy which he must have known about all along. Harry was his godson. Harry was who he'd cared about.
But Sirius was gone and Harry couldn't find anything to get rid of the numbness that had filled his heart.
"BOY!" came the yell from the first floor. Harry calmly rose from his bed, tucking his wand in his sleeve before leaving the room.
"What?" Harry answered, entering the living room. Feathers were scattered on the normally spotless floor and a roll of parchment was held tightly in Uncle Vernon's large hand.
"Read this," he barked, shoving the paper to Harry's face.
Dear Mr. Dursley,
I'm sure you remember my husband and sons from several occasions and you've heard all about my son, Ron. We would like, once again, for Harry to come and spend the remainder of the summer with us. There is no need to send a reply owl, as there is very little time. Please ask Harry to gather his trunks and be sure to hold the enclosed necklace at 8 PM. It is extremely important that Harry do this!
Best of wishes to you and your family!
Molly Weasley
"Who does she think she is?" demanded Aunt Petunia. "Ordering us to hand you over for the summer. And why is she giving you a necklace?"
"Boy," growled Uncle Vernon.
"Fine, I can't go," Harry said shortly. He remembered when these same words had been followed by a reference to Sirius. Sirius, who was always there to help. Sirius...
"From my girlfriend," Harry lied, grabbing the necklace. The portkey would activate at 8, according to the letter. He had an hour to get redy.
"Get down here, boy!" shouted Vernon, but Harry ignored him.
He threw his belongings into his trunk. Harry wrapped the pearl necklace around his wrist before getting a hold of Hedwig's cage. Sitting on the trunk and holding the cage, Harry waited for the clock to strike.
He wondered where the portkey would take him. The Burrow? The Order of the Phoenix? It might be a trick from Voldemort, Harry realized.
Better sooner then later, he thought. Anyway, I'd never know enough magic to defeat Voldemort. Never. Which meant he would die, just like his parents. Just like Cedric. Just like Sirius.
But, he decided, as he felt the tug behind his navel, Harry Potter didn't care.
Title: Teacher and Pupil
Summary: In his sixth year at Hogwarts, Harry is resigned to his fate. Still mourning Sirius and with only 6 years of magical education, is there any hope that Harry will be ready for the final showdown with Tom Riddle?
Harry Potter sat dully on his bed one rainy afternoon in July. An argument had-once again-broken out at Number Four Privet Drive. The argument-once again-focused around Harry and his abilities as a wizard. Harry had-once again-been banished to his room while his aunt and uncle argued over him. But unlike previous times, Harry didn't spend his banishment pacing worriedly in his tiny cupboard, wondering what the owl, addressed to the Dursleys, had read.
Harry didn't care.
He had spent the last month in horrible isolation. The Daily Prophet owl had been spotted by Uncle Vernon a week into the holiday. The bird had barely escaped with its life, and no further deliveries had been made.
The letters from Ron and Hermionine had sounded forced and almost fake. Cheeriness seemed to be surgically implanted into the them, full of delightful stories about Chrookshank's newest trick or Fred and George's latest product.
Harry had burned every one of them.
He had expected that this summer be better off then last. After all, Dumbledore had ordered the same isolation last year, and look what had...
Harry stopped himself from thinking about Sirius. Sirius was dead, and Harry didn't care.
Sirius, who had been father, brother, confident, friend. Sirius who had cared about Harry. Not his scar, not his Quiddich abilities, not the prophesy which he must have known about all along. Harry was his godson. Harry was who he'd cared about.
But Sirius was gone and Harry couldn't find anything to get rid of the numbness that had filled his heart.
"BOY!" came the yell from the first floor. Harry calmly rose from his bed, tucking his wand in his sleeve before leaving the room.
"What?" Harry answered, entering the living room. Feathers were scattered on the normally spotless floor and a roll of parchment was held tightly in Uncle Vernon's large hand.
"Read this," he barked, shoving the paper to Harry's face.
Dear Mr. Dursley,
I'm sure you remember my husband and sons from several occasions and you've heard all about my son, Ron. We would like, once again, for Harry to come and spend the remainder of the summer with us. There is no need to send a reply owl, as there is very little time. Please ask Harry to gather his trunks and be sure to hold the enclosed necklace at 8 PM. It is extremely important that Harry do this!
Best of wishes to you and your family!
Molly Weasley
"Who does she think she is?" demanded Aunt Petunia. "Ordering us to hand you over for the summer. And why is she giving you a necklace?"
"Boy," growled Uncle Vernon.
"Fine, I can't go," Harry said shortly. He remembered when these same words had been followed by a reference to Sirius. Sirius, who was always there to help. Sirius...
"From my girlfriend," Harry lied, grabbing the necklace. The portkey would activate at 8, according to the letter. He had an hour to get redy.
"Get down here, boy!" shouted Vernon, but Harry ignored him.
He threw his belongings into his trunk. Harry wrapped the pearl necklace around his wrist before getting a hold of Hedwig's cage. Sitting on the trunk and holding the cage, Harry waited for the clock to strike.
He wondered where the portkey would take him. The Burrow? The Order of the Phoenix? It might be a trick from Voldemort, Harry realized.
Better sooner then later, he thought. Anyway, I'd never know enough magic to defeat Voldemort. Never. Which meant he would die, just like his parents. Just like Cedric. Just like Sirius.
But, he decided, as he felt the tug behind his navel, Harry Potter didn't care.