A/N: This is my attempt at a Soul-Bond story. I love the genre, but sometimes I have encountered stuff that made me think, 'if I wrote this, I would do it totally different'. Well, this is it. This is how a Soul-Bond would work if I could decide.

Yes, I have basically copied the letters from the books, and only made small adjustments to fit my story. There was really no way I could make the letters better, even though I tried, so there it is. Hope you understand.

Chapter One

An Unexpected
Birthday Gift

On the morning of July 29th, 1993, Harry woke up feeling unusually tired. He looked at the clock on his bedside table and groaned. It was half past six, and in an hour his Uncle Vernon would arrive in the kitchen, expecting breakfast. Usually, this didn't bother Harry. He had long since got used to making breakfast for his aunt and uncle, but today he was just too tired to care. He felt like he hadn't slept at all. He rolled over and buried his face in his pillows. He was asleep in less than a minute.

• • •

When Harry woke again, it was to the sound of his bedroom door slamming open so violently that the door handle made a hole where it struck the wall.

"BOY!" bellowed Uncle Vernon from the doorway. Harry knew without looking at him that he was purple in the face. He had probably been yelling from the bottom of the stairs for quite some time.

Harry couldn't have made breakfast even if he had wanted to. He still felt like he had been fed some kind of powerful sleeping draught and, as if that wasn't enough, he also felt the beginning of a headache–which wasn't improved by his uncle screaming at him about doing one's share of the work in the household and himself having to go to work hungry.

As if you would go hungry for long with that bakery across the street from your office, Harry thought. He had heard enough stories about that place since Vernon's third favourite thing to do, after complaining about Harry and stuffing his face, was talk about food.

He briefly contemplated telling his uncle that he didn't feel up to doing any kind of work today, but decided that it wouldn't make any difference. Uncle Vernon wouldn't believe him anyway.

"Why are you just lying there, boy? Get to work!" Vernon barked as he crossed the room to Harry's bed. Harry braced himself for the inevitable.

Vernon grabbed Harry's arm and forced him up into a sitting position. Harry felt a wave of nausea wash over him, and he clapped a hand over his mouth, resisting the urge to throw up, but before anyone really had the time to react, Harry had covered his uncle's best suit with yesterday's dinner.

Vernon backed away quickly as Harry deposited more half-digested food onto his bed. The last thing he was aware of before passing out was his uncle swearing that, after he had found another suit, he wouldn't rest until he had his revenge.

• • •

The next time Harry came to, his room was bathed in sunlight. The clock on his bedside table told him that it was just before noon.

Harry noticed that he didn't feel as tired anymore. His headache had gotten worse though, and when he tried to sit up, the world began to spin. Luckily, it wasn't as bad as that morning, and he managed to keep his food where it belonged.

That's when he noticed that his bedclothes were still stained with the evidence of his earlier sickness. Evidently, no one had cared enough to do anything about it, which meant that he would have to muster the strength to do it himself.

Harry forced himself to get up and began to change the bedclothes, all the while cursing the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, which was unreasonably restricting him from using a spell to dull the pain in his head. Therefore, despite his well-known dislike of potions, Harry had an urge to take out his potions kit and cauldron and attempt to brew a pain-relieving potion. He didn't care that they wouldn't learn it until fourth year; his headache was so intense, and he was sure that he had seen the recipe in there somewhere. Unfortunately, he didn't think he could do it without the Dursleys noticing anything.

When he was done changing the sheets, he made his way to the bathroom and brushed his teeth to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. After some rummaging in the cabinet, he also found some Muggle pain pills. They weren't as effective as a potion, nor did they act as quickly, but they would have to do.

He then made his way slowly down to the kitchen, hoping to find something to eat. He didn't really have an appetite, but he knew from experience that not eating would only make him feel worse in the end. He could hear the television in the living room, but if his Aunt Petunia had heard him coming down the stairs, she ignored him. This suited Harry just fine.

He dug out some bread from the pantry and proceeded to make himself a sandwich as he neither had the will to prepare, nor the stomach to process, anything heavier right then. When he had finished eating, he returned to his room and sat down on the bed, putting his head in his hands, wondering what was happening to him. Yesterday he had been fine, and then today he was suddenly more sick than he could ever remember being. Weren't these things supposed to happen gradually?

He closed his eyes and tried to remember if he had eaten anything unusual lately, but couldn't think of anything.

He lay back on the bed, waiting for the pain pills to start working, but despite the fact that he was still exhausted, the throbbing in his head prevented him from getting any real rest.

Eventually, he resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't sleep anytime soon and grabbed the nearest book he could reach: Quidditch Through the Ages. It had been a thank-you gift from Fred and George for saving their sister from the Chamber of Secrets two months ago.

He had just skimmed through a chapter called Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland, when he heard the front door open and close, followed by his Cousin Dudley's impatient voice yelling, "Mom! I'm hungry!"

To Harry's immediate dislike, this was followed by Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss exclaiming, "Do you have anything left of your excellent treacle tart?"

Harry had always been slightly surprised by his aunt's blindness when it came to her son and his friends. Her usually being so perceptive about everything else, totally missed the evidence of her son being anything less than the innocent boy he made himself out to be in front of his parents.

Harry knew better though. He had seen Dudley's gang tormenting other kids enough, and had been the victim of said activity more than he could remember. He had even seen them hiding in a clump of bushes behind the supermarket once, smoking cigarettes. Needless to say, Harry didn't like Dudley's gang one bit.

He closed his book and rolled over on his back. Hearing Dudley with his friends made Harry miss his own friends: Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

He had exchanged a few letters with Ron during the month they had been home for their summer holidays, but since Harry's uncle didn't approve of owl post–or anything magical for that matter–he couldn't be seen sending too many letters.

The funniest attempt of communication from the Wizarding world, however, had been when Ron had attempted to make a telephone call.

It had been quite the scene when Uncle Vernon answered the phone, only to have Ron yelling in his ear. At the time, Harry had felt sorry for his best mate, but looking back, it had been rather funny.

Now being in a much better mood, Harry decided that he ought to write a letter to him. The pain pills had started to work and he felt a little better.

He reached over to his desk drawer and pulled out a piece of parchment, an eagle feather quill and a bottle of ink and started writing.

He told Ron all about the Dursleys' latest campaign to make him feel worthless and asked him–for the fourth time–if he could come to the Burrow. Ron had been quite vague on the subject, but Harry didn't know why. When he was done, he gave the letter to his owl, Hedwig, and sent her off.

• • •

The next day went by in a haze of tiredness and sickness, but on the day after that–the day that happened to be his birthday–Harry felt much better. He was still a little tired and he still had a headache, but today it was at least manageable.

He went up to his room after breakfast to find three owls sitting on his desk. He recognised two of them immediately. One was his own Hedwig: a beautiful snowy owl, who he had got from the Hogwarts gamekeeper on his eleventh birthday. The other one was the Weasley family owl, Errol, who was very old and extremely clumsy. The third owl, Harry didn't recognise, but from the Hogwarts crest on the letter it was carrying, it wasn't hard to guess where it had come from. Harry took the Hogwarts letter and a badly wrapped package from its beak and the owl jumped out through Harry's bedroom window and took off.

Harry turned and took the package Errol was carrying. As he had guessed, it was from Ron.

He ripped it open and discovered two things. A gold wrapped present and an envelope.

He opened the envelope first and two pieces of paper fell out: a letter and a newspaper clipping. The clipping featured a moving black-and-white photo of the Weasley family standing in front of a large pyramid. There was an article printed underneath it.

MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE

Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.

A delighted Mr Weasley told the Daily Prophet, "We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank."

The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.

Harry looked at the photo again and his heart constricted in happiness for the Weasleys. If anyone deserved to win a large pile of gold, they did. They were the nicest people Harry had ever met. They had basically taken him in as one of their own when he visited them for the last part of the summer holidays the previous year. They were also a rather large family, so most of their money was used on the household and not much was left for spending on pleasure. Yes, the Weasleys certainly deserved it.

Harry put the newspaper clipping down and picked up Ron's letter.

Dear Harry

Happy birthday!

Egypt was brilliant! Bill showed us around all the tombs and you wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum wouldn't let Ginny come in the last one. There were all these mutant skeletons in there, of Muggles who'd broken in and grown extra heads and stuff.

Unfortunately, Ginny got really sick a few days ago and we had to cut our vacation short. I don't know what's going on, but it seems really serious, because I overheard mum and dad talking about contacting Dumbledore. I hope she'll be okay.

I asked mum about letting you come here, but she said she had to talk to Dumbledore about it. I don't know why, but I'll let you know when I have an answer.

Don't let the Muggles get you down!

P.S. Percy's Head Boy. He got the letter last week.

Harry glanced at the photograph again and, sure enough, there was a polished Head Boy badge pinned on his robes, gleaming in the stark Egyptian sun.

He turned to Ron's present and unwrapped it eagerly. Inside was what looked like a small glass spinning top with a note attached to it with spello-tape.

Harry–this is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there's someone untrustworthy around, it's supposed to light up and spin. Bill says it's rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn't realise Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.

Bye–Ron

Harry picked up the Sneakoscope and put it on his desk. It stood there silently, balancing on its tip. He poked it with his finger, causing it to wobble, but it never fell over.

As he reached for the parcel Hedwig had now dropped on the desk, he thought absentmindedly that a Sneakoscope would have been handy in his first year at Hogwarts since the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor had been walking around with Voldemort on the back of his head. That would certainly count as untrustworthy.

Inside this package too, there was a wrapped present, a card and a letter. This time from Hermione.

Dear Harry,

Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I do hope you're all right.

I'm on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know how I was going to send this to you–what if they'd opened it at customs?–but then Hedwig turned up! I think she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I've been getting it delivered; it's so good to keep up with what's going on in the Wizarding world). Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he's learning loads. I'm really jealous–the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.

There's some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I've rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I've found out, I hope it's not too long–it's two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.

Ron says he's going to be in London in the last week of the holidays. Can you make it? Will your aunt and uncle let you come? I really hope you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September first!

Love from Hermione

P.S. Ron says Percy's Head Boy. I'll bet Percy's really pleased. Ron doesn't seem too happy about it.

Harry laughed and put the letter aside. Only Hermione would rewrite a whole essay just to reflect the location she happened to be in, but that was one of the things he liked about her. She was very dedicated to what she did and sought to excel at whatever project she was working on–be it an essay for school or helping him solve whatever mystery they were currently involved with. The only problem was that she actively tried to make him and Ron follow in her footsteps, which was something neither of them had the ability to do.

He picked up Hermione's present and began peeling off the wrapping paper. His first impression was that she had given him a book. It wouldn't have been the first time it happened, and she had a well-deserved reputation for being quite obsessed with them. His suspicions were strengthened when black leather started to show underneath. When the top was uncovered though, he was pleasantly surprised. It wasn't a book after all: it was something much better.

On a sleek black leather case was a bronze plaque with words stamped in shining silver lettering.

BROOMSTICK SERVICING KIT

"Wow, Hermione," he whispered to the empty room as he undid the clasps and opened the leather clad wooden box.

Inside was every tool you could imagine for broomcare and service. Bottles of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a brass clip-on compass for long-distance flying, and a Handbook of Do-It-Yourself Broomcare.

Resisting the urge to try it all out at once, he closed the lid and picked up the last parcel, which had been delivered by the Hogwarts owl. He ripped it open and picked up the card first. He recognised the untidy scrawl at once as belonging to Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday!

Think you might find this useful for next year.

Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you.

Hope the Muggles are treating you right.

All the best,

Hagrid

Intrigued, Harry started to rip the paper off the present. The moment he had removed the unusually thick ribbon, however, it sprang open by itself and immediately snapped at his fingers, startling him and making him drop it. He barely glimpsed something poison-green and leathery slip under his bed.

Harry leapt onto the bed and lay down on his stomach, lowering his head over the edge to look underneath. He saw something flat and edgy coming his way and he pulled back fast when the thing came back out in the open. Harry was surprised to see that it was a book.

He threw himself on top of it and flattened it against the floor; then he grabbed the nearest pillow and emptied the pillowcase, stuffing the book into it and tying it tightly. He briefly saw the words The Monster Book of Monsters stamped on the cover. Harry couldn't help but think that it was an appropriate name for it.

The only thing left now was the Hogwarts letter, but since Harry was rather tired from the fight with the book, and his headache had started to increase as a result, he laid back on the bed for a quick nap.

• • •

An hour later, according to his alarm clock, Harry was awakened by his uncle yelling from the bottom of the stairs.

"BOY! COME DOWN HERE AT ONCE!"

What does he want now? Harry groaned groggily, but wanting to avoid a repeat of the scene of two days ago, he dutifully got up and walked downstairs.

As he entered the living room, all traces of sleepiness disappeared immediately. There–sitting on the Dursleys' sofa, looking quite out of place–were the four people he least expected to see.

On the side closest to the door, his long white beard curling in his lap and his intricately decorated Wizard's robes looking even more eccentric than usual by contrast of the Dursleys' clean living room, was Dumbledore. Next to him sat Mr Weasley, his eyes flicking between the television set and the telephone as if he couldn't decide which to get his hands on first to take it apart and see how it worked.

Beside him sat Mrs Weasley, a plump woman with a usually kind face, though today the only emotions it showed were worry and fear. The most unexpected visitor, though, was sitting on the side farthest away from him. Ron's sister. Ginny–the youngest of the Weasleys–was twisting her hands and avoided everyone's gaze. She looked more nervous than he had ever seen her before.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore said, "Please, take a seat." The old man waved his wand casually, producing three comfortable looking armchairs. "This concerns you as well, Mr and Mrs Dursley," he continued, gesturing to the seats.

Harry sat down in one of the chairs, facing the others. At a look from Vernon, Petunia disappeared into the kitchen and returned with two of the kitchen chairs. Dumbledore waved his wand again and the conjured armchairs vanished again.

"Now, Mr Dursley," Dumbledore began as the Dursleys had taken their seats, "Where is your son?"

"What's it to you?" Vernon barked back.

"I simply want to know that he won't hear this conversation," Dumbledore replied calmly.

"He's at a friend's house," Vernon grunted, "Which reminds me," he continued, "I'll have to pick up Marge at the station in ten minutes, so you'll have to do this quickly."

Harry cursed inwardly. Aunt Marge, who was Vernon's sister, shared the title of Harry's least favourite person in the world with Draco Malfoy. Her coming to stay over would undoubtedly be the worst birthday present they had given him yet.

"Arrangements have been made for your sister to arrive at this time tomorrow. We have all the time we need," Dumbledore said, and Harry swore he could see the old man's eyes twinkle.

"What have you done to her?" Vernon growled threateningly.

"Nothing," said Dumbledore. "If you have to know, the train she was supposed to take unexpectedly stopped working and no replacement trains seem to be available for some reason. I think quite a few trains have broken down today. Must be an epidemic," he added merrily. Harry knew enough about the old man to be sure that he was well aware of the fact that there was no such thing as a 'train epidemic', but the Dursleys' didn't. Indeed, Uncle Vernon's moustache twitched as the man's fury level steadily rose. Harry just leaned back in the cosy armchair as the men stared into each other's faces. If it came to a fight, Harry had no doubt who would come out on as the winner.

"Fine," spat Uncle Vernon venomously after a couple of minutes' silent battle of wills. "Now what is this all about?"

"Before we begin," said Dumbledore, turning away from Vernon, addressing the rest of the people in the room, "I need to impress upon you the gravity of what we are to discuss today. What is said here is to be treated as classified information. You are not to breathe a word about it to anyone," he looked pointedly at Mrs Weasley, "Not even to your sons."

Dumbledore looked around the room and everyone nodded their consent, even the Dursleys, although reluctantly.

"Now, Mr Dursley, what do you know about what happened at the end of Harry's last school year?"

"Why should I know anything about it?" asked Uncle Vernon.

"Because the consequences of those events will affect you," Dumbledore replied mystically.

As the Dursleys were briefed on the incident in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry noticed that Ginny seemed to get more and more agitated. He didn't blame her. Being possessed by the spirit of Voldemort for a year must have been a traumatic experience. He could almost feel the guilt and shame radiating out of her, and had a sudden urge to walk over and comfort her...

"But if Harry saved this girl–Minnie or whatever her name is–how could this possibly concern us?" Vernon interjected when Dumbledore was finished. Harry noticed Mrs Weasley shooting Vernon a disgusted look when he got her daughter's name wrong.

"Well, you see, Mr Dursley, when one wizard saves another's life, a magical bond known as a life debt is formed," said Dumbledore. "Under normal circumstances, this bond requires the person being saved to repay the debt, should an opportunity arise. It is my belief, however, that in the case of Mr Potter and Miss Weasley, this life debt is, in fact, fuelling another–much stronger–bond. Tell me, do you believe in the human soul, Mr Dursley?"

Uncle Vernon looked at Dumbledore for a few minutes, and then said, "No."

"I assure you that it's quite real," Dumbledore said. "The soul is your sense of self. It allows you to interact with the world around you and think for yourself. The body can survive without the soul, but you would basically be–as the Muggle term so elegantly puts it–a vegetable," Dumbledore said.

"That's all very well, Dumbledore," said Mrs Weasley, now slightly hysterically, "But what does all this have to do with my daughter?"

Instead of answering the question, Dumbledore turned to Ginny.

"Miss Weasley, may I ask how you feel physically at this moment?"

Ginny looked up and said timidly, "I-I'm fine, s-sir."

"And Mr Potter, how do you feel?" Dumbledore continued.

"I'm fine too, sir," he replied.

"And how did you feel a few days ago?" Dumbledore prompted, and at that moment Harry realised that he really was fine–all traces of his earlier headache, tiredness and sickness were gone.

"I was rather sick, sir," Harry replied truthfully, glancing at Vernon, who was getting a mad glint in his eye. He had evidently not forgotten the suit incident either.

"Yes, I thought you might have been," said Dumbledore. "You see, dear Molly, it is my belief that Mr Potter and your daughter have entered a soul bond–"

"But how?" Mrs Weasley interjected. "I thought that was only myth and legend!"

"I'm afraid it's not," said Dumbledore. "There are no known ways to test if a bond has indeed been formed, but its effects are quite well documented if you know where to look. That's why I asked you to inform me if there were any sudden changes in your daughter's health. You see, the initial stages of bonding require the persons involved to be physically close to each other, else they fall ill. The fact that bringing them both together cured both their illnesses only confirms my suspicions. I'm sure you all see the complications of this situation."

Harry was stunned. He shared a soul bond? With Ginny? He had so many questions he wanted to ask. How did it happen? Why? What does it even mean to be soul bonded with someone, and what were the complications Dumbledore was talking about? He decided to voice this last question first.

"Sir, what do you mean with 'complication'? If Ginny and I have to be close to each other, doesn't that mean that I can live with the Weasleys for the rest of the summer?" he said hopefully.

"I'm afraid not, Harry," Dumbledore replied sadly. "You see, when your mother chose to die to save you, she invoked three layers of magical protection for you. The first two you already know–they were the ones to make the killing curse rebound upon Voldemort–" The Weasleys flinched "–and preventing Quirrell from touching you.

"The third layer is in the form of a blood-ward. It will keep you safe wherever your mother's blood dwells–in this case," he glanced at Petunia, "with her sister."

"Okay, fine. How long do I have to stay," Harry began, but then he understood exactly what Dumbledore had talked about when he mentioned a complication. "NO!" he said firmly, "Absolutely not. Ginny is not staying here; no way!"

"You can't mean that, Dumbledore," Mrs Weasley interrupted them all. "Ginny... live with these Muggles? I won't have it," she said. "I don't trust them."

Harry, who silently agreed, looked at Ginny. She had yet to say a thing about what she thought about all this. She looked up at him and blushed. She seemed to understand his silent question though.

"Well," she began, "I wouldn't mind staying here–I mean, it's not like we have any choice, is it?" she said timidly, not meeting his eyes.

"Believe me, you don't want to stay here," said Harry, completely disregarding the fact that his aunt and uncle were sitting right beside him.

"I'm afraid Miss Weasley is right, Harry," said Dumbledore. "We simply have no alternatives. You won't have to stay here all summer, though. I think two weeks will suffice."

"Now wait just one moment!" Uncle Vernon barked out. "Don't we get a say in this? I won't have another one of your kind in my house!"

"You see?" Mrs Weasley shot in, "I'm not leaving my baby in the care of people with this old-fashioned attitude!"

"Old-fashioned?" yelled Vernon, leaning forward threateningly, "Who are you to speak of old-fashioned? Look at what you are wearing! You look practically medieval, all of you!"

"Don't talk to my wife that way!" Mr Weasley exclaimed, drawing his wand and pointing it at Vernon, who recoiled as if he was facing the barrel of a gun instead of a stick of wood.

"Get that thing away from me!" Vernon shouted hysterically, sitting back in his chair so fast that Harry was surprised it didn't tip over backwards.

Harry glanced at Ginny, who had assumed a position that made her look like a little ball with bright red hair. She was ashamed that her foolish trust in the diary had led to the bond forming, and ultimately the loud shouting match between her parents and Harry's guardians. How Harry knew this, he didn't know, but he was sure it was true.

He wondered if there was any way that he could stay at the Weasleys anyway. Perhaps if they put up better protection around the Burrow…

Suddenly there was a loud bang, some startled shrieks and a bright flash of light, and everything went quiet. When the spots in Harry's eyes had disappeared, he saw Dumbledore standing in the middle of the room, his wand drawn. The other adults were rubbing their eyes and ears.

"Now that I have your attention, how about we discuss this in a civil tone and avoid personal insults?" Dumbledore suggested.

Before anyone had any chance to say anything else, Harry took his chance to ask the Headmaster about his idea.

"Sir, couldn't you just put up better protection at the Burrow?" he asked, "so I could stay there instead?"

"No, I'm sorry Harry, but no matter what I did, it still would not be as effective as the blood-wards here. In order to simulate this ward at The Burrow, I would have to use the Fidelius charm, as well as anti-Apparition wards, Unplottable charms and many more. I dare say that would interfere with the Weasleys' way of life a little too much." Dumbledore looked at Molly, who frowned, but nodded.

"What if we were to check in on them regularly?" asked Mr Weasley, eyeing his wife to gauge her reaction. "And if there are any signs of mistreatment, we'll take them straight home to the Burrow, blood-wards or not."

"And I want nightly reports by owl," added Mrs Weasley.

Dumbledore nodded. "That's understandable," he said. Then he looked at the Dursleys.

"Oh, do we get a say in this?" Uncle Vernon grunted sarcastically. "I don't want any of them here," he stated, not making any attempt to hide his distaste.

"Oh, I think you may find that you will, Mr Dursley," said Dumbledore. "As I have explained, there's really no other way, and if you kick any of them out, some very interesting things might happen."

"Are you threatening me, old man?" growled Uncle Vernon.

"Oh no, not at all," said Dumbledore, and Harry could almost swear that his Headmaster was smiling. "I'm merely pointing out some facts," he continued. "You see, when you took Harry in, you made a binding magical oath to let him stay with you until he is of age, which is when the blood-wards will break. Since Harry is now bonded to Miss Weasley, denying her to stay here would in fact be a violation of that same oath–and you have to understand that nothing good has ever come from breaking a magical oath."

Uncle Vernon got beet red in the face, but seemed to understand that Dumbledore was not a man to cross, so instead of arguing, he stalked out of the room grunting, "Fine, the girl can stay, but I'll keep my eyes on her, mark my words." Aunt Petunia followed him out a few seconds later.

"Good, then that's settled," said Dumbledore. Harry couldn't remember when he had agreed to this, but then again, he couldn't remember agreeing to much today. The best thing to do would be to make the most of the situation. On the upside, he wouldn't be alone with the Dursleys anymore, but on the other hand, the person he would be spending time with was Ron's shy little sister, who had barely said three words to him despite him staying with her family for a month last year. But since they were now soul bonded, he thought that perhaps he should pay more attention to her.

"Sir, exactly what does it mean to be soul bonded to someone?" Harry asked.

"That is a very good question, Harry," answered Dumbledore. "Since the last persons to share a soul bond died almost a century ago, there is no one who can tell you. Records show however that the most common side effects include shared feelings and the ability to instantly locate their bond mate."

"Wow," said Harry. That sounded like some really cool powers to have.

"Now if you'll excuse me, Arthur, Molly, I would like some time to talk to Harry and Ginny in private," Dumbledore said.

"Of course," said Mrs Weasley, still looking a little put out, "We'll be just outside."

When the elder Weasleys had left, Dumbledore turned back to Harry and Ginny.

"Now, I know what you're thinking–you can't wait for this bond to take effect, and you might think that it's all just some new powers–but I want to warn you right now that it's not; at least not all of the time. This bond will–in time–mean a complete loss of privacy between the two of you. There are reports of instances where the bond mates managed to dampen their connection, but even then it was only for short periods of time. Most of the time, you will know almost everything about what the other is feeling, doing and sometimes even thinking at any given moment."

Harry looked at Ginny, and suddenly he didn't feel at all so at ease with this soul bond thing. In fact, it was starting to scare him a little; and from the look on Ginny's face, he could tell that it was scaring her too. Again, he felt the urge to comfort her, but before he could move, Dumbledore began speaking again.

"Sharing a soul bond is not something you should take lightly. I know you didn't ask for this to happen, but that just makes it even more important to try and make this work.

"I wish I could give you more advice, but the only thing I can say for sure is that you should care for each other like you would care for yourselves. After all, if one of you is unhappy, you will both be unhappy."

• • •

"I Apparated home and picked up your trunk," Mr Weasley told Ginny when they went out into the hallway ten minutes later.

Mrs Weasley immediately leapt forward and enveloped Ginny in a tight hug, whispering things in her ear that Harry couldn't hear. She then turned to the boy and gave him a crushing hug too.

"If they do or say anything, promise you'll owl me," she said through barely held back tears. "And look after my baby," she added.

Harry felt a little awkward. That was usually a request made to an adult supervisor, but Harry supposed that, as he was the only person that she trusted who would be there, the task to ensure Ginny's safety came to rest on his shoulders. "I will," he whispered back.

When Dumbledore and the Weasleys had left, Harry picked up Ginny's trunk, and pulled it towards the stairs–Ginny followed closely behind him.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Harry turned towards the door opposite his own and showed Ginny inside.

"Here's the guest room. I guess this is where you'll sleep," Harry said as he placed the trunk at the foot of the bed.

The room was–like everything in the Dursley household–spotless. Aunt Petunia came up to tidy this room at least once a week just 'in case we would ever have important guests.' As far as Harry could remember though, Ginny was actually the first guest who was not family to ever use this room; something Harry found both ironic and satisfying. Dudley never had any friends sleeping over. He claimed that slumber parties were for 'nerds and girls.'

Harry went and sat down on the chair by the desk. He looked around at the sparsely furnished room. On the wall opposite the desk was an empty bookcase, and along one wall was the bed. The remaining wall held the door and a wardrobe. The little floor that was left in the middle was completely empty.

Harry felt quite reluctant to leave her yet, so he asked her if she needed help to unpack some things.

"Sure," she said, smiling at him shyly.

They worked in silence, and soon Ginny's few belongings were unpacked. Her schoolbooks were on the bookshelf, a stack of parchment, a few quills and some bottles of ink were on the desk and a photo of her family stood on the bedside table. They had decided to keep her clothes in her trunk.

When they were done, Harry sat down on the desk chair again and Ginny sat on the bed.

"So," said Harry after a minute of uncomfortable silence. "We're soul bound."

"Yeah," Ginny answered. She had folded her hands in her lap again and avoided looking at him.

"It's not your fault you know," Harry said. Ginny nodded but didn't say anything, so he decided to try something else.

"So," he said again, mentally cringing at how he was repeating himself. "How much do you know about soul bonds?"

"No more than you do, I guess," she said. "Like Mum, I thought they were just myth. I only know what Dumbledore told us."

She looked up at him, and Harry was startled to see her eyes shining with unshed tears.

"Harry," she whispered. "What if we can't handle this bond? What if we end up hating each other?"

Again, Harry was overcome with the urge to comfort her, and this time he didn't fight it. He walked over to the bed and sat down beside her. He reached out to take her hand, but just as their skin touched, a jolt of static electricity shot through his arm, making him snatch his hand back. They looked at each other wide-eyed for a second before Ginny held out her hand again, inviting him to make another try.

This time, nothing happened, and Harry held her hand tightly.

"We'll be okay," he said. "Somehow, we'll get through this."

Harry felt his own eyes start to tear up, and suddenly he wasn't as sure of what he had just said. He felt a sort of hopelessness washing over him suddenly. Perhaps they wouldn't make it? Perhaps they would grow to despise each other?

Harry looked at Ginny, and the tears were now slowly trickling down her cheeks.

"Sorry," he muttered, letting go of her hand, and immediately, the feeling of helplessness stopped. He dried his eyes and looked at her hand.

"What just-" he began, but then Dumbledore's earlier words echoed in his head: the most common side effects include shared feelings…

Was that what had happened? Had he felt Ginny's feelings? Had it begun already? It was the only explanation that made sense.

He looked at Ginny again. She looked at him confusedly, and Harry realised that he had been staring at the wall with his jaw open. He closed it and composed himself.

"May I try something?" he asked.

Ginny hesitated a little, but then said, "Yes."

Harry summoned all the good feelings he could–which were depressingly few–and took Ginny's hand again. Her eyes widened as the good feelings flowed into her. Then she smiled at him weakly and looked away again.

"Thanks," she muttered, not looking up from her shoes. She pulled her hand free, and Harry could see her shoulders sag a bit.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked.

"It's nothing," she said. "It's stupid."

"It's not nothing," said Harry. "I can feel something's bothering you, and we might as well be honest with each other."

"I don't want to talk about it right now," she said. "I think I need a few minutes for myself to think about things if you don't mind."

Harry wanted to argue with her and make her tell him what was wrong, but Dumbledore had warned them about trying to be on good terms, so he reluctantly rose from the bed.

"If you need me, my room is just across the hall," he said.

"Okay," she muttered.

He hoped that she'd be okay. He couldn't imagine how this affected her emotionally, given that she–according to Ron at least–had a crush on him.

He entered his room and sat down on his bed. Suddenly, the weight of everything he had learned that morning came crashing down on him.

Somehow, he had entered a soul bond with no one else than Ginny Weasley–his best mate's sister–who had a crush on him. Then another thought hit him: if they were soul bonded, did that mean that Ginny was his soulmate?

There were so many questions he wanted answered. The biggest question of all was what this meant for their future. If this bond would really grow as strong as Dumbledore said it would, Harry thought that calling it a complication was something of an understatement.

He looked toward his desk and his eyes fell on the birthday cards. He went over and picked them up, arranging them on the shelf above his desk.

He thought of his friends, Ron and Hermione. Dumbledore had told him and Ginny to keep the bond a secret, but he wondered if they would be able to keep it from them for long. Hermione was very perceptive, and would probably figure it out sooner or later, no matter how hard they tried; and Ron was bound to ask questions about why Ginny was staying with him.

On the other hand, he wanted them to know; at least Ron. He might not take the fact that Harry shared a soul bond with his sister very well.

Finally deciding that whatever happened would happen and that he'd deal with it when it did, he looked around the room to find something to do. His eyes fell on the Broomstick Servicing Kit.

Harry took out his Nimbus 2000 from the closet and opened the servicing kit to retrieve the Handbook on Do-It-Yourself Broomcare; he opened Chapter One.

Harold Waterbury's Handbook
on Do-It-Yourself Broomcare

Chapter One: The Importance of Having a Clean
Broomhandle.

The most common of the many things most broom riders overlook when it comes to their performance on the broomstick is to keep the Broomhandle clean.

Harry felt a little sceptic as to what a clean Broomhandle might do to increase his broom riding; at most he thought it might make his broom look better, but he decided to keep reading anyway.

The handle is the most important part of the broomstick, since it controls the direction and acceleration charms. If your handle is covered in dirt, your hands won't achieve the optimal amount of contact necessary to accurately control your broom in more complex manoeuvres. This is also the reason why using gloves not specifically designed for usage with a broom is strongly discouraged (to learn more about gloves and the part they play in increasing the lifespan of your broom, see chapter five).

If your broom is very dirty, the first thing you should do is remove all dirt and loose particles with a suitable scouring charm.

Harry looked at his broom and noticed that it was indeed quite dirty. Since he was underage and couldn't use his wand, he decided a simple rag would have to do.

He went downstairs to Aunt Petunia's cleaning cupboard and grabbed an old used rag and proceeded to wet it under the bathroom tap.

When he returned to his room, he gently wiped the dust and grime off his broom and returned to the book for instructions on how to apply the polish.

He spent a good two hours on polishing his Broomhandle and trimming the tail twigs.

He had just clipped the final twig to the correct length and deemed the tail smooth when there was a small knock on his door.

"Come in," he called, and the door opened to reveal a red-faced Ginny. He could tell that she had been crying, but she seemed more relaxed and a little happier than before, so he decided not to mention it.

"Hey," he said. "Feeling better?"

"Yeah," she answered. "That's a beautiful broom you've got."

"Thanks," Harry answered.

There was an awkward silence again.

"You don't have to stand there, you know," Harry said finally.

"Right," she said. She closed the door behind her and sat down on the floor opposite him.

"You could try her some time if you want," Harry said. "The broom I mean."

"Really?" she asked.

"Sure," he said.

"That's very nice of you, Harry," she said. "Thanks." She gave him a genuine smile.

"You're welcome," he said, giving a smile back, making her blush and look down at her lap.

"Ginny?" he asked.

"Yes?" she replied.

"Do you-I mean, are you sure you're okay?"

"As good as I can be, considering the circumstances," she said.

"Good," he said. "I mean, I know this can't be easy for you–hell, it's not easy for me–but I think it is worse for you."

"Oh yeah? What makes you think that?" she asked, suddenly on the defensive.

"Well, Ron mentioned-"

"Ron?" she interrupted. "Tell me, what did my dear brother say about me?"

Harry immediately regretted saying anything about Ron.

"Well, it's nothing, really," he said, repeating Ginny's earlier words.

"If my brother said something about me, I have a right to know it," she argued, folding her arms across her chest.

Harry recognised the trademark Weasley "I'm not backing down" stance, and knew that he was in trouble.

"He-he sort of mentioned something about you having a little crush on me." This time it was Harry's turn to look down at his lap. When he heard a sniff, he looked up again and was startled to see that Ginny had tears running wildly down her cheeks. Her face wasn't sad though–it was angry.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Ginny didn't reply. Instead, she shot up and stalked towards the door, fists clenched and muttering, "I'll kill him, I'll kill Ron."

Before Harry had the time to do anything, she had already left the room and slammed the door shut.

Well, that went well, he thought. It's not even been a day and she's already mad at me.

He repacked his Broomstick Servicing Kit and put it together with his broom, which didn't seem to look at all as good as it had mere moments ago.

Just then Uncle Vernon called from the foot of the stairs that lunch was ready.

Before he went down, he stopped by Ginny's door, but when he didn't get a reply after a few minutes of knocking, he went down by himself.

Dinner was a rather quiet affair. The Dursleys didn't mention Ginny's absence. Harry guessed that they were happy to have one less unwanted dinner guest.

When he had eaten his helping, Harry decided to take a walk outside to clear his head.

It was a beautiful summer's day, and the sky was clear blue. Harry went to the park and sat down under an old oak tree. He leaned against the thick trunk and closed his eyes, soaking up the sun.

He tried to relax, but there was a faint buzzing in this head and a slight pressure on his temples. He must be too far away from Ginny.

He did his best to ignore it, and about ten minutes later, he started to drift off.

He could hear voices in the distance. Familiar voices, but he couldn't tell what they were saying. They were slowly drawing closer, whispering among each other and then...

SPLASH!

Harry awoke with a start. He felt water running down his face and soaking his t-shirt. When he wiped his glasses off, he saw his fat, pig-like cousin, Dudley standing in front of him surrounded by his gang. They were all laughing and carried large water guns.

"Hello Potter," he said. "Thought you looked like you needed to cool down a little."

Harry fought to keep his temper in check. However much he wanted retaliation, he did not need another letter from the Ministry about doing underage magic.

He forced his anger back and glared at Dudley.

"I've been through some crazy stuff today Dudders, and I don't have the time to play your games," Harry said through gritted teeth, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll go away before I really lose my temper."

Dudley faltered a little, but recomposed himself quickly and turned towards his henchmen.

"Let's go boys," he said. As they left, Harry noticed that several of Dudley's friends looked quizzically between himself and Dudley as they passed.

Harry leant back against the tree again, letting the sun dry him.

Some time later, he figured he must have dozed off, because when he opened his eyes, the sun was low on the horizon and the air felt slightly chilly. He rose slowly from his sitting position and pulled at the back of his shirt to unstick it from his sweaty back.

He walked home slowly, looking around at the familiar houses and gardens he passed. He liked evening walks. They were peaceful and there weren't as many people scowling at him from their neatly manicured lawns.

When he arrived at the Dursleys' doorstep, the sky had already turned red. He entered the house and noticed that Dudley's shoes weren't in the hall. He must still be outside, vandalizing public property or something of the sort.

Harry removed his own shoes and climbed the stairs to the second floor. He allowed himself a bathroom visit before he went to Ginny's door and knocked lightly.

There was no answer this time either. He kept trying for about a minute before he gave up.

When he entered his own room, he went straight for the bed, undressed and climbed under the covers. The last thing he thought before he fell asleep was that, of all the gifts he'd got for his birthday, Ginny Weasley was the least expected.