Chapter I: Happy Birthday, Harry
Sitting in the window of his small bedroom, adorned with shelves upon shelves of broken toys and gadgets, and a poster of the professional quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, Harry Potter looked out onto Privet Drive; as quiet, mundane and tedious as a street in England could possibly be in the middle of summer. Of course, he had been given the option of spending the afternoon outside, but seeing as that option had been coupled with the option of weeding his Aunt Petunia's garden, Harry had chosen to be locked in his bedroom until supper.
He had been looking out the window for the past three hours and had yet to see anyone besides his cousin Dudley, on his way to terrorize the local youth. After his overly large cousin had waddled out of sight down the street, Harry had turned his emerald green eyes to the distant roof of Arabella Figg's house, the somewhat-recently discovered squib who had watched over Harry from a distance for the past fifteen years of his life. Even Mrs. Figg wasn't doing anything today. Harry sighed, ran a hand through his unruly black hair and swung his legs round to face the inside of his room.
He had been back at Privet drive for three weeks now. Three weeks since he'd left Hogwarts, the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry he had attended for the past five years. This was the first summer he wasn't impatiently waiting to go back since he'd found out on his eleventh birthday he was a wizard.
His godfather, Sirius Black, was dead. He'd fallen behind the Veil in the Death Chamber, during a battle between Harry, some of his classmates, and a group of Death Eaters, followers of Voldemort, the dark wizard who was again rising to power, at the Ministry of Magic. Harry had found out, as a result of the battle, that there was a prophecy concerning Lord Voldemort and himself. A very serious prophecy. One that Harry had not been able to stop thinking about since his headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had told him over three weeks ago.
The prophecy stated that Voldemort had marked his 'equal', that is, the only wizard who had the power to destroy him. Harry was that wizard. The prophecy had gone on to say that one of them had to destroy the other. So, here Harry was, stuck in his muggle aunt and uncle's house, contemplating the idea of knowing he must either kill or be killed in the war against Voldemort.
Harry snorted. Just the normal concerns of most almost-sixteen year- old wizards, he thought sarcastically. He looked around his room. Admittedly, this summer at the Dursley's had been better than ever before, due mostly to the not-entirely-idle threats some adult wizards, members of the Order of the Phoenix, had made to his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia when they had picked him up at King's Cross station after the school year had ended.
Because of the threats, he was receiving all three meals a day, and his snowy owl, Hedwig, was allowed out to send letters. Tonks and Lupin had made it very clear that Harry would be sending letters every three days to members of the Order. If they didn't not hear from him, they would descend upon the Dursleys. And the Dursleys, who above all, hated all things abnormal and odd, which naturally included all things magic, had been much too terrified to think of how the neighbors would react to a crowd of angry wizards showing up at their front doorstep to stop and realize that such an act would risk the exposure of the wizarding world and, unless it was an extreme situation, would not occur.
Harry wasn't complaining. He was receiving regular news from his friends, especially Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and writing them all dutifully every three days. Not that he ever had anything interesting to say, but he filled them in on his days, occasionally making a casual remark about how long he had been at Number 4 Privet Drive, wondering when he would be allowed to join everyone else at 12 Grimmauld Place, the headquarters for the resistance against Voldemort, the Order of the Phoenix.
Then again, Harry speculated, did he really want to be at headquarters? The house had belonged to Sirius. He knew that being there would only constantly remind him of his godfather. Thinking of Sirius brought a twinge to Harry's nose and a sudden upsurge of tears to his eyes. Harry furiously blinked the tears away, not wanting to cry yet again about something he couldn't change.
Wiping away the reminders of the almost tears on his sleeve, Harry walked to the door and listened for sounds of his aunt or uncle. They both seemed to be downstairs; Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, already getting dinner ready, Uncle Vernon in the living room, listening to the evening news. Suddenly, behind him, Harry heard a soft hoot and flutter of wings, as Hedwig landed on the windowsill.
"Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed, going over to her. She nipped at his hand before stretching out her leg, laden with three letters. "Oh Hedwig, are they heavy? You poor thing. Finally getting all the exercise you want, eh?" he smiled at her. She blinked her big eyes twice before swooping out of the window to begin her nightly hunt. Harry's eyes followed her for a few moments, before returning back the small bundle of letters he held in his hand.
He recognized the untidy scrawl of his best friend Ron Weasley, the neat printing of his other best friend, Hermione Granger, and the familiar script of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and friend, Remus Lupin. Lupin's letters, of late, had held the most comfort for Harry, as Sirius had been been one of Lupin's best mates when they had been at Hogwarts. The two of them had been writing back and forth, sharing memories, and Lupin always managed to end his letters with something that would make Harry smiled. He tucked the letter away to read last and turned his attention to Ron's letter first.
Harry,
Hermione and I keep pestering Mum about when you'll be allowed to join us, but she keeps shushing us, saying Dumbledore will bring you as soon as he can. In the meantime, mate, don't worry; all you're missing are more private meetings and organizing. Mum seems determined we catalogue the attic here, then move on to the library. Hermione, of course, is thrilled at the prospect of having to read through all the books.
Snape's been around a lot more this summer; he's even stayed for a few meals! That's probably been the worst part of the summer so far.
That's it for now. Hopefully you'll be here for your birthday. Talk to you soon.
-Ron
Ron's letter brought a flush of anger to Harry's face as he thought of his least-favorite teacher at Hogwarts, and all around git, Professor Snape. At the end of last year, when Harry had thought Sirius was being held by Voldemort at the Department of Mysteries, he had tried to relay a message to Snape. Snape had gotten the message, but hadn't let Harry know. Harry knew his anger was misplaced. Dumbledore had told him as much when they'd spoken after the battle, but Harry's anger was still there. Snape had always hated him and treated him badly, singling him out for punishment. Pushing his anger down, he opened the letter from Hermione.
Harry-
I cannot wait for you to get here, everyone keeps saying it will be any day. The library here is amazing! Dozens of books, some I'm sure I've seen in the restricted section at Hogwarts, we should start cleaning it sometime in the next few days.
How are your aunt and uncle treating you this summer? Only one more after this and you'll be free from them! I can't wait to see you. Take care.
`Hermione P.S. Have you gotten your O.W.L. results yet? We're still waiting.
O.W.L.s, or Ordinary Wizarding Levels, were the tests every student at Hogwarts took at the end of their fifth year. It determined which classes they would continue with for their final two years, as well as guidelines for their future careers. Harry and Ron were both interested in becoming Aurors, wizards who tracked Dark Wizards. There were a number of requirements, including an Outstanding in the Potions exam. Harry gulped. Two more years with Snape if he managed to pull it off.
Sighing, he picked up the third letter, running his finger underneath the wax seal, imprinted with a fancy script RJL. Unfolding the letter, a lightweight piece of parchment fluttered to his bed. It was covered with strange markings and symbols Harry didn't recognize. He picked it up in his right hand and began skimming the letter in his left.
Harry-
I'm sure you can tell by the lack of us all barging in that we've decided, against our better judgment (though not the headmaster's) to leave you be for the next short while. I am pleased the muggles are treating you better, though I do wish it hadn't taken a threat from us to do it.
How are you? I must tell you, I'm horrible. I'm sure you're experiencing it as well, but there are times, especially here at headquarters, when I swear I hear Snuffles bounding down the stairs, ready for some sort of adventure. Yesterday, when Molly was preparing afternoon tea, I could have sworn I heard him laughing. Turns out it was only Mundungus, wheezing as he woke up from a nap.
We'll be seeing you soon, I expect. Take care. And no magic!
~Remus J. Lupin
Harry smiled at the last line. Technically, he would be an over-age wizard in two days' time. Then, by magical by-laws, he could use magic whenever he felt like it, as long as it wasn't around Muggles. But he'd received a letter from Dumbledore earlier this summer asking him to refrain from magic at all costs, saying it could help Death Eater spies in the Ministry locate him. Harry had to agree that was a worthwhile reason to hold off on magic until he'd left Privet Drive.
A sharp click of lock being undone, followed by his Aunt Petunia's shrill voice commanding him to come down for dinner shook him out of his reverie. He brushed a hand through his hair and straightened his shirt before heading downstairs. Dudley wasn't at the table, no doubt still out beating up the neighborhood children. Harry silently sat down across the table from his Uncle Vernon.
His relationship with his aunt and uncle had always been strained, but since last summer it wad almost unbearable, like being forced to eat every meal with Snape. There was little to no conversation, and that which did occur was usually spoken as if Harry wasn't there. As he pushed the stewed tomatoes around on his plate, he tried to think of anything to get them to acknowledge his presence.
The television took care of the problem for him, as a news bulletin suddenly came on, "Breaking News - Reports of missing persons has increased almost 200% in the past two weeks. As reports flood in of missing farmers and farm hands, authorities are finally admitting they are baffled by the disappearances." Petunia and Vernon both looked at each other, then turned to look at Harry. After all, twelve farmers didn't just go off on their own--this had to be the work of wizards.
Personally Harry agreed. It sounded like Voldemort, maybe he needed the farms for the grains, or the barns to hold meetings, or muggle slaves for some reason. Harry didn't know- there hadn't been anything in the Daily Prophet, the wizarding tabloid he subscribed to, and unlike last summer, he'd taken to reading every issue cover to cover.
"Well?" Petunia asked impatiently, "what do you know about those, those farmers?" her head shaking slightly from anger.
"Nothing. There's been nothing in my paper, and no one's said anything in their letters," Harry answered truthfully.
"Ha," Uncle Vernon snorted, "I don't ruddy believe that, boy. You know something. Tell us."
"I swear I don't, though I'm not surprised. I was expecting something to happ.."
"Expecting something to happen, eh? Of course, attack the normal, non-freaks, seems like something perfectly acceptable to you, does it? Well, well, well, boy, your true colors are shining true now."
"No! Uncle Vernon, that's not what I mean at all, it's just, of course Voldemort has to start somewhere, and he won't want to start anywhere to obvious, it's just, why, oh I don't know." Harry mumbled to a stop. Vernon was still glaring at him, but his Aunt Petunia seemed to be listening intently. Harry recalled last summer, when he had found out his Aunt Petunia knew about dementors and Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort. It had surprised him, but it made sense. It was the whole reason he has here, living with them. Since that revelation, the two of them had come to an unspoken truce. They didn't get along, but there was no more open animosity, more like a resigned acceptance that they both knew something bigger was going on.
Harry mustered up what little will for fighting he still had and began talking again, "I truly don't know what's going on. I've been reading the newspaper," Uncle Vernon snorted, "but there still hasn't been anything big in there. And the letters from my friends haven't said anything. No one seems to worried about me, either, so, like I said, Voldemort's got to start somewhere."
"Why would anyone be worried about you, boy? What trouble have you been causing, that they're so keen on keeping you out of it?" Uncle Vernon sneered, his eyebrows taking on much the same look as Professor Snape's when he had just asked Harry a question there could never be a correct answer to.
"I'm not in any trouble. Well, that is, at least I don't cause it, it always finds me. Everyone's protecting me, that's all."
"And why would they need to protect you?" Vernon asked in a dangerous voice.
"Because...," Harry hesitated. He hadn't told anyone about the prophecy. He wondered if Dumbledore had. Somehow he doubted it. So, could he tell anyone? And more over, if he told his aunt and uncle, would they really care? Both his aunt and uncle were, by now, looking at him curiously. Any moment now, Uncle Vernon would start turning purple if Harry didn't answer. He thought furiously for another moment, then shrugged his shoulders, "because, well, I don't know why. He killed my parents, and he wants to finish the job."
At this, Aunt Petunia let out a little shriek and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes had gotten large. "So, he, this wizard wants to kill you? Vernon, what are we to do?"
All three of them sat in silence for five minutes, all pondering the possibilities in their heads. The atmosphere of gloom was broken by Dudley coming in the front door, talking loudly to his friends, "Yes, Piers, yes, I'll ask, but I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind if I came over for tea tomorrow, no, worries. Bye then." The front door shut with a determined slam and Dudley came striding in to the kitchen.
He stopped short at the sight of his mother, father, and cousin sitting around the kitchen table, apparently getting along, as there was no yelling. "What's going on?" he demanded.
Getting no answer, he pounded his fist on the table and yelled again, "What is going on? Why is Harry sitting here? Why are you all sitting here?"
Aunt Petunia shook herself and looked at her son, "We were just telling Harry he will have to clean out the garden shed tomorrow if he expects to continue getting regular meals. That's all darling. Now, why don't we go in and watch television, hmm? I'll fix you a nice delicious slice of chocolate cake." With this, she ushered both him and Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen, her eyes telling Harry to clean up the dinner dishes.
Harry cleared the table, listening intently to the living room, but Dudley didn't bring up the odd sight he had stumbled upon, and of course, neither did Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. Once the kitchen was clean, Harry trudged back up the stairs to his bedroom. He flopped himself back on the bed. Over and over in his head he kept turning the prophecy. Kill or be killed. Slowly his eyes started to droop and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Hours later, he woke up suddenly, sitting straight up in bed. Harry blinked twice, then shook his head. Only a dream. This dream, like all the others almost every night, involved Sirius. This time, Harry had been able to distract Bellatrix Lestrange long enough for Sirius to get away, unharmed. Usually Harry's dream had some sort of way for Sirius to escape the veil, but they never got any easier to wake up from.
Harry climbed out of bed and went over to the window. As he sat, looking out upon the moonlit street, he saw Hedwig swoop and dive lazily, before she noticed him and came to the window.
"No, girl, I don't have a letter for you," he answered, stroking her head, "although...hang on a tic." He scrambled under his bed and grabbed a piece of parchment and his quill and set to work.
Remus-
I know I've been writing that I'm fine, and most of the time I am, it's just that, at night, sometimes I dream about Sirius, especially in the Ministry. In my dreams I'm able to somehow save him. Tonight it felt so real.
Do you know when I'll be able to leave my aunt and uncle's? I'm going nutters here.
Anyway, I just wanted to share that with someone. Thanks for listening.
~Harry
Harry rolled up the short piece of parchment and attached it to Hedwig's leg. She hooted softly and nuzzled him as way of affection before taking off into the backyard and out of sight.
Harry got up from the window and headed back to bed. The next day went by just as dreadfully slow, especially with Harry anticipating his birthday so eagerly. He had noticed he was usually given some sort of respite from his relatives on his birthday. Maybe today was the day he would join everyone at headquarters.
But the entire day and night passed without incident and, as Harry climbed into bed he thought bitterly, what was the point of being the bloody boy-who-lived if this is what you had to live through?
The next morning, his birthday morning, Harry quietly ambled down the steps, hoping at least to get the birthday present of a quiet breakfast without any of his family present. He wasn't that lucky. Aunt Petunia was already cooking breakfast; Vernon and Dudley were sitting at the table. Uncle Vernon noticed him immediately and snapped, "Well, boy? Go and fetch the paper!"
He glared at him and walked down the short hallway to the front door. He opened it, already bent down, and almost had his hand on the rolled up paper when he stopped and pulled back.
A black boot, two of them actually, were on the mat, inches from the paper. Harry's eyes traveled up the black-clad legs, up to the black clad torso and finally into black hair framed face of his potions professor, Severus Snape, whose hand was still raised in anticipation of knocking.
Sitting in the window of his small bedroom, adorned with shelves upon shelves of broken toys and gadgets, and a poster of the professional quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, Harry Potter looked out onto Privet Drive; as quiet, mundane and tedious as a street in England could possibly be in the middle of summer. Of course, he had been given the option of spending the afternoon outside, but seeing as that option had been coupled with the option of weeding his Aunt Petunia's garden, Harry had chosen to be locked in his bedroom until supper.
He had been looking out the window for the past three hours and had yet to see anyone besides his cousin Dudley, on his way to terrorize the local youth. After his overly large cousin had waddled out of sight down the street, Harry had turned his emerald green eyes to the distant roof of Arabella Figg's house, the somewhat-recently discovered squib who had watched over Harry from a distance for the past fifteen years of his life. Even Mrs. Figg wasn't doing anything today. Harry sighed, ran a hand through his unruly black hair and swung his legs round to face the inside of his room.
He had been back at Privet drive for three weeks now. Three weeks since he'd left Hogwarts, the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry he had attended for the past five years. This was the first summer he wasn't impatiently waiting to go back since he'd found out on his eleventh birthday he was a wizard.
His godfather, Sirius Black, was dead. He'd fallen behind the Veil in the Death Chamber, during a battle between Harry, some of his classmates, and a group of Death Eaters, followers of Voldemort, the dark wizard who was again rising to power, at the Ministry of Magic. Harry had found out, as a result of the battle, that there was a prophecy concerning Lord Voldemort and himself. A very serious prophecy. One that Harry had not been able to stop thinking about since his headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had told him over three weeks ago.
The prophecy stated that Voldemort had marked his 'equal', that is, the only wizard who had the power to destroy him. Harry was that wizard. The prophecy had gone on to say that one of them had to destroy the other. So, here Harry was, stuck in his muggle aunt and uncle's house, contemplating the idea of knowing he must either kill or be killed in the war against Voldemort.
Harry snorted. Just the normal concerns of most almost-sixteen year- old wizards, he thought sarcastically. He looked around his room. Admittedly, this summer at the Dursley's had been better than ever before, due mostly to the not-entirely-idle threats some adult wizards, members of the Order of the Phoenix, had made to his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia when they had picked him up at King's Cross station after the school year had ended.
Because of the threats, he was receiving all three meals a day, and his snowy owl, Hedwig, was allowed out to send letters. Tonks and Lupin had made it very clear that Harry would be sending letters every three days to members of the Order. If they didn't not hear from him, they would descend upon the Dursleys. And the Dursleys, who above all, hated all things abnormal and odd, which naturally included all things magic, had been much too terrified to think of how the neighbors would react to a crowd of angry wizards showing up at their front doorstep to stop and realize that such an act would risk the exposure of the wizarding world and, unless it was an extreme situation, would not occur.
Harry wasn't complaining. He was receiving regular news from his friends, especially Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger and writing them all dutifully every three days. Not that he ever had anything interesting to say, but he filled them in on his days, occasionally making a casual remark about how long he had been at Number 4 Privet Drive, wondering when he would be allowed to join everyone else at 12 Grimmauld Place, the headquarters for the resistance against Voldemort, the Order of the Phoenix.
Then again, Harry speculated, did he really want to be at headquarters? The house had belonged to Sirius. He knew that being there would only constantly remind him of his godfather. Thinking of Sirius brought a twinge to Harry's nose and a sudden upsurge of tears to his eyes. Harry furiously blinked the tears away, not wanting to cry yet again about something he couldn't change.
Wiping away the reminders of the almost tears on his sleeve, Harry walked to the door and listened for sounds of his aunt or uncle. They both seemed to be downstairs; Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, already getting dinner ready, Uncle Vernon in the living room, listening to the evening news. Suddenly, behind him, Harry heard a soft hoot and flutter of wings, as Hedwig landed on the windowsill.
"Hedwig!" Harry exclaimed, going over to her. She nipped at his hand before stretching out her leg, laden with three letters. "Oh Hedwig, are they heavy? You poor thing. Finally getting all the exercise you want, eh?" he smiled at her. She blinked her big eyes twice before swooping out of the window to begin her nightly hunt. Harry's eyes followed her for a few moments, before returning back the small bundle of letters he held in his hand.
He recognized the untidy scrawl of his best friend Ron Weasley, the neat printing of his other best friend, Hermione Granger, and the familiar script of his former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor and friend, Remus Lupin. Lupin's letters, of late, had held the most comfort for Harry, as Sirius had been been one of Lupin's best mates when they had been at Hogwarts. The two of them had been writing back and forth, sharing memories, and Lupin always managed to end his letters with something that would make Harry smiled. He tucked the letter away to read last and turned his attention to Ron's letter first.
Harry,
Hermione and I keep pestering Mum about when you'll be allowed to join us, but she keeps shushing us, saying Dumbledore will bring you as soon as he can. In the meantime, mate, don't worry; all you're missing are more private meetings and organizing. Mum seems determined we catalogue the attic here, then move on to the library. Hermione, of course, is thrilled at the prospect of having to read through all the books.
Snape's been around a lot more this summer; he's even stayed for a few meals! That's probably been the worst part of the summer so far.
That's it for now. Hopefully you'll be here for your birthday. Talk to you soon.
-Ron
Ron's letter brought a flush of anger to Harry's face as he thought of his least-favorite teacher at Hogwarts, and all around git, Professor Snape. At the end of last year, when Harry had thought Sirius was being held by Voldemort at the Department of Mysteries, he had tried to relay a message to Snape. Snape had gotten the message, but hadn't let Harry know. Harry knew his anger was misplaced. Dumbledore had told him as much when they'd spoken after the battle, but Harry's anger was still there. Snape had always hated him and treated him badly, singling him out for punishment. Pushing his anger down, he opened the letter from Hermione.
Harry-
I cannot wait for you to get here, everyone keeps saying it will be any day. The library here is amazing! Dozens of books, some I'm sure I've seen in the restricted section at Hogwarts, we should start cleaning it sometime in the next few days.
How are your aunt and uncle treating you this summer? Only one more after this and you'll be free from them! I can't wait to see you. Take care.
`Hermione P.S. Have you gotten your O.W.L. results yet? We're still waiting.
O.W.L.s, or Ordinary Wizarding Levels, were the tests every student at Hogwarts took at the end of their fifth year. It determined which classes they would continue with for their final two years, as well as guidelines for their future careers. Harry and Ron were both interested in becoming Aurors, wizards who tracked Dark Wizards. There were a number of requirements, including an Outstanding in the Potions exam. Harry gulped. Two more years with Snape if he managed to pull it off.
Sighing, he picked up the third letter, running his finger underneath the wax seal, imprinted with a fancy script RJL. Unfolding the letter, a lightweight piece of parchment fluttered to his bed. It was covered with strange markings and symbols Harry didn't recognize. He picked it up in his right hand and began skimming the letter in his left.
Harry-
I'm sure you can tell by the lack of us all barging in that we've decided, against our better judgment (though not the headmaster's) to leave you be for the next short while. I am pleased the muggles are treating you better, though I do wish it hadn't taken a threat from us to do it.
How are you? I must tell you, I'm horrible. I'm sure you're experiencing it as well, but there are times, especially here at headquarters, when I swear I hear Snuffles bounding down the stairs, ready for some sort of adventure. Yesterday, when Molly was preparing afternoon tea, I could have sworn I heard him laughing. Turns out it was only Mundungus, wheezing as he woke up from a nap.
We'll be seeing you soon, I expect. Take care. And no magic!
~Remus J. Lupin
Harry smiled at the last line. Technically, he would be an over-age wizard in two days' time. Then, by magical by-laws, he could use magic whenever he felt like it, as long as it wasn't around Muggles. But he'd received a letter from Dumbledore earlier this summer asking him to refrain from magic at all costs, saying it could help Death Eater spies in the Ministry locate him. Harry had to agree that was a worthwhile reason to hold off on magic until he'd left Privet Drive.
A sharp click of lock being undone, followed by his Aunt Petunia's shrill voice commanding him to come down for dinner shook him out of his reverie. He brushed a hand through his hair and straightened his shirt before heading downstairs. Dudley wasn't at the table, no doubt still out beating up the neighborhood children. Harry silently sat down across the table from his Uncle Vernon.
His relationship with his aunt and uncle had always been strained, but since last summer it wad almost unbearable, like being forced to eat every meal with Snape. There was little to no conversation, and that which did occur was usually spoken as if Harry wasn't there. As he pushed the stewed tomatoes around on his plate, he tried to think of anything to get them to acknowledge his presence.
The television took care of the problem for him, as a news bulletin suddenly came on, "Breaking News - Reports of missing persons has increased almost 200% in the past two weeks. As reports flood in of missing farmers and farm hands, authorities are finally admitting they are baffled by the disappearances." Petunia and Vernon both looked at each other, then turned to look at Harry. After all, twelve farmers didn't just go off on their own--this had to be the work of wizards.
Personally Harry agreed. It sounded like Voldemort, maybe he needed the farms for the grains, or the barns to hold meetings, or muggle slaves for some reason. Harry didn't know- there hadn't been anything in the Daily Prophet, the wizarding tabloid he subscribed to, and unlike last summer, he'd taken to reading every issue cover to cover.
"Well?" Petunia asked impatiently, "what do you know about those, those farmers?" her head shaking slightly from anger.
"Nothing. There's been nothing in my paper, and no one's said anything in their letters," Harry answered truthfully.
"Ha," Uncle Vernon snorted, "I don't ruddy believe that, boy. You know something. Tell us."
"I swear I don't, though I'm not surprised. I was expecting something to happ.."
"Expecting something to happen, eh? Of course, attack the normal, non-freaks, seems like something perfectly acceptable to you, does it? Well, well, well, boy, your true colors are shining true now."
"No! Uncle Vernon, that's not what I mean at all, it's just, of course Voldemort has to start somewhere, and he won't want to start anywhere to obvious, it's just, why, oh I don't know." Harry mumbled to a stop. Vernon was still glaring at him, but his Aunt Petunia seemed to be listening intently. Harry recalled last summer, when he had found out his Aunt Petunia knew about dementors and Albus Dumbledore and Voldemort. It had surprised him, but it made sense. It was the whole reason he has here, living with them. Since that revelation, the two of them had come to an unspoken truce. They didn't get along, but there was no more open animosity, more like a resigned acceptance that they both knew something bigger was going on.
Harry mustered up what little will for fighting he still had and began talking again, "I truly don't know what's going on. I've been reading the newspaper," Uncle Vernon snorted, "but there still hasn't been anything big in there. And the letters from my friends haven't said anything. No one seems to worried about me, either, so, like I said, Voldemort's got to start somewhere."
"Why would anyone be worried about you, boy? What trouble have you been causing, that they're so keen on keeping you out of it?" Uncle Vernon sneered, his eyebrows taking on much the same look as Professor Snape's when he had just asked Harry a question there could never be a correct answer to.
"I'm not in any trouble. Well, that is, at least I don't cause it, it always finds me. Everyone's protecting me, that's all."
"And why would they need to protect you?" Vernon asked in a dangerous voice.
"Because...," Harry hesitated. He hadn't told anyone about the prophecy. He wondered if Dumbledore had. Somehow he doubted it. So, could he tell anyone? And more over, if he told his aunt and uncle, would they really care? Both his aunt and uncle were, by now, looking at him curiously. Any moment now, Uncle Vernon would start turning purple if Harry didn't answer. He thought furiously for another moment, then shrugged his shoulders, "because, well, I don't know why. He killed my parents, and he wants to finish the job."
At this, Aunt Petunia let out a little shriek and covered her mouth with her hand. Her eyes had gotten large. "So, he, this wizard wants to kill you? Vernon, what are we to do?"
All three of them sat in silence for five minutes, all pondering the possibilities in their heads. The atmosphere of gloom was broken by Dudley coming in the front door, talking loudly to his friends, "Yes, Piers, yes, I'll ask, but I'm sure Mother wouldn't mind if I came over for tea tomorrow, no, worries. Bye then." The front door shut with a determined slam and Dudley came striding in to the kitchen.
He stopped short at the sight of his mother, father, and cousin sitting around the kitchen table, apparently getting along, as there was no yelling. "What's going on?" he demanded.
Getting no answer, he pounded his fist on the table and yelled again, "What is going on? Why is Harry sitting here? Why are you all sitting here?"
Aunt Petunia shook herself and looked at her son, "We were just telling Harry he will have to clean out the garden shed tomorrow if he expects to continue getting regular meals. That's all darling. Now, why don't we go in and watch television, hmm? I'll fix you a nice delicious slice of chocolate cake." With this, she ushered both him and Uncle Vernon out of the kitchen, her eyes telling Harry to clean up the dinner dishes.
Harry cleared the table, listening intently to the living room, but Dudley didn't bring up the odd sight he had stumbled upon, and of course, neither did Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon. Once the kitchen was clean, Harry trudged back up the stairs to his bedroom. He flopped himself back on the bed. Over and over in his head he kept turning the prophecy. Kill or be killed. Slowly his eyes started to droop and he drifted off into an uneasy sleep.
Hours later, he woke up suddenly, sitting straight up in bed. Harry blinked twice, then shook his head. Only a dream. This dream, like all the others almost every night, involved Sirius. This time, Harry had been able to distract Bellatrix Lestrange long enough for Sirius to get away, unharmed. Usually Harry's dream had some sort of way for Sirius to escape the veil, but they never got any easier to wake up from.
Harry climbed out of bed and went over to the window. As he sat, looking out upon the moonlit street, he saw Hedwig swoop and dive lazily, before she noticed him and came to the window.
"No, girl, I don't have a letter for you," he answered, stroking her head, "although...hang on a tic." He scrambled under his bed and grabbed a piece of parchment and his quill and set to work.
Remus-
I know I've been writing that I'm fine, and most of the time I am, it's just that, at night, sometimes I dream about Sirius, especially in the Ministry. In my dreams I'm able to somehow save him. Tonight it felt so real.
Do you know when I'll be able to leave my aunt and uncle's? I'm going nutters here.
Anyway, I just wanted to share that with someone. Thanks for listening.
~Harry
Harry rolled up the short piece of parchment and attached it to Hedwig's leg. She hooted softly and nuzzled him as way of affection before taking off into the backyard and out of sight.
Harry got up from the window and headed back to bed. The next day went by just as dreadfully slow, especially with Harry anticipating his birthday so eagerly. He had noticed he was usually given some sort of respite from his relatives on his birthday. Maybe today was the day he would join everyone at headquarters.
But the entire day and night passed without incident and, as Harry climbed into bed he thought bitterly, what was the point of being the bloody boy-who-lived if this is what you had to live through?
The next morning, his birthday morning, Harry quietly ambled down the steps, hoping at least to get the birthday present of a quiet breakfast without any of his family present. He wasn't that lucky. Aunt Petunia was already cooking breakfast; Vernon and Dudley were sitting at the table. Uncle Vernon noticed him immediately and snapped, "Well, boy? Go and fetch the paper!"
He glared at him and walked down the short hallway to the front door. He opened it, already bent down, and almost had his hand on the rolled up paper when he stopped and pulled back.
A black boot, two of them actually, were on the mat, inches from the paper. Harry's eyes traveled up the black-clad legs, up to the black clad torso and finally into black hair framed face of his potions professor, Severus Snape, whose hand was still raised in anticipation of knocking.