Disclaimer: All characters in this chapter, besides 'her', belong to J.K. Rowling, and have no connection with me, expect for the fact they drove me to write this fanfic in the first place. Oh yes, I get no profit from this, so you can't sue me! -whimpers- I didn't do it! I swear!
Plus, if you really want to sue me for it, go on ahead. Though in the long run it'll be a bit of a waste. Trust me, it costs more than it's worth. XD
A teenage boy sat on the warm concrete step infront of number four, Privet Drive. The summer haze caused him to cover his emerald eyes, sweat trickling from the jet-black touseled hair. Harry Potter been at the Dursley's for almost a month, and he couldn't want anything more than to get away from the parched Dudley and constantly pecking Aunt Petunia. He could hear their talk through the opened door, screen shut, in the living room. Most likely, Harry conceded, Dudley was still arguing over his forced diet, and how it had impeded on his Heavy-Weight Boxing Championship at the end of the year. Aunt Petunia kept saying that she had recieved reports on his lunches, and been told he'd bullied other students into giving him their food.
Finally, Harry thought, rolling his eyes at Dudley's incorrect vocabulary, Someone realizes Ickkle Duddy-kins isn't so perfect. Despite the fact he was very much lightened by this, there was still a constant nagging at the fact he was seventeen, and this would be his last year at Hogwarts, iif/i he didn't somehow get expelled on something completely bogus. Like supposedly 'lying' or 'telling tales to get attention', or even 'chronically insane, too dangerous to be around other children'. All had been aimed in his direction his past year at Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and frankly, he'd just as willingly go insane, just to get them away. And now he hadn't heard from ANYONE. No Ron, no 'Mione, no Lupin, Dumbledore, Tonks, Mr. or Mrs. Weasley, or even Moody. He'd even welcome a curse from Malfoy to have a speck of reality in this constantly clean, parched, nagging, orderly, commensurately aligned place.
Harry huffed a sigh as he saw a red sports car turn onto Privet Drive. Quickly, he hopped up, dusted off his overly-large pants and swung open the door to number four, just as Uncle Vernon's car pulled into the drive.Without hesitation, he kicked off his shoes, hid them behind the sumptuously clean umbrella stand, and dashed up the beige-carpeted stairs before his annoyed uncle even left the car.
In his room, Harry crashed on his bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering when Hedwig would be back. She'd left three days ago to hunt and he was beginning to be curious. He had no reason to be worried, for Hedwig knew her way around the world, he had to assume, for she'd taken a letter to Sirius when he'd been in Africa(A/N:I'm guessing here people!). Harry wrenched his eyes closed and focused on a a silver glimmer under his eyelid. Thinking about Sirius was still too much, although he'd been gone for over a year. Damn that veil! He still didn't even know what it was, what it did, and couldn't even voice his opinion on it without a sharp look from 'Mione or Ron. Aparently they were still broken about it, even if they knew him only as a friend, whereas Harry knew his as a godfather.
Scolding himself for thinking about it, when he'd deliberately told himself not to, Harry heard the soft whoosh of feathers and the cling of talons on iron. Immediately he shot open his eyes and sat up. This happened every time Hedwig came back. Always that hope of hearing from someone. After he'd become a murderer at age sixteen("Wormtail deserved it!", he'd say indignantly), people seemed distant from him, moreso now that they weren't forced to be around him. Seeing Hedwig on her cage, holding out her leg with a heavy roll of parchment, Harry nearly jumped and yelled. Well, he really did jump and yell.
"Keep it down, boy!" Uncle Vernon bellowed from the kitchen, most likely supervising Dudley on his dinner. Harry ignored him and quickly removed Hedwig's burden, tearing the seal, and rolling out the letter. He gaped at its length, though he couldn't quite contemplate the reasoning behind putting three inches, then so much blank parchment. Nearly six feet! With a quick glance at the door to make sure it was locked, he began to read, once again sitting on his bed. He recognized the handwriting at once as Hermione's.
Harry,
We feel dreadful for keeping you in the dark for the third consecutive summer, but it's been absolutely neccesary. I only just arrived here last week(Harry knew she was talking of Grimmauld Place) but I can tell you one thing Harry, you're going to be here soon! I promise, and I never break my promises unless it's of the utmost importance. Now, Harry, you mustn't get angry with me for writing so much, because I have so much on my mind, and Ron will not listen, Ginny is stuck up our room writing love letters to Neville, and NO ONE else will hear me out. I know you would, if you were here, so I'm going to spill me mind and heart out here for you to concede in my troubles.
The rest was blank. Harry puzzled over this for only a few more seconds before sighing in relief. They had mixed up a special potion to put in ink for notes in class, making it invisible to anyone who did not know the password for it. Quickly, smiling at Hermione's genius on making it in the first place, Harry whispered the password. "Flight of Death."
Scrawl quickly wrote itself on the remainder of the six feet of parchment, and Harry began reading again.
I know this sounds pathetic, Harry, because you already know... but I can't help but think Ron is purposely ignoring me. After that little rendezvous last year.. and mind you, Harry, I'm blushing at this..../i(Harry audibly laughed, making Hedwig jump)ihe's been avoiding my eye and saying as little as is neccesary. I hope you can talk you him, if you two get over that little squabble of yours. AND BICKERING OVER BROOMSTICKS IS NOT A GOOD WAY TO WASTE A WHOLE DAMN SUMMER!(Shocked at her written language, 'Mione had always been against cursing, Harry raised his eyebrows at the image of her yelling at him about broomsticks. He quickly read on) Could you talk to him about it? I know there's a lot on your mind now.. such as when you'll get here, who you'll meet here(Harry read over this again, confused slightly. Who would he meet now? Surely he'd expected the Order to grow after Voldemort's appearance...), and all that stuff about You-Know-Who... But if you ever could, please do so, for me... I like Ron, and you know this, and I don't want to lose him./i
The rest was on things Hermione had never told him about, parts of his slightly smudged, others showing her perfect handwriting. He pored over this, gaining news of anything to do with the Wizarding World and picking out pieces that caught his attention. ('It's so strange here now, Harry, that she's here.")(Fudge's being treated again, and I can't tell you how odd it feels to wish he'd just die.")("Percy is still got his head up his giant arse, and I can't seem to stop hating him too.")("She's driving me CRAZY! All her superiority makes me sick.") This made no speck of sense to Harry. Who was 'she'? And since when had Fudge needed physical treatment? Percy was nothing new to him. He'd just been hated by Harry since the second he'd sent Ron that letter in fifth year.
With so many things wracking his brain, he confusedly rolled up the parchment, tied it, and hid it under the loose floorboard under his bed. Without even removing his clothes, he drifted off to sleep without dinner, not even waking up when Aunt Petunia yelled at him four times from downstairs.