Chapter One: In Which Letters Arrive and Dudley Dursley Falls in Love

A summer spent at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley was ideal for anyone wishing to avoid pleasure and wallow in misery.

The boy on his hands and knees in the front yard of Number Four, Privet Drive grimaced and squirmed as a trickle of sweat ran uncomfortably between his shoulder blades. Armed with a small trowel and an old kitchen knife, he had been instructed to rid the Dursley's lawn of dandelions. Attacking yet another noxious weed with manic energy, the boy gouged it out of the surrounding turf before tamping down the remnants of disturbed soil.

Sitting back on his haunches, Harry Potter examined the raw blisters on his right palm with dark satisfaction.

Sirius was dead. Harry was forced to spend yet another summer with his loathsome relatives. While he was sure that the Order of the Phoenix was keeping guard over him, his only personal contact with anyone from the Order was weekly visits with Arabella Figg. Masochism was beginning to look more and more appealing.

Harry scanned the grass around him for any traces of the presence of dandelions before determining that he had just eliminated the last one. Getting to his feet, he replaced his tools in the garage before quietly entering the house. He ascended the stairs, where he entered his bathroom and washed his face and hands quickly. Creeping back down the stairs, he assessed the positions of the Dursleys. His aunt Petunia was chattering on the telephone, no doubt imparting some tidbit of petty gossip to a neighbour. Vernon had collapsed on the sofa in front of the televison with a fizzy drink and a plate of chips, exhausted after a long Saturday of doing absolutely nothing. From the muffled grunts and bright metallic clinks issuing from somewhere below his feet, Harry could tell that his cousin Dudley was in his new basement gymnasium, hard at work on his quest for the perfect body.

Satisfied, Harry slipped out the front door, down the front path, and jogged off down the street until he was out of sight of Number Four. He slowed his pace as he neared Arabella Figg's house, where the elderly squib was waiting for him at her garden gate. Wordlessly she joined him, and together they walked to a nearby ice cream shop.

Over the hot, lonely summer, this had become a pattern. Harry would exist through the long week, alternately performing manual labour for his relatives and sitting alone in his room, brooding. Every Saturday afternoon, he went for his scheduled meeting with Arabella Figg. After the first Saturday when they had sat in her kitchen, eating stale cake laced with cat hairs and drinking lukewarm tea, she had insisted that they go have ice cream instead. "So much more cooling", she said. Harry did not argue. At the shop, Arabella would order Harry ice cream in a huge dish that the shop proudly proclaimed to be 'American Sized!'. (Putting off Harry's protests when she paid, she informed him mysteriously that she had been provided with an expense account. This seemed to please her inordinately.) After Harry had finished his ice cream, she would give him his mail, which Hedwig now delivered to her house after Vernon's strict moratorium on owl post.

This Saturday, Harry sat at one of the shop's small tables, eating his ice cream slowly and methodically. First the cinnamon ice cream, then the vanilla, all the while working carefully around the mound at the centre of the dish. Finally he ate the pumpkin ice cream, savouring its spicy sweetness. He looked up from his bowl to find Arabella's eyes on him, amused; her own small fruit pop had been finished long ago.

"I like to save the best til last", he said defensively. She smiled and nodded, then pulled two parchment letters from her bag.

"From Ron and Hermione", she said. That was obvious: Ron's missive was torn and battered from Pigwidgeon's careless handling, and his scrawling handwriting adorned the front along with several unidentified stains and blotches. Hermione's letter, addressed in her neat script, looked as pristine as if she had just finished writing it.

Harry opened Ron's letter first.

Harry,

Hey! Haven't much to say as nothing is going on. Fred and George are always in London minding their shop, so things are dull. Ginny is driving me crazy, I wish you'd have let that basilisk have her back in second year.

(Here was a crude but effective sketch of a female stick figure with long hair tormenting a boy stick figure. It was enchanted so that the figures moved, and as Harry watched, 'Ginny' chased 'Ron' off the edge of the parchment.)

Haven't got much to say, so that's all for now.

Ron Weasley

P.S. Oh! I forgot. The, um, "Group" told Dad that we're in danger from attacks because I'm friends with you (Thanks a lot, mate!), so we've put up more Disillusionment charms all around the Burrow. This means that the muggle boys from the village can't visit Ginny, which drives her mad. Ha!

Harry allowed himself a small smile before frowning over Ron's postscript. So the Weasleys were in danger because of him. Everyone was in danger because of him. And stuck at Privet Drive, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

Arabella was watching him again as he picked up Hermione's message. She grinned. "Saving the best for last?"

Still defensive, Harry muttered, "Hermione always writes better letters. Of more than one paragraph."

Arabella chucked and nodded knowingly. Harry frowned and decided to ignore her, and opened Hermione's letter.

Dear Harry,

I do hope that you're doing well. Are the Dursleys treating you properly? Is Dudley still on his diet? Please don't hesitate to ask if you'd like me to send you some extra treats.

I haven't heard much news recently, even though I still get the Daily Prophet. The items on how to repel attacks from Dark Wizards continue, although they have slackened a bit in quantity.

I often wonder if the group with whom we are unofficially affiliated (you know what I mean) is the only organisation which has any interest in defending the wizarding world. Are all others of our kind blind and brainless? I know that isn't so. Perhaps there are other groups in other parts of the world, and they are as carefully hidden and protected as ours is.

I have been studying protection spells and advanced defense techniques over the summer as well as preparing for next year's schoolwork. You are going to continue to lead the D.A. this coming year, are you not? If so, I could show you some very interesting and useful spells and charms that you might consider teaching - although it's quite possible that you know them already.

Again, please tell me if all is well. I know that Ron is fine, though he doesn't write very often and what he does send is extremely brief.

Please write back soon.

Hermione

He smiled again as he finished Hermione's letter, although he did wonder if her family had been notified of any possible danger. Wouldn't she have said something if a member of the Order had visited to set up protection spells around her house?

"Do you have any other news for me?" Harry asked. Arabella shook her head.

"No. I do know that there have been attempts to gain access to members and to headquarters, so I doubt that there will be any news soon. I'm sorry."

Harry could feel frustration bubbling in his stomach, mixing poorly with the monstrous amount of ice cream he had just consumed. He glanced down at his watch. "I should go back before I'm missed. Thanks for the letters and the ice cream, Mrs. Figg."

"You're welcome. Harry? Harry, are you alright?"

But he was already out of the shop door, sprinting back to Privet Drive as fast as his legs would carry him, hoping to exorcise his fear, frustration, and anger through speed.

It did not work. By the time he was back in his bedroom all he could do was flop onto his bed, his stomach rebelling nauseously and his heart heavy with worry. He groaned and rolled into a ball. Sirius was dead. His two best friends and their families were in serious, perhaps mortal danger. He could do nothing. And it was all his fault.

Before he could sink fully into the familiar slough of depression, his bedroom door opened. In strutted Dudley, shirtless and sweaty from his workout. He paused before Harry's mirror, flexing his biceps and sucking in his stomach, completely absorbed in his own reflection.

Harry felt, if possible, even more sick. Seeing the pallid, bulky body of his unloved, unlovely cousin was the last thing on Harry's list of desires. He was not surprised, however, by Dudley's appearance in his room. Growing along with Dudley's mania for a studly body was his desire for approval and affirmation that he was reaching his goal - approval from anyone, even his despised cousin, Harry Potter.

"What d'you think, Harry?" he grunted, expanding his pectorals. "Bigger?"

"Gargantuan", Harry agreed, his face now buried in his pillow.

"I reckon I've gained another inch in my chest in the past two weeks. It's the protein diet and the workouts, that's what. Also" - here he stopped to look at Harry - "genetics. Some of us have it, some don't. Some fellows could work out every day for the rest of their lives and still stay scrawny and wimpy." He gazed pointedly at his cousin.

"True enough. Just like some people can play sports and help win for their team every time, while others can't play sports at all."

"Eh", Dudley muttered, too interested in himself to catch Harry's veiled barb. "Hey, what's this?" He was looking at a framed wizard photograph on Harry's bureau. Harry was usually careful to hide all of his possessions - especially those having to do with magic - after using them, but this time he had forgotten and had left the photo out.

"Oh, nothing", he said quickly. "Just a snap. Dudley, d'you think that you'll enter into a body building competition any time soon?" Harry's distraction tactics were failing: Dudley was still gazing at the photograph, his mouth now gaping slightly. Harry tried again. "Nearly time for your favourite television programme, isn't it?"

"Who is that girl?" Dudley finally managed.

"Which girl?" the picture was of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, taken earlier the previous school year by Colin Creevey.

"That girl. God, she's hot."

Harry gritted his teeth with frustration. That was all he needed: for his boneheaded cousin to fancy Hermione, and bother him about it for the rest of the holiday.

Dudley whistled between his teeth. "The bushy-haired bird's a no-go. But wouldn't I like to meet up with that redhead sometime. I'd like to..."

With a mixture of surprise and disgust, Harry prepared to plug his ears if Dudley began describing exactly what he would like to do with or to Ginny Weasley, when he was saved by the clarion sound of his aunt's voice.

"Dudders! Dudders darling, He-Man Saves the Universe is on the telly!"

With obvious reluctance, Dudley tore his eyes away from the photograph and made his way downstairs noisily.

Alone again, Harry reached for the photograph himself and studied it. Ron stood in the middle, his arms draped about Hermione and Ginny, while Harry stood beside Hermione, laughing at Ron. Harry had to admit, Ginny did look very pretty, smiling straight at the camera, occasionally tossing her long red hair. Hermione, meanwhile, kept casting baleful glares at Ron, who was trying to pull her closer to his side. She did look a trifle annoyed. And her hair was extremely unruly; the photo had been taken after one of her all-night study marathons right before O.W.L.s. So why had he automatically thought that Dudley would fancy Hermione and not Ginny?

"Harry Potter! If you don't get down here and take care of the garbage this instant, your uncle shall hear of this!"

Temporarily putting thoughts of Hermione, Ginny, and Dudley's disturbing fantasies out of his mind, Harry hurried downstairs himself to the call of his aunt.

By the time he had finished his evening chores and cleaned the kitchen after supper, it was past nine and the summer evening was rapidly fading. When he returned to his room for bed, he discovered that his photograph had disappeared.