Summer Magic Note: Sorry, Ron doesn't exist in this story. You know, that's really bad, I've got to include Ron more in my stories, since I like him better than Harry or Hermione. But too late to do anything about it now! I am an Anti-Romance Freak, and I'm especially against any romance involving Harry. Can't imagine him getting a romance. But it's very, very slightly Harry/Hermione. One day I'm going to do a Ron/Harry one... wait a sec! Forget I said that! No thank you, I think I'll stick to G-rated fics. Urgh... there's something wrong with me at nighttime. And I didn't revise this too much, so I hope it's not too bad. I tried to have the ending explain a bunch of things, since on all my stories I always manage to make stuff confusing. Urgh again. I must not have done too good a job with that, judging from some of the reviews. But I did try! Gimme some credit. Hehe. I'll stop rambling now.
Disclaimer: The only characters that belong to me are Brittany, Nevilla, Natasha, and a few minor characters. Everyone else belongs to J.K. Rowling. I don't mean to steal her characters, I'm just borrowing them for the time being and making them do stuff I want them to. :)
Chapter 1
Harry Potter, much to the disgust of both the Dursleys and himself, was back at number four, Privet Drive.
It was 11:49 PM, July 30th, 1994. Harry was still awake. After all, in just a little more than ten minutes he would be fourteen. He was pretty sure he'd get some presents, this time. Maybe not from the Dursleys, but Hermione and Ron should remember him ... right?
Right. Five owls, including Harry's very own Hedwig, came swooping up to his window at that moment. Quickly he unlocked and opened it, not wanting to wake the Dursleys. The owls dropped their presents on his bed and one of them flew back out of the room.
"Early birthday presents," he mumbled to himself. "All right, well, this one isn't, so I can open it." He ripped open the envelope bearing the Hogwarts crest.
Same as always, thought Harry after taking out the papers inside it and glancing at them. He tossed them aside and looked at the clock next to the bed. 11:53.
Harry picked up a package that looked like Ron had addressed it. The tiny owl that had carried it started shooting around his room for a half-minute, then plopped down on Harry's bed and rested. Harry laughed slightly and turned to the envelope. He peeled it open and yanked the page of parchment from it, which was a bit hard, because the envelope wasn't wide enough for the letter. Probably Ron thought a smaller envelope would help his owl. Dear Harry,
Happy birthday!
How is it with the Muggles? ("Great," Harry muttered.) Percy got his best grades in Muggle Studies, so he's managed to get a job in the Ministry of Magic. Mum and Dad are really happy about it. Can't say I really am, what with his parading around the house reciting things he might need to know for his job. Good thing the Quidditch Cup came before Percy got the acceptance letter. Both he and Dad would be throwing questions at you all day.
Anyway, have you heard from Sirius lately? At least we know he's safe, the Daily Prophet hasn't said a word about him and neither has Cornelius Fudge. Dad should know. Did Fudge really believe Snape about us being confunded? Well, I guess he's going to believe we've been permanently confunded, because I won't be getting back in my "right mind" anytime soon!
Are you going to Diagon Alley? I'm going there next Tuesday to get my stuff. Try to meet me there, okay? Hermione's coming too.
See you soon,
Ron Harry smiled and set the letter on his bed. Ron's parcel was right in front of him. 11:59. Twenty-four more seconds. The parcel was long, thin, and flat. What could fit in that? A wand would probably take a bigger box, and besides, his own wand was working perfectly fine, and Ron knew it. Eight seconds. It would take some time to unwrap the present, anyhow. His fingers felt around the parcel to find the edge of the paper, and then he carefully peeled it off.
Inside was a thin cardboard box with a clear plastic cover in front, so Harry could see that the gift was a quill. The back of the box explained:
This quill is not meant to be used for school or office paperwork. Let the ordinary, unintelligent feathers do those jobs! For this quill writes advice in the air, whenever you need it. Just dip it in ordinary ink and then keep it in your pocket. Next time you find yourself in an awkward situation, your quill will pop out of your pocket and write its comments in the air. It will quickly become your best source of information!
Warning: Not a tool for cheating or any other evils.
Harry reached for his pot of scarlet ink. He dipped the quill into it. No spatters of red escaped its nib. This could come in useful. He set it on the bookshelf and made a mental note to tuck it in his pocket the next day.
An owl Harry had never seen before opened its beak so Harry could pick up the letter it was holding. Dear Harry,
How are you? All right with the Dursleys?
A couple of Muggle police spotted me a few days ago. They pulled out their guns and fired. Luckily I didn't get hit. Unluckily someone else did -- people a mile away could hear him screaming his head off. I'm quite sure he wasn't killed, though. The ambulance picked him up right away.
Hope you like my gift. I know you'll be able to find some use for it. After all, there's got to be another Snape at your school...
Sirius Policemen after Sirius? An innocent Muggle injured, because of that? Wow... now the Daily Prophet would have some fun. Another thing to add to Sirius's list of crimes.
Harry looked at the rectangular parcel that had come with the letter. He tore the flimsy brown packaging apart, and then saw... a glossy, maroon-colored book. A spellbook, for sure. Why on earth would Sirius send him an ordinary spellbook?
Then he looked more carefully, and saw the title embedded into the cover. Curses and Countercurses
Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges:
Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More
It was very hard to see, which was why Harry hadn't noticed it at first. He grinned as he thought of what he could do to Malfoy when he got back to Hogwarts. Before his first year, he had seen this very book in Flourish and Blotts. Hagrid had told him that the spells were way too advanced for him at that point. Not anymore, now that he was going to enter his fourth year!
Harry then picked up an envelope that looked like Hermione had addressed it. Dear Harry,
I'm on holiday in the United States this summer! There's a place here almost like Diagon Alley, except there are a lot of streetside stalls. I got your present from one of them. It should keep you company this summer.
Anyway, this is going to be short because I've got to catch that plane back to London. See you at Hogwarts!
Love from
Hermione And just while Harry was unwrapping Hermione's present, something in the room breathed loudly.
He stiffened and slowly turned his head. As far as he could see, nothing else besides himself was in the room.
He looked under the bed. Nobody there, either.
Very tentatively, he finished opening the gift and pulled out a box. He lifted its lid.
Whatever had been snoring jerked awake and blinked. So did Harry.
"Er -- hello," he greeted it curiously.
"Hello," said a face as it looked cautiously outside the box. The face was on a framed miniature portrait that could probably fit in his pants pocket. It had green eyes and black, messy hair, almost like Harry, but Harry wasn't painted. "What's your name?"
"Harry Potter."
"Harry Potter!" the portrait whispered. It stared at Harry. "I don't believe it..."
"You don't -- believe what?" Not another one, Harry groaned inwardly as he remembered Ginny, Colin Creevey, and the Knight Bus conductor, Stan Shunpike.
"Oh, sorry," apologized the portrait as it blushed slightly. "Rude of me. It's just that I'm also Harry Potter."
The three-dimensional Harry Potter stared at the portrait, considering him. "What should I call you, then?"
"Harry Potter!" it said immediately.
"Sorry, name taken. I'm Harry Potter."
"So am I!"
"I was here first!"
"Well --" the portrait started, "well ... all right. I'll be James Riddle, then."
Harry stared again. "Why, of all the surnames you could pick, did you choose that one?" he demanded of James Riddle.
"Well, don't you know?" asked James, surprised. "I just thought, since, like you, I'm a bit of each of them, I'd take my first name from your father, and my last name from your mother.
"No," Harry whispered.
"What's that?" said James cheerfully.
"N-nothing." Then, changing the subject, Harry said, "You're like the Fat Lady at Hogwarts, aren't you?"
"I'm not a fat lady!" replied James indignantly.
Suddenly the door creaked. Harry froze. He pushed his other gifts under the bed and lay down on the mattress. "Shh!" he hissed at James, and then shoved him under the bed, too.
Slowly, very slowly, the door opened to reveal... Dudley Dursley.
Dudley's face was different, somehow. Paler, maybe, and instead of its usual smug look it carried a feeling of nervousness and fright. He bent down and then Harry sat up suddenly.
"What -- on -- earth -- do you think you're doing?!" he said in a deadly whisper. He almost laughed at how Dudley went even whiter, but he suppressed his urge. If he was going to scare Dudley properly, giggling wouldn't help.
Dudley took one large step in reverse and backed out of the door, all the while staring at Harry with terror. Harry was gazing at him, too -- or rather, gazing at the book Dudley was clutching at his chest.
The Mystery of Witchcraft: Get Wrapped Into It.
Harry gasped just as Dudley closed the door and fled. What was Dudley doing with a book on Muggle witchcraft?
He didn't have much time to ponder, though. His eyes started to droop and he decided to open Hagrid's gift later. Soon enough, two light snores could be heard in the room, of two Harry Potters. Chapter 2
Next morning, Harry sat at the table in the Dursleys' kitchen.
"So she invited me to spend the day at her house with her friends," Dudley said while smirking at Harry. "She's picking me up here and bringing me back home, too. Just call her when you want me back home."
Harry rolled his eyes and Aunt Petunia shot him a sharp look. But he honestly couldn't help it. Dudley had been going on and on about his girlfriend, Brittany, all summer.
"Scared of walking around alone, I'll expect," he muttered. Dudley didn't hear him -- his ears were damaged from fourteen years of television blasting.
A car honked outside.
"There she is!" cried Dudley, puffing himself up and smoothing his hair. He suddenly looked intently at the top of Harry's head. Something up there seemed to reassure him, and he walked towards the door, oblivious to the bacon bits stuck to his lousy excuse for a chin.
"Have fun, Dudley!" Aunt Petunia called after him, though from her voice you'd think he was heading to his own execution. As the front door shut, she sniffed and exchanged glances at Uncle Vernon. He, too, looked wistful.
"Just our little boy growing up... nothing we can do about it..." he said as he put his arm around her.
Harry controlled his snorting. Seven hours later, Aunt Petunia furiously thrust the receiver on the hook.
"I've called for half an hour and it's STILL engaged!" she screeched. "And we can't go pick him up, we've got that dinner table reserved! You --" she gestured towards Harry "-- go get Dudley from the Sphereses' house."
Harry didn't need to be told twice. He raced out the door and when it slammed, started walking at a snail's pace. Anything to stay out of the house.
He took his time getting to the house, added to the fact that he had no idea where it was, except that the address was 66/6 Wick Avenue. Finally, after an hour of walking, he pounded the Sphereses' door with its brass knocker.
The door opened slowly and a woman's face peered out. "Who are you?" she asked him with a rough sort of voice.
"Dudley's cousin."
"Dudley is upstairs in Brittany's room," she said as she opened the door an inch wider. Lucky for Harry that he was so skinny. He barely squeezed into the house.
When he reached the top of the stairs he heard voices muttering something. As Brittany's door wasn't quite closed, he pushed it open to see a bizarre sight.
Three girls along with Dudley were sitting on the floor in a circle, surrounded by candles. They had been sitting in the lotus position with their hands folded until Harry burst in. Now they looked up, surprised, and Dudley's face showed pure fear. In the middle of the circle was a cross of metal, illuminated by another candle.
So this was why Dudley had a Muggle witchcraft book! What would Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon say if they knew their son practiced that sort of nonsense?
Harry slowly started to shake. It only took a half-second before full-fledged guffaws escaped him.
"You've just interrupted us in the middle of something important," a girl who Harry had never seen said sourly. She had light brown hair and was wearing too much dark purple lipstick. "Is he your brother, Dudley?"
"My cousin," Dudley said quickly.
"Can't you get him out of here?"
Harry stopped laughing to say, "I've come to get you out of here, Dudley."
"All right then," said the dark-lipped girl. "How come you didn't bring that magic stuff you were talking about?" she demanded of Dudley.
"I couldn't -- get a hold of it," Dudley answered nervously. He kept shooting odd glances at Harry.
Then Harry understood... and a wave of anger swept over him.
"Your magic stuff," he repeated. "Is that was you were looking for in MY bedroom?!" He was shaking now, and not with laughter, but with rage.
Dudley whimpered.
"All right, what's going on?" asked another girl.
"Nothing," Dudley said with a shaky voice. "Er -- Harry, this is Brittany, Nevilla, and Natasha." Brittany was the dark-lipped girl. Nevilla was pale and nervous-looking (rather like Neville Longbottom), and Natasha was black-haired and sharp. "Harry knows a bit of witchcraft himself," he told the girls.
"You do?" said Brittany, her opinion of Harry clearly improving.
Something suddenly rustled in Harry's pocket. A feather popped out. It was the advice quill.
"No." Act skeptical.
"No," Harry said flatly and the feather tucked itself back into his pocket. "In fact, I don't even think this so-called witchcraft works. It's just rubbish for the gullible."
"We're not gullible!" squeaked Nevilla, and Natasha said, "Only the narrow-minded would say what you did." Brittany looked too angry for words. Dudley was just looking confused. Obviously none of them had seen the quill.
"But I thought --" Dudley started before Harry interrupted.
"If this all works, prove it," he challenged Brittany.
Brittany, whose complexion now matched the color of her lipstick, closed her eyes. She chanted something and started doing some weird hand motions.
"Do you feel it?" she whispered dramatically, very much like Professor Trelawney.
"Feel what?"
"The string! The string that has bound your hand! I'm pulling it tight."
"I don't feel a thing."
Brittany sniffed and muttered about the power not reaching closed minds. Nevilla opened her eyes wide, and Natasha said, "Have faith in it, and it will work."
"Well, we'll just have to look up a spell powerful enough to get through your thick skull," said Brittany with distaste. "Dudley, I guess this guy wants you to go home. Let's get in the car."
All five sat in the back seat of a very roomy but old Mercedes-Benz. They drove to the Dursleys in silence, except when Nevilla squeaked because a rat that somehow made its home in the car ran over her shoe. Natasha mumbled something about wimps at that point.
When the car finally stopped at number four, Privet Drive, Brittany and Dudley started kissing. Harry looked in the opposite direction, and when they were finally done, Dudley and Harry went out of the car.
The minute they were inside the house, Harry started on Dudley.
"You were trying to show them MY Hogwarts stuff?"
Poor Dudley had no Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to turn to. They were at a fancy hotel somewhere, having dinner.
"I -- well, I --"
"You weren't thinking," Harry finished for him. "You never are. Don't you EVER do something like that again, all right? If you do I'm going to curse you -- even if it gets me expelled," he added grimly. "Or I'll tell your parents that you like magic!"
Dudley's whole body was quaking. He swayed and fell to the ground with an earsplitting thud. Harry left him there. Later that night, while in bed, Harry heard someone bellow, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?"
The bedroom door was flung open and an extremely purple Uncle Vernon stormed in, dragging the limp body of Dudley.
"He's unconscious," he snarled at Harry. "Is this some more magic of yours? It really is dangerous nonsense! I should have known, when we took you in --"
"I didn't do anything to him --"
"DON'T LIE!" howled Uncle Vernon. "OF COURSE YOU DID THIS! ONLY A FILTHY LITTLE BRAT LIKE YOURSELF --"
Dudley's eyes snapped open. He looked at Uncle Vernon first, then Harry. He suddenly got up and glared at Harry. Obviously the bullying part of him was back.
"If you tell them, I'll break your neck," he threatened.
"Not before Uncle Vernon breaks yours and Aunt Petunia disowns you."
"What's that, boy?" Uncle Vernon growled.
Aunt Petunia stepped into the room carrying the entire medicine cabinet. Immediately Dudley let his head lie back again, and scrunched up his face in false pain.
"Dinky Duddydums, don't worry, Mummy will make it better!" she cried as she sloshed water into his mouth and forced a pill down his throat. Now Dudley really did feel pain, and he howled.
"You, boy," hissed Uncle Vernon, "get out of here. Out. Understand?"
Harry followed his orders and walked down the stairs. He opened the front door and walked down the pavement, not really caring where he went, or who he'd meet. He was still sleepy. Perhaps that's why he thought he heard a voice say, somewhere down Wick Avenue, "It'll be easy to get the boy out of the way, now, Master..." Chapter 3
Harry had curled up on a bench on Wick Avenue when he felt someone tap on his arm.
"You can get back in the house now, we need someone to cook the bacon."
Uncle Vernon was behind the wheel of the car. It was Aunt Petunia who stood over him now, glaring.
"And you'll be staying in your cupboard, too, for that nasty bruise you gave Duddy," she added.
"I'll stay here, thanks," muttered Harry.
Aunt Petunia's lips tightened.
"It's not your choice to make," she snapped.
After a while, Harry finally got off the bench and sleepily followed Aunt Petunia into the car.
It only took about ten minutes to reach Privet Drive. Harry started frying the bacon and when it was done, took refuge in the cupboard. How long this time? he asked nobody in particular.
The doorbell rang. Aunt Petunia got it.
"Good morning," said a woman cheerfully. She had a head full of brown hair, topped with a grey hat. She looked quite young and a few pimples dotted her face. She also wore a lot of eyeshadow.
"What do you want?" Aunt Petunia demanded.
"I'm Lavender Finnigan, and I've been sent by the government to ask a few questions of the youngest member of this household," the woman answered. "We're doing a survey to see what life is like for the average child in England."
"Rubbish," said Aunt Petunia somewhat nastily, "you're a child yourself. A child with too much makeup."
Lavender Finnigan drew herself up and said, somewhat stiffly, "I am fully twenty-six years old, thank you very much. Now if you don't mind, may I have a talk with the youngest member of your household?"
"Well, I suppose it can't hurt," Aunt Petunia said to herself, and she called, "Dudley! There's a woman here who wants to see you!"
Dudley waddled down the stairs.
Ms. Finnigan frowned. "Are you sure this is the youngest member of your household?"
Dudley opened his mouth to say something, but Aunt Petunia looked at him sharply and said, "Of course he is. I should know who lives in my house, shouldn't I?"
"Yes, but on this sheet," and here Ms. Finnigan pulled out a folded piece of paper from her pocket, "it says the youngest member of this house is someone by the name of Harry Potter. Is that right?"
Aunt Petunia looked like she'd eaten a lemon. "How would the government know that?" The Dursleys had always tried to hide Harry.
Ms. Finnigan narrowed her eyes. "You are a citizen of Britain, aren't you?"
"Oh, all right," hissed Aunt Petunia. She walked to the cupboard under the stairs and opened it very suddenly. A spider fell out. Harry hadn't really heard the conversation, only a few muffled bits and pieces.
"Now, you," Aunt Petunia said dangerously, "you'd better tell that woman we keep you well, or there will be trouble. Understand?"
Harry nodded numbly and walked out to the door. Then he gaped.
"Is this Harry Potter?" asked Ms. Finnigan.
"Yes," replied Aunt Petunia.
"Good, good. I'll have a talk with him outside, if you don't mind." Then Harry and Ms. Finnigan stepped out the door.
"Hermione!" Harry blurted out. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"A little birthday cheer," said Hermione/Ms. Finnigan happily. "Late, maybe, but only by one day. Our plane was delayed."
"That was brilliant," said Harry admiringly. "They were completely taken in."
"I know," Hermione said. "I'm going to have to get some disguises now, if I'm going to see you again this summer. Unless you stay at Diagon Alley? You could get a room in the Leaky Cauldron."
"Maybe," Harry said gloomily, "if I can get away from the Dursleys. Well, I could. The Knight Bus could pick me up."
"Quick, let's get away from this place. Your relatives are horrible."
"Have I ever said otherwise?"
"No, but I didn't realize how bad they were. Let's get a move on, I need to find somewhere to wash off this blasted eyeshadow. It's really nagging me."
The two strolled along Privet Drive, and out, talking all the while. They passed a toothless old man sitting in a corner, who chuckled something about "young love," and a woman who nodded approvingly at Hermione's sensible office outfit and grimaced at Harry's clothes, which were, as usual, Dudley's hand-me-downs.
Then they turned a corner and almost bumped into Brittany, Nevilla, and Natasha.
"You again," Brittany said icily. "I wonder how you even managed to get a girlfriend." She jerked her head in Hermione's direction.
"I didn't," Harry practically shouted. "She's not my --"
"Lavender Finnigan. Nice to meet you," Hermione said with false cheer. She stuck out her hand for Brittany to shake, but soon dropped it after it became clear that Brittany was not going to do anything of the sort.
"Brittany Spheres," she grunted reluctantly. Nevilla and Natasha hung back in Brittany's shadow.
"They practice witchcraft," said Harry quite clearly and loudly, shooting a knowing look at Hermione.
"Ah," Hermione sighed and grinned. "I know that as a government official I shouldn't get involved in the supernatural. But I can't help myself."
All three girls raised their eyebrows at the "government official" part, but lowered them when Hermione said she was involved in the supernatural.
The Advice Quill popped out of Harry's pocket.
"Lavender, I don't understand how you can still fool around with that insanely stupid stuff."
"Lavender, I don't understand how you can still fool around with -- with that insanely stupid stuff," Harry mumbled unconvincingly.
"It's not stupid!" Hermione sniffed. "Look, I'll show you something."
"About time someone knocked some sense into his head!" Brittany said angrily. "We didn't have too much luck, maybe you can help, Miss..."
"Finnigan," Hermione said.
"Ms. Finnigan. Whatever."
Harry looked at Hermione with confusion. She knew the rule of the restriction of underage wizardry probably better than he did. What was she going to do?
"What are you planning on showing him?" Nevilla asked eagerly.
"Something he can understand," Hermione said. She pulled out two pens from her pocket. "Here, Harry, hold these. Press them together hard." She demonstrated it and held the two pens lengthwise, then pressed their ends together. Harry followed her example.
"Universal energy's bonding them a bit," Hermione explained to the three onlookers. "It won't stay for long, though. All right, now, really, really gently pull the pens apart. Let the energy take over."
Harry did -- and felt a weird, almost-magnetic force pulling the pens together. He looked up at Hermione and said faintly, "Unbelievable. How on earth did you do that?"
"You did knock some sense into his head!" gasped Natasha. "Well done, very well done!"
"Hey, why don't you come to my house tomorrow?" said Brittany. "You can show us some stuff. That's got to be really advanced -- how did you manage it?"
"Tell you later," Hermione said mysteriously. "But if I'm going, can Harry come too?"
"All right," Brittany grumbled. "Ten o'clock in the morning?"
"Good enough for me."
Walking back to Privet Drive, Harry asked, "How did you do that, Hermione?"
Hermione snorted. "When you hold the pens together long enough, your muscles get tired and you find it harder to pull them apart. Simple science." In his bedroom, the advice quill popped out again. It wrote in loopy cursive, Prepare for danger.
"What?"
Prepare for danger tomorrow.
"Um... is this something to do with Voldemort?"
As always. Bring me and your wand to the Sphereses'.
"Well -- what happens if I don't go?"
You must go.
"I don't have to do anything I don't want to," said Harry quite indignantly, though he was shivering at the thought of Voldemort.
You must go.
He was silent for a long while, and the bright red writing faded away. Then he said, "Oh, all right." He shivered again. Chapter 4
Harry didn't remember much of the feather's warning. He thought it was a dream he had had that night. But he did remember the part about bringing his wand to the Sphereses'. So he tucked it in his pocket, along with the quill, just in case.
At 9:50 he dutifully set out for Brittany's house. He didn't meet Hermione along the way, and when he reached 66/6 Wick Avenue, she wasn't there either. It was already 10:15.
"Where's Herm -- Lavender?"
"Lavender who? Oh, Ms. Finnigan," said Brittany. "Hey, remember to ask her if we can call her Lavender, all right?"
"All right, but where is she?"
"We don't know," Nevilla said, obviously unconcerned. But she seemed to be the only one who was.
"Do you think -- something happened to her?" Natasha whispered, thrilled by the thought. "Maybe a spirit --"
"Aw, shaddup, Natasha," Nevilla cut in boldly. Her voice didn't seem to fit her, somehow. "She's only fifteen minutes late. We'll wait."
Both Brittany and Natasha looked at Nevilla with raised eyebrows. Her eyes were glinting madly and she turned to Harry.
"Or maybe -- we won't."
Out popped the quill. PREPARE FOR DANGER.
Harry slid his hand into his pocket and gripped his wand tightly.
Nevilla stood up. The room, though the curtains were open, darkened suddenly.
"Harry, my friend's child," she said, smiling cruelly. "We met in the Shrieking Shack, but I don't think you remember me looking like this."
"Pettigrew?" gasped Harry.
"Smart boy," Nevilla said. "Actually, I take that back. Any idiot could figure out who I am."
"Why are you in -- in a girl's body?" Harry stammered.
"Sirius's fault," Nevilla said, her nostrils flared. "The filthy Muggle policemen. Shot me instead of him. I was trailing him, and I was that close. But then they had to ruin it. I knew I couldn't stay in my body, now that the Ministry would use me as an example of Sirius's evildoings. So my master helped me take over this girl."
Brittany had her eyes tightly shut and was mouthing incantations. Natasha looked like she might cry.
"So where's the real Nevilla?" she almost wailed.
"Gone," replied Pettigrew, mouth curling into an awful grin. "Some sacrifices must be made...
"Well, as this Muggle body is useless for magic, I think I'll go retrieve my own. The Ministry won't swoop down on me now, will they?"
And Nevilla slumped to the floor, lifeless. A half-second later, Pettigrew in his real body appeared.
And he was holding a magically-bound Hermione.
Her frightened eyes darted towards Harry, silently begging him to help her. Now Brittany wasn't the only one who felt like crying.
"It's your choice, Harry," said Pettigrew, sneering. "Who do you love more, yourself or this girl?"
Harry didn't want to choose. Pettigrew was just doing this to torture him. Why was Pettigrew all of a sudden so -- strong, somehow? In the Shrieking Shack he had been nervous, scared, even terrified of Sirius and Professor Lupin. Now he acted as if he owned the world. Who knew, maybe Voldemort had promised him that.
And then his answer was there. A shadowy figure glided across the wall of Brittany's bedroom, as if it was placed there by a projector. Harry recognized it immediately -- it had the same scarlet eyes and red nostril slits.
"So nice to see you here, Harry Potter," said the figure. "I don't want to lose my father's great-grandson, but at times like these, I have no other options." The figure let out an obviously-fake sigh. "Didn't you ever wonder why I had no intention of killing Lily? I believe in family loyalty, even to my Muggle father and his relatives. But that loyalty only does so much. Your mother interfered, and she had to face the consequences."
Harry remained silent, taking this all in.
"Well, make your choice, boy, and do it quick. Or I'll make the choice for you. Are you going to give yourself up for a girl you don't even love particularly?" Pettigrew pulled a wand out of his pocket and pointed it at Hermione's heart.
"You or her."
I don't want to choose. I want both of us to live. I don't want Hermione to die, but I don't want to die either.
The advice quill lay on the floor, forgotten. Now it sprang into the air.
Palr
Palr?? The quill frantically wrote over those faint red letters. It had run out of ink!
Could Voldemort and Pettigrew see the quill? They didn't seem to notice it. Not like that made a difference. "Palr" wouldn't give any information to anyone.
What words began with "Palr"?
None that Harry knew, in any case.
Unless the "l" was a cursive "t," uncrossed...
Desperately, without any careful thinking, Harry plunged his sweating hand into his pants pocket. He whipped out his wand, pointed it at Voldemort, and shouted, "EXPECTO PATRONUM!" I'm going to save Hermione. That last time, when I won the Quidditch Cup. Even Percy forgot to act grown-up. Wood was so happy --
Voldemort wasn't a Dementor. Would a Patronus help at all?
A silvery stag charged towards Voldemort's shadow. No sound was made, but Voldemort seemed to be trying to stay away from the Patronus. Maybe a Patronus would help... then Voldemort glided through the bedroom's doorway. Pettigrew saw his master leave, and followed him.
They were gone.
Freedom! Harry let out a laugh suddenly. Gone. They were gone. Maybe they would be back, but he didn't care. Just one moment free from their cruel stares -- he felt relieved.
"What -- happened?"
Harry had forgotten that Brittany and Natasha were still there.
"Nothing," he said drily. "Nothing except that the Dark Lord Voldemort himself came into this room and out again." He didn't care that the two Muggles knew nothing about Voldemort. He just didn't feel like talking.
Hermione, unsupported by Pettigrew, had fallen to the ground. Harry performed the Full Body-Bind's countercurse.
"Ms. Fi -- Lavender? Or is it Hermione?" started Natasha timidly, her face still red from crying a minute ago. "Are you all right?"
"No," Hermione said flatly.
The silver stag cantered into the room again, and it bent its head towards Harry. This time he managed to reach out and pat it on the head. It was amazing how warm something silvery like Prongs could be.
"Thank you," Hermione whispered, and she leaned her head on Harry's shoulder. A nasty letter from Mafalda Hopkirk had arrived within five minutes of that incident. Hermione lit a fire (using a lighter in the room, normally used for candles) on a few of Brittany's wooden objects. Brittany didn't mind. She was begging Hermione and Harry to show her some magic, but they both refused. Then Harry held the letter in the fire, letting the flames curl the parchment into ashes.
"You know, you're not such a bad one after all," said Brittany slyly. "You doing anything else today?"
"Yes," Harry said, though he hadn't gotten anything planned. He wasn't about to agree to a date with Brittany, not just yet anyway. He and Hermione hadn't recovered from the incident as well as Brittany had. Brittany just didn't care much about anything. She was also annoying them with boasts on how well she had communicated with the spirits to help them. Harry and Hermione had stayed at the Dursleys' that night (Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were all fast asleep at that time). The next morning, they had taken the Underground to London.
The two wizards entered the Leaky Cauldron apprehensively.
A few people turned around to look at Harry, but they went back to eating shortly. A newspaper rack stood in the corner. Hermione glanced at Harry. He nodded. Then they walked over to it. 