Author's Note: I did not create Harry Potter or the 'Potterverse.' Also, it would be important to note that the dates have shifted a few years in this story. This, Harry's sixth year, takes place from 2002 to 2003. There's a reason for this, but it's not really important. You should also know that this book goes on the canon established in the first five books. Hope you enjoy.


Chapter I: An Agreement of Sorts

Harry Potter sat on his small bed in his room at Number 4 Privet Drive. This summer, though just as sweltering and boring as the others, was somehow different. He wasn't quite sure why. The Dursleys still made him do all the yardwork and dishes. He still had to do his own laundry and he was still not allowed the use of the family computer (or the one in Dudley's room). Still, something felt different.

He had mused on the subject at length, shut up in his room. He lay motionless for several hours at a time on his bed, the lights off, the curtains drawn. He had worked out a schedule so that he wouldn't have to see his aunt, uncle, or cousin for more than a few moments a day. In fact, he hadn't even said a word to him or had one said to him in over a week.

Usually, the Dursleys would talk amongst themselves about what Harry had messed up that day. Usually they claimed he had missed a spot on Aunt Petunia's favorite glass or didn't edge properly when vacuuming. A few times, he had been accused of 'stepping too hard' on the grass when weeding the garden. Once, when he was nine, Dudley had thrown a shoe at him and the object had mysteriously reversed course in mid-flight, returning to strike Dudley square in the nose.

Vernon had scolded Harry for 'being so unkempt that the shoe refused to touch him.' Knowing what had actually happened, as he knew now, made the insult insignificant.

Now, they didn't talk about him at all. He began to feel like a ghost, but caught himself and remembered that the ghosts at Hogwarts were, at the very least, acknowledged.

Of course, the main reason that Harry was spending so much time thinking about the Dursleys' attitude was because it kept him from thinking about Sirius. As hard as he tried to concentrate on other things, however, his mind always wandered in that direction.

He stood up suddenly, not wanting to think about his departed godfather. Hedwig gave a surprised hoot.

"Calm down, girl," Harry said.

Hedwig stretched her wings, perhaps to show that she was calm.

"Hungry?"

She hooted in response.

"Me too," he said, realizing he hadn't eaten that day. He hadn't eaten more than a meal a day all summer, and he felt a little guilty at what Mrs. Weasley would say if she found that out.

He cracked the door open, listening carefully to the sounds of the house to determine where everyone was. The television was on, which meant his uncle was watching the news. The washer was running, which meant Petunia had started the first load and was hard at work on the stains of Dudley's clothes. Finally, he heard the sound of a gunshot from the computer next door, followed by a string of explatives, meaning Dudley had died in a video game and was blaming it on the computer instead of himself. Soon, he would rumble down the stairs demanding a brand new system that could keep up with his gaming prowess.

Harry quietly made his way into the hall and down the stairs. When he entered the kitchen, he heard Petunia scream from the adjoining laundry room.

"I haven't even touched anything yet!" Harry protested, spinning around to face her. When he did, he noticed a mouse skittering across the floor.

"VERNON!" Petunia roared, "WHY DON'T WE HAVE A CAT?!"

"BECAUSE I HATE THE FILTHY LAYABOUTS!" he shouted back.

Thinking quickly, Harry grabbed an empty Tupperware container from the counter and dove, trapping the mouse underneath a clear plastic dome.

"VERNON, A MOUSE JUST KNOCKED OVER OUR – oh," Petunia said, coming into the kitchen to see what had fallen. "It's you."

"You're welcome," Harry said, standing up and grabbing a paper towel.

"Welcome? I had just washed that!" she shrieked, pointing at the container on the floor.

"I'll buy you a new one," Harry replied hotly.

Vernon laughed derisively and waddled into the kitchen.

"See there, Petunia? Don't get worked up, he'll buy us a new one!" Vernon said sarcastically. He rounded on Harry. "And where, exactly, do you plan to get the money, boy? You don't have a job!"

"Harry's getting a job?" Dudley asked loudly from upstairs. His thundering descent of the stairs shook the house.

"Of course!" Vernon said to his son, his sarcastic tone back. "Just look at him, he's got plenty of marketable skills! Why, there's his... er..."

Harry rolled his eyes. His aunt whimpered. "I think it's still moving," she whispered, her eyes still on the trapped rodent.

"He could be a hair model for Grundling Weed-whackers," Dudley offered. Vernon roared with laughter. Petunia took a step away from the Tupperware.

Harry could feel his face growing red and stooped to slide the paper towel underneath the plastic cage.

"Come on, now, boy," Vernon said, enjoying the scene far too much. "You said you're going to buy her a new one! How will you make the money?"

Harry couldn't resist. He rose and drew his wand, trying to hide the excitement that washed over him at their reaction – they all took a step back and the laughter died from their faces at once. Petunia even looked up.

"You want me to make some money?," Harry asked kindly.

It was a tense moment. Vernon was the first to act, stepping valiantly in front of his wife. Dudley, equally valiant, stepped behind his monther.

"That's enough, now, boy," Vernon said, sweat beading on his forehead. "We've all had a little laugh here, but clearly it's too much for you. Go to your room."

Harry realized he still hadn't eaten. His uncle was a very imposing man, and he was weighing the options. His hunger won out, and he decided to test exactly how terrified of his magic they were. He turned his back on Vernon and opened the refrigerator, rummaging for leftovers.

"Wha... what do you think you're doing, boy?" Vernon asked.

"I'm getting something to eat so I don't starve to death," Harry answered, still not facing his uncle. He made himself a plate of ham and potatoes and started it in the microwave.

It was strange. He had faced the most feared man in the wizarding world several times and yet he was still terrified of his uncle.

There was another tense moment. Again, Vernon was the first to speak. "Petunia, dear," he said quietly, "it's a nice summer evening. Why don't you take Dudders out for some ice cream?"

"Vernon, what are you--"

"The shop closes in a half hour," he said. "You should hurry."

Petunia seemed to get the point. She led Dudley out of the room and, after Harry heard the door close and the car start up outside, he heard Vernon advance over the soft humming of the microwave. Harry should have turned around to face him, but he wanted Vernon to know he wasn't afraid of him.

Harry also saw that his hands were shaking and busied them by wrapping the ham back in foil so as not to spoil the illusion of fearlessness.

"I suppose you think that you're invincible with your... stick and your fellow freaks," his uncle said. "Look at me when I'm talking to you, boy." Harry turned to face him. "I know you're not grateful for us putting a roof over your head and giving you food these past sixteen years, and I know that you whine to those so-called adults that we're unfair. If you want to have all your little freak buddies try and intimidate me after I've wasted money driving to the train station, that's one thing. But I will not, I will not have you disobeying me in my house."

There was so much Harry wanted to respond with. He wanted to tell his uncle that he'd rather live with Snape, or that he would continue disobeying however often he felt like it, or even that he was only fifteen, as his birthday had not yet come around, but he didn't. He couldn't bring himself to.

"S... sorry, sir," Harry said.

The microwave chimed.

"Don't get any on your floor," Vernon said roughly, turning and walking away.

"Yes, sir," Harry responded. Then, before he could stop himself, he asked, "Uncle Vernon?"

The retreating man stopped in the doorway but did not turn around.

"Would it be alright if I wrote to my friends? Only at night, of course," he added quickly.

He heard Vernon exhale heavily. "By... by owls?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a long pause here, and Vernon's voice quivered slightly as he asked, "And you'll be writing to all of your friends, correct?"

Harry assumed he was referring to the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had spoken with Vernon a few weeks ago.

"Yes, sir."

"And your godfather too?"

Harry was grateful that Sirius had threatened his uncle a few years ago – it had been the only reason he was allowed to communicate with his friends over the summer. But now, Sirius was gone. Harry doubted that Vernon would still let him write to his friends if the threat was over...

"Of... of course," Harry replied, feeling horrible.

"You may receive and send letters between two and four in the morning. But keep those daft birds quiet, and if I spot a single owl dropping, you'll clean it with your tongue. Are we clear?"

"Of course, sir," Harry said, wondering how he could actually make sure the owls didn't make a mess. "Thank you, Uncle Vernon." His stomach gave a violent lurch and he retreated up the stairs, trying not to think of his departed godfather.

Harry let Hedwig out that night after feeding the mouse to her. "You eat well out there tonight, girl," he whispered to her. "You'll be doing a lot of flying soon enough."

Midnight found Harry writing feverishly. He had sent letters to both Ron and Hermione, telling them when he was allowed to receive mail and asking for any advice on making sure the owls didn't make a mess. He had also begged them for updates. Their summers much be so much more exciting than his, he figured. Ron lived in a wizarding household and could therefore get away with using a little magic over the summer. Hermione did not have that luxury, but at least she felt welcome in her home. Hedwig was sent out on a double delivery that night a few minutes after two and Harry tried to get some sleep despite his excitement.


A few days after, he had received replies from both Ron and Hermione via their owls. Hedwig had been back for some time, and as he opened the window at three in the morning to let Pigwidgeon soar semi-gracefully back toward the Weasley house, Harry still felt like writing.

For some reason, he recalled the conversation he had held with Luna at the end of the school year. He remembered her wandering around looking for her stolen possessions and he wondered how she stayed so calm about the whole thing. He certainly knew what it was like to be an outcast. He quickly scratched off a note to Luna, wondering exactly what the eccentric girl did with her summers.

Luna, he began. I'm bored over the summer without magic and I wanted to make sure that you found everything of yours that was misplaced.

It was a simple enough introduction, but he soon found himself pouring out a letter almost as long as he had written to Ron or Hermione. His hand was beginning to cramp, but he ignored it. It would have several more days to rest up. He apologized over and over again for leading her into such a dangerous situation and thanked her for her loyalty. She had even saved his best friends life. I really owe you one, he finished. He signed it and sent the letter off with Hedwig, knowing it would somehow find its target.

It was several days before he received a reply, but as he expected, Hermione's came first, arriving at exactly two in the morning.

Harry-

I'm sorry you have to spend the whole summer without practicing magic – maybe you can use the opportunity to study up on Arithmancy or Ancient Runes! Wandwork is only strengthened by a solid background of knowledge. It would do wonders for your potions, too! You see, all magic is interconnected, and...

Sorry. I know by this point Ronald would be asking me to stop talking. I'll digress there and instead tell you my big news! I've been given special permission by the Ministry of Magic to practice potion-making over the summer. My parents are letting me use the garage, and I've sound-proofed the whole thing so that they aren't worried by the little gurgles or bloops or explosions that are common in potionwork.

I really think I'm onto something here – I stumbled upon a much quicker way to produce a memory-restoring potion. The accepted method takes two months and only works in 8.5791 of cases. I believe mine will be much more effective and should only take two weeks to brew! The Daily Prophet is even running a story about it! Oh, Harry, I wish you could practice magic over the summer! It feels amazing knowing I'm not letting my studies go to waste for three months!

Write back soon!
Hermione

He hated to admit it, but he'd gladly practice potions if he could. Not being able to use magic over the summer would be making things boring even if the Dursleys weren't making him work 4 hours a day on chores.

Ron's letter arrived the next night. Apparently, Ron was bored as well – he spent most of his time either helping his mom or his twin brothers. He wasn't allowed to practice magic and fumed about Hermione being given permission from the ministry.

It was all very much like the other letters Ron had written to him, until the end. The end contained hope that Harry would be getting out of the Dursley residence on his birthday, and he almost gave a shout of glee before he remembered it was three in the morning.

He was so excited that he read it over and over again, and it wasn't until he felt an impatient peck on his arm that he noticed another owl had flown in his room through the open window.

"Ow!" he winced. The bird hopped onto his knee and stared into his eyes, cocking its head as if it were confused. It gave a loud hoot.

"Shh!" Harry said. The owl stuck out its leg to present him with another letter. After delivering the message, the black-feathered creature took flight and disappeared into the night sky.

The writing in the letter was tiny and very loopy. Even without the process of elimination or her signature at the bottom, there would have been no mistaking who had sent it.

Harry! What a surprise!

Yes, I found everything. I told you I would. You shouldn't have worried. I didn't. Think nothing of my coming with you to the Ministry. After all, Ginny is a very nice girl. I knew she wouldn't have led me into danger, and she didn't. A few scrapes here and there are a small price to pay for a good time had by friends. I told Daddy what we saw there and he says that isn't even the half of what they're hiding. Did you know they have the last two surviving venom-toothed growlers in existence? A male and a female. Daddy says that Fudge threatens political rivals by saying he'll breed them. You'd think someone would do something about that. It's strange.

Luna Mary Lovegood
Member, Order of the Scholastic Owl Society of England

Harry had no idea what either venom-toothed growlers or the Order of the Scholastic Owl Society of England were. He doubted either actually existed. Luna was a loyal friend of Ginny's, though, and he made a mental note to try and include her more. It was strange to think he might actually be able to help someone's popularity.

Before his letter-sending window closed, he dashed off a letter to Lupin saying he was fine and that he would be leaving on his birthday for Diagon Alley.

After sending Hedwig on his way, he lay down and had trouble drifting off to sleep again. Soon he would be in the other world again, among his kind. And school wouldn't be long after it.
Harry was feeling better than he thought he'd ever feel at Privet Drive, though he was sure not to show it for fear that they might think he wasn't miserable enough. He did not enjoy the chores, but he certainly had something to look forward to almost every night. The letters were staggered now, and he kept in touch with Luna, Hermione, and Ron. He even sent a letter to Mrs. Weasley at the urging of his best friend, promising that he was eating well – which was no longer a lie. In fact, he had even been allowed seconds during the last few dinners. After he was allowed to communicate with his friends, he was feeling a little better.

It was beginning to feel as if this summer would be the most enjoyable so far. When July came around, he was given weekdays off from chore duty, as long as he agreed to pick up the slack on Saturday.

It was one such weekend that Harry found himself incredibly hungry. He had just come from the shower after working ten straight hours in the yard. The casserole that Petunia had baked was topped with golden-browned, bubbling cheese, and after Harry was allowed to serve himself, he happily dug in at the same time that a light tapping came from the kitchen window.
Everyone turned to look at what had made the noise. There, on the windowsill, was a raven. Tied to its leg was a thick roll of parchment.

It looked to Harry expectantly.

Vernon also looked to Harry, his eyes bulging and his face turning red. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE PERFECTLY CLEAR, BOY!" he roared.
"I don't know who it's from," Harry stammered. "I... I told all my friends that--"
"JUST HURRY AND GET RID OF IT!"

Harry bounded to the window and in one movement had lifted it and swept the raven inside.
"Get that bloody thing out of my kitchen!" Petunia squeaked. Harry removed the letter, mumbled that he was sorry, and sent the Raven back out into the sunset. To his surprise, the raven turned during its flight and soared back into the kitchen, landing on the counter.

Petunia shrieked. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I SAID GET RID OF IT, YOU RUDDY FREAK!" Vernon shouted.

Still, the raven looked to Harry expectantly.

"I think he wants to be paid," he said, cracking a smile.

"IT WANTS TO BE WHAT?!" Petunia asked, almost in hysterics.

"I'M NOT GOING TO BLOODY GIVE IT MY HARD-EARNED MONEY, BOY!" Vernon roared.

"Just stay still," Harry said, running up to his room. He opened his nightstand drawer and pulled a small drawstring bag. From it, he produced two knuts and bounded back downstairs and into the kitchen. "Here you go," Harry said softly, holding out the coins together.

The raven cawed loudly, causing the Dursleys to flinch. They watched in silent shock as the raven accepted the two coins and flew back out the window. Harry shut the window and returned to the table. He looked up at his visibly shaken relatives.

"This looks good," he said honestly, lifting his fork and gesturing toward the large spoonful of casserole he had piled on his plate.

At that moment, the color that had drained from Vernon returned. He reached over, seized Harry's full plate, and flung it as hard as he could against the wall. It shattered with a crash and sent macaroni and mushrooms flying in all directions.

"It's too bad that you're not hungry," he spat.

It was Harry's turn to be shocked. He looked slowly from the splattered mess of food across the floor to his uncle. Then, knowing that it wouldn't be a good idea to push the purple-faced man any more at the moment, he stood and left the room.

"And get back down here when we're done so you can clean up the MESS YOU MADE!" Vernon shouted as Harry retreated up the stairs.

He felt awful after reading the letter. Lupin had berated him for sending out that sort of information by owl. It could have been intercepted, and there may be a whole squad of Death Eaters waiting for him in Diagon Alley. Using a raven, Lupin had said, was a more discreet way of getting information across. Hedwig was still fine to use, as long as no dangerous information was related, although to be safe, Harry would wait days before replying to any of his friends' letters.

He gave a sigh and stood. Four more weeks and he would be back at Diagon Alley. From there, he didn't know what would happen. And now, he couldn't write to Lupin and ask for details.

I'll probably be sent back here, for my safety, he thought angrily as he headed back downstairs and into the kitchen. The room was deserted now, save for Harry's smashed plate, his strewn-about supper, and what appeared to be another helping of casserole – the last in the pan – that Dudley had also thrown on the floor for Harry to clean.