Of Dreams, Birthdays, and Deliveries.
As a hot summer's night went by, peacefully, yet stuffily, a boy woke up, startled from his dreams. His quick breath was broken in spasms, growing quicker, instead of calmer, his heart thumping loudly, heavily, and desperately, seized in a perpetual panic and horror. Just as sweat trickled down his forehead, and wetted his hair and neck, everything began to slow down, like a spinning wheel losing its wind. The boy's emerald-green eyes began to fill up with tears, but he resisted dropping them, and screwed up his face in an effort to gain some self-control.
He glanced at the repaired alarm clock that was on his night table. 3:15 am. Again, he thought with gloom, again, again, again. That was all his brain could give, and he repeated the same thought over, until an "It's all right" came into his brain, trying to clear the fog within. After all, he thought, I'm no ordinary boy.
"I'm used to this," he said this aloud to himself, "There is no reason to panic so."
From a near room, a quick and loud snore sounded, making him jump like a startled bean. "Gee, even Uncle Vernon's snores are beginning to scare me", he whispered.
A sleepy and thick "Not just you, anyone," came from a voice below. A redhead freckled boy's face, with a long nose and smart mouth, wrinkled from his pillow, emerged from the floor, and rested on the side of the bed.
"Anyone would have nightmares listening to them," he continued huskily, "I dreamt with Snape wearing your aunt's clothes, scrubbing a toilet."
The green-eyed boy even snorted aloud. His panic-stricken face relaxed into a wry grin, and his emerald eyes shone with fun at the comment. He pushed away impatiently his jet-black hair, which was always messy, from his forehead. From beside his alarm clock, he retrieved a pair of round eyeglasses, and put them on, which gave him a clearer sight and his characteristic look. His name was Harry Potter, and just as he thought rightly, he was no ordinary boy.
First, he did not go to a high school, like boys his age did, although he did go to school. Yet, neither did he study math, nor chemistry, science, literature, or geography, but spells, charms, history of magic, and how to brew potions. He carried a wand, which was magic, to make spells and counter fight curses.
Harry's life had been a mystery to himself until he turned eleven, and he received a letter that changed his destiny. Till then, he thought he was doomed to live with his uncle and aunt and cousin, miserable and always mistreated, until he grew up and managed to live on his own and struggled to start a small life for himself. But it wasn't so. He received his letter from Hogwarts, revealing his true identity of a wizard youngster, and the most famous ever! His Godfather, Sirius Black, was a convicted murdered in the wizard world, though he was innocent. In addition, his parents weren't just any people, they were a couple of the best wizards of their generation, but their death was of the worst type.
They were murdered, not killed in a car crash, as he believed. The person who did it, wasn't just anyone, he was the most powerful and evil wizard of his era, Voldemort. Strangely enough, Voldermort, after killing so many people like Harry's parents, just couldn't kill Harry. Instead, his power was lessened to almost nothing and he grew so weak that to survive he shared his weak self with someone else's body. In such a fashion he confronted Harry, through many ways, until last year Harry caught a horrible glint of Voldemort's great power, now fully restored. In all these confrontations Harry's life was saved by a hair's reach of losing it. Now Harry, at practically 16, was being trained properly for duelling in what was called the "Order of the Phoenix", until when the time came for him, in the end, to have a final duel with Voldemort, in which his life and others' were destined to go on peacefully or be cruelly ruined to terror and despair. For this, Harry was the most famous young wizard ever, thus the most respected, criticized and endangered.
"So, another nightmare again?" asked Ron, trying to sound calm, though he was so anxious that his own face was pale.
"Yeah," said Harry tiredly, "Woke me up again." He groaned. "I was finally sleeping well, but I made a record, though," he glanced at the alarm clock again. "It's 3 am, 1 hour and… 15 minutes later than usual."
"Oh!" Ron cried, "Which reminds me…" he didn't finish, but ducked under the bed and came up again quickly, with an excited look and wrapped gift in his hand, "Happy-Happy Birthday!" He grinned and thrust a long, tube-shaped package into Harry's stomach.
"Ouch! Thanks!" and Harry eagerly tore the paper off the gift. He gasped. "Wow! Oh Ron, this is GREAT!" and Harry grinned broadly, forgetting his dreams for now, and unrolling from a fancy, golden, engraved tube case, an enormous poster of Ireland's Seeker, Lynch, with its original logo, and autographed.
"Where did you get this?", burst out Harry, but Ron just answered with a wink, "Oh, I've got my connections." Harry grinned again, and put away very carefully his beautiful poster, not a chance he was going to risk it to Dudley's destructive tantrums, he thought.
While they were both asleep, worrying about Harry's dream, and then ooohh- ing and ahhh-ing over the poster, they hardly noticed the presence of two owls and an enormous, fierce-looking bird, perched on Dudley's former, now Harry's shelves.
"Hey, when did those arrive?", asked Ron, standing up from his "bed" (he had slept on lots of blankets and quilts and pillows on the floor) and reaching up to untie their packages and letters. There was the usual Hogwarts owl, with the every year letter to the students, telling Harry that the first day of his 6th course was the 1st of September as usual, and the list of materials he was going to need. However, there was a little hard card, made of red-colored parchment, in which it said his name and a small message: Harry Potter, Ayuda Inmediata.
Harry snatched his school letter again and read more carefully in Professor Mc Gonagall's neat penmanship, and discovered that in the lower corner, there was a tiny, tiny P.S.:
"Mr. Potter, in any case of emergency, regarding any sort of risk with You- Know-Who, or any of his side, throw this card into the air, and it shall be sent immediately to us as a request for help. Please make sure that this letter does not fall into wrong hands by burning it as soon as possible. Also, make sure the card is always near you and that you are certain of using it when the time comes. It is called the ' Ayuda' card, meaning 'Help' in Spanish, this is for the benefit of your knowledge in case I make a test on it."
Harry said nothing. He just stared at the small red card, the size of a business card, and laid it aside carefully, to be stored later with his private goods. Ron had asked eagerly to see the card, but Harry absentmindedly said he'd let him see it later, and tried to distract him with the other owl. This one, was, as he guessed, from his friend Hagrid, the gamekeeper of Hogwarts. It was an enormous package, and it moved, and Harry was horrified at the mere thought of its being a living beast as a Birthday Present. It was not, to his relief, a beast… but a cushion! The cushion was square, with wine-red velvet, and comfortingly soft. The most peculiar thing was that it was alive. As soon as Harry had unwrapped it, it yapped and gave little jumps, and began to sniff Harry's face and hands, and finally threw itself into his arms, like an over-eager puppy. For once in his 6 years of knowing Hagrid, he was glad he sent him a moving gift. The package of the cushion contained also a box of chocolates from a brand Harry had never seen (and in French), and a small letter.
"C'mon, read it!", urged Ron.
"Dear Harry," Harry read aloud to Ron, "Happy Birthday Number 16! I hope yeh 'n' Ron are havin' fun n' bein' safe an' soun' as apples. I'm on a lil' erran' here in France by odders of Dumbledore, (yeh see he trus' me more, great man, Dumbledore) which I can't tell yeh jus' yet. This lil' cushion is me birthday gift for yeh, Harry. It's a good deal o' trouble if you don' treat 'im well, but since I'm sure yeh will, he'll give lot's o' comfort. I gotta go now, take care Harry, me lad, an' gimme the best for yar cousin Dudley's tail."
"France?," bellowed Ron, "Hagrid in France? Well, it'd be just like if Madam Maxine was at Privet Drive!"
"Well," said Harry, "At least he sent good gifts, and believe me, I'm grateful for these chocolates." He meant it, of course, because of Hagrid's terrible cooking.
"Yeah, great gift," said Ron, eyeing with interest the box of chocolates. As soon as Harry handed it to him, he stuffed his mouth with chocolates. Harry tasted one, and he closed his eyes just to enjoy it. It was cream- filled, and delicious. There were many chocolates, enough for to satisfy Ron's sweet tooth, and when he was full of them, he rubbed his tummy and put them away for later.
"Now, wha's nex," he asked, his mouth still filled with the sweets.
"Er… let's see…" and Harry stood up and examined the other bird. It wasn't an owl, that was to be sure, and it was another sort of bird of prey. As Harry studied its beautiful silvery and blue plumage, the bird gave him a haughty sort of nod, which made the little golden cap on its head tinkle and fluff.
"Oh!" exclaimed Harry, delighted, "It's a peregrine falcon!"
Ron scrambled up from the floor to take a closer look.
"A what?" he poked the bird on its side without much interest. The bird nipped sharply at his finger. Ron gave an "Ow!" and shot him a venomous look, sucking his finger.
"A falcon, a peregrine falcon," said Harry, with enthusiasm, "I read about them in Dudley's nature books that my Aunt Petunia gave him." Those books, of course, had never been touched for years, beautifully illustrated as they were, but now that Harry had a chance, he read them all and delighted in the wasted gift to his cousin.
"These are birds of prey, and just like owls they can be taught to be messengers, to hunt, and scare away other birds when you need a clear sky. They are probably fiercer than owls, and just as clever. Let's see who sent it, probably Sirius." And Harry then untied a small package, with a letter, and a tiny box. It was not from Sirius, but from Hermione. The letter said the following:
"Dearest Harry,
¡Happy 16th Birthday! I hope you had a great time, after all.
As you probably won't recall, I'm right now boarding at St. Peabody's Academy for Witches. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall told me I was a major candidate for applying for a full scholarship to this school, for the summer, and as you can see, I got it! I received the notice on the last day of school before the feast, and I was so glad I could have danced then and there! Still, I thought that because the school is for girls only, I would have a terrible time, but to tell you the truth, it's better than I expected, in fact, I hardly remember having such a great time!"
Ron and Harry exchanged looks, and Ron muttered, "Oh, never mind 5 years of school together."
"At Peabody's, there is more to magic than wands, potions, stars, and history which is called 'first-level magic'. They are teaching us what they call 'second level magic', which involves the hands and the mind. There is 'third level magic', in which you only do specific movements of the eyes, and with your mind only you cast spells, curses and all sorts of blocking and defense tactics. Of course, very few people in history have acquired such magic. Merlin himself reached only second-level magic.
Anyway, I've learned lots and if you won't believe me, I've had lots of fun too. My roommates are quite mad, their names are Millie and Sally. Millie is from Wales, and Sally comes from Ireland. They are about the most explosive pair in the school; Millie is too clumsy, and Sally too smart- mouthed. I'll tell you sometime later about that pair of female demons. I've done my share of mischief myself, and already the Potions Mistress (a blood-curling female replica of Snape) hates me to the liver.
Well boys, I hope you're both safe. Have you heard from Snuffles? How are you dealing with the Dursleys? I was awed at the fact that your uncles let Ron stay at their home, Harry. Could it have anything to do with Snuffles?
I send you your birthday present in the little box. I hope you like it, and I got it just for you since Ron said he detested any sort of jewelry or ornament. Where I got it, they told me that it protects the person's engraved name and is a good luck charm. I sound like Trelawney!
Well Harry, 'tis another birthday you have managed and we're all happy to have you. Have a great Birthday! Send my best to Ron.
Hugs,
Hermione."
Harry opened the little box that was tied up with a silver ribbon. He gasped at what he saw- a golden wrist collar. It had a little "bar" which was tied with a little chain. On its surface, the name "Harry James Potter" had been engraved, beautifully, in fancy cursive letters.
"Wow, Hermione!", Harry breathed, and although he wasn't that much fond of jewelry himself, he always wanted something golden with his name written on it, and so he thought Hermione's gift a nice one and he was happy to own at least this wrist collar. He put it on eagerly on his wrist, and there would it remain. Suddenly, as he thrust his hand on Ron's face to show it off with fun, his grin suddenly faded. Ron's face was not smiling. His lips were pinched, his eyes downcast, and he was wearing both a cold look and a sort of grimace on his face. It reminded Harry of the look Ron gave him on his 4th year, when he doubted that Harry hadn't entered into a contest by his own will.
"What?" asked Harry.
"Nothing," muttered Ron, and then, forcefully, he added, "Nice gift she sent you, mind you."
"Yes, it is nice," said Harry, more sharply than he meant to, "It was nice of her to send it to me too."
"Wonder why she never got me something like that when we… when we were together," said Ron, very slowly and indeed very coldly. The grimace on his face remained.
"Oh, come on Ron," said Harry exasperated, "Are you jealous of me, or what? Just shut up, you jolly well know how many times Hermione was nice to you. She was always giving you gifts, birthday, holiday or not; Don't forget either how nasty you were to her and that you behaved like a…" he was going to say "a brute," but he stopped there and lamely finished, "Well, you had your chance. Besides, you wouldn't even accept a watch from your mother! You said you hated jewelry, even on women!" his voice was louder than he expected, and Ron's eyes glittered with anger. Harry knew now he had said too much.
"C'mon Ron," he said in his most affable tone, "Let's not fight tonight. We're friends! And it's my birthday! C'mon, ol' boy, give me a nice birthday at least, just in case this is my last. There's no reason now to be angry."
Ron's harsh expression softened. He nodded sadly. "You're right, Harry," he said in almost a whisper, "I never treated her right. It's over, anyway. Let's see what else she says in this P.S." He picked up a small note she sent along.
"P.S. My summer camp will be over a week before September the 1st. I was wondering if you could both go to visit at my house, and you know, as Americans say, 'hang out' for a while. Professor Dumbledore said we could be safe surrounded by an entire Muggle environment, and my house is one. And besides, I think Ron needs a bit of Muggle Studies, so he can tell Mr. Weasley all about London Muggle residences. I enclose my telephone number and address, so you can please talk to my parents. I've already arranged this with them. Good bye!"
Ron's face brightened at the instant.
"This is superb!" he exclaimed, "Imagine, visit her house!"
"Yeah," said Harry, quite disappointed, for he was craving for a wizardring environment and home, more specifically, the Weasleys' Burrow. But he remained positive. "It could be… cool."
The next morning, the boys cheerfully dressed and went downstairs to have their breakfast. Aunt Petunia served them a quarter of boiled sweet potato, wearing a sour face. You'd think she was serving dung, Harry thought, looking at her with a tired face, as she screwed up hers when she served Ron a glass of water. Apparently, they were the only ones having breakfast, for neither sign of Uncle Vernon, nor Dudley could be found.
"Where is Uncle Vernon and Dudley, Aunt Petunia?," Harry inquired politely, better keep things in peace than be sorry, he thought.
"Your Uncle went early to arrange a matter with someone from work," she spat out sharply, "And Duddy's gone with Piers to the Gym."
Ron snorted into his glass of water, and Harry hurriedly threw his spoon on the floor. He laughed under the table, and finally he emerged, red-faced and hardly able to keep a straight face. Ron kept his hidden in his arm, pretending to rub it.
"He… he went to the gym?" Harry stammered, biting his lip and choking his laughter, "What for?"
"To make himself more handsome, what else for?" snapped Aunt Petunia, and with that she snatched away their empty plates (the sweet potato quarter had been eaten long ago, out of pure politeness) and slammed the kitchen door. At that moment Ron and Harry snorted out loud, and they laughed a good laugh until their bellies hurt ; Ron hurried to go to the bathroom before it was too late, which made Harry roll over the floor all the more in more peals of laughter. The idea of Dudley in a gymnasium! Harry's eyes filled with tears of laughing by thinking of Dudley doing aerobics in tight shorts.
Since Aunt Petunia was still in the kitchen, they could not sneak to the fridge to steal some food, so they headed upstairs for Harry's room, where, hidden under the floorboards, were the usual birthday cakes and food sent by Hermione's and Ron's families. They had meat pies made from Ron's mother till they burst, and also some of Hermione's cheese-and-ham-filled baguettes. They supposed Hermione's mother had made these, for her daughter had never touched so much as a cooking pan. After that, they had some birthday cake and even one of Hagrid's chocolates. Then they stretched out like lazy cats on the floor. Harry put his cushion under his head, and it giggled and wriggled and cuddled the back of his head.
"So," Ron said, "Do you want to tell me about your dream, Harry?"
Harry turned his head to look at Ron, and he tried to meet his glance frankly. He couldn't, not just yet. He shook his head.
"No," Harry said quietly, "I can't. It would scare you easy, and I don't understand everything myself."
Ron suddenly sat up. "I'm your best friend!" he cried angrily, "We've gone through almost all the same things since we were eleven!"
Harry said nothing, and looked at his socks. He wished Ron didn't know anything about anything.
"Don't you think I deserve your trust?" Ron said, sharply.
Harry felt a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ron was right. They were best friends since they were young boys. But then, why couldn't he tell him? He had always trusted Ron, so far, whether they were speaking to each other or not. But, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say it all.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "But just be on my shoes, Ron. It's too painful to tell to anyone, even to you. You know we've been best friends for years, but still, there is some stuff that even best friends can't say."
"Bummer," was what said Ron only, shoving a pillow aside with his foot.
There was some silence, and finally they both wrote the owl to Hermione's parents, telling them they'd love to go and that they would call a few days later to confirm. Then they fell asleep, lying there, stretched out on the floor with the open window in front. Though they didn't do much in there, Harry was grateful for Ron's company. He was still amazed at the fact that Uncle Vernon had let his friend stay here, knowing his repulsion to anything that had to do with Harry's world of wizards and magic.
What he didn't know was that his godfather, Sirius, had sent Uncle Vernon with anticipation a bullying letter, in which he threatened to blow away their house with a single spell, if he displeased Harry in any way. Then the charmed letter burst into flames by itself, as a precaution, but causing a scream of panic from Uncle Vernon, and thus committing its purpose very well. That very same afternoon of the day he received the threatening letter, Harry approached the matter while Uncle Vernon was watching the evening news along with Aunt Petunia. It had been quite strenuous.
"Er… Uncle Vernon?" Harry had said politely, for even if Sirius had guaranteed him success, he couldn't afford a raging Uncle while having Ron in the house.
Uncle Vernon grunted. At least he means 'what?', thought Harry.
"Remember my friend… Ron?" continued Harry still politely.
"Who?!"
"Ron! He took me to the Quidit-"
"All right! All right! No need to say blasted names! It doesn't matter who he is, what do you want?!" he burst out, with his usual politeness.
"I was wondering… could he stay here, for some days?" said Harry, whose cupful of patience was running out
"Stay?! In HERE!" bellowed Uncle Vernon.
"Yes," said Harry calmly, taking a deep breath.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! WE'VE ENOUGH PROBLEMS WITH YOU! AND YOU WANT US TO HOUSE ANOTHER FREA--"
"My Godfather Sirius said I could invite anyone I pleased," interrupted Harry, very coolly, his cup of patience empty.
"But, but, you- you—" Uncle Vernon spluttered, red as a beet, eyes popping out and panic in them at the name.
"… and I bet he'd really be angry if he knew that I wasn't allowed to have any company this summer…" he continued, with a satisfied smile, rather pleased at the fear in his uncle's eyes.
"ALL RIGHT THEN! Bring any sort of—of rogue you want! But just don't let me see either of you doing your—anomalies in this house!" he thundered finally, now the colour of a great big prune. As for Aunt Petunia, her eyes were wildly open, her features rigid, she threw up her hands in horror and screamed shrilly.
"All right then, I'll tell him to come tomorrow," said Harry casually, as though Aunt Petunia had said nicely that Ron was welcome. He was walking out of the living room, when he suddenly stopped. As a last token of his triumph, he turned around, and said to his Uncle Vernon and his Aunt Petunia, smiling, "Oh, and thank you!" Then he climbed up the stairs in excitement and grinning widely.
The next afternoon, while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were away with Dudley at the Nutriologist's (they thought he was anorexic because he'd lost weight), Ron arrived by Floo Powder (a magical powder, which you throw into a fireplace to travel through it to someone else's fireplace). They had to be home alone, otherwise Ron's coming would have been fatal, and Uncle Vernon, threatened or not, would have kicked him out. So, Harry arranged Ron's coming the next day afternoon, and cleverly told the Dursleys that his friend was an expert in turning people into animals, which made Dudley jump the most (he had once been magically given a pig tail). Ron hadn't even managed the previous year to turn a button into a bug properly, but still what Harry said managed to scare his family away.
Ron arrived, and things went smoothly that day until night, when the Dursleys came home quietly and went to bed, fearing for their safety. Ron was sleeping soundly on the floor, for he insisted that Harry's muggle mattress didn't agree with his back. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, he just sat up, startling Harry.
"Oh, no!" he gasped.
"What…" groaned Harry out of his sleep, and turned on the lamp.
"Pig! I forgot he was delivering a letter!" cried Ron, his hands pulling his fire hair in despair.
"Oh, no kidding," said Harry sarcastically, "What a panic, an owl delivering a letter."
"No, but you don't get it!" cried again Ron, "He doesn't know which room I am in, exactly, he might give it to…" At that moment, a high-pitched scream came from Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's room.
"Aunt Petunia!" both cried at the same time, and bolted out of bed and into the other room. Uncle Vernon, his eyes bulging out and a rifle in his hands, stood motionless in front of Aunt Petunia, who was trembling and covering her head with her hands, jumping up and down, and a minute brown thing tweaking here and there at her hair rolled-up in tubes.
The scene was both comical and despairing—Harry and Ron didn't know whether to yell or laugh, and fighting a good one, tried to catch the minuscule owl, who was having fun. Aunt Petunia's cries were shrill, but the bird did no harm to her. Ron finally leaped onto Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's bed, and gave a huge jump from their bed and with both arms he crossed Pigwidgeon into his chest. Then they both fled to Harry's room, amid the yells of both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.
Which upsetting event justified the quarter of boiled sweet potato for breakfast, with only a glass of water for drinking. Now both lay in the floor of Harry's room full of good food, happy and careless for a while. There on the floor, Ron and Harry looked at the same time at Pigwidgeon in his cage, and remembering the same thing, grinned broadly together, before falling again to sleep into a good nap.
SECOND CHAPTER
Two Types of Summertime Fun
As the week passed, Harry and Ron wrote constantly to both Hermione and her parents. Finally, it was arranged that they should meet with the Grangers in London, at King's Cross, where they would all wait for Hermione's train to arrive from St. Peabody's Academy. Meanwhile, there were still 5 days to spend at the Dursley's, and for the first time in a week, Harry was a bit ashamed to have asked Ron to stay with him in such a boring place. The Dursleys were so angry with them that they had to ask Sirius for another of his threatening letters to be allowed to go out.
After this, Harry was eager to show Ron the muggle world. It was now his turn to be a good host, and to introduce him to the delights that muggle boys their age had. He took him to a fast-food restaurant, and Ron for the first time in his life ate a hamburger, tasted his first French fries, and sipped his first Coke. This last one became an addiction for Ron, because he kept spending his money on Coke cans every 2 hours or so. Harry, as little as he was allowed to go out in his life, knew very well the neighbourhood and around. Fortunately, for them, there was a nearby cinema, and Ron was delighted to watch for once in his life a movie. That day, Ron had looked forward to it, and bugged Harry for it.
"Can we go now?", he asked eagerly after breakfast.
"Ron, it's 9 in the morning," said Harry, trying to sound patient, "No cinemas open at this hour, unless you count matinees."
"Manatees? What do manatees have got to do? Is it a noodie about manatees that we're going to watch?" he asked, filled to the brim with enthusiasm,
"Noooo! It's matinees, and they are the first showing times in the morning, but no one goes except little children," said Harry, and he was annoyed to find that he sounded just like Hermione.
"Oh," said Ron, quite flattened, and he sat silent munching his Corn Flakes for a while. He jumped in his seat.
"And can we go to the movies later? Are we going to watch a horror movie? Or an action one? Or a comic one? How does a noodie look like?"
As a hot summer's night went by, peacefully, yet stuffily, a boy woke up, startled from his dreams. His quick breath was broken in spasms, growing quicker, instead of calmer, his heart thumping loudly, heavily, and desperately, seized in a perpetual panic and horror. Just as sweat trickled down his forehead, and wetted his hair and neck, everything began to slow down, like a spinning wheel losing its wind. The boy's emerald-green eyes began to fill up with tears, but he resisted dropping them, and screwed up his face in an effort to gain some self-control.
He glanced at the repaired alarm clock that was on his night table. 3:15 am. Again, he thought with gloom, again, again, again. That was all his brain could give, and he repeated the same thought over, until an "It's all right" came into his brain, trying to clear the fog within. After all, he thought, I'm no ordinary boy.
"I'm used to this," he said this aloud to himself, "There is no reason to panic so."
From a near room, a quick and loud snore sounded, making him jump like a startled bean. "Gee, even Uncle Vernon's snores are beginning to scare me", he whispered.
A sleepy and thick "Not just you, anyone," came from a voice below. A redhead freckled boy's face, with a long nose and smart mouth, wrinkled from his pillow, emerged from the floor, and rested on the side of the bed.
"Anyone would have nightmares listening to them," he continued huskily, "I dreamt with Snape wearing your aunt's clothes, scrubbing a toilet."
The green-eyed boy even snorted aloud. His panic-stricken face relaxed into a wry grin, and his emerald eyes shone with fun at the comment. He pushed away impatiently his jet-black hair, which was always messy, from his forehead. From beside his alarm clock, he retrieved a pair of round eyeglasses, and put them on, which gave him a clearer sight and his characteristic look. His name was Harry Potter, and just as he thought rightly, he was no ordinary boy.
First, he did not go to a high school, like boys his age did, although he did go to school. Yet, neither did he study math, nor chemistry, science, literature, or geography, but spells, charms, history of magic, and how to brew potions. He carried a wand, which was magic, to make spells and counter fight curses.
Harry's life had been a mystery to himself until he turned eleven, and he received a letter that changed his destiny. Till then, he thought he was doomed to live with his uncle and aunt and cousin, miserable and always mistreated, until he grew up and managed to live on his own and struggled to start a small life for himself. But it wasn't so. He received his letter from Hogwarts, revealing his true identity of a wizard youngster, and the most famous ever! His Godfather, Sirius Black, was a convicted murdered in the wizard world, though he was innocent. In addition, his parents weren't just any people, they were a couple of the best wizards of their generation, but their death was of the worst type.
They were murdered, not killed in a car crash, as he believed. The person who did it, wasn't just anyone, he was the most powerful and evil wizard of his era, Voldemort. Strangely enough, Voldermort, after killing so many people like Harry's parents, just couldn't kill Harry. Instead, his power was lessened to almost nothing and he grew so weak that to survive he shared his weak self with someone else's body. In such a fashion he confronted Harry, through many ways, until last year Harry caught a horrible glint of Voldemort's great power, now fully restored. In all these confrontations Harry's life was saved by a hair's reach of losing it. Now Harry, at practically 16, was being trained properly for duelling in what was called the "Order of the Phoenix", until when the time came for him, in the end, to have a final duel with Voldemort, in which his life and others' were destined to go on peacefully or be cruelly ruined to terror and despair. For this, Harry was the most famous young wizard ever, thus the most respected, criticized and endangered.
"So, another nightmare again?" asked Ron, trying to sound calm, though he was so anxious that his own face was pale.
"Yeah," said Harry tiredly, "Woke me up again." He groaned. "I was finally sleeping well, but I made a record, though," he glanced at the alarm clock again. "It's 3 am, 1 hour and… 15 minutes later than usual."
"Oh!" Ron cried, "Which reminds me…" he didn't finish, but ducked under the bed and came up again quickly, with an excited look and wrapped gift in his hand, "Happy-Happy Birthday!" He grinned and thrust a long, tube-shaped package into Harry's stomach.
"Ouch! Thanks!" and Harry eagerly tore the paper off the gift. He gasped. "Wow! Oh Ron, this is GREAT!" and Harry grinned broadly, forgetting his dreams for now, and unrolling from a fancy, golden, engraved tube case, an enormous poster of Ireland's Seeker, Lynch, with its original logo, and autographed.
"Where did you get this?", burst out Harry, but Ron just answered with a wink, "Oh, I've got my connections." Harry grinned again, and put away very carefully his beautiful poster, not a chance he was going to risk it to Dudley's destructive tantrums, he thought.
While they were both asleep, worrying about Harry's dream, and then ooohh- ing and ahhh-ing over the poster, they hardly noticed the presence of two owls and an enormous, fierce-looking bird, perched on Dudley's former, now Harry's shelves.
"Hey, when did those arrive?", asked Ron, standing up from his "bed" (he had slept on lots of blankets and quilts and pillows on the floor) and reaching up to untie their packages and letters. There was the usual Hogwarts owl, with the every year letter to the students, telling Harry that the first day of his 6th course was the 1st of September as usual, and the list of materials he was going to need. However, there was a little hard card, made of red-colored parchment, in which it said his name and a small message: Harry Potter, Ayuda Inmediata.
Harry snatched his school letter again and read more carefully in Professor Mc Gonagall's neat penmanship, and discovered that in the lower corner, there was a tiny, tiny P.S.:
"Mr. Potter, in any case of emergency, regarding any sort of risk with You- Know-Who, or any of his side, throw this card into the air, and it shall be sent immediately to us as a request for help. Please make sure that this letter does not fall into wrong hands by burning it as soon as possible. Also, make sure the card is always near you and that you are certain of using it when the time comes. It is called the ' Ayuda' card, meaning 'Help' in Spanish, this is for the benefit of your knowledge in case I make a test on it."
Harry said nothing. He just stared at the small red card, the size of a business card, and laid it aside carefully, to be stored later with his private goods. Ron had asked eagerly to see the card, but Harry absentmindedly said he'd let him see it later, and tried to distract him with the other owl. This one, was, as he guessed, from his friend Hagrid, the gamekeeper of Hogwarts. It was an enormous package, and it moved, and Harry was horrified at the mere thought of its being a living beast as a Birthday Present. It was not, to his relief, a beast… but a cushion! The cushion was square, with wine-red velvet, and comfortingly soft. The most peculiar thing was that it was alive. As soon as Harry had unwrapped it, it yapped and gave little jumps, and began to sniff Harry's face and hands, and finally threw itself into his arms, like an over-eager puppy. For once in his 6 years of knowing Hagrid, he was glad he sent him a moving gift. The package of the cushion contained also a box of chocolates from a brand Harry had never seen (and in French), and a small letter.
"C'mon, read it!", urged Ron.
"Dear Harry," Harry read aloud to Ron, "Happy Birthday Number 16! I hope yeh 'n' Ron are havin' fun n' bein' safe an' soun' as apples. I'm on a lil' erran' here in France by odders of Dumbledore, (yeh see he trus' me more, great man, Dumbledore) which I can't tell yeh jus' yet. This lil' cushion is me birthday gift for yeh, Harry. It's a good deal o' trouble if you don' treat 'im well, but since I'm sure yeh will, he'll give lot's o' comfort. I gotta go now, take care Harry, me lad, an' gimme the best for yar cousin Dudley's tail."
"France?," bellowed Ron, "Hagrid in France? Well, it'd be just like if Madam Maxine was at Privet Drive!"
"Well," said Harry, "At least he sent good gifts, and believe me, I'm grateful for these chocolates." He meant it, of course, because of Hagrid's terrible cooking.
"Yeah, great gift," said Ron, eyeing with interest the box of chocolates. As soon as Harry handed it to him, he stuffed his mouth with chocolates. Harry tasted one, and he closed his eyes just to enjoy it. It was cream- filled, and delicious. There were many chocolates, enough for to satisfy Ron's sweet tooth, and when he was full of them, he rubbed his tummy and put them away for later.
"Now, wha's nex," he asked, his mouth still filled with the sweets.
"Er… let's see…" and Harry stood up and examined the other bird. It wasn't an owl, that was to be sure, and it was another sort of bird of prey. As Harry studied its beautiful silvery and blue plumage, the bird gave him a haughty sort of nod, which made the little golden cap on its head tinkle and fluff.
"Oh!" exclaimed Harry, delighted, "It's a peregrine falcon!"
Ron scrambled up from the floor to take a closer look.
"A what?" he poked the bird on its side without much interest. The bird nipped sharply at his finger. Ron gave an "Ow!" and shot him a venomous look, sucking his finger.
"A falcon, a peregrine falcon," said Harry, with enthusiasm, "I read about them in Dudley's nature books that my Aunt Petunia gave him." Those books, of course, had never been touched for years, beautifully illustrated as they were, but now that Harry had a chance, he read them all and delighted in the wasted gift to his cousin.
"These are birds of prey, and just like owls they can be taught to be messengers, to hunt, and scare away other birds when you need a clear sky. They are probably fiercer than owls, and just as clever. Let's see who sent it, probably Sirius." And Harry then untied a small package, with a letter, and a tiny box. It was not from Sirius, but from Hermione. The letter said the following:
"Dearest Harry,
¡Happy 16th Birthday! I hope you had a great time, after all.
As you probably won't recall, I'm right now boarding at St. Peabody's Academy for Witches. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall told me I was a major candidate for applying for a full scholarship to this school, for the summer, and as you can see, I got it! I received the notice on the last day of school before the feast, and I was so glad I could have danced then and there! Still, I thought that because the school is for girls only, I would have a terrible time, but to tell you the truth, it's better than I expected, in fact, I hardly remember having such a great time!"
Ron and Harry exchanged looks, and Ron muttered, "Oh, never mind 5 years of school together."
"At Peabody's, there is more to magic than wands, potions, stars, and history which is called 'first-level magic'. They are teaching us what they call 'second level magic', which involves the hands and the mind. There is 'third level magic', in which you only do specific movements of the eyes, and with your mind only you cast spells, curses and all sorts of blocking and defense tactics. Of course, very few people in history have acquired such magic. Merlin himself reached only second-level magic.
Anyway, I've learned lots and if you won't believe me, I've had lots of fun too. My roommates are quite mad, their names are Millie and Sally. Millie is from Wales, and Sally comes from Ireland. They are about the most explosive pair in the school; Millie is too clumsy, and Sally too smart- mouthed. I'll tell you sometime later about that pair of female demons. I've done my share of mischief myself, and already the Potions Mistress (a blood-curling female replica of Snape) hates me to the liver.
Well boys, I hope you're both safe. Have you heard from Snuffles? How are you dealing with the Dursleys? I was awed at the fact that your uncles let Ron stay at their home, Harry. Could it have anything to do with Snuffles?
I send you your birthday present in the little box. I hope you like it, and I got it just for you since Ron said he detested any sort of jewelry or ornament. Where I got it, they told me that it protects the person's engraved name and is a good luck charm. I sound like Trelawney!
Well Harry, 'tis another birthday you have managed and we're all happy to have you. Have a great Birthday! Send my best to Ron.
Hugs,
Hermione."
Harry opened the little box that was tied up with a silver ribbon. He gasped at what he saw- a golden wrist collar. It had a little "bar" which was tied with a little chain. On its surface, the name "Harry James Potter" had been engraved, beautifully, in fancy cursive letters.
"Wow, Hermione!", Harry breathed, and although he wasn't that much fond of jewelry himself, he always wanted something golden with his name written on it, and so he thought Hermione's gift a nice one and he was happy to own at least this wrist collar. He put it on eagerly on his wrist, and there would it remain. Suddenly, as he thrust his hand on Ron's face to show it off with fun, his grin suddenly faded. Ron's face was not smiling. His lips were pinched, his eyes downcast, and he was wearing both a cold look and a sort of grimace on his face. It reminded Harry of the look Ron gave him on his 4th year, when he doubted that Harry hadn't entered into a contest by his own will.
"What?" asked Harry.
"Nothing," muttered Ron, and then, forcefully, he added, "Nice gift she sent you, mind you."
"Yes, it is nice," said Harry, more sharply than he meant to, "It was nice of her to send it to me too."
"Wonder why she never got me something like that when we… when we were together," said Ron, very slowly and indeed very coldly. The grimace on his face remained.
"Oh, come on Ron," said Harry exasperated, "Are you jealous of me, or what? Just shut up, you jolly well know how many times Hermione was nice to you. She was always giving you gifts, birthday, holiday or not; Don't forget either how nasty you were to her and that you behaved like a…" he was going to say "a brute," but he stopped there and lamely finished, "Well, you had your chance. Besides, you wouldn't even accept a watch from your mother! You said you hated jewelry, even on women!" his voice was louder than he expected, and Ron's eyes glittered with anger. Harry knew now he had said too much.
"C'mon Ron," he said in his most affable tone, "Let's not fight tonight. We're friends! And it's my birthday! C'mon, ol' boy, give me a nice birthday at least, just in case this is my last. There's no reason now to be angry."
Ron's harsh expression softened. He nodded sadly. "You're right, Harry," he said in almost a whisper, "I never treated her right. It's over, anyway. Let's see what else she says in this P.S." He picked up a small note she sent along.
"P.S. My summer camp will be over a week before September the 1st. I was wondering if you could both go to visit at my house, and you know, as Americans say, 'hang out' for a while. Professor Dumbledore said we could be safe surrounded by an entire Muggle environment, and my house is one. And besides, I think Ron needs a bit of Muggle Studies, so he can tell Mr. Weasley all about London Muggle residences. I enclose my telephone number and address, so you can please talk to my parents. I've already arranged this with them. Good bye!"
Ron's face brightened at the instant.
"This is superb!" he exclaimed, "Imagine, visit her house!"
"Yeah," said Harry, quite disappointed, for he was craving for a wizardring environment and home, more specifically, the Weasleys' Burrow. But he remained positive. "It could be… cool."
The next morning, the boys cheerfully dressed and went downstairs to have their breakfast. Aunt Petunia served them a quarter of boiled sweet potato, wearing a sour face. You'd think she was serving dung, Harry thought, looking at her with a tired face, as she screwed up hers when she served Ron a glass of water. Apparently, they were the only ones having breakfast, for neither sign of Uncle Vernon, nor Dudley could be found.
"Where is Uncle Vernon and Dudley, Aunt Petunia?," Harry inquired politely, better keep things in peace than be sorry, he thought.
"Your Uncle went early to arrange a matter with someone from work," she spat out sharply, "And Duddy's gone with Piers to the Gym."
Ron snorted into his glass of water, and Harry hurriedly threw his spoon on the floor. He laughed under the table, and finally he emerged, red-faced and hardly able to keep a straight face. Ron kept his hidden in his arm, pretending to rub it.
"He… he went to the gym?" Harry stammered, biting his lip and choking his laughter, "What for?"
"To make himself more handsome, what else for?" snapped Aunt Petunia, and with that she snatched away their empty plates (the sweet potato quarter had been eaten long ago, out of pure politeness) and slammed the kitchen door. At that moment Ron and Harry snorted out loud, and they laughed a good laugh until their bellies hurt ; Ron hurried to go to the bathroom before it was too late, which made Harry roll over the floor all the more in more peals of laughter. The idea of Dudley in a gymnasium! Harry's eyes filled with tears of laughing by thinking of Dudley doing aerobics in tight shorts.
Since Aunt Petunia was still in the kitchen, they could not sneak to the fridge to steal some food, so they headed upstairs for Harry's room, where, hidden under the floorboards, were the usual birthday cakes and food sent by Hermione's and Ron's families. They had meat pies made from Ron's mother till they burst, and also some of Hermione's cheese-and-ham-filled baguettes. They supposed Hermione's mother had made these, for her daughter had never touched so much as a cooking pan. After that, they had some birthday cake and even one of Hagrid's chocolates. Then they stretched out like lazy cats on the floor. Harry put his cushion under his head, and it giggled and wriggled and cuddled the back of his head.
"So," Ron said, "Do you want to tell me about your dream, Harry?"
Harry turned his head to look at Ron, and he tried to meet his glance frankly. He couldn't, not just yet. He shook his head.
"No," Harry said quietly, "I can't. It would scare you easy, and I don't understand everything myself."
Ron suddenly sat up. "I'm your best friend!" he cried angrily, "We've gone through almost all the same things since we were eleven!"
Harry said nothing, and looked at his socks. He wished Ron didn't know anything about anything.
"Don't you think I deserve your trust?" Ron said, sharply.
Harry felt a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Ron was right. They were best friends since they were young boys. But then, why couldn't he tell him? He had always trusted Ron, so far, whether they were speaking to each other or not. But, somehow, he couldn't bring himself to say it all.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, "But just be on my shoes, Ron. It's too painful to tell to anyone, even to you. You know we've been best friends for years, but still, there is some stuff that even best friends can't say."
"Bummer," was what said Ron only, shoving a pillow aside with his foot.
There was some silence, and finally they both wrote the owl to Hermione's parents, telling them they'd love to go and that they would call a few days later to confirm. Then they fell asleep, lying there, stretched out on the floor with the open window in front. Though they didn't do much in there, Harry was grateful for Ron's company. He was still amazed at the fact that Uncle Vernon had let his friend stay here, knowing his repulsion to anything that had to do with Harry's world of wizards and magic.
What he didn't know was that his godfather, Sirius, had sent Uncle Vernon with anticipation a bullying letter, in which he threatened to blow away their house with a single spell, if he displeased Harry in any way. Then the charmed letter burst into flames by itself, as a precaution, but causing a scream of panic from Uncle Vernon, and thus committing its purpose very well. That very same afternoon of the day he received the threatening letter, Harry approached the matter while Uncle Vernon was watching the evening news along with Aunt Petunia. It had been quite strenuous.
"Er… Uncle Vernon?" Harry had said politely, for even if Sirius had guaranteed him success, he couldn't afford a raging Uncle while having Ron in the house.
Uncle Vernon grunted. At least he means 'what?', thought Harry.
"Remember my friend… Ron?" continued Harry still politely.
"Who?!"
"Ron! He took me to the Quidit-"
"All right! All right! No need to say blasted names! It doesn't matter who he is, what do you want?!" he burst out, with his usual politeness.
"I was wondering… could he stay here, for some days?" said Harry, whose cupful of patience was running out
"Stay?! In HERE!" bellowed Uncle Vernon.
"Yes," said Harry calmly, taking a deep breath.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! WE'VE ENOUGH PROBLEMS WITH YOU! AND YOU WANT US TO HOUSE ANOTHER FREA--"
"My Godfather Sirius said I could invite anyone I pleased," interrupted Harry, very coolly, his cup of patience empty.
"But, but, you- you—" Uncle Vernon spluttered, red as a beet, eyes popping out and panic in them at the name.
"… and I bet he'd really be angry if he knew that I wasn't allowed to have any company this summer…" he continued, with a satisfied smile, rather pleased at the fear in his uncle's eyes.
"ALL RIGHT THEN! Bring any sort of—of rogue you want! But just don't let me see either of you doing your—anomalies in this house!" he thundered finally, now the colour of a great big prune. As for Aunt Petunia, her eyes were wildly open, her features rigid, she threw up her hands in horror and screamed shrilly.
"All right then, I'll tell him to come tomorrow," said Harry casually, as though Aunt Petunia had said nicely that Ron was welcome. He was walking out of the living room, when he suddenly stopped. As a last token of his triumph, he turned around, and said to his Uncle Vernon and his Aunt Petunia, smiling, "Oh, and thank you!" Then he climbed up the stairs in excitement and grinning widely.
The next afternoon, while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were away with Dudley at the Nutriologist's (they thought he was anorexic because he'd lost weight), Ron arrived by Floo Powder (a magical powder, which you throw into a fireplace to travel through it to someone else's fireplace). They had to be home alone, otherwise Ron's coming would have been fatal, and Uncle Vernon, threatened or not, would have kicked him out. So, Harry arranged Ron's coming the next day afternoon, and cleverly told the Dursleys that his friend was an expert in turning people into animals, which made Dudley jump the most (he had once been magically given a pig tail). Ron hadn't even managed the previous year to turn a button into a bug properly, but still what Harry said managed to scare his family away.
Ron arrived, and things went smoothly that day until night, when the Dursleys came home quietly and went to bed, fearing for their safety. Ron was sleeping soundly on the floor, for he insisted that Harry's muggle mattress didn't agree with his back. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, he just sat up, startling Harry.
"Oh, no!" he gasped.
"What…" groaned Harry out of his sleep, and turned on the lamp.
"Pig! I forgot he was delivering a letter!" cried Ron, his hands pulling his fire hair in despair.
"Oh, no kidding," said Harry sarcastically, "What a panic, an owl delivering a letter."
"No, but you don't get it!" cried again Ron, "He doesn't know which room I am in, exactly, he might give it to…" At that moment, a high-pitched scream came from Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's room.
"Aunt Petunia!" both cried at the same time, and bolted out of bed and into the other room. Uncle Vernon, his eyes bulging out and a rifle in his hands, stood motionless in front of Aunt Petunia, who was trembling and covering her head with her hands, jumping up and down, and a minute brown thing tweaking here and there at her hair rolled-up in tubes.
The scene was both comical and despairing—Harry and Ron didn't know whether to yell or laugh, and fighting a good one, tried to catch the minuscule owl, who was having fun. Aunt Petunia's cries were shrill, but the bird did no harm to her. Ron finally leaped onto Uncle Vernon's and Aunt Petunia's bed, and gave a huge jump from their bed and with both arms he crossed Pigwidgeon into his chest. Then they both fled to Harry's room, amid the yells of both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.
Which upsetting event justified the quarter of boiled sweet potato for breakfast, with only a glass of water for drinking. Now both lay in the floor of Harry's room full of good food, happy and careless for a while. There on the floor, Ron and Harry looked at the same time at Pigwidgeon in his cage, and remembering the same thing, grinned broadly together, before falling again to sleep into a good nap.
SECOND CHAPTER
Two Types of Summertime Fun
As the week passed, Harry and Ron wrote constantly to both Hermione and her parents. Finally, it was arranged that they should meet with the Grangers in London, at King's Cross, where they would all wait for Hermione's train to arrive from St. Peabody's Academy. Meanwhile, there were still 5 days to spend at the Dursley's, and for the first time in a week, Harry was a bit ashamed to have asked Ron to stay with him in such a boring place. The Dursleys were so angry with them that they had to ask Sirius for another of his threatening letters to be allowed to go out.
After this, Harry was eager to show Ron the muggle world. It was now his turn to be a good host, and to introduce him to the delights that muggle boys their age had. He took him to a fast-food restaurant, and Ron for the first time in his life ate a hamburger, tasted his first French fries, and sipped his first Coke. This last one became an addiction for Ron, because he kept spending his money on Coke cans every 2 hours or so. Harry, as little as he was allowed to go out in his life, knew very well the neighbourhood and around. Fortunately, for them, there was a nearby cinema, and Ron was delighted to watch for once in his life a movie. That day, Ron had looked forward to it, and bugged Harry for it.
"Can we go now?", he asked eagerly after breakfast.
"Ron, it's 9 in the morning," said Harry, trying to sound patient, "No cinemas open at this hour, unless you count matinees."
"Manatees? What do manatees have got to do? Is it a noodie about manatees that we're going to watch?" he asked, filled to the brim with enthusiasm,
"Noooo! It's matinees, and they are the first showing times in the morning, but no one goes except little children," said Harry, and he was annoyed to find that he sounded just like Hermione.
"Oh," said Ron, quite flattened, and he sat silent munching his Corn Flakes for a while. He jumped in his seat.
"And can we go to the movies later? Are we going to watch a horror movie? Or an action one? Or a comic one? How does a noodie look like?"