Disclaimer: I own nothing and am making no profit. This is entirely for fun.

Also, I have no beta, so any mistakes are my own. I re-read a chapter three times before I publish it. But I don't catch everything.

Chapter 2

First Response

Harry dreamed.

It was an unpleasant dream. He thought he was a snake. He slithered through strange, dark, house. His thoughts were focused on rats. He caught the scent of one of the rodents and moved after it.

It was too easy to even be fun. The small animal never knew he was there. He devoured it whole, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction as he did. He curled up for a moment in the cold house. It was dusty. Not that he really cared. He was cold then. He vaguely remembered a fire upstairs, by master.

He maneuvered silently through the house. He slid slowly back up the stairs, and then down the long hallway that led to the master bedroom. Inside, master sat in a chair, alone tonight. Master was alone tonight. He curled up into a ball in front of the fire that warmed master. It was much warmer. Much more pleasant. He vaguely remembered he was suppose to be doing something. Waiting for something. What was it? Something about a rat.

Harry woke early the next morning. He sat up. He was breathing hard and feeling rather confused. Still, it wasn't the strangest dream he had ever had. As much as he would have liked to sleep in, he was still in the habit of rising for breakfast and classes at school. And he really didn't want to think about returning to dreams of snakes. He couldn't help but wonder if he and a certainly fictional archaeologist shared similar nightmares.

He knew that Vernon had likely left for work already, and he could faintly hear Dudley's snores from the other bedroom. He didn't quite feel like getting up yet, so instead he picked up the history text and again attempted to get through his assigned reading. He made it to page eight before he decided showering and facing the day was a better idea. At least, he figured, if he kept this rate up, he'd have the assignment done by his birthday.

Hedwig was perched on his desk near where he had placed the enchanted envelope. It gave no sign that anything had been returned to him. Harry felt momentarily foolish for that thought even occurring to him. Of course his pen pal wouldn't have responded yet. It has been less than twelve hours. And most of those hours were times when most people weren't even awake. In fact, he didn't even know if Beauxbaton's semester had ended. Perhaps the opposing school was still taking their exams. He may not get a reply for weeks.

The owl appeared to be examining the envelope closely. She pecked at it once or twice, carefully, and appeared to be debating what exactly needed to be done about the thing that stole her master's letter.

Harry rose out of bed, moving quietly toward the bathroom to proceed with his normal routine. He enjoyed the warm water in the shower, but did not take the time to enjoy it. Harry showered quickly, despite knowing that Vernon was likely gone, and that Dudley wouldn't wake up until well after noon. He didn't want to risk having someone pounding on the door telling him he'd used far more than enough water. Or question what he was doing in there.

He stepped out of the shower and toweled off. He brushed his teeth, taking longer than he would at school simply because he was enjoying having the bathroom to himself. He combed his hair. Or at least ran the comb through his hair a few times before deciding that it was futile.

Harry slipped back into his room and dressed for the day. He didn't put on anything special. Of course, he realized, he didn't really have anything special. It occurred to him that he probably should go and buy clothing that fit. That presented a dilemma though. He knew that the Dursley's would never take him shopping, or even let him to go London to retrieve money from his vault. Of course, he didn't want the Dursleys' anywhere near the wizard bank.

That simply led to an interesting mental picture of conversations between Vernon and a goblin. The mental images may or may not have wound up with the goblin doing some of the rather cruel things Binns had condemned from the Goblin Wars.

After tossing his pajamas into a corner Harry noticed that the envelope had somehow wound up on the ground next to the desk. He shook his head and laughed a little bit.

"Was that completely necessary?" he asked the owl, who had resumed her spot on her perch. She flexed her wings somewhat menacingly and hooted a little bit. Harry just shook his head, not even bothering to hide the smile on his face as he picked up the envelope and place it back on his desk. Hedwig hooted a bit more and turned her head away.

Harry laughed a and placed his history book on top of the envelope, hoping the near thousand pages of magical historical text would be a deterrent from Hedwig deciding to inflict any sort of harm on his summer homework assignment. He opened a window for her then, not really caring what his relatives thought about having an owl flying around the neighborhood. He doubted anyone would notice anyway. Although, he did briefly wonder, while leaving his room and heading downstairs, about the legality of having an owl as a pet.

The only conclusive answer he came up with as to whether or not it was legal to own an owl in the country was that he didn't care. He decided that as he entered the kitchen and his train of thought turned into what he should consume for breakfast.

Only then did he realize the house seemed rather dark and deserted. He took a moment to investigate. Nothing seemed out of place. He figured he was just more accustomed to the liveliness of school.

Back in the kitchen he decided to make some eggs, mostly because eggs were quick and relatively easy. He took two out of the fridge, wondering how much the Dursley's would yell at him for stealing their food. He was about to start scrambling the eggs when he heard someone coming down the stairs. The steps were far too light to be Dudley.

Sure enough, a few minutes later Petunia stepped into the kitchen. She stared down her nose at him, giving that faux haughty look she loved so much.

"What are you doing?" she spat.

"Scrambling some eggs," Harry replied as he turned back to her to continue cooking. Petunia took a few moments to respond. And when she did, it was certainly not the response Harry had expected.

"Would you mind doing two for me?" she asked. Harry almost couldn't believe what he had heard. He expected to be told to make more for her the second she knew what he was doing. Cooking breakfast for the Dursley's wasn't entirely uncommon. But to have it framed as a question caught him off guard.

"I guess," he said as he turned to look at her. She wasn't paying attention to him. Instead she was taking two more eggs out of the fridge. She then filled the tea pot with water and put it on the stove.

"Thanks." Petunia handed him the two other eggs and he proceeded to begin cooking breakfast. He was silent as he did it. He watched out of the corner of his eye as she took two plates out of the cupboards and placed them on the kitchen table. After that she went and grabbed two tea cups. Harry continued to cook the eggs in silence. Petunia grabbed the water when it was finished and poured two cups. It only took the eggs a few more minutes to scramble. Harry took the skillet straight to the table and divided them equally between he and his aunt. She thanked him again, which just made everything all the more awkward. Harry noticed they had no silverware and grabbed some out of a drawer before sitting down at the table.

They ate quietly. The silence bothered Harry. This was certainly an atypical morning. Harry managed three bites of eggs, and a sip of tea, before he had to know, or at least ask.

"Why are you being nice," he spoke as carefully as he could. Petunia looked at him briefly. She had the look in her eyes that she always had when she was about to say something particularly rude. She opened her mouth to speak. But then thought better of it and instead took another bite of eggs. Harry watched her as she thought up a response.

"Honestly, I'm tired and the thought of food was too good to pass up. Vernon is going to be especially horrible to you this summer," Petunia said slowly, taking a soft sip of tea when she finished.

"How is that any different?" Harry raised an eyebrow as he looked at her. "I doubt anything could be much worse than normal. Hopefully my friends invite me over soon. One of them thinks he can get World Cup tickets," Harry intended for that comment to sound pretentious. But his Aunt simply looked confused.

"You're going to the United States?" she asked. She looked rather surprised.

"What?" Harry asked. Bewildered.

"The World Cup. It's in the United States," she explained. Only then did Harry remember that his aunt would think it was a Muggle sport. It took him a few moments to remember that the World Cup of football must also be that same year.

"Oh no. Not that. The Quidditch World Cup. One of our sports," he explained. Petunia looked at him for a moment, as if she were trying to remember something.

"That's the one played on brooms?"

"Yes,"

"Your mother told me about that. I believe she thought your father was going to become a professional. He must not have been good enough, in the end. Didn't have a job when he died," she said softly. Despite that Harry could tell she was merely thinking aloud, the anger still rushed through him.

"Oh yes. Fighting a war obviously doesn't count as job," Harry spat. He glared up at Petunia. She looked startled for a moment, but regained her composure quickly.

"I didn't mean it like that. It's hard to imagine a war though. Lily never really said what your parents did. Hell, I wasn't even invited to the wedding." Petunia went back to eating her eggs. Harry took a moment to let that sink in.

"Would you have gone?" He asked.

"Of course I would have. She was my only sister and I loved her."

"I'm sorry."

"I am too. You have to understand. Vernon and I hate your world, Harry. I won't even begin to deny that. But we hate your world for entirely different reasons," she put her fork down. Harry put his last forkful of eggs into his mouth and thought he should have probably made six, rather than four. But his aunt's comments intrigued him. Wasn't he just wondering what people could have known about his parents? Sure, his aunt had always snapped at him, and simply told him to drop the subject, usually in ways involving locking him under the stairs. But, then again, he'd never asked after he'd been to school.

"What do you mean?" He spoke slowly, half expecting that he would be informed that it was none of his business.

"Well, Vernon hates you because you are a constant reminder that there are people more talented, more gifted, and more special than he could ever be. He doesn't understand why you have abilities he does not, why you can do things he can't. He was so mean because, deep down, he's jealous," she explained.

"Jealous?" Harry snorted.

"Is it so hard to imagine? I was terribly jealous of Lily when she got that letter and I didn't. Think of what it must be like to know that other people have magical powers and you do not. What makes them so special? And the worst part is, you can't even tell anyone about it, or rant to anyone because the world you are ranting about doesn't exist. People just think you're mad for believing in fairy tales," she laughed hollowly.

"I'd rather have had my family than magic," Harry retorted. Petunia just smiled at him. A pained smile that Harry couldn't decipher.

"You say that. And it may be true. But would you rather know about magic, and not be able to use it, family or not?"

"Yes, if I had my family," he replied automatically. Deep down, though, he wasn't so sure. He remembered how students treated Filch. That must be a strange existence. But, like most near fourteen year old boys, his sense of empathy wasn't fully developed.

"A mature answer, Harry. And likely the correct one. Jealousy may be petty, but it exists in many forms, and you will do well to learn to spot it," she spoke sagely. It didn't suit her. Harry still was having a hard time believing it.

"I always thought he was just annoyed at having another mouth to feed, and ward to shelter. Like my presence prevented him from doing what he wanted."

"It has," Petunia said quietly. "But not in the ways Vernon makes it sound. I can't fully explain it. But when you were brought here, your kind did something to the house. Through the duration of your schooling we can't move. Vernon wanted to, and could afford to, years ago," she explained. Harry felt that was a very petty reason.

"But he always clamors on about how much money I cost! And how I have to work to earn my keep!"

"He lies. We receive a stipend from your family vault, as I believe it's called, every month you live here. And we have access to those funds if the need should arise."

"You what?" Harry exclaimed. "You have access to my money?" He felt the rage course through him. He could feel his magic coming out. It was Aunt Marge all over again. "You've been paid for watching me?"

"Calm down, Harry," she snapped, which just made him more angry.

"No. You've lied to me for years, made me feel useless, stolen my money!" He rose to his feet as he yelled. He wanted his wand immediately. He wanted to hex his aunt. She remained calm.

"Harry. I know you hate Vernon as well. But we didn't steal your money," she explained. He just snorted. "Besides some rather nasty threats from your kind if any financial irregularities appeared in the numbers, Vernon is an honorable businessman. He's not about to steal things from his nephew," Petunia defended her husband. Harry snorted when she finished. He figured the threats were more likely to stop Vernon than any sense of honor. He did manage to reign in his magic, then. Mostly because he remembered he was on thin ice in that department.

"Okay. Fine. I'll believe you for now. But I'll investigate that the first chance I get," he hoped his threat didn't sound as empty to Petunia as it did to himself.

"Of course," Petunia added, "It is just another contributing factor to the jealously. Knowing you'll be wealthy as soon as you come of age." They were silent for a few moments then. To Harry's surprise she picked up the plates and moved toward the sink, rather than simply ordering him to clean them. The kitchen was silent for a moment before Harry spoke.

"Well. If Vernon hates me out of jealousy, why do you hate me?" He asked. Petunia dropped a plate into the sink.

"I hate your world, Harry," she paused. "Because it took away my sister."

"How? Because she died?"

"No. We lost her well before that. Your world does not mingle with ours. We were the closest friends. But then she was only home for the summers an holiday. Then it was simply the summers, and even then she'd be more absorbed in her work, trying to get back to magic. After a while it became clear that she wanted absolutely no part of this world anymore. She wrote to me, on occasion, but that was it. No matter how hard I tried, the magical world was always more appealing to her. I can't say that I really blame her, but that was painful." She finished washing the dishes in silence. Harry didn't have memories of really losing his family, but he had certainly lost friends, albeit it only for a time. That pain he could understand.

He simply sat and contemplated for a few moments. Would friends of his turn out the same? Would Hermione wind up distanced from her Parents? Could the same thing have happened to the Creevey's, had they not both been magical? He certainly didn't want to think so. After a minute he said the only thing he could think of.

"I'm sorry," the obligatory, uncomfortable answer was the best solace he could offer.

"Again, Harry, so am I."

"So, why are you being so nice?" He repeated his earlier question. He could hear the smile on her face when she next spoke.

"I hate Marge every bit as much as you do. When she talks about my sister I wouldn't mind blowing her up myself." Harry couldn't help but laugh. He was stunned. She spoke again almost immediately. "Now go run along. I do suggest staying out of Dudley and Vernon's way as much as possible."

"I always do," he replied.

He passed the day with typical, out of the house activities. He spent most of it wandering around the general area and wondering about what his Aunt had said earlier. He spotted Hedwig once or twice, and wondered just how often she followed him around over the summer. He knew he likely wouldn't be missed at dinner time, so he simply stayed in a park and watched other children and families. He didn't particularly pay attention to the other families, being too absorbed in his own thoughts, but there was something soothing about simply being there.

He wandered home before dark. He assumed the Dursley's would be wasting away in front of the television in the front room of the house. A quick glance in the front window confirmed it. So instead of walking directly into their wrath, he went around the back, and slipped in quietly.

"Boy!" he heard Vernon yell. Apparently he hadn't been quiet enough.

"Yes?" Harry yelled back, figuring at least admitting to it would be better than having Vernon assume someone had broken in.

"What are you doing, coming in the back door like that! Trying to sneak around like a criminal?" Vernon yelled. Harry poked his head around the stairs and peered into the room. Vernon and Dudley were still entirely focused on the television, but Petunia peered at him over her magazine, looking annoyed in general.

"I, uh, I didn't want to disturb you?" Harry admitted weakly. It wasn't that poor of an excuse, he thought. And perhaps if the Dursley's were distracted enough they wouldn't question him too much about it.

"Oh, right, Go to your room, Boy," Vernon commanded. Harry just shrugged and walked up the stairs. Part of him was tempted to disobey, or comment that he was thinking about writing a letter to Sirius, but at that point his room was his goal anyway, so he walked up to it.

It was exactly as he had left it earlier in the day. He casually flipped on Dudley's old television and surfed through the channels for a minute. Nothing was particularly interesting so he muted it and went over to his desk. He carefully lifted the history book off of the envelope. It was still empty.

Hedwig picked that moment to fly back into his room. She hooted once, and looked at the envelope then hooted again.

"Yes, I know. You would have delivered the letter, and received the reply by now," he admitted, knowing that such a thing was impossible. Hedwig hooted her confirmation. Harry smirked at her and took out some parchment and a quill. He scribbled a letter to Ron. It wasn't anything deep. He merely stated that his relatives didn't seem to be abnormally bad this summer, although it had only been a day. And he asked Ron to keep him in the loop about the World Cup, and hopefully being able to spend a portion of the holiday at the Burrow. He signed it and rolled it up. After a moment he noticed Hedwig was still gazing disdainfully at the envelope, her eyes gradually moving back to the letter in his hand.

"This one is all yours, girl," he said. Hedwig hooted lovingly as Harry gave her the letter. "Take it to Ron at the Burrow, okay?" The owl just looked at him for a moment, blinked in confirmation and flew out the window. Harry laughed a little bit. He probably should have written to Hermione. She would have appreciated the irony of simply writing a letter to provide amusement for a pet. He decided to work on another summer assignment, then. He didn't feel like reading his history book, so he dug through his trunk for another piece of homework. Transfiguration was what he found first. And while that wasn't particularly appealing, he knew it would be better to get started earlier on his transfiguration assignment. Next to Snape's, McGonagall's would probably be the toughest to do.

The transfiguration professor didn't let him down, either. The assignment was an analysis of theories of transfiguration. He had to read three separate theories, each of which had to be about fifty pages of his text, and then pick the one they preferred and write a convincing argument as to why. Harry read the instructions again and just laughed quietly to himself. Only McGonagall would assign something like that. He could already picture a frightened Ron's face when he realized that he had all of that to do. Of course, Hermione would help him; she always helped both of them out. And Harry doubted he'd get a very good start on it. But at least he was making the effort.

He actually got much more done than he expected he would. He wasn't particularly sure who wrote the first theory he had to read, but the author had done an exceptional job phrasing the arguments. It was easy to read, and more importantly, it made sense. He looked up from it when he heard a slight buzzing sound from the vicinity of his desk. He saw the Hogwarts crest on his envelope was glowing.

Why he felt a sudden rush of trepidation was beyond him. Should he be worried that his pen pal hated his first letter? Probably not. It was just an assignment, after all. Yet, that prefect had said that they were matched based on interests and similarities, so he should be able to find something to discuss with the foreigner.

He slowly stood and moved toward the envelope. He looked at it for a minute before sitting back down on his bed. He very carefully opened it and looked inside. There was indeed parchment inside. He took it out and examined it. His pen pal had very pretty handwriting. He started to read then.

Dear Harry,

Your writing is legible enough, although I assume they do not have a penmanship course at Hogwarts. I must admit that you are correct. That was a terrible way to start a letter. But I doubt that I would have come up with anything better. I must thank you for writing so promptly. My friends were jealous that I had already received a letter when our assignment was handed out today.

I will start by addressing the points you brought up in your letter. Like your rambling, I apologize in advance if my writing is subpar. English is my second language. I should ask, but I feel I already know the answer. Écrivez-vous Français?

I do know what a Gryffindor is. I have a friend who attends Hogwarts. She just finished her fifth year and is in Ravenclaw. Perhaps you know her? I will be spending a week in Florence with her this summer. I do not quite understand the entire concept of houses though. At Beauxbatons we are arranged by gender and year.

Now, before delve more into your interests, I must know. Are you Harry Potter? I notice you did not give a last name in your letter. But a quick look into my Contemporary Magical History text shows that Harry Potter would have just finished his third year. And he is also an orphan and his parents died when he was won. Désolé, Harry, but if you are attempting to hide your identity, I'd leave out the orphan bit. Of course, Harry could simply just be a popular name across the channel.

I am not particularly interested in Quidditch. I do enjoy flying, but I don't care for sports. However, if you do go to the World Cup I am obliged to mention that I hope England gets soundly defeated. Preferably by the French, but I'd settle for any colonial French country.

I haven't introduced myself. Je m'appelle Fleur. Fleur Delacour. I am a bit older than you. I will be starting my final year at Beauxbatons and I will turn seventeen just before the year commences. I will admit, my friends thought it was most amusing that I got such a young pen pal. We were all surprised. You write well for your age. It's refreshingly mature.

You proceeded along with classes. My personal favorite is charms. I like charming things. It's amazing what can be done with the charms. Simple items can gain hundreds of uses. It's fascinating. Transfiguration is tolerable, but only if you're transfiguring things into items to be charmed.

I agree with you on potions, but I do not have a vendetta with the professor. I just have no patience for brewing.

I find it hard to be bored by history. Our class focuses on great events from both magical and non-magical histories, and often shows how the communities affect each other. Of course, my friend at Hogwarts said your professor tends to drone on about giants or goblins or something or other. Our history class also focuses on theories about the actual history of magic, and why it exists at all.

Divination is not an elective here. It is a specialty class that one is only admitted to if they have shown some previous clairvoyant abilities. I believe there are three students in the entire school who are taking it.

Our Dark Arts class is focused heavily on theory and counter theory. It's text heavy and we perform little magic in it.

We are also required to take classes in French and another language, as well as compulsory courses on the non-magical world. We can choose to add Runes or Arithmancy after our third year, where we can also choose to drop another subject. I dropped Potions for Runes. I believe it is better that way. I have no intention of becoming a potions mistress, why should I have to learn how to brew the draught of living death. In fact, why should anyone have to learn how to brew that?

And that's Fleur Delacour, as you said, in a pinch. A strange colloquialism, but I believe I understand it.

I am sorry about your Godfather. Although, I am curious to know just who Harry Potter's Godfather is. The rest of the magical world thought your non-magical relatives were your only living familial connection. Of course, if you aren't Harry Potter I will look like a fool. But there just seem to be too many coincidences there.

It appears we received similar vague instructions for this assignment. I felt your letter was very nice, though, and hope that mine is the same.

Adieu,

Fleur Delacour.

She had signed her name with a brilliant flourish. Harry stared at the letter for a few moments. He reread it quickly and then dropped it onto the bed. This assignment had seemed easy at first, but what was he going to write to a sixteen, near seventeen year old witch? That certainly didn't seem like assigned by interests and age. It would figure he'd wind up the outlier for that.

Harry moved the letter back to his desk and debated exactly what he should write back to her. Nothing really came to him, so instead he attempted to go back to his homework. That didn't work really well. So he gave up and simply watched TV until he fell asleep.

Author's Note: I feel it's important to note that Fleur was not going to be his pen pal when I planned the story. His original one was going to be Lilly Seslion (The prefect who gave him the assignment). But, I decided most readers likely wouldn't beinterested in a letter converation between a 'Lilly' and Harry that may encompass a large chunk of the start of the story. So I threw her in as a Hogwarts student. I debating making a Beauxbatons boy with similar interests, but that had the same problem. Eventually, I decided it should simply be Fleur.

Expect similar chapter length until Harry gets to school, where I plan on increasing it by about 3000 words a chapter, if not more.

Thanks for the reviews and support, I appreciate every one.