Disclaimer: Characters and locations of the Harry Potter novel series are the sole creation of JK Rowling. This work is produced solely for the amusement of the author and any who read it, and is not intended for monetary gain.

Harry Potter and the Fire of Eternity

Chapter 2: Dreams and Correspondence

He strode powerfully to his place in the circle. With a dip of his head, he acknowledged the other six. Never before had they all gathered with a singular purpose. They were usually embroiled in territory disputes. Now, however, everything was different.

This day was the day they had all seen coming, it was the end of their reign. A star was to fall, and it would be the end of them all. In an effort to divert the destruction of their world, the Seven had come together to pool their might. They had determined that the only way to divert this disaster was to destroy the star before it could destroy them.

He looked to each of the other six, as he had, so had they brought their Three. They would be necessary to balance the power they would need to channel to stop the star.

They all stood and waited, and when the time was right, when they could see the great destruction that would ensure their doom, the Seven spread their wings and each gave a mighty roar of challenge.

Harry woke with a start, the feeling of impending doom still lingering as his dream faded. He reached a shaking hand up and brushed at his forehead and felt just how sweaty he was. It was as though he had just entered the house after walking through a downpour.

As his senses continued to return he took notice of the soft morning light that was filtering in through his window. He was lucky, he supposed, to have a window that faced the wall of the house next door. The view was not much, but at least he never had to deal with absurd amounts of early morning sunlight.

He shook off the last lingering feelings of dread. It was an odd nightmare to have. Nothing was chasing him, yet he had felt as though all had been lost. The only thing he really remembered were the numbers seven and three. They were important, but he didn't know why.

He pushed himself up from the bed and groaned in pain as his joints let him know that he had been sleeping in a very uncomfortable position. His wits slowly came to him as he began to recall the events from just before he fell unconscious. He groaned once more as he sat up, grabbing the recipe as he did so.

He scratched his head, messing up his already unruly hair, as he attempted to read the recipe. Realizing his glasses had fallen, he groped around for a moment before finding them. Once his vision was restored, Harry read over the recipe.

According to the parchment, he was supposed to experience a general sensation of dull pain as well as an over all lack of energy for a day or two. Aside from the feeling of having slept in a bad position, however, Harry didn't feel like he was in any amount of pain.

He stood up and stretched, the soreness in his joints fading as he began to move. He grabbed a change of clothing from his dresser and opened his bedroom door. He listened for a moment to hear his Uncle's great snores accompanied by Dudley's.

Harry quietly slipped from his bedroom and padded silently down the hallway to the bathroom. He quickly showered away the remaining sweat and soreness from his slumber. Once finished he dressed in his clean clothing and ghosted back to his bedroom.

As he entered, Hedwig glided through the window to her perch. Harry smiled at his companion and moved over to her as she drank from her dish. He offered her an owl treat and an affectionate stroke.

"Did you enjoy your hunt, girl?" Harry asked in a soft voice. Hedwig's response was a hoot and a gentle nip at his fingers. Harry chuckled at her before turning back to his desk.

He picked up the platinum cauldron and marveled once more at the spotless interior. He had expected some of the potion to remain, the last few drops of a liquid that never seemed to leave its container at least. But there was nothing, the cauldron appeared as clean as it had the moment he purchased it.

The crucible was in the same condition, as clean as the moment he took it out of its box. He shook his head in wonder, no other potion he brewed or bottled had left their containers this clean. He supposed it was magic, and it was no less wonderful to him now than it had been three years ago when Hagrid first knocked down the door of the lighthouse out on that rock in the sea.

He carefully packed away his equipment. The retort and crucible were placed back in their boxes, as well as the burners, crystal stirring stick and its instruction board. He made space in his trunk and stored them with his potions kit, before covering the tools under a layer of clothing.

After he was satisfied that everything was in its proper place, Harry made his way down to the kitchen to begin his morning chores for the Dursleys.

Harry trudged back into his bedroom shortly after noon and stripped off his now sweaty shirt. The grass in the garden had become quite long, and it was time to cut. Unfortunately for Harry, one of the neighbors down the row had begun to hire a garden service that used a cylinder mower for a cleaner cut and healthier grass.

Sure enough, shortly before Harry returned at the end of term, his Uncle had gotten rid of the old petrol powered rotary mower and replaced it with a brand new cylinder mower. Harry couldn't deny facts, the grass had become healthier for it. However, as healthy as the grass had become, so too had he become worn out.

He wiped away the sweat with a small towel and pulled on a fresh shirt before falling back onto his bed. He lay like that for a moment, staring at his ceiling, his mind wandering from pointless thought to pointless thought.

His thoughts eventually moved to the potion he had brewed. The results were similar to, yet different from the expected results. He was beginning to second guess his decision to take the capsule despite the nonstandard result. What followed had been entirely unpleasant.

The worst part was that, he really couldn't talk to any of the adults he knew about it. Sirius would likely have to wait until he got to Hogwarts so that he could conceal his correspondence properly. He felt apprehension about writing a letter to Dumbledore. What would he say to the wizened headmaster?

'Dear Professor Dumbledore, thank you terribly for helping me break the law at the end of term. Perhaps you would like to further my delinquent tendencies?' That didn't even sound good in his head, Harry thought ruefully. Remus would be difficult to correspond with on account of the up coming full moon. Molly and Arthur were right out.

Harry's thoughts soon turned to his friends. Hermione instantly came to mind. She was smart enough to puzzle it out, though he'd likely get an earful for consuming a potion of suspect quality. She had a tendency to go to an adult for answers, such as the incident with his new Firebolt broom, but he had a feeling that she might not if he asked her. After all, at Dumbledore's request she had broken the law.

Reaching a decision, Harry hauled himself up from the bed and moved over to his desk. He pulled out several sheets of parchment and some fine tracing paper that was left over from one of Dudley's artistic phases. He set the tracing paper over the recipe parchment and set about making an exact copy of the instructions and diagrams.

The work was tedious, but after meticulously tracing every line of ink Harry was satisfied with his work. He carefully folded the paper so as not to damage it and set it to the side. Next he pulled out his quill and ink and set to writing his letter to Hermione. After a few false starts, Harry finished the letter, he just hoped that Hermione wouldn't be too upset with him. He read over the letter once more, just to be sure.

Dear Hermione,

Life here at the Dursleys is as boring as it has ever been. Luckily, the mention of my Godfather's name has been enough to keep my relatives from being their normal, awful selves. I've only had to do some simple chores, but I've kept my head down otherwise.

Speaking of my Godfather, the old dog has seen fit to send me a copy of his and my Father's hard work! I managed to brew it, I think, but something seemed to be off. I included a copy of the recipe, and I was hoping that you might look it over.

The recipe claimed that the final product should have been a small capsule that looked like a colorful glass ball. Mine was a shining ball of swirling colors. After I swallowed the ball I ended up passing out. I feel fine now, so I don't think it was too dangerous, but any thoughts would be appreciated.

I think it goes without saying, but I would be really grateful if you could not mention this to anyone. I know it's not a proper thing to do, but I need to feel closer to them.

Yours,

Harry

Harry nodded, satisfied with the letter. He suspected Hermione would have to restrain herself from sending a howler, but it conveyed his concerns as well as his desire for secrecy. Before he could decide otherwise, Harry stuffed the letter and the copy of the recipe into an envelope. He addressed the package to Hermione and brought it to Hedwig.

"Hey there, girl," Harry said, "want to stretch your wings for a bit?" Hedwig hooted excitedly and held out one of her claws. Harry smiled as he tied the letter to her leg. He leaned forward and pushed his head against hers, to which she responded with a light push of her own. "It's for Hermione, so it shouldn't take too long. I expect she'll be writing a response, so feel free to rest a bit with her."

Hedwig hooted once in affirmation before taking off out his window, and into the sky. Harry watched her go for a minute before he set about finding something to fill his time while he waited for Hermione's response.

Harry was awoken the next morning by Hedwig. He had apparently fallen asleep at his desk after he returned from a long walk to the park and back. In boredom he had begun to reread his transfiguration book, to see if it had any useful information on animagi.

He was only able to find vague allusions to the subject, comments on how difficult it was to become one and that an animagus was supposed to register with the Ministry.

Hedwig found him there and saw fit to wake him by biting his earlobe. Startled, he sat up quickly, striking his knee against the desk as he did so. Biting off a curse, Harry blinked his bleary eyes before putting his glasses on.

"Morning, girl," Harry said through a yawn, "what was the bite for?" Hedwig's response was a long stare before she turned her head away from him. Puzzled, he reached for a letter he saw that was tied to her leg. Without turning her head to face him, the white owl hopped away from Harry and glided silently over to her perch.

Harry pushed himself up from his chair and after a short stretch walked over to Hedwig. He reached for the letter once more but Hedwig hopped to the opposite side of her perch. He stood there for a moment, as Hedwig turned her head to face Harry and held him with her stare.

"I suppose Hermione's not too pleased with me?" He asked her. Hedwig only stared back silently. "She told you what happened, didn't she?" Hedwig hooted in response. "And I guess you're not too pleased with me either?" Hedwig flapped her wings and turned her head away from him once more. Harry sighed and scrubbed at his hair.

"I suppose I deserve it, then," Harry said with a huff, "tell you what, I'll give you a few owl treats and you can go for a hunt." Hedwig turned to look at him once more. "Five owl treats?" Harry asked. His owl turned to face him fully, and seemed to consider him for a moment. Eventually she stuck out her claw, and allowed Harry to retrieve his correspondence.

He set the envelope down before retrieving several owl treats from the chest at the foot of his bed. He held out each treat, one at a time for Hedwig to eat. Hedwig nipped his finger before eating each treat, letting him know, under no uncertain terms, that she was still unhappy with him. He wondered, not for the first time, just how intelligent owls were.

After she took her last treat, Hedwig leaped from her perch and cuffed him with a wing before taking off out his window. He sighed once more, feeling sorry that he had mad her so upset with him. He sat down at his desk and picked up the letter that Hedwig had been carrying.

He turned the envelope over and saw Hermione's precise handwriting, though it was written with a slant, as though it was written in a hurry. He opened the envelope and unfolded the parchment withing. He sucked on the finger that Hedwig had bitten multiple times as he began to read.

Harry James Potter,

I just simply can not believe how irresponsible you are! How many times have we been told in class that we are not to use potions that deviate from the predefined results? Have you listened to nothing Professor Snape has said for the past three years?

I will tell you something, I have been paying attention to more than just our lessons. If I know you well enough, then there was more than just passing out. You will write back to me, Mr. Potter, and you will tell me each and every symptom of your idiotic actions!

And it's not just me that's upset with your actions. I've told Hedwig, and she is in a right state. Whatever punishment she gives you won't be enough.

Disappointed,

Hermione

Harry groaned and dropped his head to the desk with a dull thud. Had he really become that predictable? Did Hermione know him that well, to know when he was trying to downplay his injuries? He chuckled, she had called his actions idiotic, she was probably right.

Without lifting his head, Harry opened one of his desk drawers and fished around for a piece of parchment. Once a piece was laying on the desk in front of him, he groped around his desk, feeling for his ink well, and then his quill. He raised his head slightly and let it thump down once more, before he sat up and began to write his response, and he intended to lay it on thick.

Dearest, forgiving Hermione,

Hedwig has been doling out my punishment in a severe manner. I expect I'll have lost half the galleons in my vault by the time I please her. I'm sorry I didn't fill you in on the full details.

Like I said, instead of a marble, the capsule looked like a ball of swirling, many colored light. I dropped it onto the desk out of the crucible and it didn't make any sound at all. When I touched it, the ball made my skin tickle, like running you hand near a telly that's just been switched off.

It didn't have a taste, but the sensation continued down into my stomach after swallowing the ball. After a moment my insides became numb, and then it felt like I got beaten all over at once by a bludger.

There was an odd dream, it was a nightmare, but I can't recall any details other than the numbers seven and three. Don't ask what they mean, I haven't the foggiest.

Begging your forgiveness,

Harry

Harry shook the parchment once he was satisfied with the recounting of the events that transpired following his consumption of the capsule. He folded it up and inserted it into an envelope, which he addressed to Hermione. Setting it on his desk, he stood up and, after retrieving a change of clothing from his trunk, set about getting ready for the day and completing his morning chores.

It was several days and missives back and forth between Harry and Hermione before he calmed her enough to look at the recipe properly. He had to promise to keep her abreast of any possible symptom, down to the tiniest sniffle. He even vowed to do his best to keep out of trouble for all of the next school year, not that he was at fault for the previous three.

Once Hermione was mollified, she had let him know that she had read over the recipe and that, while it was interesting, it was incredibly complex and would take some time to figure out. Over the course of the next few weeks, Harry would send Hedwig on a flight to Hermione, either to carry a response to her musings or to check and see if she had written another letter.

Hermione's biggest discovery came just under two weeks to the beginning of the next school term. He had been resting in his bed after another day of mowing the garden, attempting to will away the heat and sweat.

Hedwig had flown in while he lay there and landed on the headboard of his bed. She gave a soft hoot, and click of her beak before presenting her claw to Harry. He reached a hand up and lazily scratched at Hedwig's head before his second hand joined the first and they worked to untie the letter from her leg.

Freed from her burden, she glided silently across the room to her perch. She had been behaving coldly toward Harry ever since Hermione had told her what had happened. It was weeks before she would allow him to pet or scratch her, but even now any nips of his finger were rather hard and she had yet to bump her head against his hand in affection.

Harry opened the letter, smiling at the familiar image of Hermione's writing. He tossed the envelope over to his desk and unfolded the letter. After a great stretch to dispel his exhaustion from cutting the grass, Harry began to read.

Harry,

I think I've finally found out something crucial about the potion! After having checked all of the ingredients and their effects as well as their interactions with one another, I decided to examine the stirring instructions.

At first it seemed like a lot of nonsense, with the circular stirs following no recognizable pattern. But I decided to trace the stirs out on a piece of paper inside a circle to represent the opening of a cauldron. You won't believe what I found. The lines that you had to draw out with the stirring stick make a very complex geometric design, you probably didn't notice it on account of the self stirring stick you used, which must have been a godsend, I can't imagine being stuck stirring a potion manually for four weeks.

I had to consult my Arithmancy textbook, but I was able to get at least part of the equation out of the symbol. It's very advanced, Harry, it's hard to believe that your father and Professor Lupin managed to puzzle it out while they were still in school.

If I'm correct, then the stirring instructions were actually a spell. If you copied it exactly to the instruction board, then you should be fine. Was there anything at all that happened during the brewing that might have accounted for a difference in quality?

Was there an exceptionally large lycanthrope tooth, or maybe you used too many freshly burned phoenix's down feathers. Let me know if anything stands out in your memory!

Hermione

Harry read over her letter, gobsmacked. The stirring instructions were a spell. That was very interesting, actually. He wondered for a moment if that meant that other spells could be stirred into a potion. He shook his head out of that line of thinking and tried to recall everything about brewing the potion, as Hermione had requested.

Everything had proceeded exactly as the recipe had called for, and the potion itself was exactly as it needed to be before being put in the crucible. It didn't quite cover the entire scale, though. The scale was very large. He slapped a hand to his face, before pulling out a quill and parchment to respond to Hermione's letter.

Hermione,

You're a genius, without a doubt. It took me a bit, but I think I have it. The potion looked very much the way it was supposed to as described by the recipe. It wasn't until after the crucible that the results were different. Then I recalled, the dragon scale was large, very large in fact.

The recipe called for a three inch dragon scale. The one that the Apothecary gave me was five and a half inches, almost twice as big as the recipe wanted. That's not even the strangest thing about the scale. It tickled my skin when I touched it, like the ball of light did, and it was really old.

His great grandfather, I don't remember how many greats, found it about a hundred years ago in a paleontology dig site. He said the dragon skeleton the muggles found was millions of years old, the scale was found with the skeleton. His father tested the scale and confirmed it was a dragon scale. Do you think it might have affected the potion?

Harry

Harry folded up the parchment and addressed the envelope he stuffed it into to Hermione before bringing the package to Hedwig. After a moment of coaxing and bribing, the snowy owl deigned to allow him to tie the letter to her leg, before gliding out the window to her destination. He rested at his desk for a moment, peering out the widow to the sky overhead.

Suddenly his cousin's voice erupted from downstairs in a great roaring shout. He sat up quickly and moved over to his door, his Aunt's voice joining Dudley's as a high-pitched screech. He still couldn't quite make out the words, however.

The voices were shortly joined by great crashes, he expected that Dudley began throwing things in his fit. He stood at his door, the voices just muffled to the point of incomprehensibility, arguing with himself whether or not to open the door and risk becoming a target.

Thundering footsteps soon began to get louder as Dudley had had enough of the altercation and began to run to his room, Aunt Petunia's voice was chasing in his wake. Once he had arrived at the base of the stairs, Harry could begin to make out what was being said.

"-cares if I have a doughnut," Dudley's voice wailed as he passed by Harry's door, pausing only to strike the door in rage. "You've been starving me for the entire summer, you damn sl-"

"Dudley Dursley!" Aunt Petunia had cut him off before he could finish his insult. "Don't you dare use such language in this house!" Dudley's sputtered response was a mass of gibberish as he fought to say more. He finally settled on slamming his door as hard as he could.

Harry was grateful for the closed door at that moment, as it hid a smile from his face. He knew it was not right to be so satisfied with someone else's misery, but he just couldn't help it. He had intended to send letters to his friends asking for help with the diet, but he had gotten sidetracked by Sirius' gift.

So he had suffered in silence, sustained by his growing enthusiasm for the potion he had been brewing. He was sustained now by the fact that it would all be over soon, and he would be back in Hogwarts in only eleven days. Even though it was wrong, he couldn't keep the smile from forming.

A crash that came from outside his window drew his attention, so he moved to his desk and leaned over it to peer out his window. On the fresh cut grass was littered the broken bits of Dudley's PlayStation console. It looked to have struck the fence that separated the Dursleys' lot from their neighbor's. Harry frowned slightly, he had never gotten to use the device, and now he would never get to use it as a hand-me-down from Dudley when the boy would certainly get whatever new console or computer he desired.

He was low, lying curled up on the floor. No, curled was an incorrect term for what he was doing. He knew he was, instead, coiled upon the floor. He tasted the air, and was aware that he was coiled upon an old, rotting rug.

He looked around and spotted none other than Peter Pettigrew. He gave a hiss at the hated man, the one who had given his parents to Voldemort so long ago. Pettigrew shuddered in horror at the action, running a grubby hand across his balding pate, wiping the nervous sweat away. After regarding the pitifully weak man for a time, he turned away, and in a hissing voice spoke to a presence that resided in an old, moldy chair.

An old muggle stands outside, He said, he is listening. The returning voice was a high-pitched keening voice he knew well.

Thank you, Nagini, Voldemort returned. Harry stared hard at the back of the chair, ignoring the voices that erupted around him. He was trying so very hard to turn his head away from the view he was afforded, but try as he might, he could do nothing but watch through this fixed gaze.

"Turn my chair around, Wormtail," Voldemort commanded, Harry finally returned to listening to the conversation after his empty attempts to pierce the blackness and get a view of Voldemort. Wormtail's responding whimper only served to draw Voldemort's ire. "You will do as I say!"

Movement brought the attention of whatever Harry was watching from, as his view swung around and tracked Peter as he meekly moved to the chair. The pathetic man wiped his nervous hands on his dingy shirt before reaching out and slowly turning the deteriorating furniture to face the old man who stood in the doorway.

Harry withdrew in shock at the sight of the thing that sat in the chair. He could make out Voldemort's voice, but not what he was saying, as he raised a wand and a flash of green light ended his dream.

Harry nearly sprang from his bed as he woke from the dream. As his senses returned he could feel a distinct burning sensation that came from the scar on his forehead. He rolled out of his bed and grabbed his glasses from his desk. He padded silently across the room after turning on a lamp and opened his wardrobe.

In the back of the wardrobe, peering back at him was his own reflection. He peered carefully at his own forehead and ran a hand experimentally across the burning blemish. He felt only cold sweat, and nothing else. He scrubbed at it for a moment longer, trying to banish the slowly fading burning sensation to no avail.

He slowly returned to his bed and sat there, going over what he had seen, trying to preserve as many details as he could of the dream. Voldemort had been there, as had Wormtail. There was one more man that he was unable to recognize, just that he was old.

His position on the floor had to have been as important as well. Wormtail had cringed as he had spoken, as though what he heard had terrified him. Harry grabbed a quill and parchment, running over the details again and again before writing as much as he could.

Dream, old building, rotting smell. Wormtail and Voldemort. Killed an old man. Was on floor, Wormtail scared by talking, snake? Scar burning.

Unable to recall any more details, Harry set his quill down and focused on calming his frayed nerves. He normally wouldn't have thought to writing down the details, but his correspondence with Hermione and her insistence on his writing down any physical ailment had instilled the habit in him.

As he calmed, he turned his attention from recalling details to trying to figure out the meaning. Had what he seen really happened? The tastes, sounds and sights he had experienced felt more real than any dream he had ever had.

If it was real, was it somehow connected with the potion? He expected not, the way his scar burned reminded him too much of the time that Quirrel had been possessed by Voldemort. Whatever it was, he suspected someone had to be told. After all, one thing was very clear; ever since the end of his first year at Hogwarts; Voldemort had not died on that Hallowe'en night almost thirteen years ago.

But who to tell? Hermione came to mind instantly, probably Sirius as well. He felt a desire to inform Dumbledore, it would certainly be more pertinent than asking for help in breaking the law. Still, he felt a little silly sending a letter about a bad dream to the Headmaster, despite their close relationship fostered over the events of the past three years.

Perhaps Hermione and Sirius, then, though he suspected that Hermione would end up talking him into sending a missive to Dumbledore in any case. He moved from his bed to sit at the chair before his desk and fished out one of the few remaining pieces of parchment he had left. He decided first to write to Sirius while he waited for Hermione's response to his last letter.

Dear Sirius,

Sorry I haven't written as often as I should, I've been busy working on the project you sent me at the beginning of summer. It worked out well, though the end result was a little strange. Don't worry about it too much, Hermione is helping me figure out what to do now.

Dursleys have been better than normal, I have fewer chores than I've ever had, and they've been ignoring me for the most part. I expect it's to do with your being my dogfather, remind me to get you a nice flea bath for the gift, and all. Only trouble has been the whole family having to join Dudley on his diet, as he finally reached his goal of being bigger around than he is tall.

I actually wanted to talk to you about something that just happened last night, it's August 3rd right now. I had a terrible dream, don't laugh, about Voldemort and Wormtail. I wrote down everything I could before I forgot the details. I was in an old building, on the floor. I think I was a snake, because when Voldemort talked to me or me to Voldemort, Wormtail was terrified. There was an old man, a muggle I think, and the dream ended with Voldemort laughing and a flash of green light.

That's all I got down before everything became too hard to recall. When I woke up my scar hurt the same as it did when Voldemort was at Hogwarts my first year.

Stay Safe!

Harry

Harry shook the parchment to dry the ink and looked it over for a moment before nodding. He folded the parchment up and slid it into an envelope. He intended to send it as soon as he got to Hogwarts and could safely conceal the message to protect Sirius.

He pulled out his last piece of parchment and laid it flat on his desk. He intended to write to Hermione the moment Hedwig returned with her reply. He looked out at the lightening sky for a moment before he got up. It seemed as though the day was going to be rather windless, so he didn't bother placing a heavy object on the parchment before he exited his room to prepare for the day and join the Dursleys for a so-called 'breakfast.'

Harry slid into the kitchen after a typically cool shower, he was always the last to use it, and took his place at the table. He idly noted his relatives' presence, desiring to be at his window waiting for the reply from Hermione.

His Uncle Vernon was hidden behind a newspaper, his large, meaty hands were repeatedly gripping the paper, crinkling it slowly. Dudley was sitting at his chair sullenly scowling at the table and picking at an imperfection on the surface.

Before long, his Aunt placed a plate before each of them, each with roughly a quarter of a grapefruit. Harry noted that his looked more to be about a sixth of a grapefruit and Dudley's was closer to a third. He figured it was Aunt Petunia's way of making up for the fight the day before.

Harry ate slowly, attempting to trick his body into thinking he was eating a larger amount of food than he was. He screwed his eyes shut as he bit into the bitter flesh of the fruit. Only eleven more days, Harry told himself, the countdown becoming a mantra of sorts.

Harry had lost what he was sure Molly Weasley would say was a dangerous amount of weight, and he couldn't wait to be back at Hogwarts. He was especially looking forward to the opening feast. His stomach growled at the thought, and he had to stop that train of thought, lest he feel hungry for the remainder of the day. The tense breakfast was interrupted as the doorbell rang.

"I'll answer the door," Harry said, to the suspicious gaze of his Uncle. He quickly scooped up the last bit of his grapefruit and got up, not wanting to deal with the atmosphere at the table any longer than he had to, especially on an empty stomach. He slipped out of the kitchen and made his way to the door.

"May I help you?" Harry asked politely as he opened the door. The postman met his gaze, an amused smile on his lips. It didn't take Harry long to figure out why, for in his hand he held a letter. It would have been a fairly normal letter had it not been for one fact. It was covered entirely in stamps, save for a small square with the Dursleys' address squeezed therein.

"I must ask," the postman professed, "who in their right mind would waste so much money on the postage of a letter?" Harry began to sweat lightly, knowing in his gut that it had to do with the Wizarding world in one way or another. He glanced back at the door, still closed, but he suspected at least his Aunt was listening.

Harry accepted the letter and opened it, a task made more difficult than ordinary by the stamps. He looked at the end and saw Molly Weasley's name. His mind raced as he thought of a suitable excuse, his wits pushed to their limits. He smiled wanly, excuse derived.

"School mate," Harry said, "said postage was getting too expensive. Said we'd be sending letters covered in stamps sooner, rather than later. Must have been his idea of a joke." The postman laughed heartily in response, shaking his head.

"Expensive joke," the postman responded, "but what can you expect? Wages haven't changed, but costs have, wish they'd toss a bit my way once in a while." He shook his head, and departed affably, Harry sighed in relief as he closed the door.

Harry slowly walked back to the kitchen, reading the letter as quickly as he could. His heart soon began to beat quickly in his chest. The Weasleys had managed to acquire tickets to the Quidditch World Cup to be held in only two days. Even better, they were inviting him to stay for the remainder of the summer, and they would arrive tomorrow.

He looked at the door as he approached. He suspected his Uncle would be glad to be rid of him. Still, it was better to approach this with caution, his Uncle was vindictive, and would surely deny him, should he know about the Cup.

"Who was at the door?" Vernon asked as Harry entered the kitchen.

"Postman," Harry answered, holding up the letter in one hand, while nonchalantly holding the envelope low in his other.

"Why ring the bell?" Vernon pushed, "why not simply slide it through the slot?" Harry grew nervous, he knew that this would be the moment that would determine whether or not his Uncle would ultimately deny him his release from captivity.

"That would be because of this," Harry said, holding up the stamp covered envelope. "I told him a friend was joking about the cost of postage." Vernon snorted at the thought, apparently having found it amusing in some way. Harry was certain the sky would sooner turn purple.

"Costing my company more than it's worth, you ask me," Vernon said, further confirming the odd reality before Harry's eyes. Vernon once again turned suspicious eyes on Harry. "Well, what's in the letter?" The distraction had worked, Harry was sure. Now it was just a simple matter of telling his Uncle only what he would want to hear, no more, and no less.

"A friend's mother is offering to take me off your hands for the remainder of Summer," Harry explained, wording his statement very carefully. Vernon's face lit briefly before setting back into his standard scowl.

"A friend?" Vernon asked, a question which held a deeper meaning which Harry immediately understood.

"From school," Harry confirmed, again, his words chosen as carefully as he could. The perilous conversation was beginning to take its toll after only a few words. Vernon's eyes narrowed at the answer.

"When?" Vernon asked, and Harry's heart nearly failed him. Mrs. Weasley had failed to say when they would come to get him.

"Said they'd determine the best time after I respond," Harry said, hoping he sounded far more certain than he felt. He weathered his Uncle's venomous gaze for what seemed an eternity. Finally, Vernon's mustache twitched and he answered.

"You'll have the garden cut before they arrive, else you'll not be going," Vernon commanded, before turning once more to his paper. Harry excused himself from the kitchen and made his way to his bedroom before he let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

Before Harry could take more than a few steps, a brown blur forced him to duck quickly as it bounced off his wall and began to zoom around his room, like an insane snitch. It took Harry a moment to recognize the small brown blur as a small brown owl. To be more exact, it was an owl that was carrying a letter. Harry's hand shot out and caught the excited bird, where it stilled its wings almost immediately. It was looking around wildly, taking in its location, it's small chest rising and falling rapidly.

Harry expertly untied the letter from its claw before carefully placing the diminutive fowl on Hedwig's perch. He quickly read through the missive with a smile as the tiny owl squirmed and squeaked in its place.

It had come from Ron, who was asking if he could join them for the world cup. It seemed as though he and his family were prepared to pull a similar stunt to the one that had gotten him out of the Dursleys' in his second year if he sent back a negative response.

Hermione would be arriving this afternoon. Harry suspected he wouldn't see Hedwig again until he arrived at the Weasleys'. He hoped a bit of time away would warm his and Hedwig's relationship. He frowned and quickly grabbed some parchment to pen a quick affirmative, before stuffing it in the smallest envelope he had.

With the post addressed and in hand, Harry looked at the small owl, Pig according to Ron. The diminutive brown ball was nearly vibrating in place as it peered intently at him. As he held out the small letter and a bit of cord to the little owl it began hopping in place with one claw held out.

A small while, several scratches and half a dozen wishes for an extra hand later, Harry nearly tossed Pig out the window, where he took off like a shot. He watched as the owl disappeared into the distance. After only a brief pause, Harry spent the rest of his day packing, making sure to tuck the recipe and his letter to Sirius in a safe and secret place in his trunk.

The next day was another test of Harry's patience. He had let his Uncle know that the Weasleys would be by to pick him up at five o'clock. The result was a long list of chores to handle before that time. It was a good thing he had the presence of mind to pack his things the night before. His trunk was once more in the cupboard under the stairs, waiting to be taken from his annual short term prison.

His chores were nearly completed, which was good. The only thing left on his list stood in front of him. The cylinder mower, his Summer-long nemesis stood gleaming in the afternoon sun. He idly entertained the though of not mowing the garden one final time. After all, the Weasleys were due to arrive in little over an hour, and would be taking him from here one way or another.

He pushed that thought away. The Dursleys had been better to him this Summer. His Uncle, as irrelevant as the gesture was, had assented to his leaving early. Compounding that fact was that, despite the cloudless day, it felt as though there was a break in the unbearable heat he had endured to this day.

He had allowed himself to feel a vindictive joy at watching his Uncle and cousin sweat profusely from his relative comfort. Still, there was one last task before he was well and truly finished with his yearly exile.

He straightened his back and took the handle of the mower into his grasp before starting to push the archaic device along the slow pattern that would have the Dursleys' garden cut to perfection. As he pushed the mower along its course, Harry noticed something a bit odd.

Despite how cool it felt, the other residents of Privet Drive were not in sight. In fact, the few who left their houses moved quickly through the shade, fanning themselves furiously as they sweat in the sun. Harry ran a hand across his forehead and through his fringe. Unlike the others, whose hair was matted to their foreheads within moments of stepping outdoors, his forehead was perfectly dry. His hair was free to flop around in all its messy glory. He pulled at his shirt and trousers a bit and felt no sign of the tell tale stickiness that was associated with humid Summer days. It felt more like early Autumn or late Spring, in fact.

Harry filed the oddity away, making a point to remember to write it down to share with Hermione. It wouldn't be good if he could suddenly not feel temperature anymore. Especially if he accidentally overheated or froze to death. He really hoped he had not failed in making that Animagus potion.

Once he was finished with cutting the garden, Harry pushed the mower into its place in a shed behind the house before heading inside. He took a moment to drink a rather large glass of water and wash up before returning to the living room to wait out the last few moments before the Weasleys arrived.

The tense atmosphere of the Dursleys, however, made him reconsider. His Uncle was stone faced in his most intimidating suit, the summer heat causing him to color and sweat, emphasizing his sour mood. Harry would have rather been back outside cutting the grass of every house on Privet drive than remain in the same room with his Uncle.

Harry stepped back outside to avoid his family's presence. He noted once more just how comfortable he felt in what was still apparently sweltering heat. He looked at his Uncle's car and marveled at the hazy distortion of the air surrounding the vehicle.

Harry stole a glance back at the house and noticed no one in the windows. Happy that no one was looking out the window, he nonchalantly approached the dark car. Harry carefully reached a hand out and held it over the surface, but felt none of the heat that was very apparent to his eyes.

Steeling himself, he placed his hand directly on the dark metal. Still, he felt no heat, just the smooth, somewhat cool surface, as though the Sun had not beat down on the car all day. Harry lowered his head until his gaze was just over the surface and lifted his hand just enough to watch the distortions of the air dance and curl around his hand like a nearly invisible smoke.

Finally he stood up and gazed at the palm of his hand. There was no sign that it had been touching what was surely a hot vehicle at all. There was no redness, and no pain, just his normal skin tone.

He furrowed his brow as he noted something else. The calluses on his hands from riding his broom and the many chores he had to attend on a daily basis had vanished. He ran the fingers of his opposite hand over the palm he was inspecting and felt only what he saw: smooth, unblemished skin.

Harry added that to the growing list of things that had changed since he had last sent a letter to Hermione as he moved into some shade to keep the Sun out of his eyes. After a moment he leaned against the side of the house and rested like that while he waited for the Weasleys to arrive. Unfortunately the wait drew itself out longer and longer, with no sign of the Weasleys approaching.

Harry gave off a great yawn and adjusted himself to be a bit more comfortable when a loud bang from inside the Dursleys' house shocked him from his stupor. Gathering his wits, he opened the door to the house and rushed inside only to be pushed out of the way as Dudley barreled through the entryway and up the stairs in a panic.

After he regained his balance, Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and turned the corner to face the living room. He had to bite back a laugh, however, at what he saw there.

It was pure pandemonium that only a wizard could cause. The room, as well as his Aunt and Uncle, was covered with soot and bits brick from around the electric fireplace. The electric fireplace that he had somehow missed on his way in to the living room.

The cause of the mess was plain as day, for standing in the middle of the room were the disheveled and filthy forms of Mr. Weasley, the twins and his best friend, Ron. It appeared as though he hadn't needed to wait out front for them, as they had come by floo.

"Ah, Harry," Mr. Weasley greeted with a jovial smile, "there you are!" Harry could only smile in response, as his time at the Dursleys' had finally come to a rather exciting end.

Author's Note:

Hi guys, it's me. Not dead, but not pushing out the story in a timely manner either. Thing is, I have several stories that I work on as the mood strikes me, but I'll only work on it as long as my attention is on it. If my attention wanders, I promptly stop writing so as to avoid a story that feels disingenuous.

That being said, here's the second chapter. As you can see, even when I have to pull events from the book, which will happen as only 2 things have been changed directly by me as far as the story goes, I'm trying to write it with a different feel, or slightly different flow stemming from only the 2 changes I made. This is the consequence of writing a divergence rather than a straight up alternate universe. As things proceed, hopefully you'll notice the changes to the time-line become more and more pronounced. In the mean time, I'll try to focus more on the changes themselves, more noticeably Harry's gradual change into an animagus and how that changes the story.

I want to thank you all for your patience to this point, and hope you all continue to be so very understanding.