Chapter 1: Greatness Awaits

Disclaimer: I naturally do not own anything relating to the Harry Potter series.

The sudden sound of crashing plastic densely reverberated through Harry's cushioned skull. His rest now interrupted, the frail boy rose like a vampire as a shrill shriek pierced the air. Unsure of what the infrequent trouble was, Harry perked his ears as his eyes narrowed to slits, frozen in anticipation as he waited for something to follow what was now a compelling silence. After moments of remaining far too nescient for his liking, curiosity picked up Harry's legs and walked him to the door of what used to be the spare bedroom of #4 Privet Drive.

Slightly rattling the knob, Harry Potter opened the door and stalked his way out of the room. Partially guarded, Harry's arm naturally fell just below his hip, wand at the ready. He prayed internally that using it would not be a necessity. Magic had occurred far too often at the Dursley residence, and the boy doubted he'd be given any more chances to avoid it from happening again. The Ministry wasn't known for its forgiving nature, and the Boy Who Lived had just about run out of excuses.

As he approached the landing, Harry could feel the carpeting vibrate in beats beneath his toes, coincided by the sound of frustrated heavy breathing; breathing which was drawing closer. The panic in Harry's sternum jumped slightly before it quickly faded, his wand arm now relaxing by his side once more. He could recognize who was approaching from anywhere.

An extremely tomato-faced Dudley Dursley stomped his way up the stairs, angry tears barely clinging to the caruncles of his eyes. At the hip, a broken PlayStation was fixed, with pieces of small electronics and plastics dangling loosely to the floor attached by different colored wires, like a tooth by a thread. At the sight of his cousin, Dudley appeared to almost hesitate, as the look in his eyes morphed from irritated to slightly more irritated. The resemblance of his father was honestly uncanny. Huffing, the pompous brat marched on, shoving into Harry's shoulder as though the clear pathway past him on the right did not exist.

"Move it Freak," Dudley grumbled, his stale red eyes never making contact with the amused ones of his opposer. Only until after watching Dudley speed-walk into his bedroom did Harry notice the presence of his panicked Aunt silently approaching from behind him.

"What are you looking at? Get back in your room." Aunt Petunia guffawed, looking at her nephew as though he was some sort of fugitive on the run. Harry ignored her demand, gazing back at her as he made sure his emotions were screwed to a mask.

"I thought I'd heard a scream?" Harry craned his neck back to the door of Dudley's room, and back to his Aunt again. "What happened?"

Taking his question as some sort of unfriendly reminder, Petunia launched herself in the direction of her son's room and stopped at the door, though not entering. She raised her arm as though to knock, but not before turning back to Harry with even more exaggerated disgust contoured on her horse-like features.

"Boy, did you hear me? I said: in your room. This has nothing to do with you." Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he started moving back to his prison cell. As he opened the door he could hear his Aunt knock on Dudley's lightly before whispering cautiously, "Sweetums?"

Slowly shutting his door behind him, Harry finally allowed himself to give in to a small fit of laughter. He may not like the Dursley's all that much, but sweet Merlin they could be quite the bunch of unintentionally self-deprecating stooges sometimes. Well, at least Petunia and Dudley were. Uncle Vernon was just an arse - maybe kind of funny to look at sometimes - but mostly just an arse.

Harry's bed gave a good few squeaks in animosity as the boy let himself fall back upon it in a sort of mental recession. After a few moments studying the ceiling, Harry cast his attention to the half-eaten vanilla birthday cake that topped the nightstand to his left. A small smile danced on his lips, a happy snort exiting through his nose. If someone had told a much younger Harry Potter that he would one day have friends sending him his birthday cake through delivery by owl, he would've howled in laughter. And as a small child, Harry did not laugh all that much.

The mental conjuration of his friends put a small bubbly warmth in Harry's stomach. He missed them terribly - all of them. Being stuck with people such as the Dursleys could make that small feeling of loss grow a lot less small. The grand stone castle of Hogwarts seemed so far away at this point, and Harry ached to walk its luxurious halls once more.

Luckily for Harry, the Dursleys didn't even bother to lock his school stuff up this summer, giving him free rein to go through any of his stuff. He even managed to complete his summer assignments within the first two weeks. It wasn't as though there was anything else for him to do, and besides, Harry was extremely glad knowing Hermione would be most definitely proud of his completions. Honestly, putting in the effort to the summer work wasn't nearly as bad as what Ron would constantly whine about for the past three years. Maybe it was due to the fact that scribbling on some Transfiguration papers gave at least some sense of home compared to what the chores for the Dursley's did. Detention with Lockhart in Second Year wasn't even as bad as those could be sometimes.

Harry sat up and pushed himself against the wall perpendicular to his bed. Now with a clear vantage of the nightstand, Harry grabbed the small pile of letters on top of his birthday cake. He snatched them up and slowly shuffled through, reading the names on the back. Harry silently laughed to himself as he flipped Hagrid's, which had his name written in the biggest letters he'd ever seen. Chuckling, he pulled it out.

Harry,

Happy Birthday! I remember when I first found you on your 11th, and I could not be happier that you didn't wind up being that pudgy looking sow you call a cousin.

No matter how many times he would read this, that line always made Harry laugh.

I recall getting you a cake that year, although I also remember sitting on it. Consider this one a repayment of sorts.

All the best,

Hagrid

Stuffing Hagrid's letter away, Harry moved onto the next one in the mix: Ron's. His was clearly not that thought out, but that was usually the case involving anything Ron ever did. Harry sighed in content as he reopened the letter of his first-ever friend.

Happy Birthday Harry! Hagrid and Hermione thought that it would be a good idea to get you something from all of us on top of the gifts, and we decided to bake you a cake. I personally thought that was rather much with the gifts and all, but the other two insisted on it, especially Hermione. She was acting as though you'd never seen a cake before. Honestly, she can be really persistent sometimes. Anyways, remember the World Cup? Of course you do, what am I talking about? Well, there actually may be just a small chance that dad can get tickets. I'll make sure to let you know as soon as possible. And don't worry, we'll handle the muggles if we do wind up being able to go.

See you when I see you -

Ron

After putting that letter back, Harry moved on to the final one of the bunch; this particular one belonging to Hermione. Carefully, Harry extracted the letter for the umpteenth time and uncreased its folds, examining the neat and articulate handwriting of one Hermione Granger:

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! If you've read Ron and Hagrids' letters already then I'm sure you know what this is about. But if not, then I guess I better explain. We've decided to come together and send you a cake (obviously) alongside the usual small gifts. I'm sure your typical noble mind is thinking that it's too much, but honestly Harry, a cake and presents is typical in and of itself. I know that your childhood wasn't the best, and those Merlin-forsaken muggles that you're forced to call family never celebrated your birthday, so I figured this the least we could do. Especially for what you've done for all of us - for me - these last few years. After the whole predicament with Sir- Snuffles last year, this was more clear than ever. After living through so much your whole life you still seek to help others. That's just one of the many things I cherish about you, Harry. Happy Birthday!

Love,

Hermione

Harry felt the heat rise to his face as he examined the contents of this strange missive he read countless times already. For a while, he did not know what it was about this letter from his best friend that sent him into such an odd mood. There was nothing new about it. It was very Hermione-like. After ponderous thinking multiple times, Harry always arrived at the same conclusion: he simply felt guilty. She had a rough year last year if her letter was anything to go by. Breaking Sirius out was a rather strenuous task for them both, physically and mentally, and he realized far too late that there was no way he could have done it without her. He never properly thanked or showed his gratitude towards Hermione for her help, and he was annoyed with himself for it. He was too focused on his own problems that he never actually looked for those of her own. The idea of writing her a letter like she had on the matter naturally came to mind, but he felt that wasn't genuine enough. This most definitely wasn't the first time she thanked him. So, he forced himself to wait.

Harry took in this letter one last time before gently putting it away with the others. Suddenly, a soft questioning hoot emerged from the opposite of the room. Harry's snow-white owl, Hedwig, peered at him with a steady and thoughtful gaze. Her eyes unusually soporific for an animal of her species, the bird appeared interrogative. Harry smiled.

"I'm not sending anything right now, Hedwig. Just reading some older letters is all." Hedwig returned with another look as though to announce her understanding, before emitting a soft trill once more. Harry opened his mouth with a short intake of breath, looking at his owl with curiosity. "Hedwig, do you think I'm a good person?" Hedwig made no sound but demonstrated a sort of movement that could only compare to that of an eye-roll. Harry sagged forward.

"Well, just what am I supposed to make of that?"

Hedwig hooted.

Harry sighed. "Well, I suppose I can't say I'm a bad person, I think."

This time Hedwig was louder; much louder. She was behaving in the way a reprimanding mother would, as though he uttered words worthy of complete disapproval.

A loud banging sounded from the door, causing Harry's heart to drop out of existence. Uncle Vernon was now clearly home, as the sound of his phlegmy throat sounded through the other side of the bedroom door.

"You keep that bloody bird quiet or I swear to you I will come in there and take care of it myself!" Harry could practically hear his uncle's blood boiling from where he sat on the bed. Hedwig gave Harry a reproachful look followed by one that seemed to say:

'That's what you deserve.'

The Boy Who Lived, now aware of his uncle's return, inched his way off the bed and made to leave. He was to do chores today and would rather spare himself from any more of Uncle Vernon's guttural ululations by delaying any further. As he turned the doorknob, Hedwig gave one more final hoot of encouragement, before pacing his way downstairs.

Harry just couldn't believe his luck. Not only fifteen minutes ago did a small grey owl come barreling straight into the window of his bedroom, scaring the living daylights at him. Pigwidgeon had apparently decided to forget what he was doing upon making the delivery of Ron's letter announcing the possession of tickets to the Quidditch World Cup in just two days. Somehow, the little bird managed to keep itself awake after that nasty hit to the head, and flew clumsily into Harry's bedroom. Hedwig seemed to disapprove of this.

He doubted that the Dursley's would hold him here. They couldn't stand his existence as it was. So, without even bothering to ask for permission, Harry quickly wrote his acceptance of this irrefutable invitation and gave it back to Pig who, not before resting a bit, took the flight back to the Burrow.

Harry was surprised his morning managed to get so much better than how it started. He initially woke up from some nightmare in pure sweat, even writing a letter to Sirius about it. He was watching through the eyes of some poor muggle who stumbled upon a sight forbidden to him. Harry remembered a flash of green light before he felt his possession being pushed down by gravity. This muggle, whoever he might have been, was murdered, and most definitely by Voldemort. Harry knew he was. This wasn't the first time he'd seen something like this. Recalling the quick-paced events reminded Harry of Pettigrew's presence there as well. The thought of that rat-dropping set Harry's blood on fire. That creature was the scummiest of the scum that had ever roamed the magical world. He vowed one day to have him locked up in Azkaban to rot in sorrow for the rest of his days. But, that was all with due time. Pettigrew would get his deal of hurt one day.

There was, however, another man in that vision that Harry had never seen before. He naturally mentioned him in his letter to Sirius as well, but there wasn't exactly much to go on other than appearance.

Harry pushed the thought aside for a moment. He ultimately decided that he was going to enjoy this chance for a break at the normal negatives of his life. He would get to watch the biggest event of his favorite sport as a member of the crowd alongside his best friends. Ron mentioned that Hermione would be coming along as well, which was quite a pleasant surprise for Harry. He knew that she didn't exactly enjoy the sport, albeit her coming to every game of his own so far. But to be fair, the fact that she was coming would be much better overall, no matter the reason. Sometimes the Weasley's could be a bit much for Harry on his own. Of course, they were like a family to him - his first family - and they treated him as such. But in the end, he wasn't truly a family member. Sometimes, it was as though they tried too hard to treat him as such, and that could wind up being just far too stressful. Having Hermione there should lessen that, however.

Although he didn't like admitting it to himself, Harry also just missed her terribly, and a lot more than usual. Why exactly he wasn't sure. Maybe it was just the guilt? Perhaps he just needed to apologize for his lack of awareness and thank her? And to add more to the guilt he already had, Harry could tell he was looking forward to seeing Hermione more than the actual Cup; the Cup that Ron bought him tickets to see.

The whole ordeal that he and Hermione went through at the end of the previous year had changed things, or at least Harry felt it had. Leaving Hermione and the rest of his friends at King's Cross by the hands of Uncle Dursley wasn't a memory he was very fond of. It was rather humiliating, to say the least. Especially with the conversation that he held with everyone just prior to said departure.

Ingressing through the hidden door of Platform 9 and 3/4 dug the all too familiar pit of sadness in his belly that had always seemed to remain empty upon his return. Harry knew he was in for a long summer, and the idea of waiting such an amount of time physically ached his skinny bones. The turnout of this year had probably been his best so far: he found out his godfather, an innocent man convicted of genocide, was alive and well, trying to work out a way to have Harry move out of the Dursley's and in with him. He also had the privilege of being taught by one of his father's best mates in his favorite subject alongside that as well. Honestly, the fact that it ended in such a decent manner almost scared Harry. He felt as though something was due to go wrong eventually. The magical world may be the best home he could ever ask for, but Merlin it could just as well be seriously life-threatening sometimes.

As he scanned the crowd of Englishmen, Harry picked out the grumpy features of his uncle as he appeared to be waddling in place nervously. He was sweating rather intensely, and his eyes darted from person to person, as though trying to determine who was a threat and who was not. Uncle Vernon managed to catch Harry's eye for a moment, resulting in him to wave his hand in warning, demanding that he come over so they could leave. Harry pretended not to notice them.

He quickly spotted the heads of hair belonging to the Weasley family just a few people over, and the small teen slithered his way through the diverse bodies as quickly and politely as possible. After bumping into several and muttering his apologies, Molly Weasley spotted Harry as his head popped into the group.

"Oh, there you are Harry dear. We were just about to leave, and I was hoping we would get to say goodbye." Mrs. Weasley grinned sweetly, her eyes shining in that familial warmth that she would often give to her children. Her voice suddenly darkened ever so slightly, "Ronald has told me just some of the things that have gone down this year-" Her son blushed at this, "-and I do hope that you're alright…" Harry could tell by the slight disapproval on her face that she didn't like some of his risk-taking that had occurred this year, but her sympathy over masked it quite. That, coincided with the fact that she was aware that she wasn't his mother. She didn't exactly have a say in what he did or did not do. So, she kept herself from speaking any more than that.

Harry showed a small crooked smile in response to Mrs. Weasley's concern, knowing that she truly just wanted to help him. "Thank you. I'm doing rather well, actually." This wasn't actually a lie like it usually was. For once in his life, Harry felt that he seriously was okay. He wasn't at death's claws by the end of this year, despite Trelawney's adamant predictions.

"Well, just remember to write to us if you need anything this summer deary." Mrs. Weasley added. Harry nodded his understanding.

"I'll make sure to do that, thank you." Harry now turned his attention over to Ron, who was currently in the midst of watching a muggle talk into his mobile about something to do with broken plumbing. The sight was rather amusing: Ron looked positively bewildered with the man, as though he had grown an extra two heads. Harry chuckled to himself as he shuffled over to his best mate.

"Intrigued, are we?"

Ron shook his head from whatever trance he was in.

"Who the bloody hell is he talking to? That piece of junk?" Ron motioned to the phone that the man held up to his ear. Harry sighed in amusement, now mentally preparing his explanation for what a wireless phone was. But another voice cut him to it.

"It's just a telephone, Ronald." Hermione Granger somehow managed to approach on the opposite side of Ron to Harry in silence, her voice dripping in disappointment with chocolate eyes, however - chocolate eyes that glistened with a hint of mirth. Harry shot her a small grin before giving one of her own.

Ron now looked positively lost. He opened his mouth, but said nothing for a moment, "But I thought you needed to have the ropey things connected for those to work?"

Hermione was about to provide an explanation of her own, but appeared to change her mind in the end, simply uttering, "That one doesn't need one."

Ron gave the man one more look before mumbling something along the lines of "Bloody mental," before sighing in small defeat. He spun around to face his two best friends, his palm resting on his forehead as though the unusual encounter had given him a migraine.

"I'm gonna leave now. I think I've had enough for one year. Write to me whenever you want, I don't bloody care." And with that Ron Weasley stalked away, leaving a chortling Harry and Hermione by the side of the muggle tracks. After gaining some composure, the two stood in a sort of recessive silence as though to take the final moment in. After a good thirty seconds, Hermione cut in, and very softly.

"Are you okay Harry?" Harry was about to give her the typical reply before she quickly added, "And don't you dare lie to me."

Harry gave her a look as though she didn't understand her implications, although they both knew he understood them very well. "Look, trust me when I tell you once again that I'm okay. Genuinely!" She raised an eyebrow at this. Harry sighed. "Hermione, this has probably been the best year of my life - well, maybe not as good as First Year- but this is a pretty close runner up! I mean, I just found out about a member of my family who actually wants me to be a part of their lives. I haven't had this since I was a toddler! I mean, I might as well say I've been doing great!" Harry breathed, only now noticing the somber look forming on Hermione's adorable features. He frowned.

"Hermione-?"

The girl in question suddenly burst forward into Harry with a tearful squeak, nearly sending them both into the tracks a meter below. Hermione practically locked him to her body with her arms, as though letting him go might just start the apocalypse. The Boy Who Lived pondered for a moment, wondering how he wound up here in the first place. He remained unsure of himself for a moment, before instinctively returning her frightening hug. Hermione gave yet another squeal as she somehow managed to squeeze him tighter, causing Harry's heart to commence some sort of frenzied tap dance as the breath was forced back out through his nose and mouth. After another moment passed, Harry suddenly realized just how good it felt to have her so close. He always liked Hermione's hugs; she was the only person alive to ever give him one. And that was when the guilt initially punched him in the gut.

Harry could hear Hermione's sniffles die down over the next minute before they both reluctantly let each other go. She began to mutter an apology, before something tugged hard at the collar of Harry's shirt, dragging him away from the person he would wind up longing for the most all summer.

End of Chapter 1: Greatness Awaits