Snog in a Box
Harry's summer with the Dursley's so far had been (to put it lightly) less-than-desirable. Apparently the memory of the Weasley's visit to Privit Drive last summer (which had ended up in a completely destroyed fire-place) was still fresh in their memories. They eyed him with more fear than malice, but always sighed at the sight of him. Harry had the suspicion that Dumbledore had written to the Durleys about his near-death experience with Voldemort at the end of last term, and were thoroughly disappointed at his survival. But this year had reminded him more of his pre-wizarding years than any of the others. Although he was still allowed his books and school things, he was not allowed access to Hedwig, his owl. The Dursleys were obviously fearing contact with any more wizarding families, and since the Weasleys had tried to send a letter last year, Uncle Vernon began telling off the post man every time he came to the door. It came to Harry's knowledge through a rejection slip in the mail (that the postman had thrown in Uncle Vernon's face in frustration) that Uncle Vernon had called the post office and requested his mail be censored and any abnormal mail be burned. Harry hadn't given the letter back, so as far as Uncle Vernon knew, his mail was being carefully sorted by specialists. This was fine with Harry. Maybe the Weasleys, or Hermione - who was of muggle parentage and knew perfectly well how to send a letter - could get something through to him.
There were some changes at Number Four Privet
Drive. Three of Dudley's five chins were missing because of the diet
he'd been on all year. Harry, who was so used to Dudley being a beach
ball-shaped obstacle, just walked right past him when he entered the house
without recognizing him at all. Only after having a handful of potting
soil chucked at him did Harry realize who the not-so-incredibly-obese boy
was.
Aunt Petunia had joined a Gourmet Cooking
Club and was gone most of the day, so Harry wasn't continually scolded
by her. Uncle Vernon, of course, was off at work, so Harry was left
along with Dudley most of the day. Dudley spent most of this time
roaming the fridge, although there wasn't much there. Aunt Petunia
had cleared it of fatty sweets before Dudley's return home. So, he
resorted to Harry Hunting, but stopped after a brief reminder of Sirius'
criminal record.
Presently no one but Harry was in the house. He was picking the lock on the door that contained Hedwig's cage with one of Aunt Petunia's hairpins. Fred and George Weasley had taught him this trick, and they were another reason he wanted to get to Hedwig so badly. He'd given them 1,000 galleons last year, and he wanted to know how the joke shop operation was coming along. He almost had it done when... schlunk schlunk schlunk.
Harry whipped around. The sound was coming
from downstairs. He hopped down the staircase, skipping every other
step and followed it to the living room window. He stared at it,
took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, stuck them back on, and
stared again. A clear, squishy, sticky something was slamming up
against the window, peeling itself off, and slamming again, like some sort
of weird play dough. He opened the window, with a little
apprehension, and the thing zoomed into his hand.
"Ugh!" said Harry, "That's disgusting!"
He began to try and shake it off, but the thing encompassed his entire
hand. Harry screamed and mentally smacked himself. He should
have known! Never trust anything if you can't see where it keeps
it brain! Suddenly he heard Fred Weasley's voice.
"Harry! You prat! Stop shaking your hand!" said Fred's voice, "And turn it over."
Harry, more bemused than anything, turned his
hand over, and saw a miniature Fred,( or was it George?) Weasley standing
in it.
"Fred!" exclaimed Harry, gaping at his hand,
"What are you- how did you-?"
Fred had no color. He looked like a
weird thick, swirling, sparkling water in a Fred-shaped vase.
"I'll explain later, this won't last long.
It melts really soon after it's removed from the box." Fred said hurriedly.
"But what is it," Harry asked.
"A snog," said Fred proudly, "one of our first
creations. I will only be here as long as it lasts. Look, it's
already melting!" He pointed to his feet. Harry could see the
toes of his sneakers dripping on to the floor, "Be by your fireplace tomorrow
at noon. We're coming by flu powder. Have all your stuff ready!"
Fred's voice was becoming gurgled as his face began to melt.
"Wait!" cried Harry, but it was too late.
The miniature Fred was now nothing but a little puddle in his palm.
Harry took the liquid and dumped it out the window into Aunt Petunia's
flower bed, and rushed upstairs to collect his things. Firstly he
finished picking the lock in the door and grabbed Hedwig, who was indignant
at the lack of a salutation. He grabbed his fire bolt and his trunk
and flung them into his room. He was all packed, except for the matter
of clothes. Harry groaned. It was hard enough to get Aunt Petunia
to do his laundry on a regular basis, let alone a trip. A trip with
the Weasleys.
Which arose another question: What on earth
were the twins talking about? All they had said was for him to pack
his bags. Harry looked skeptically at his trunk and broomstick.
Fred and George would think it a fine joke to have him pack everything
he owned just for a weekend visit with the Weasleys. But then, who
knew? Mrs. Weasley would probably want him to stay the whole summer.
But that was out of the question. No.
He couldn't do that. He couldn't put his best friend's family into
danger. Voldemort was still at large and out for his blood (which
he probably already had several pints of, Harry reminded himself).
"Dammit." he said, throwing himself back onto
the bed. The "it" he was damning was, of course, Voldemort.
Not only had he killed his parents, Diggory, and not to mention several
others, he was out to ruin Harry's life.
Harry shook his head to rid him of the thought.
He was being petty and selfish. After all, the Diggorys had already
lost a son, and here he was, worrying about his summer vacation being spoiled.
Besides, if he left the Dursleys he would no longer be protected by the
magic that bound him to them. And he wouldn't be under Dumbledore's
watchful eye. He would be fresh bait... and so would all the Weasleys.
"Get down here boy! I have a word to
share with you."
Uncle Vernon was home. Harry hopped
off the bed and trotted down the stairs to see a purple-faced man who had
gone considerably grayer since Harry had started school. He was holding
a letter. Harry's face fell. Every time Uncle Vernon was holding
a letter, and the vein in his temple was about to pop, it either meant
that his company had lost money or that Harry was in serious trouble.
"Yes?" asked Harry, for truly, he was quite
curious.
"Ha!" spat Uncle Vernon, "Think you're so
smart and all! Acting like you don't know!"
Harry just stared at him. On several
different occasions he had blamed Harry for several other things he had
been quite in the dark about. Apparently he thought Harry was psychic
or very well informed.
"Would you mind telling me what I apparently
already know?" asked Harry sarcastically. Vernon went a darker shade
of purple, though Harry thought it was impossible.
"That damn friend of yours!" he seemed too
disgusted and angry to speak the next sentence, but finally spat it out,
"Sent an owl, an owl! To my office!"
Harry grinned, inwardly congratulating his "damn friend" of infuriating
Uncle Vernon yet again.
"Caused a terrible commotion! Everyone
ducking and watching it... watching it go straight to my office!" he finished.
"Right," said Harry, "So, what does it say?"
"Ha!" cried Vernon, "Quit the innocent act,
Harry!"
Harry sighed. He really wasn't in the
mood to put up with Uncle Vernon today, but decided to indulge him all
the same. Besides, he didn't know what was in the letter.
"Okay, I know. Now can I see it?" Harry
asked.
Uncle Vernon chucked the letter at Harry, who opened it eagerly.
To his surprise, it wasn't from either Ron or Hermione. It was from
Dumbledore.
The letter read:
Dear Harry,
I have been in conference with the Weasleys several times
since the beginning of the summer.
They have been insisting that
you stay with them. I believe Messrs.
Fred and George Weasley
have already invited you, and just to ease
any worries you might
have, I have written so that you know that
you have my permission.
Enjoy your summer. I am sure
you will find a way to
amuse yourself.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry could only stare. Dumbledore had
written to ease the exact thing he had been worrying about. He heart
gave a gigantic leap. He was going to stay with the Weasleys again
this summer! Uncle Vernon was still purple.
"Why did he send a letter addressed to you to my office?" he growled.
Harry shrugged, and smiled to himself. He wasn't sure, but he would not soon forget Uncle Vernon referring to Dumbledore as his "damn friend."
"So," said Harry, "Can I go, then?"
"Fine, but don't expect me to go about driving you anywhere," he spat.
"I never do," Harry said bluntly. He had grown less afraid of his relatives. Compared to Voldemort they were just plain cuddly.
"Right then," said Uncle Vernon, "No skin off my back. You can go."
Harry flashed a large smile at Uncle Vernon and relished in his wince. He hated to see Harry happy. He rushed upstairs, still grinning from ear to ear.
And it wasn't even his birthday, yet.