Harry Potter and the End of Dark Days: ADAPTATION #2
BY HPLUVR189
*DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THESE CHARACTERS BELONG TO ME . . . THEY ARE FULL PROPERTY OF J.K. ROWLING; THE ONLY THINGS THAT ARE MY PROPERTY IS THE STORYLINE AND PLOT
"Here on the WWN (Wizarding Wireless Network) we can exclusively reveal the proof that Peter Pettigrew, the recently discovered death in disguise murderer, was found dead near a pub in Bulgaria. All that was left of him were his mangled remains. No wizard or witch did this to him . . ." Harry dropped his quill, sat upright, and turned his head jerkily to the new radio he'd just received from Sirius, his godfather, and ex- convicted murder.It allowed Harry to get the WWN even though he still lived in Surrey with the Dursleys. The WWN was only available to wizards and witches with specially-programmed radios, now he had one. Harry never thought he could've liked a radio so much. It now allowed him to become familiar with wizard music, and since the Daily Prophet wouldn't deliver to the Dursleys due to Muggle-Wizard security problems, it allowed Harry to catch up on the happenings and occurrences taking place in the wizarding world, a place he longed to be very much. Hearing their music and hearing their news was the closest he'd ever be to their world, at least during the summer. Harry Potter, a boy, or man now, that was unusual in many different and amazing ways, was now sitting at his desk finishing a rather boring and dull essay for his teacher, Professor McGonagall, who instructed Transfiguration, on "Why the Avifors Spell Will be Useful in My Life." He had gotten into a spot of trouble at the end of sixth term, and been given extra and more difficult work than the others in his year. He groaned as he tried to think of a way to get out of this essay. What was on the outside of his window seemed much more appealing than sitting here, steaming hot and sweaty, writing an essay for a teacher who probably wouldn't even look at the measly two paragraphs he'd managed to write so far. He yearned to be outside, greeting the new, American girls that had moved in next door, whom were very nice-looking indeed. As much as he hated him, he thought that even 400 pound Dudley deserved some help, as it was apparent he was making quite a fool of himself. Harry couldn't help but laugh. He turned back to his hopeless piece of parchment and began attempting to think of something to say again. Yet, as always, his mind drifted ,but not to the beautiful and enticing surroundings, but to his girlfriend, Vicki Patterson. He and Vicki had met in sixth year. As more and more Americans came pouring into Hogwarts, he had met her that way. Although completely different in personality, they were in the same house and liked each other very much. People often said they were "the match made in heaven." They'd been seeing each other for a while, and their one year anniversary was coming up in October . . . October 31st, to be exact . . . he remembered it like it was yesterday . . .
"Where's Vicki?" Harry said, standing on his tip-toes so he could see through the crowd. Absentmindedly, Ron, who was busy ogling the girl next to him, said, "Harry, why don't you just admit that you like her as more than a friend?" "Because she IS only my friend, Ron," he said exasperatedly. But Harry knew, deep down inside, that Vicki was more than just a friend to him. He'd liked her ever since she first came to the school in September. They instantly became friends and soon after that best friends. He felt so comfortable with her. Even if their personalities were complete opposites, they were still best friends. He finally spotted her golden brown hair in the mass of people. "Vicki!" he yelled through the crowd. She must've recognized his voice, since she yelled, "That's HARRY!" without even having to turn around. She whipped around her beautiful thick hair, fanning out behind her. She finally caught sight of him and began plowing through her fellow classmates, as to clear a more direct path towards Harry. When she finally reached him, she gave him a big hug. "God, she feels good . . ." Harry thought to himself. He wanted to hold her forever. When they pulled apart, she turned to Ron, and cheerfully said, "Hi!" In a monotone, "Hi," was his measly reply. "Want to go eat? I'm so glad it's the Halloween feast . . . you know how I love to eat . . ." she said, while playfully tugging on the front of his shirt. Harry put his arms on her waist and said, "Sure." Without even saying good-bye to Ron, Harry ran off with Vicki. "Well, bye then!" Ron called after him sarcastically. He plopped down next to Vicki, and, as the feast had already begun, started helping himself to a platter of chicken. As Harry and Vicki chatted contentedly, he didn't even notice Draco Malfoy, Harry's archenemy approaching from the Slytherin table with his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Draco finally reached Harry and grabbed his ears from behind. He coolly sat next to Harry, putting his arm around him and said, "I always wondered why you were never mourning on this sad day . . ." "What are you on about, Malfoy?" Harry said. "You're telling me you don't even remember?" Vicki seemed to have perked up, but in a harsh manner and said, "Malfoy, get lost!" "No, Vicki, I want to find out what he means," he said, while turning to Malfoy again. "As I was saying," he said, glaring at Vicki, "if my parents had died on this day, I would have at least had some kind of ceremony." This remark hit Harry hard. He was right. He had never mourned very much on this day. It wasn't that he had forgotten, but he tried to put that out of his mind. It was too upsetting to think about. But, nonetheless, Harry felt his face reddening and his eyes watering. "Aw . . . poor Harry . . . are you going to cry?" Draco said nastily. Harry, trying to hold back the tears that were fighting to get out, ran as fast as he could out of the Great Hall. He ran out into the entranceway, turned, and continued running. He fell, skinned his knees, and crawled up in a dark corner in the dungeons. He finally let the howl of hurt escape from him. He cried and cried until he heard footsteps, which was he stopped abruptly. "Harry?" It was Vicki. He couldn't let her see him like this. He tried wiping his tears on his sleeves, but it was no use, he couldn't control his sharp breaths and heaving shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this. But soon enough, Vicki rounded the corner and saw his sad, pitiful self crying in a dark, dingy corner. She walked towards him and sat down. She timidly put her arms around him and fully embraced him. It was now that Harry let it all out. All Vicki was saying was, "Don't be embarrassed . . . it's okay to cry . . ." After he had composed of himself, she stood him up and looked him straight in the eye, took a deep breath and said, "Harry, I know this isn't the best time to ask you this, but I promised myself I'd ask you tonight, therefore I'm going to go through with it." She took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, "Will you be my boyfriend?" Those were the five words he'd been waiting to hear all year. Almost automatically, his response was, "Yes! Of course!" Her face broke into a smile and said, "Well . . . okay then." She hesitantly took his hand and started walking back towards the Great Hall, with Harry by her side. As they enttered, Harry didn't care if his eyes were blotchy and red. He had a girlfriend now and that was all that mattered . . .
Yes . . . that was how Vicki Patterson had come into his life. The only thing he was afraid of was, since he hadn't talked to her all summer, would things be . . . "weird"? Would things be different between them? Would she have met another guy? But, it was Vicki, who was extremely loyal. If there was another guy in her life, she would've written right away. During the summer, Vicki was back home in America. She lived in Pennsylvania. Harry had always longed to go to America, but had never gotten the opportunity. He'd heard that it truly was an amazing country . . . perhaps he'd be able to go there someday, preferably with Vicki. It was now that Harry was knocked out of his plethora of thoughts. An owl came hurtling through the window, landing right on Harry's bed, with a soft "thumpf." It stood upright and looked at Harry sternly, almost signaling for him to take the scrolled piece of parchment form his scrawny little leg. Harry moved forward and followed the owl's gesticulations until it looked satisfied. It ruffled its feathers irritably, and it was now that Harry realized it had a nametag on it. He moved closer, to look at it, and it said: "PROPERTY OF THE DEATHS & NOTICES OFFICE AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC." This frightened Harry very much. He was anxious to find out who died. He frantically scrambled around to find a letter opener, and once he found it, he threw the letter on his desk and sliced it open. It read . . . "Dear Mr. Potter: We are sorry to inform you that a Mr. -" "THAT BOY!" Harry whipped around, scared, and in the process of this, dropped the letter. To his distress, the letter conveniently dropped down into this vent. He dropped to the floor, trying to squeeze his hand through the vent bars, but it was no use. That letter was gone forever. Harry could not ignore the thumping footsteps that were now nearing his room. Before he knew it, and, like always, the usual two bangs resounded around his room, coming from the door that was just about to be knocked down by his large and beefy uncle. "BOY! COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!" Uncle Vernon yelled. "Coming, Uncle Vernon," Harry said monotonously. He trudged towards the door and slowly unlocked it, dreading what was on the other side. He opened the door all the way and there stood Uncle Vernon, holding Dudley by the scruff of the neck, his face purpling a deeper shade of magenta with every minute passing by. "What?" Harry asked, totally clueless. "You did it, boy. You did!" "Did what?" Uncle Vernon ushered Dudley forward. His piggy little eyes were brimming with tears as his pink chin trembled. To Harry's amusement, when Dudley opened his mouth, nothing came out. But what did come out were five tiny bubbles. Harry's initial reaction was to double up with laughter, but after 16 years with the Dursleys, he knew better. Harry continued to stare at Dudley, and finally looked up at Uncle Vernon, saying, "I didn't do it." "What're you on about? Of course you did. Come now, boy! Put him right!" "I'm telling you, I didn't do it. Perhaps he swallowed a bar of soap." Uncle Vernon eyed him with pure contempt, but grabbed Dudley again and walked away. Harry slammed his door behind them. He knew Dudley didn't swallow a bar of soap. Not even he was stupid enough to do that. Yes . . . it had to have been a wizard, and Harry knew he hadn't done it . . . but what did this mean? Was there another wizard nearby? After he finished with his thoughtful inquiries, he sat back down at his desk. He saw the rope that had scrolled the letter from the Ministry of Magic. It was now that he was reminded of the parchment that had come for him. Who had died? He knew it was a 'Mister' . . . but who could it be? He now began to worry about Ron, Dumbledore, and Sirius. It had to have been someone close to him . . . or else they wouldn't have personally notified him . . . he didn't want to have to wait another five weeks until he found out at Hogwarts. He decided he'd write the Weasleys and ask them what was going on. Perhaps they'd know . . . or so he hoped. As he was tired of sitting in his room, and guessing he'd finish his Transfiguration essay later, Harry got up and opened the door. As he walked down the hallway, he realized how much that pale blue wallpaper bothered him. It had little flowers on it. Harry felt a strange urge to rip it down. He shook off the strange feeling and turned left to go down the steps. All of a sudden, he heard loud voices coming from inside the living room. As Harry neared it, they became clearer and more distinct. "What're you doing in my house!" he heard Uncle Vernon shout. "I'm here for Harry, that's it . . ." said a husky voice that Harry recognized. "I do not and will not stand for this nonsense! Get out of my house!" his uncle roared. Harry inched near the door, grabbed the handle, and was about to open it when the next few words struck him like a bolt of lightning. "Mr. Dursley, I've come because Harry's godfather was murdered last night." The voice was of Albus Dumbledore, the ancient headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, whom Harry had grown to trust greatly over the years. It was now that Harry flung the door open. Looking at Dumbledore with a tear-stricken face, he said one word, "How?" "If you'd allow me to take you into a more private room, I'd gladly, yet sadly, explain the situation and circumstances to you." Harry led the way out of the living room and into the computer room. "It happened the night before last. He was lying in bed and the Ministry is guessing he committed suicide . . . no one knows or will ever know what drove him to it . . . he was clear of all charges; had a loving godson; a 2nd chance at life . . . and he blew it. As traumatizing as this event must be for you, in time, you will understand and accept. Sirius is in a better place now . . . where he can look over you all the time . . . I'm truly sorry, Harry. This is just as much of a loss for me as it is for you, so I know what you're going through. He was one of my dearest friends. And I wish I could sit and mourn and talk with you, but I must set forth in my other tasks. Good-bye Harry. I'll see you when you return to school." Dumbledore turned swiftly on his heel and walked out of the computer room. Before Harry knew it, Dumbledore was gone. That must've been who the letter was about then, Harry said to himself. He couldn't believe he was gone. Sirius had always given him an extra sense of security. He now felt so vulnerable and . . . small. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort got him now. But Harry tried shaking those thoughts out of his head. He had to deal with the Dursley's inquisitive interrogations when he left the room. Maybe he'd get his broom and fly away . . . away from all these people, into another world. It was then that he was reminded of all the people he cared about . . . Ron, Hermione, Vicki . . . he just couldn't do that to them. During all these thought processes, Harry had finally awoken from his summer daze. He was standing face to face with a purple-faced Uncle Veron. Before he could go on his blazing row, Harry turned and scampered out of the room as quickly as he could and down the hall. He opened the unlocked cupboard door, pulled out his invisibility cloak and broom and ran for the door, with a bumbling, furious Uncle Vernon tailing closely behind him. Harry flung open the door, was on his broomstick, and soaring into the sky before Uncle Vernon even reached the doorway. He wrapped his invisibility cloak tightly around hi and continued to fly into the sky. It felt so indescribably good to be back on his Firebolt, back where he belonged. He had nowhere to go, and that feeling was only further exerting the thrill of this broom ride. Perhaps he'd go to Hogwarts . . . if he only knew where that was. Or perhaps the Weasleys? Yes . . . that's where he would go. His second home . . . one of the scarce places where he actually felt wanted and loved. Mrs. Weasley, the only "true" mother figure he'd had in his life, was always happy to have him stay. He was just hoping they weren't too busy . . . Around midday, he saw a sign for "Ottery St. Catchpole" which is where the Weasleys lived in their ancient seven story house. Harry was really looking forward to seeing his favorite wizarding family again. He had always loved the chaos of the Weasley house. The talk, the screams, the laughter, and just the all around energy. It was an amazing place to be. He didn't think Ron knew how lucky he really was. He sighted it and continued flying. Finally, the Burrow came into view. At a towering height of about 100 feet above the ground, he began his plunge towards the ground. He imagined he was in the Quidditch World Cup, performing an incredible dive for the pale but excited spectators all around. He could almost see the Snitch. He was about to pull out of the dive, when he heard a person screech, "HARRY!" Harry looked up above ten feet above the ground, to his confused but pleasured puzzlement, and saw Vicki Patterson standing about fifty yards away. Before Harry knew it though, he was eating pavement, and his right arm was crumpled beneath him. He let out a pained outcry as he looked up. Vicki had reached him and dropped to her knees. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Are you all right?" The sincerity of her sweet, oily voice pushed Harry's troubles away. He smiled at her and said, "What're you doing here?" For a fleeting second, Harry could've sworn he saw panic overcome her eyes. He felt her hands tense up on his shoulders. But you never know, he probably imagined it. "Nevermind that, let's get you back to the Burrow!" This was all very confusing. It's not like Vicki was very good friends with Ron. Maybe she was here for him. Perhaps they'd established a direct ESP! However very doubtful that was, it was still nice to think about. She held him all the way back to the Burrow. They went into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was sitting with Hermione. "Oh, Harry! What happened?" Mrs. Weasley asked concernedly. Embarrassed at his own stupid mistake, he remained silent. Hermione got up, put her arm around Harry and sat him down at the table, resulting in a very dirty look Vicki directed towards Hermione. As Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, looking for a book on mending bones, Ron came in, "What's all the commotion for?" "HARRY! WHAT'S UP?" Harry stood up and gave Ron a quick, masculine hug. Ron turned to Vicki. "Vicki Patterson, what're you doing in my house? Is she with you, Harry? Because if so, I don't' really want her here . . ." "Wait, do you mean YOU didn't even know she was here?" "Yeah, Vicki, why ARE you here?" Hermione asked. With a nasty sneer towards Hermione, Vicki said, "Your mother invited me to come and stay . . ." Mrs. Weasley had left and come back in. "Mum, did you invite Vicki-" "So, Harry, how has your summer been?" Vicki said, speaking louder than Ron. It seemed as if she had interrupted Ron intentionally. When Harry and Vicki weren't looking, Ron and Hermione gave each other suspicious looks. Neither of them were sure about this Vicki Patterson. Both Ron and Hermione tried to shrug off their negative suspicions and attempted to have as enjoyable of a summer as possible, but only to realize they were unsuccessful. It seemed as if Vicki had a medival power over Harry. That's all he seemed to think about. He didn't even have time for his best friends anymore. All of his spare time was either spent with Vicki or isolated in his room thinking of Vicki. It seemed as if he was concerned with Vicki so much, he ddin't even notice that four Weasleys who were normally there during the summer weren't. The air was human, the kind that made your clothes cling to your body. Harry didn't seem to mind, though, as he was so preoccupied with Vicki. Hermione finally spoke up. "Vicki, would you please excuse me with Harry? I've got to have a little talk with him." With a harsh glare, Vicki nodded indignantly. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, and pulled him out of the kitchen. Only to add to her annoyance, Harry never took his eyes off of Vicki. Hermione sat him on the couch. She looked him hard in the eye, and all that responded was Harry's dumb gaze. So she slapped him. The reaction this time was much more harsh. Harry seemed to have awoken from his stupor and stood up angrily, holding the side of his face in pain, yelling, "What did you do that for!" She pushed him roughly back on the couch and began pacing angrily back and forth, to gather her thoughts before she completely let loose. "You deserved it, Harry Potter! You should see the way you act around Vicki. It's sad, nearly pathetic. You're acting as if you were in love with her, which you aren't! I see the way she looks at me when I talk to you, or even look at you. It's almost like she considers you a prize to be won, like a teddy bear in a carnival game. I'm telling you, she shows no affection towards you. You're only going to end up hurt!" Harry stood up again, getting ready to shout something, but Hermione pushed Harry back down furiously. "Now it's on a rare occasion that you make me angry, but now I am, and I'm furious. You don't even have time for your friends anymore. If you think I'm mad, you should see Ron. You've barely said more than a sentence to me all summer, and I don't think you've said one word to Ron. I'd say your taking us for granted, and I hope you know that I'm, along with Ron, not always going to be here, like when Vicki breaks your heart. I'm tired of it and I don't need it. And now it's time for you to make a decision. It's either your friends or your girlfriend. Now, both you and I know what decision you should make, but lately you'r heart's been speaking for your brain, so we'll see what happens." Harry stood up, with a red, angered face, shouted, "MY GIRLFRIEND! I CHOOSE VICKI! I thought friends were supposed to always be there for each other. I thought FRIENDS would be happy for each other. I just got lonely and sick of you and Ron. You and Ron always had each other. I wanted that kind of relationship. And iyou're implying that Vicki is using me, you're wrong, because I love her! And she loves me back! I think you're just jealous! Well, I guess this is good-bye, Hermione. It's been great, it really has!" And with that, he stormed up the steps. Harry was outraged that Hermione had spoken to him like that. She was never very outspoken and usually held her tongue fairly well. Now, normally, if a situation like this had occurred at the Dursleys, he would march to the cupboard under the stairs, grab his spell books, wand, and Firebolt, and fly out the door, just as he had that hot and humind morning back in July, but as he had nowhere else to go, he stayed put with the Weasley until school started. As awkward as it was with Ron and Hermione, he still had Mrs. Weasley and Vicki to talk to. They still treated him like a human being, at least. One night at dinner, Harry looked up, and said, "Mrs. Weasley, where're Percy, Bill, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley?" Ignoring the glares of Ron and Hermione, Harry looked politely around, slightly confused. But all had gone quiet in the Weasley house. Not a creature stirred. The Weasleys, Hermione, and Vicki bwoed their heads, and Mrs. Weasley's cries of anguish broke the awkward silence. Hermione gave Harry a dirty look. It was al ook that seemed to pierce right deep into his soul. He suddenly realized how much he missed her. He missed Ron, too, but just couldn't bring himself to admitting it out loud. He looked over at Ron, expecting a diryt look in return, but al lRon seemed to be doing was silently starting at his dinner plate. Vicki spoke up angrily, "Hermione, don't look at him like that. He didn't know." "Well, maybe if he wasn't so preoccupied with American trash like you, he would've noticed!" Ron slammed both hands on the table and said, "Would you both shut- up? I'm tired of fighting. Hermione, it also wasn't Harry's fault." Ron looked up from his dinner plate and, for a fleeting second, Harry thought he saw Ron wink, but then he looked toward Vicki, who had no reaction to the supposed "wink." "I think it's best if I just go to bed," Harry said. As he got up and left the kitchen, he felt three sets of eyes burning into him. Harry could not wait until school started again. Then maybe he, Ron, and Hermione could bury the hatchet, and possibly Hermione and Vicki could become friends. All Harry wanted was the best of both worlds, his girlfriend and his best friends. But as he had learned in the past many times, you rarely got what you wanted. As Harry looked at his "Countdown to Hogwarts" calendar, he realized, that somewhere in all this mess, Harry had turned 17. But, it was very odd he hadn't received birthday greetings from any of his fellow wizards. He certainly knew he wasn't getting anything from Ron or Hermione, and Hagrid, well . . . that had happened two years ago and he'd recovered since then. It just wasn't like the Weasleys to ignore his birthday. And it was then that he realized he hadn't seen Fred or George all summer, as well as Ginny. He wondered where they all were. He supposed they were traveling somewhere in Britain. A knock came at his door. He went to open it and the sight he met was so unexpected it made him jump backwards in surprise. There stood Ron Weasley, shirt half on his shoulder, red hair a mess, and a tear-stricken face. He looked so sad. "Ron . . ." was all Harry managed to say in a sympathetic tone. Ron walked a step closer to Harry and collapsed into his arms. He erupted into horrible cries . . . he wailed, he yelled . . . all Harry did was stand there and hugged him. "Harry . . . I'm so sorry . . . so sorry . . . didn't want . . . jealous . . . Hermione . . . Vicki . . ." was what Harry deciphered out of Ron's somewhat comprehensible jumbled sentences. "It's okay, Ron . . . would you like to sit?" Ron stepped away and nodded. It was lik they were just meeting for the first time. That awkward connection between them, still trying to linger, trying to hold on, but couldn't hold on as it unmistakably slipped into the icy-hot depths of Harry and Ron's hearts. After Ron had composed of himself, and was capable of making full- length sentences, he said, sniffling, "I thought you deserved to know the truth about Percy, Charlie, Bill, and Dad. Thought you should know the turht about me . . . how I was feeling."
*DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THESE CHARACTERS BELONG TO ME . . . THEY ARE FULL PROPERTY OF J.K. ROWLING; THE ONLY THINGS THAT ARE MY PROPERTY IS THE STORYLINE AND PLOT
"Here on the WWN (Wizarding Wireless Network) we can exclusively reveal the proof that Peter Pettigrew, the recently discovered death in disguise murderer, was found dead near a pub in Bulgaria. All that was left of him were his mangled remains. No wizard or witch did this to him . . ." Harry dropped his quill, sat upright, and turned his head jerkily to the new radio he'd just received from Sirius, his godfather, and ex- convicted murder.It allowed Harry to get the WWN even though he still lived in Surrey with the Dursleys. The WWN was only available to wizards and witches with specially-programmed radios, now he had one. Harry never thought he could've liked a radio so much. It now allowed him to become familiar with wizard music, and since the Daily Prophet wouldn't deliver to the Dursleys due to Muggle-Wizard security problems, it allowed Harry to catch up on the happenings and occurrences taking place in the wizarding world, a place he longed to be very much. Hearing their music and hearing their news was the closest he'd ever be to their world, at least during the summer. Harry Potter, a boy, or man now, that was unusual in many different and amazing ways, was now sitting at his desk finishing a rather boring and dull essay for his teacher, Professor McGonagall, who instructed Transfiguration, on "Why the Avifors Spell Will be Useful in My Life." He had gotten into a spot of trouble at the end of sixth term, and been given extra and more difficult work than the others in his year. He groaned as he tried to think of a way to get out of this essay. What was on the outside of his window seemed much more appealing than sitting here, steaming hot and sweaty, writing an essay for a teacher who probably wouldn't even look at the measly two paragraphs he'd managed to write so far. He yearned to be outside, greeting the new, American girls that had moved in next door, whom were very nice-looking indeed. As much as he hated him, he thought that even 400 pound Dudley deserved some help, as it was apparent he was making quite a fool of himself. Harry couldn't help but laugh. He turned back to his hopeless piece of parchment and began attempting to think of something to say again. Yet, as always, his mind drifted ,but not to the beautiful and enticing surroundings, but to his girlfriend, Vicki Patterson. He and Vicki had met in sixth year. As more and more Americans came pouring into Hogwarts, he had met her that way. Although completely different in personality, they were in the same house and liked each other very much. People often said they were "the match made in heaven." They'd been seeing each other for a while, and their one year anniversary was coming up in October . . . October 31st, to be exact . . . he remembered it like it was yesterday . . .
"Where's Vicki?" Harry said, standing on his tip-toes so he could see through the crowd. Absentmindedly, Ron, who was busy ogling the girl next to him, said, "Harry, why don't you just admit that you like her as more than a friend?" "Because she IS only my friend, Ron," he said exasperatedly. But Harry knew, deep down inside, that Vicki was more than just a friend to him. He'd liked her ever since she first came to the school in September. They instantly became friends and soon after that best friends. He felt so comfortable with her. Even if their personalities were complete opposites, they were still best friends. He finally spotted her golden brown hair in the mass of people. "Vicki!" he yelled through the crowd. She must've recognized his voice, since she yelled, "That's HARRY!" without even having to turn around. She whipped around her beautiful thick hair, fanning out behind her. She finally caught sight of him and began plowing through her fellow classmates, as to clear a more direct path towards Harry. When she finally reached him, she gave him a big hug. "God, she feels good . . ." Harry thought to himself. He wanted to hold her forever. When they pulled apart, she turned to Ron, and cheerfully said, "Hi!" In a monotone, "Hi," was his measly reply. "Want to go eat? I'm so glad it's the Halloween feast . . . you know how I love to eat . . ." she said, while playfully tugging on the front of his shirt. Harry put his arms on her waist and said, "Sure." Without even saying good-bye to Ron, Harry ran off with Vicki. "Well, bye then!" Ron called after him sarcastically. He plopped down next to Vicki, and, as the feast had already begun, started helping himself to a platter of chicken. As Harry and Vicki chatted contentedly, he didn't even notice Draco Malfoy, Harry's archenemy approaching from the Slytherin table with his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. Draco finally reached Harry and grabbed his ears from behind. He coolly sat next to Harry, putting his arm around him and said, "I always wondered why you were never mourning on this sad day . . ." "What are you on about, Malfoy?" Harry said. "You're telling me you don't even remember?" Vicki seemed to have perked up, but in a harsh manner and said, "Malfoy, get lost!" "No, Vicki, I want to find out what he means," he said, while turning to Malfoy again. "As I was saying," he said, glaring at Vicki, "if my parents had died on this day, I would have at least had some kind of ceremony." This remark hit Harry hard. He was right. He had never mourned very much on this day. It wasn't that he had forgotten, but he tried to put that out of his mind. It was too upsetting to think about. But, nonetheless, Harry felt his face reddening and his eyes watering. "Aw . . . poor Harry . . . are you going to cry?" Draco said nastily. Harry, trying to hold back the tears that were fighting to get out, ran as fast as he could out of the Great Hall. He ran out into the entranceway, turned, and continued running. He fell, skinned his knees, and crawled up in a dark corner in the dungeons. He finally let the howl of hurt escape from him. He cried and cried until he heard footsteps, which was he stopped abruptly. "Harry?" It was Vicki. He couldn't let her see him like this. He tried wiping his tears on his sleeves, but it was no use, he couldn't control his sharp breaths and heaving shoulders. He couldn't remember the last time he'd cried like this. But soon enough, Vicki rounded the corner and saw his sad, pitiful self crying in a dark, dingy corner. She walked towards him and sat down. She timidly put her arms around him and fully embraced him. It was now that Harry let it all out. All Vicki was saying was, "Don't be embarrassed . . . it's okay to cry . . ." After he had composed of himself, she stood him up and looked him straight in the eye, took a deep breath and said, "Harry, I know this isn't the best time to ask you this, but I promised myself I'd ask you tonight, therefore I'm going to go through with it." She took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, "Will you be my boyfriend?" Those were the five words he'd been waiting to hear all year. Almost automatically, his response was, "Yes! Of course!" Her face broke into a smile and said, "Well . . . okay then." She hesitantly took his hand and started walking back towards the Great Hall, with Harry by her side. As they enttered, Harry didn't care if his eyes were blotchy and red. He had a girlfriend now and that was all that mattered . . .
Yes . . . that was how Vicki Patterson had come into his life. The only thing he was afraid of was, since he hadn't talked to her all summer, would things be . . . "weird"? Would things be different between them? Would she have met another guy? But, it was Vicki, who was extremely loyal. If there was another guy in her life, she would've written right away. During the summer, Vicki was back home in America. She lived in Pennsylvania. Harry had always longed to go to America, but had never gotten the opportunity. He'd heard that it truly was an amazing country . . . perhaps he'd be able to go there someday, preferably with Vicki. It was now that Harry was knocked out of his plethora of thoughts. An owl came hurtling through the window, landing right on Harry's bed, with a soft "thumpf." It stood upright and looked at Harry sternly, almost signaling for him to take the scrolled piece of parchment form his scrawny little leg. Harry moved forward and followed the owl's gesticulations until it looked satisfied. It ruffled its feathers irritably, and it was now that Harry realized it had a nametag on it. He moved closer, to look at it, and it said: "PROPERTY OF THE DEATHS & NOTICES OFFICE AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC." This frightened Harry very much. He was anxious to find out who died. He frantically scrambled around to find a letter opener, and once he found it, he threw the letter on his desk and sliced it open. It read . . . "Dear Mr. Potter: We are sorry to inform you that a Mr. -" "THAT BOY!" Harry whipped around, scared, and in the process of this, dropped the letter. To his distress, the letter conveniently dropped down into this vent. He dropped to the floor, trying to squeeze his hand through the vent bars, but it was no use. That letter was gone forever. Harry could not ignore the thumping footsteps that were now nearing his room. Before he knew it, and, like always, the usual two bangs resounded around his room, coming from the door that was just about to be knocked down by his large and beefy uncle. "BOY! COME OUT HERE RIGHT NOW!" Uncle Vernon yelled. "Coming, Uncle Vernon," Harry said monotonously. He trudged towards the door and slowly unlocked it, dreading what was on the other side. He opened the door all the way and there stood Uncle Vernon, holding Dudley by the scruff of the neck, his face purpling a deeper shade of magenta with every minute passing by. "What?" Harry asked, totally clueless. "You did it, boy. You did!" "Did what?" Uncle Vernon ushered Dudley forward. His piggy little eyes were brimming with tears as his pink chin trembled. To Harry's amusement, when Dudley opened his mouth, nothing came out. But what did come out were five tiny bubbles. Harry's initial reaction was to double up with laughter, but after 16 years with the Dursleys, he knew better. Harry continued to stare at Dudley, and finally looked up at Uncle Vernon, saying, "I didn't do it." "What're you on about? Of course you did. Come now, boy! Put him right!" "I'm telling you, I didn't do it. Perhaps he swallowed a bar of soap." Uncle Vernon eyed him with pure contempt, but grabbed Dudley again and walked away. Harry slammed his door behind them. He knew Dudley didn't swallow a bar of soap. Not even he was stupid enough to do that. Yes . . . it had to have been a wizard, and Harry knew he hadn't done it . . . but what did this mean? Was there another wizard nearby? After he finished with his thoughtful inquiries, he sat back down at his desk. He saw the rope that had scrolled the letter from the Ministry of Magic. It was now that he was reminded of the parchment that had come for him. Who had died? He knew it was a 'Mister' . . . but who could it be? He now began to worry about Ron, Dumbledore, and Sirius. It had to have been someone close to him . . . or else they wouldn't have personally notified him . . . he didn't want to have to wait another five weeks until he found out at Hogwarts. He decided he'd write the Weasleys and ask them what was going on. Perhaps they'd know . . . or so he hoped. As he was tired of sitting in his room, and guessing he'd finish his Transfiguration essay later, Harry got up and opened the door. As he walked down the hallway, he realized how much that pale blue wallpaper bothered him. It had little flowers on it. Harry felt a strange urge to rip it down. He shook off the strange feeling and turned left to go down the steps. All of a sudden, he heard loud voices coming from inside the living room. As Harry neared it, they became clearer and more distinct. "What're you doing in my house!" he heard Uncle Vernon shout. "I'm here for Harry, that's it . . ." said a husky voice that Harry recognized. "I do not and will not stand for this nonsense! Get out of my house!" his uncle roared. Harry inched near the door, grabbed the handle, and was about to open it when the next few words struck him like a bolt of lightning. "Mr. Dursley, I've come because Harry's godfather was murdered last night." The voice was of Albus Dumbledore, the ancient headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, whom Harry had grown to trust greatly over the years. It was now that Harry flung the door open. Looking at Dumbledore with a tear-stricken face, he said one word, "How?" "If you'd allow me to take you into a more private room, I'd gladly, yet sadly, explain the situation and circumstances to you." Harry led the way out of the living room and into the computer room. "It happened the night before last. He was lying in bed and the Ministry is guessing he committed suicide . . . no one knows or will ever know what drove him to it . . . he was clear of all charges; had a loving godson; a 2nd chance at life . . . and he blew it. As traumatizing as this event must be for you, in time, you will understand and accept. Sirius is in a better place now . . . where he can look over you all the time . . . I'm truly sorry, Harry. This is just as much of a loss for me as it is for you, so I know what you're going through. He was one of my dearest friends. And I wish I could sit and mourn and talk with you, but I must set forth in my other tasks. Good-bye Harry. I'll see you when you return to school." Dumbledore turned swiftly on his heel and walked out of the computer room. Before Harry knew it, Dumbledore was gone. That must've been who the letter was about then, Harry said to himself. He couldn't believe he was gone. Sirius had always given him an extra sense of security. He now felt so vulnerable and . . . small. It was only a matter of time before Voldemort got him now. But Harry tried shaking those thoughts out of his head. He had to deal with the Dursley's inquisitive interrogations when he left the room. Maybe he'd get his broom and fly away . . . away from all these people, into another world. It was then that he was reminded of all the people he cared about . . . Ron, Hermione, Vicki . . . he just couldn't do that to them. During all these thought processes, Harry had finally awoken from his summer daze. He was standing face to face with a purple-faced Uncle Veron. Before he could go on his blazing row, Harry turned and scampered out of the room as quickly as he could and down the hall. He opened the unlocked cupboard door, pulled out his invisibility cloak and broom and ran for the door, with a bumbling, furious Uncle Vernon tailing closely behind him. Harry flung open the door, was on his broomstick, and soaring into the sky before Uncle Vernon even reached the doorway. He wrapped his invisibility cloak tightly around hi and continued to fly into the sky. It felt so indescribably good to be back on his Firebolt, back where he belonged. He had nowhere to go, and that feeling was only further exerting the thrill of this broom ride. Perhaps he'd go to Hogwarts . . . if he only knew where that was. Or perhaps the Weasleys? Yes . . . that's where he would go. His second home . . . one of the scarce places where he actually felt wanted and loved. Mrs. Weasley, the only "true" mother figure he'd had in his life, was always happy to have him stay. He was just hoping they weren't too busy . . . Around midday, he saw a sign for "Ottery St. Catchpole" which is where the Weasleys lived in their ancient seven story house. Harry was really looking forward to seeing his favorite wizarding family again. He had always loved the chaos of the Weasley house. The talk, the screams, the laughter, and just the all around energy. It was an amazing place to be. He didn't think Ron knew how lucky he really was. He sighted it and continued flying. Finally, the Burrow came into view. At a towering height of about 100 feet above the ground, he began his plunge towards the ground. He imagined he was in the Quidditch World Cup, performing an incredible dive for the pale but excited spectators all around. He could almost see the Snitch. He was about to pull out of the dive, when he heard a person screech, "HARRY!" Harry looked up above ten feet above the ground, to his confused but pleasured puzzlement, and saw Vicki Patterson standing about fifty yards away. Before Harry knew it though, he was eating pavement, and his right arm was crumpled beneath him. He let out a pained outcry as he looked up. Vicki had reached him and dropped to her knees. She put her hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes. "Are you all right?" The sincerity of her sweet, oily voice pushed Harry's troubles away. He smiled at her and said, "What're you doing here?" For a fleeting second, Harry could've sworn he saw panic overcome her eyes. He felt her hands tense up on his shoulders. But you never know, he probably imagined it. "Nevermind that, let's get you back to the Burrow!" This was all very confusing. It's not like Vicki was very good friends with Ron. Maybe she was here for him. Perhaps they'd established a direct ESP! However very doubtful that was, it was still nice to think about. She held him all the way back to the Burrow. They went into the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was sitting with Hermione. "Oh, Harry! What happened?" Mrs. Weasley asked concernedly. Embarrassed at his own stupid mistake, he remained silent. Hermione got up, put her arm around Harry and sat him down at the table, resulting in a very dirty look Vicki directed towards Hermione. As Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, looking for a book on mending bones, Ron came in, "What's all the commotion for?" "HARRY! WHAT'S UP?" Harry stood up and gave Ron a quick, masculine hug. Ron turned to Vicki. "Vicki Patterson, what're you doing in my house? Is she with you, Harry? Because if so, I don't' really want her here . . ." "Wait, do you mean YOU didn't even know she was here?" "Yeah, Vicki, why ARE you here?" Hermione asked. With a nasty sneer towards Hermione, Vicki said, "Your mother invited me to come and stay . . ." Mrs. Weasley had left and come back in. "Mum, did you invite Vicki-" "So, Harry, how has your summer been?" Vicki said, speaking louder than Ron. It seemed as if she had interrupted Ron intentionally. When Harry and Vicki weren't looking, Ron and Hermione gave each other suspicious looks. Neither of them were sure about this Vicki Patterson. Both Ron and Hermione tried to shrug off their negative suspicions and attempted to have as enjoyable of a summer as possible, but only to realize they were unsuccessful. It seemed as if Vicki had a medival power over Harry. That's all he seemed to think about. He didn't even have time for his best friends anymore. All of his spare time was either spent with Vicki or isolated in his room thinking of Vicki. It seemed as if he was concerned with Vicki so much, he ddin't even notice that four Weasleys who were normally there during the summer weren't. The air was human, the kind that made your clothes cling to your body. Harry didn't seem to mind, though, as he was so preoccupied with Vicki. Hermione finally spoke up. "Vicki, would you please excuse me with Harry? I've got to have a little talk with him." With a harsh glare, Vicki nodded indignantly. Hermione grabbed Harry's arm, and pulled him out of the kitchen. Only to add to her annoyance, Harry never took his eyes off of Vicki. Hermione sat him on the couch. She looked him hard in the eye, and all that responded was Harry's dumb gaze. So she slapped him. The reaction this time was much more harsh. Harry seemed to have awoken from his stupor and stood up angrily, holding the side of his face in pain, yelling, "What did you do that for!" She pushed him roughly back on the couch and began pacing angrily back and forth, to gather her thoughts before she completely let loose. "You deserved it, Harry Potter! You should see the way you act around Vicki. It's sad, nearly pathetic. You're acting as if you were in love with her, which you aren't! I see the way she looks at me when I talk to you, or even look at you. It's almost like she considers you a prize to be won, like a teddy bear in a carnival game. I'm telling you, she shows no affection towards you. You're only going to end up hurt!" Harry stood up again, getting ready to shout something, but Hermione pushed Harry back down furiously. "Now it's on a rare occasion that you make me angry, but now I am, and I'm furious. You don't even have time for your friends anymore. If you think I'm mad, you should see Ron. You've barely said more than a sentence to me all summer, and I don't think you've said one word to Ron. I'd say your taking us for granted, and I hope you know that I'm, along with Ron, not always going to be here, like when Vicki breaks your heart. I'm tired of it and I don't need it. And now it's time for you to make a decision. It's either your friends or your girlfriend. Now, both you and I know what decision you should make, but lately you'r heart's been speaking for your brain, so we'll see what happens." Harry stood up, with a red, angered face, shouted, "MY GIRLFRIEND! I CHOOSE VICKI! I thought friends were supposed to always be there for each other. I thought FRIENDS would be happy for each other. I just got lonely and sick of you and Ron. You and Ron always had each other. I wanted that kind of relationship. And iyou're implying that Vicki is using me, you're wrong, because I love her! And she loves me back! I think you're just jealous! Well, I guess this is good-bye, Hermione. It's been great, it really has!" And with that, he stormed up the steps. Harry was outraged that Hermione had spoken to him like that. She was never very outspoken and usually held her tongue fairly well. Now, normally, if a situation like this had occurred at the Dursleys, he would march to the cupboard under the stairs, grab his spell books, wand, and Firebolt, and fly out the door, just as he had that hot and humind morning back in July, but as he had nowhere else to go, he stayed put with the Weasley until school started. As awkward as it was with Ron and Hermione, he still had Mrs. Weasley and Vicki to talk to. They still treated him like a human being, at least. One night at dinner, Harry looked up, and said, "Mrs. Weasley, where're Percy, Bill, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley?" Ignoring the glares of Ron and Hermione, Harry looked politely around, slightly confused. But all had gone quiet in the Weasley house. Not a creature stirred. The Weasleys, Hermione, and Vicki bwoed their heads, and Mrs. Weasley's cries of anguish broke the awkward silence. Hermione gave Harry a dirty look. It was al ook that seemed to pierce right deep into his soul. He suddenly realized how much he missed her. He missed Ron, too, but just couldn't bring himself to admitting it out loud. He looked over at Ron, expecting a diryt look in return, but al lRon seemed to be doing was silently starting at his dinner plate. Vicki spoke up angrily, "Hermione, don't look at him like that. He didn't know." "Well, maybe if he wasn't so preoccupied with American trash like you, he would've noticed!" Ron slammed both hands on the table and said, "Would you both shut- up? I'm tired of fighting. Hermione, it also wasn't Harry's fault." Ron looked up from his dinner plate and, for a fleeting second, Harry thought he saw Ron wink, but then he looked toward Vicki, who had no reaction to the supposed "wink." "I think it's best if I just go to bed," Harry said. As he got up and left the kitchen, he felt three sets of eyes burning into him. Harry could not wait until school started again. Then maybe he, Ron, and Hermione could bury the hatchet, and possibly Hermione and Vicki could become friends. All Harry wanted was the best of both worlds, his girlfriend and his best friends. But as he had learned in the past many times, you rarely got what you wanted. As Harry looked at his "Countdown to Hogwarts" calendar, he realized, that somewhere in all this mess, Harry had turned 17. But, it was very odd he hadn't received birthday greetings from any of his fellow wizards. He certainly knew he wasn't getting anything from Ron or Hermione, and Hagrid, well . . . that had happened two years ago and he'd recovered since then. It just wasn't like the Weasleys to ignore his birthday. And it was then that he realized he hadn't seen Fred or George all summer, as well as Ginny. He wondered where they all were. He supposed they were traveling somewhere in Britain. A knock came at his door. He went to open it and the sight he met was so unexpected it made him jump backwards in surprise. There stood Ron Weasley, shirt half on his shoulder, red hair a mess, and a tear-stricken face. He looked so sad. "Ron . . ." was all Harry managed to say in a sympathetic tone. Ron walked a step closer to Harry and collapsed into his arms. He erupted into horrible cries . . . he wailed, he yelled . . . all Harry did was stand there and hugged him. "Harry . . . I'm so sorry . . . so sorry . . . didn't want . . . jealous . . . Hermione . . . Vicki . . ." was what Harry deciphered out of Ron's somewhat comprehensible jumbled sentences. "It's okay, Ron . . . would you like to sit?" Ron stepped away and nodded. It was lik they were just meeting for the first time. That awkward connection between them, still trying to linger, trying to hold on, but couldn't hold on as it unmistakably slipped into the icy-hot depths of Harry and Ron's hearts. After Ron had composed of himself, and was capable of making full- length sentences, he said, sniffling, "I thought you deserved to know the truth about Percy, Charlie, Bill, and Dad. Thought you should know the turht about me . . . how I was feeling."