"No!"
Harry Potter awoke with a start, springing up so quickly that he lost his balance and landed in a tangled heap on the floor of his room. He winced a bit as he tried to disentangle himself from his sweat soaked sheets. He had dreamed again. He had been dreaming every night since his return to Privet Dr. and each night they became a little more violent, a little more vivid and a little more perverse. The first few nights he had dreamed only of Cedric and that night in the graveyard, Cedric dying, Cedric blaming him for his death, Voldemort returning, the list continued on and on. But the last few nights Harry's dreams had taken a nasty turn. He'd begun to dream of all the other people who's lives he had ruined, his parents, Sirius, the danger his friends were in by associating with him. The dreams were getting to the point that Harry feared sleep, and even when exhaustion won out Harry rarely slept more than an hour or two during the night. Harry's summer was very rapidly shaping up to be the worst summer that he had ever experienced. Between the lack of sleep and the endless list of chores Harry was beginning to look rather sickly. He wasn't eating well, partly because his relatives didn't feed him well, and partly because he just wasn't hungry. To add to his diminishing appearance he constantly sported heavy bags under his eyes and his eyes were always blood shot. Basically he looked a lot like Sirius had when he'd first left Azkaban.
Harry sighed and walked over to the window, he missed Sirius. He had wanted him to remain at Hogwarts the night of the tournament, yet had understood why he couldn't. The feelings that had gone through Harry that night had been so strange and so many he hadn't really understood half of them until he had left Hogwarts and had time to think. In hindsight he was amazed that he had wanted Sirius to stay so badly. Harry had never depended on an adult for any kind of support; he'd always managed to get along on his own just fine. It baffled him to think that he had grown to trust and depend on a man he barely knew to the extent that he had. Sirius was barely more than a stranger to him, he knew very little about him, and Harry assumed that Sirius didn't know very much about Harry save for what he remembered of Harry before he was imprisoned and what little he had witnessed during his third year. So how was it that Harry had grown so attached to a man he barely knew? Perhaps it was the fact the he was his parents best friend, or maybe it was the fact that he was the first adult to show Harry any type of parental guidance. Yet despite the fact that he trusted Sirius he found it overwhelmingly difficult to write to him. Sirius was constantly owling Harry, and Harry was having trouble answering to Sirius truthfully, after all Sirius' primary question was always centered on Harry's well-being, and Harry just wasn't sure what to say to that, the truth would hardly work.
Harry pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the window, he sighed as he thought of a truthful answer to Sirius' question of "How are you?" If he could sum it up in a word it would be a tie between awful and miserable. From the moment he had stepped off the train and joined the Dursleys he had known that his treatment this summer would be worse than usual. Uncle Vernon already looked furious, and they hadn't even left the train station yet. It turned out that he was still livid over the toffee incident at the end of last summer, and to top it off he had learned of the increasing danger to Harry and the importance of Harry remaining in their care until Harry heard otherwise. It would seem that Albus Dumbledore had felt the need to inform Harry's relatives of the growing danger if just to be safe. Harry would never forget the look of utter disgust and rage Vernon had when he cornered Harry in his room for a little "discussion."
"Now you listen here boy, and listen good. Your aunt and I have taken all we are going to take from you. From now on you will work during the day, and remain in your room at any time that we do not need you. After all of the damage you have caused to this family, you will cause no more. Put one toe out of line, just one and I swear to you'll wish that you had died at that ruddy school of yours! Are we clear?"
Harry was barely able to manage a "Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry had seen his Uncle angry before, but this was very different. Usually his Uncle was quick to temper and had a tendency to scream and yell, but this was different, this was dangerous. He had seen nothing but calm fury in his Uncle, some kind of collected decision against Harry that frightened Harry far more than any screaming his Uncle had done before. This was no empty threat, this had power and resolution behind it, and it didn't take long to show itself. Harry's list of chores grew daily, as did the consequences of failing to complete them. He had already gone without several meals, and once when Harry hadn't been paying close attention to the bacon on the stove the grease popped and barely burned Dudley's arm, Uncle Vernon hit the roof and roughly grabbed Harry's arm and threw him into his room for the rest of the day. He'd had a large purple bruise on is arm from that incident. Now Harry tried to avoid the family as much as possible, and was worried that his Uncle may snap and do something really drastic at any given moment. He didn't want to cause any more trouble for his relatives, or himself though a part of him felt he perhaps deserved it. He was always causing problems. Before Harry could continue his line of thought something in the darkness caught his eye. Harry warily watched the approaching shape, and was happy to see it was Hedwig, as she had been gone for nearly a week now.
Harry opened his window and allowed the snowy owl to swoop in and land neatly on his bed. Harry walked over to Hedwig a quickly untied a note and a small package from her leg, allowing her to get some water. Opening the letter Harry realized it was in Hermione's neat handwriting.
Dear Harry,
How are you doing? I miss you and Ron already, and can't wait to get back to school. Everything is the same at home, it gets a bit more awkward every time that I have to come back to a completely muggle setting. I hope you don't mind but I sent you your birthday present a bit early, I may be traveling abroad and I wanted to make sure you received it. When I saw it I immediately thought you would enjoy it, especially during the summer. Go ahead and open it now, and write often.
Love from,
Hermione
Harry picked up the small box that was still resting on his bed. Harry carefully unwrapped it and pulled out a round object about the size of a snitch and had a misty white color to it. Upon closer inspection he could tell that there was actually a swirling white mist inside. Thoroughly confused Harry looked in the box to see if there were any instructions, instead he found another slip of paper with Hermione's neat handwriting.
Harry this is a memory ball; it is similar to a rememberall but not quite the same. It is sort of like a muggle video camera in the sense that it stores memories, only better. What you do is you hold it in your hand and concentrate on a memory you would like to store. The ball then magically duplicates the memory and stores it. Then if you ever want to remember exactly the way something happened like, oh I don't know your first time flying you just hold the ball and think of flying and the memory will resurface in your mind, and best of all you can experience the same emotions you felt then. Isn't that neat?! Oh and by the way when the mist is white it means there are no memories, but as you store memories the mist will change color to reflect the type of memories you store. The more good memories the lighter the shades of blue or green the ball will become, the more unhappy memories you store the darker the ball will become. By the way the ball holds so many memories you probably won't run out of room any time soon, but if you do you can replace one memory with another. I hope you enjoy it.
Love from,
Hermione
"Wow Hermione!" Harry quickly read through the rest of the instructions to the ball. Harry quietly hid the letter and the box underneath the loose floorboards of his bed, and then reclined onto his pillows to give the ball a try. Unsure what to think of first he decided to go with Hermione's suggestion of flying. Harry closed his eyes and tried to find the memory of his first time on a broom, it only took him a few seconds find the memory and from that moment the memory seemed to blossom on its own. Harry could feel the mid morning sun and light breeze on his face and could clearly see the image of Malfoy before him holding Neville's rememberall. Harry felt the wind rush past him as he faced off against Malfoy for the first time and was thrilled to feel the adrenaline pumping through him. Completely exhilarated Harry spent the next couple of hours sorting through memories of his first few years at Hogwarts, carefully avoiding the bad ones. By the time he needed to get dressed and downstairs to make breakfast he had quite the collection of memories ranging from flying to finding out he had a godfather. He had also learned how to draw up his happiest memory just by looking for the strongest pull when he found the ball, and he learned that he could share these memories with anyone else, allowing them to see things from Harry's point of view. It had to be one of the best gifts he had ever received. He put the ball under his floorboards again before he went down to cook breakfast for the family. Harry felt considerably better after having stayed up and occupied with something fun for a change, perhaps he would even attempt to write that letter to Sirius he kept putting off after his chores were finished.
Rita Skeeter was leaving her office a very happy woman, she'd just finished the story of the year, and if Fudge did as he promised then Rita would be protected from that Granger brat, and would have the scoop of the century. She couldn't quite believe her luck. She had not been looking forward to having to write stories based completely on the truth and merit, that just wasn't how reporting was done. Was it her fault if someone's secrets were exposed. Besides according to Fudge this boy was dangerous, possibly Dark Lord potential, and the people had a right to know, so as far as Rita was concerned she was just doing her job, and backlash wasn't her problem, her job was done. The ball was in Fudge's court now, and if he bungled it then it would mean Rita had the potential to grab two of the biggest stories in a long time. Yes times were good for this reporter.