2. OWLs and Broom Rides
The next day during breakfast, an owl swooped in through an open window and settled on the table. It was the first owl Harry had seen all summer. It approached Harry and held its leg out, offering a letter bearing the official Hogwarts seal. Vernon glared at the owl and turned a rather lovely shade of purple, the muscles about his jaw flexing. It was clear to Harry that Uncle Vernon was ready to explode about the owl, but it was equally clear he was holding himself in, afraid that if he did, Harry might tell the one of those people, maybe even the one with the creepy eyeball who came by every now and then.
Harry took the letter from the owl and politely fed it a piece of bacon from his plate. As the owl flapped its wings and flew away, Harry opened the letter.
Dear Mr. PotterWe are pleased to present your results from the Ordinary Wizarding Level tests. Based on your performance, a listing of the classes you are eligible to attend and related books is enclosed. Please respond with your class selections by August 25th.
Your results are as follows…
For the first time since the summer started, since his last game of Quidditch, in fact, Harry was thrilled! Ten OWLS! He also qualified for the classes needed to be an Auror, and even the thought of more potions with Snape didn't lessen his happiness. The only disappointment he felt was at not being named a prefect, but after last year he wasn't expecting it.
Looking up at the rest of his relatives, Harry quickly realized there was no one to share his happiness with. The Dursley's could care less; he would probably anger them if he mentioned anything about his school or life in general, especially any of his accomplishments. He didn't have any lessons scheduled with Tonks or Moody for a couple days. He couldn't even use Hedwig to write to Ron and Hermione, as owls were forbidden.
This made Harry stop and think. If owls were forbidden, how did the school owl get through? He supposed it made sense, since Dumbledore put the original charm on the house, so surely he could let his own owl in. But then, why couldn't he send owls? Hedwig had been staying with Hermione during the summer, since she would be of no use (and quite bored) with Harry, and Hermione didn't have an owl of her own. While Harry could understand the risk of receiving cursed letters, surely there was no risk if he sent an owl or two. It's not like he knew anything of importance that could be intercepted by Voldemort.
This last thought caused a re-emergence of all the anger and bitterness that Harry had forced down. The same anger that caused him to earn weeks of detention with Umbridge. The same anger that caused him to yell at his best friends last year, despite the fact that they were the only ones he could count on. He was still being treated like a child. Like a child! Shouldn't the fact that he saved the Philosopher's Stone at eleven, killed a Basilisk at twelve, drove off hordes of dementers at thirteen, dueled Voldemort at fourteen, and dueled various Death Eaters at fifteen count for something? Harry hadn't thought like a child since facing Quirrel in front of the mirror, yet still he was treated like one.
Harry crumpled his letter in anger and stood abruptly from the table, earning a small squeak from Dudley. Without a word, Harry stomped up the stairs towards his room. He fully accepted that he didn't know it all. But wasn't that part of the problem? He was reminded of that day at 12 Grimmauld Place after visiting Mr. Weasley in the hospital, when he was ready to run away when he thought he was being possessed. Phineaus Black told him to stay, and then lectured him, asking him if following Dumbledore's orders have ever led him into harm. True, nothing Dumbledore had every specifically said had caused him to get into trouble. And yet, trouble still seemed to be more than able to find Harry. And what about the things Dumbledore didn't tell Harry? After all, if Dumbledore had told Harry about the prophecy in the first place, if he had known that Voldemort needed him to acquire the prophecy, Harry would have been better able to practice resisting his dreams (he wouldn't have been so curious about the mysterious corridor and door, knowing what was inside), and he would have been able to better resist Voldemort's plans, and thereby not get Sirius killed. But still, despite it all, Harry was confined to 4 Privet Drive, unable to contact the outside world except through Moody and Tonks, who's news was undoubtedly censored, "for his own protection." Harry stared outside his window. It was a beautiful day, not a cloud in the sky. Instead of enjoying the day, celebrating his OWLs with friends, he was trapped inside. Like Sirius was. By Dumbledore.
A spark of rebellion inside him soon grew into a raging fire; why shouldn't he go outside? He already proved he could take care of himself. More than anything, Harry wanted celebrate by flying, just for a little bit. He never felt more free or alive then when he was on his Firebolt. The only problem was being seen, both by Muggles and the Order guard he was sure that was out there.
Harry reached into his trunk (he was allowed to have all his things this summer; Uncle Vernon was too scared to take them from him) and pulled out his broom to admire it. As he did so, he saw a shimmer at the bottom of his trunk. His father's invisibility cloak! Surely if it could cover three people, it would be enough to cover Harry on his broom. At least, he hoped so. Grabbing the cloak, Harry mounted his broom and experimented with ways of covering both him and the broom. From the top or the side, the cloak was large enough to hide him, though he would have to be careful that the wind didn't dislodge it. The problem was that he could be seen from below. He had to work a way around that. After trying various combinations for an hour, the best Harry could devise was to tie or tuck the ends of the cloak to his ankles; this would serve to keep the cloak in place despite the wind, and if he crossed his feet, the cloak would hide everything except for his feet. In the end, Harry decided to wear dark shoes and clothes and wait until night. That way, if people did look up and see his shoes, they might not recognize them for what they were. After all, how many people would trust their eyes if they saw a pair of shoes flying around?
As night fell, Harry was ready. He opened the window, made one last check that his cloak was secure, and then flew out the window. It was a wonderful feeling, especially after being locked inside the house for the whole summer. He was free, and he was able to go where he wanted. Harry was careful to keep his speed under control (no need to risk the cloak being blown away), and flew a few times around Surrey. He watched as the last of the children playing outside were called to dinner. After a few hours of freedom, Harry reluctantly turned his broom homeward and returned to his gloomy prison.
The weeks after went by much more quickly. The lessons continued as normal, with Harry confined and given only scraps of information. But almost every night, when the weather was nice, Harry flew. Sometimes only for an hour, once for four hours, but the feeling of being on his broom almost made up for the first part of the summer.
Much of that good feeling came crashing down about his ears when he returned from flying one night, to find visitors in his room. After flying back into his bedroom, Harry removed the invisibility cloak and closed the window. Harry then had an odd feeling; the hairs rise on the back of his neck, his awareness and reactions having improved greatly after his work with Moody. Whipping out his wand, Harry spun around and ducked, falling slightly to the side as he prepared to curse the two people who were behind him.
"Mr. Potter! Put away that wand before you hurt yourself!" Professor McGonnagal yelled, "and explain just what you think you were doing!"
Harry sheepishly tucked his wand away as he realized whom his visitors were: Professors McGonnagal and Dumbledore. Groaning inwardly, Harry frantically thought of an answer that would appease them both.
"Um, er, well…"
Professor McGonnagal fixed Harry with a very stern look. "Don't even think about trying to cover up. You've been flying! You might have been seen, by Muggles or Death Eaters! Mrs. Figg nearly had a heart attack when her cats couldn't locate you anywhere! What were you thinking?"
Dumbledore saved Harry from the trouble of formulating a reply. "Mr. Potter, surely you realize the need to ensure your own safety. The restrictions we placed on you are for your own safety. The world needs you alive, Mr. Potter. It was rather foolish and childish for you to rebel by flying around at night. However," he said, looking at Professor McGonnagal, "as school is starting in three weeks, we will consider this matter closed, and we will may have to confiscate your broom until the term begins."
Harry only nodded dumbly with a contrite look plastered on his face as he handed over his beloved Firebolt. But inside, his anger returned. The world needs you alive Dumbledore had said. That was it, wasn't it? At that moment, Harry realized that the world needed Harry Potter alive, for his sole purpose was to kill Lord Voldemort, but the world didn't care if Harry Potter was happy. The world didn't care about Harry Potter at all except for the bloody prophecy. Voldemort may have been looking for a weapon last year, but the Order had already found theirs: Harry Potter. He was nothing but a tool to use again Voldemort. If anyone had cared about Harry Potter's happiness, they wouldn't have let the Dursley's lock him up in a cupboard for 10 years, to be treated like less than a servant. Was there no other option? If Hogwart's is so safe, couldn't he have lived there? Or if he had to live at the Dursley's, couldn't someone have talked to them, or otherwise ensure that Harry was treated humanely? It only took a few moments with Moody for the Dursley's to treat him better; couldn't someone do that 15 years ago? But no, no one cared about Harry beyond ensuring that he was still breathing.
Harry continued to make the right noises ("I'm sorry," "never happen again") until McGonnagal and Dumbledore left. Angry and depressed about the loss of his broom, Harry let himself drift away to a sleep.