Chapter 1: Letters
"A friendship can weather most things and thrive in thin soil; but it needs
a little mulch of letters [...] every so often - just to save it
from drying out completely."
-Pam Brown
Harry felt the excruciating pain on his forehead, he felt the horrible burn and death's icy hold at the same time, and he woke up. Sweat drenched his thin sheets and soaked his jet-black hair. Hot tears mingled with the cold sweat on his face. He could feel every salty droplet, each one as painful as his dreams and not helping the least against the bitterness in his thoughts.
Nightmares. Again. These horrible dreams. He hated sleeping: it was like reliving his worst fears over and over again. They crept over his shut eyes like Dementors, drowning him with memories and flashes of Voldemort's actions. He would often wake up yelling and crying in the night. The Dursleys never heard his screams: they were used to noise at night. Vernon and Dudley's snores were probably the loudest in the county. Harry was alone, utterly alone.
He did receive letters from his friends. Hermione, when she wasn't worrying about his scar hurting, or not being named prefect, would whine about Ron not writing to her. Ron's letters, on the other hand, bitterly complained about Hermione's "passionate" vacation with Viktor Krum. Ron probably hadn't paid attention to her letters well enough, since she clearly stated that her relationship with Victor was purely platonic. In fact, Hermione kept complaining about this redhead's incapacity to understand that she was not in love with Viktor. Although Harry believed that Hermione had flirted with Viktor only to make Ron jealous, he had his mind on other things right this minute.
Sirius had only sent him two letters so far. Harry supposed his godfather was getting closer to Hogwarts, as Hedwig took less time than before to deliver his letters. Padfoot's letters were extremely mysterious, since he had to remain hidden, but he was too concerned by what the scar hurting could actually mean. Harry didn't have any problem figuring that out... Hagrid didn't have time for writing letters, as he probably was on his mission with the giants. As for Dumbledore... well, the Headmaster had told him that should Harry have any more nightmares, or feel his scar burning, he would have to contact him immediately. However, Harry told himself that Professor Dumbledore probably had better things to do than to listen to one of his students complain about a little pain... Even though it wasn't just a little. Harry had never asked for that scar, or for his parents to be killed. He just wanted to be normal. The only problem was, Harry just wasn't a normal boy.
Right now, though, all he wanted was comfort, and no one was there to help him. He was alone with his constant pangs of guilt. Harry slowly got up, his knees trembling from the fear and pain his nightmares triggered, and leaned on the windowsill. The night was cool and starry; the creamy moon looked down on him and wrapped him in a glowing, appeasing shimmer. Full moon would be reached in a couple of days and Harry thought remorsefully about Moony, better known as Remus Lupin.
But even thinking about Remus was too painful: it reminded him of the Marauders, especially his dad, and Peter's treason. Harry's sequence of thoughts always drifted back to Cedric and his lifeless gray eyes, to Cho and her mourning face. Because Harry had decided to play heroic and generous, by accepting to share the cup with Cedric, he had practically killed him with his own hands. What a wonderful Gryffindor he was, sending his friends to their death, and causing pain to the girl he loved. He was so miserable; everything was his fault: his parents dying, Cedric dying, Ginny being trapped in the chamber of secrets, even the hollow looks Malfoy bore felt like they were his fault. And maybe they were...
Harry sighed heavily. He felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders--and actually, he did. The whole world had its eyes riveted upon his every move: everyone was counting on him. But no one was there for him. Harry curled up in his bed, hoping he could get some dreamless sleep; instead dry sobs racked his body. He desperately wanted his mum, any mum for that matter. He missed Molly Weasley, the only mother he could remember. Tears once more flooded his face and soon enough he was crying himself to sleep.
* * *
He shot up again, his mind still filled with the pictures of another nightmare. Checking his watch, Harry realized that he had slept not more than half an hour before this second dream had woken him up. Green light, red eyes and evil cackle. The mere thought of it was draining him, and he wished he could finally escape the evil clutches of his horrid nightmare. What is death, he thought, if not eternal sleep? Eternal, peaceful, nightmare-free sleep... Harry shook himself.
I must not think like that, he told himself, repeating it over and over like a mantra. I've got a family, the Weasleys, and friends at Hogwarts. I am the Boy who Lived, he thought bitterly, or so they say.
Yet he knew people who said that agreed with him on one point: I must not let everybody down. I must survive even when there seems no hope is left, or the fight is lost before it has even started. He had to write about his dreams to make them go away; write to someone who could understand him and reassure him. Sirius had always been his first choice for cases like this. However, this time, it wasn't possible. The risk was too high. He had to make sure that Voldemort could not find out about his dreams, otherwise the consequences would be dire. Ron and Hermione were too preoccupied with each other, and he didn't want to worry them too much.
Then he thought of Ginny. Somehow, writing to Ginny just felt... right. Surely she would understand; Harry supposed she had suffered from similar nightmares after her ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets in her first year. She wouldn't be overly protective like Hermione, or anxious like Ron. She would just be there for him. Or, at least, he hoped so. Harry turned his lamp on. His eyes hurting from the suddenly bright light, he scrambled for a piece of parchment and a quill. He finally began to write:
"Dear Ginny, How is your summer so far? I hope you are doing quite well. The Dursleys are giving me the silent treatment, but I guess that's an improvement on the screaming treatment. I've been having a lot of dreams, or rather... nightmares about Voldemort and Cedric lately. However, I just had a dream that was slightly different. It was about a woman I don't know, and her daughter I think, being attacked by Death Eaters. There was a blinding green light, and I woke up. Do you think this could have actually happened? "
Harry thought about what to write, and decided that he shouldn't talk about his dreams too much, otherwise Ginny might worry as well. Instead, he wrote:
"On a lighter note, I don't know if you are aware of the situation between Ron and Hermione. Ron is insanely jealous of Viktor, and Hermione is wondering whether he will ever notice that she likes him more than Viktor. Seeing as you're Hermione's friend and Ron's sister, maybe you could talk (or knock) some sense into them. I love them dearly, but they're driving me crazy!"
He was about to end with "Love, Harry" but he stopped short - maybe Ginny would think he was teasing her about the crush she had on him. Did she still have a crush on him? In any case, he preferred to simply sign "Harry".
The Dursleys had agreed to let Hedwig out of her cage whenever she wanted, as they were afraid of "that murderer godfather of yours". She had just come back from hunting, dropping a little mouse on his desk as a token of affection. How nice of you, Hedwig, Harry thought, tying the letter to his owl's leg, who was feeling quite content and seemed rather proud of herself. He let her fly away in the night and then went back to his bed. His last thought, before falling asleep once more, was that Hedwig represented the only being in this house who wasn't disgusted or scared to stand within two hundred feet of him.
* * *
Two hours later, at the crack of dawn, Harry was woken by a mad tapping at his window. Glancing over, he saw a shape outside that could only be Pigwidgeon, Ron's tiny owl; he kept knocking on the window with his beak. Harry dragged himself to the window to open it and caught the overexcited owl - thanks to his Seeker reflexes - before the bird fluttered in his room, bouncing from wall to wall like a Snitch gone awry. The feathery Snitch had even brought two letters, which was a personal record for this ridiculously small bird.
Harry smiled as he recognized Ron's untidy scrawl on the first letter and Ginny's neat little cursive on the second. He decided to open Ginny's letter first, just realizing that he must have woken her up with his letter. Harry Potter, the prat who wakes girls up at ungodly hours to tell them about a little bit of pain, he thought with remorse. Just then, Hedwig flew by the open window, a small parchment in her beak:
"Dear Harry, sorry I kept Hedwig and sent you Ron's owl instead, but she really was a mess when she arrived at The Burrow. I think she got caught up in a storm coming from France, and I cleaned her up so your uncle wouldn't be angry with you. I don't mean to keep you waiting --I saw that Ron and Ginny sent you some letters -- so I'll leave you to your reading. I do hope you can come to The Burrow during summer. Tell the kids whether you can come or not. Affectionately, Molly."
Harry shot Hedwig a commiserative look, but was too curious about Ginny's letter and decided he'd take care of the owl later. Opening the envelope, he found a big piece of parchment with a drawing of a serpent and a note that said:
"Harry, I'm giving this letter to Ron for him to send. Since I know my brother like the back of my hand, I assume he'll try to read it as soon as possible. RON, STOP READING!!!! This is why I bewitched the parchment included in this envelope so that it reveals its contents only if you say "diary" (which is the first word I could think of upon seeing the snake) in Parseltongue (and only in Parseltongue, so Ron, DON'T EVEN TRY!!!!) Don't worry; I didn't get a warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office because my parents use magic constantly. I think that they can only detect it if you live with Muggles (yes, Ron told me about Dobby and the pudding). When you're done reading, say "clear" (still in Parseltongue) and send it back to me, because I will be able to use it again. Ah, the things I have to do to keep my nosey brothers OUT OF MY PRIVATE LIFE (RON, THIS MEANS YOU!!!!) Ginny"
Harry was amazed at her elaborate scheme and had to smile. Wow, she really has changed... Wait a minute, this is my friend's sister I'm talking about here! So? So! What would Ron think if he knew what I was thinking? Who cares? I think I'll stop talking to myself now.
"Diary," he said, barely aware that he was actually hissing. Staring at the parchment, Harry couldn't register any change for some seconds. Then the reptile began to shimmer, and its shades moved from side to side as the snake's body trembled. In a quick and silent motion, the reptile then moved across the page, over and over, tracing Ginny's words with its tail with surprising rapidity.
"Dear Harry, Now that I got rid of my stupid brother (even though I know he's your friend, you have to agree that he can be quite annoying). I know you're not going to be happy about me telling you this, but I really think you should write to Dumbledore. Hermione told me that you often have dreams, thanks to your scar that links you to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. And if this is the case, which it is more than likely to be, think about how much you'll help with the fight against Voldemort by simply writing to Dumbledore, detailing your dream (that way he could maybe identify the victims?). If you don't write to him, not only will you be withholding crucial information that will help the Light side (and try to live with your conscience knowing that), but I'll also hex you into next week! (I know I'm sounding a bit harsh, but you can be quite stubborn, not unlike a certain brother of mine... All my brothers, in fact...)
While on the subject of my brother Ron, you are absolutely right: he is incredibly jealous. He used to get owls from Hermione quite often, which made him more and more irked every day, until they stopped coming altogether. Hermione wrote to me, of course, and said that it was no use, she couldn't make him see sense, but she was hoping that you and I could. Somehow, having "Ron" and "sense" in the same sentence is very disturbing. He's so thick; he wouldn't notice love if it hit him in the face and danced around him naked (which Hermione probably will... hit him in the face, I mean...).
Anyway, he can make himself useful sometimes. I've managed to control his Quidditch-mania by making him tutor me. Chaser is really my favorite position (yes, ok, the real reason is that I wanted to stand out and since Fred and George are Beaters, Charlie was a Seeker, and Ron's preferred position is Keeper, I didn't have much choice...). I hope you can come soon so that we can have someone to challenge Charlie! (we haven't used the Snitch all summer, as that wouldn't be really fair to the team that doesn't have Charlie on it). You can ask Dumbledore in your letter!
Oh great, Ron's hysterical owl just came in. I liked Pig at first, but he's really getting on my nerves now. I hope I can get an owl of my own someday soon.
Ginny
PS: By the way, Ron says you can keep Pig for a few days until you reply, since he will probably be too winded by his "humongous" delivery to do anything but sleep for a couple of days."
Chuckling, Harry turned to see Pig sleeping next to Hedwig. Ginny really is a nice girl. He tried to picture her playing Quidditch with Ron tutoring her, but somehow all he saw in his mind's eye was the wind playing with her long, silky hair, and the sun making her warm brown eyes sparkle. He shook his head and tried to focus on the letter once again. Apparently she hadn't known what closing statement to use either, he mused, a smile drawing on his lips. He couldn't concentrate once more, and his eyes glazed over as he found himself in another daydream... He could picture Ginny on her broomstick once again, her golden skin, adorable freckles and gracious movements, her beautiful suntanned skin, glowing like copper over the grass and in the bluish sky...
SNAP OUT OF IT!
He made a determined effort to stop his reverie and think about more. er. neutral things. Well, I suppose I should write to Dumbledore then. He took out a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote:
"Professor Dumbledore, I really don't mean to annoy you, and I can guess that this summer must have been very hard to deal with, especially since Voldemort's return. However, you told me that I should warn you if my scar hurt, or anything similar. Well, I just had a dream: I saw a house being destroyed by Death Eaters. I didn't see what happened to the woman and girl inside (the woman had dark eyes, dark hair, and looked like she might have African origins; and the girl had long dark hair). I don't know if they were Muggles or witches, but I really hope all this is just a dream and that nothing happened. But my scar hurt horribly when I woke up; it was just like if my head was going to explode any second, and I could feel Voldemort's presence somewhere, probably just inside my head. As much as I would like to think that this was just a nightmare, I have a nagging feeling that this actually happened. I hope you will be able to find out what happened to the girl and the woman, and if they are all right. If I can help in any way, let me know. I would also like to ask you if it would be possible for me to go to The Burrow?
Thank you very much for your patience, Harry"
He decided to write a letter to Sirius as well, because otherwise, his godfather would probably find out anyway, and get hacked off at Harry for not telling him. In the letter, Harry told him about his scar and asked him how he was doing (and how his mission was going, just in case Sirius decided to share some information with him, as unlikely as that sounded). He tried to keep it short, since he figured that his godfather did not have much time to spare, because he was on an important mission for Dumbledore.
As Harry finished the letter, he suddenly remembered that Ron's letter remained unopened on his desk. Wow, the last time I got so many letters, it was because of that Rita Skeeter article on Hermione . That hadn't been very pleasant for her, though . . . What had Ginny thought at that time? Did she hate Hermione as Mrs. Weasley did? Or did she know it was all lies intended to destroy Hermione's reputation? She probably didn't believe a word of it, as Hermione was her best friend. Why is it that I can't stop thinking about Ginny? She didn't occupy my mind so much in the past... What happened? He supposed his hormones had gone a bit ...er, on overload during the summer.
Besides, he could tell from Ginny's letters that she had matured a lot. She no longer was the tiny eleven-year-old star-struck girl who blushed furiously and ran out of the room every time she saw her crush, the great Harry Potter. He liked her in a friendly way, or even as a sister, right? Her letter was nice and caring in a friendly way, but Harry doubted that her feelings for him went beyond that now. Although they used to. . . He read Ron's letter, which was mostly about Hermione and "bloody Krum".
"I see I'm not the only one whose hormones have gone a bit mad." Harry then realized that he had said this out loud, and stood perfectly still, dreading to hear his uncle's voice booming about too much noise when they were trying to sleep. Instead, he heard noise in the kitchen and noticed that it must indeed be the time when his aunt and uncle would be taking their breakfast. Harry sent Hedwig out, attaching the letters to Dumbledore and Sirius to her leg. As he headed down the stairs to the kitchen, he could picture Ginny in his mind, and decided that his day was turning out to be quite nice after all. How very wrong he was.
* * *
"BOY! GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!!" Uncle Vernon's heavy voice boomed and echoed across the small house on Privet Drive. The heavy thudding and trembling of the house informed Harry that the bellows of his Uncle had also awakened the fat piglet known as Dudley Dursley, and that the whale-sized boy was squeezing himself through his door to get down to the kitchen. Soon enough, the house shook violently to the rhythm of the fat boy's scurrying down the stairs.
"POTTER! I SAID NOW!!"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
With satisfaction, Harry registered that his throat issued these words resoundingly and without skipping. His voice had finished breaking. It was now deep and warm; it was a man's voice. He wondered when the change had occurred and figured he had been too absorbed by Cedric's death to notice that his body was changing. Harry was now the tallest of the Dursley household. Dudley, Vernon, and even the tall bony Petunia were under his eye level.
How convenient, he thought. Harry skipped the last steps absentmindedly and entered the kitchen.
Vernon immediately began his litany, "This summer, your aunt and I have compiled a list of chores that you are to accomplish if you want to go back to that bloody school of yours. You will be waxing the car, de-weeding the lawn, repotting your Aunt's flowers, tidying up the garage, and creating a cement alley across the garden. We'll let you know about the rest later. Is that understood?"
"Will I get paid?" Harry ventured.
He wasn't going to take the Dursley abuse this summer. It would have to change.
At this, Aunt Petunia's shrill banshee-like voice howled, "I MOST CERTAINLY THINK NOT! We should have left you on our doorstep fourteen years ago! But no! We had the decency to feed you, to put clothes on your ungrateful back, to give you a roof to live under, and even though you turned out to be a no good hooligan we kept you! AND NOW YOU WANT US TO PAY YOU!"
The wheels in Harry's head started turning and a smile tugged on his lips.
"Okay," he said. The Dursleys stared at him incredulously. Uncle Vernon's expression turned into a nasty smile.
But Harry continued, "Yeah okay, give me a minute to go tell my Godfather, Sirius Black in case you forgot, about my projects for this summer. You know how he likes to be informed."
Aunt Petunia blanched and fell into a nearby chair. "Vernon!" she pleaded.
He seemed to be pondering over the threats in that big ugly head of his. He glanced furtively at Dudley's large figure, sitting at the table, stuffing his face without registering the scene going on around him. "How much do you want?" he croaked.
"Two pounds a day and decent meals," Harry declared.
Uncle Vernon sputtered. "Are you out of your mind? Two pounds a day, for those ruddy chores! Who do you think you are!?"
A faint smirk tugged on the corners of Harry's lips. "A fifteen year old wizard with interesting connections."
"One pound a day, boy, not a penny more. Now get to work," Vernon conceded, choking and becoming all red, whether from anger or fear.
With those words, Petunia and Vernon turned away and left. "Deal." Harry grinned devilishly, treasuring his victory, even if it was a small one. The smile was wiped off his face when he cast a look upon the garden. Surely Hagrid's hair would be easier to tame than this mess.
"Yeah well, they fell a little behind," cackled Dudley.
"So did you," said Harry "On your diet, I mean."
A "little behind" was euphemism for his cousin's enormous behind and body. Dudley had doubled over the school year. He had accumulated so much fat that it had become a task to squeeze between the doorframes. Petunia would always complain that they made the doors too small in houses. She was still oblivious to the fact that she had made Dudley too fat for the house.
"Oh shut up you abnormal freak! I was wondering, what does a four-eyed abnormality do after school? You know besides joining a circus, or getting blown up with his family," commented Dudley.
He had barely time to finish his sentence before all the windowpanes shattered in a strident noise.
Bloody hell! The Dursleys are going to kill me!
The overweight boy scurried back upstairs. "MUMMY! He's done it again!" Dudley's face was white with fear.
But then again, so was Harry's. He knelt down beside the broken glass.
NO! Why the hell does this always happen to me? He was hoping with all his might that the windows would somehow fix themselves. When he opened his eyes, the glass pieces were flying across the room, miraculously getting back into place like a huge puzzle. The glass melted back together like a healing wound, and the windowpanes ended up unmarked. Expecting an owl to come in with a howler from the Ministry any minute, Harry prepared for the worst.
However, when Uncle Vernon came thumping to the veranda instead, Harry decided that people at the Ministry were probably too preoccupied denying Voldemort's return and didn't care about his wandless magic.
"What's going on? Dudley said something about you being abnormal again and breaking the windows."
"Nothing, Uncle Vernon. The windows are just fine. If Dudley is seeing things, I suggest you keep him out of the sun," Harry replied in an innocent tone.
"Well," grumbled the Dursley patriarch, "get to work! I'm not paying you to watch the weeds grow."
Harry exhaled deeply. This was going to be a very long summer. He got on his knees once more and started pulling the dandelions out with passion.
He had been working for over three hours and ripped off his oversized inconvenient shirt. His body was aching all over, arms and legs covered in dirt. Dudley had even had the immense pleasure of smothering Harry's face with mud. Harry didn't need that, because he was already dripping with sweat, and the mud only made him look more disgusting. As long as it stayed on the ground, though, the soil was cool and comforting. The smell of grass reminded him of the Hogwarts Quidditch field; that wasn't unpleasant at all. The whole Dursley garden appeared free of weeds in a matter of hours.
This isn't so bad, thought Harry, looking proudly at his work. However, when he got up to cut the grass, his sore body told him how wrong he was. Once he was done with the manicure of the lawn, he figured he could take the rest of the day off, so he decided he would spend it on the freshly cut lawn. He laid down in the sun and drifted off into a well deserved slumber, no nightmares involved. When he woke up, the sun had set behind the tall trees and an ochre color invaded the sky. He nonchalantly made his way back to the kitchen.
Aunt Petunia had disposed newspaper on the floor so that he wouldn't get the pampered house dirty. He decided to take a shower before dinner. The frugal sandwich he had munched down a couple hours ago felt like an eternity away. Never had a shower felt this good. It washed away all his troubles, worries, and thoughts. The soreness of his muscles started to fade quickly under the hot stream. He thought once more that he could get used to this routine.
Sure enough, he did. In about a week, the garden was perfectly manicured and the grass shown with a vibrant, youthful green. But most importantly, Harry had seven pounds in his pocket, as well as some new muscles and a shy sunburn. It would soon enough turn into a nice tan, as if to testify of his labor.
* * *
A few days after Vernon gave him his chore list, Hedwig flew in from the window, clutching three letters. Harry scanned the handwriting on the envelopes. Speak of the devil! Not only had Sirius replied, but Harry had received a letter from Dumbledore as well. They must not be very far, since I sent my letters to them two days ago. He opened Dumbledore's letter first, anxious to see if he would be able to go to The Burrow, at least for a week. As it turned out, Harry did not have Dumbledore's permission to go to The Burrow, "for security reasons." The Weasleys were warned, and albeit disappointed, they understood this was for the best. Harry did not understand what could be safer than a house full of wizards, until he remembered that Dumbledore had already mentioned the "special protection" that Privet Drive offered.
Feeling resigned and much less cheerful than when he had first seen Hedwig and his three letters, Harry opened the one from his godfather:
"Harry, I am in a bit of a rush since I am on some secret Dumbledore business, as you know, but I just wanted to let you know that I am all right so don't worry about me. I worry about you, on the other hand. Dumbledore informed me that you had written to him. That's a very good reflex. If ever your scar should hurt you again, or if anything unusual happens, DO NOT HESITATE TO WRITE to me or Dumbledore. You're safe at Privet Drive, so don't do anything stupid like running off to The Burrow without Dumbledore's permission. Take care, Snuffles."
Harry thought that Sirius's letter seemed a bit harsh, but then again, Sirius was under quite a bit of pressure at the moment, and he worried a lot for Harry. It was really no wonder that his stress made him sound unusually edgy in his letters. It wasn't unlike Ginny, who worried for Harry so much that she had adopted a quite bossy tone at one point in her letter. As he sat down to reply to her letter, another owl came in, shuffling his letters as it landed on his desk. This unfamiliar owl was about as big as Hedwig, and had brown and white stripes all over its body. The top of its head was brown with tiny white dots.
That's odd. I wonder whom it's from.
As soon as he had untied the letter from the newcomer's leg, the striped owl glared at Pigwidgeon, who was now fluttering about the room, rejuvenated after this long rest. The foreign owl gave a last dignified hoot, just to give that ridiculous sparrow an example of a real owl, and left without waiting for Harry's response. Harry recognized Hermione's writing, and supposed she was still in Bulgaria, because he had never seen an owl like that before.
"Dear Harry,
How are you doing? Actually, wrong question. How could you not have told me that your scar hurt you regularly? I mean, that's what friends are for: so you can tell them when something's wrong. You probably were trying to keep me from worrying, but you know, Harry, I really care about you, and I want to know everything that's happening to you so that I can help you.
Thank Merlin that Ron told me about you scar. That's the only interesting and sensible thing he told me since the beginning of the summer! Do you know what he actually thinks? I can't even tell you, it's so vulgar. Of course, it has to do with Viktor and I. But I mean, bloody hell, it isn't his problem! Besides, we are only friends, although that red haired prat refuses to believe me. You do believe me, don't you, Harry? Well, tell Ron that he's a git: I'm not writing to him anymore. I mean, what's the use? He's so mean and I hate it when he reacts like that. He's so childish, it's almost as if he were jealous. But of course he isn't. If he is, though, could you
Anyhow, he just shouldn't treat me that way. I'm not his property. And I thought he'd grow during the summer, so much for me!
Ok, enough about Ron. Just thinking about him makes me... I can't really describe it, but it makes me pretty angry. I probably won't be writing to you much for the following month, although I will try to stay in touch. I'm meeting a girl I've been writing to recently. She's really sweet, at least judging by her letters, and she used to be a friend of Fleur Delacour's. She goes to Beauxbatons, but before that she lived in Egypt. I never heard of a wizarding school there, so I guess I'll have to do some research about that. Well, I'll see you on September 1st. Or maybe sooner... Love,
from Hermione
P.S.: I'm sending this letter by a Boreal Owl, which is one of the local owls here in Bulgaria. Aren't they so cute? They're not as cute as the Eurasian Pygmy-Owls, though... I'm giving one to Ginny in the Hogwarts Express because I know how much she wants an owl of her own! (But don't tell her: it's a surprise!)"
Harry was thrilled that Hermione would be giving Ginny an owl of her own. She would be so happy! He was also intrigued about the girl Hermione had been writing to-- who could this mystery girl be? And why did Hermione write "Or maybe sooner?" She probably didn't know yet that he couldn't come to The Burrow. Harry didn't know if Hermione would come to The Burrow. Maybe so. He cringed as he thought of the many and frequent fights she and Ron would be having. Then again, maybe this would bring them closer together... After all, most of Hermione's letter was about Ron, and most of Ron's was about her. Harry rolled his eyes and considered writing them a collective letter along the lines of "Oh, just SNOG ALREADY!"
He pushed the thought away, as that would probably make them even more vehement in their denial of their love for each other. Instead, he wrote very similar - but still somewhat personalized - letters to each of them. When he finished Ron's letter, Harry realized that he hadn't yet replied to Ginny. I can't believe that I didn't even manage to make time to write back to her yet! He scrambled furiously for a quill and a parchment, and wrote:
"Dear Ginny, How are you doing? I'm so glad that you're playing Quidditch!"
Harry, in a moment of delirium, thought of writing "I've fantasized about you on a broom, oh, only about a million times" but instead wrote:
"I can't wait to see you play. Who knows, maybe you'll get chosen for the team! That is, if Katie, Angelina or Alicia decides to leave, since we can't just kick them out, really. . . I wrote to Dumbledore, like you asked me to (yes, master Ginny). He told me that I couldn't come to The Burrow! That means that I have to stay here all summer and do chores for the Dursleys. I did manage to make them pay me, though. Or else, I'm sure Hermione would have started some kind of association against my slave labour. Perhaps she would have called it "B.A.R.F.", for British Anti-slave- labour Rage Foundation.
I don't think we should worry about Hermione and Ron anymore. For now, anyway. I mean, they obviously like each other, but I think that letters won't do any good. The more we insist, the more they'll deny it (you know how stubborn they are). So for now, we should let time arrange things (and when we're at Hogwarts, we can take more active measures). Maybe there'll be another Ball or something, and we can convince Ron to ask Hermione. "
And I can work up the nerve to ask you, he thought .
Hey! Where did that come from?
Harry decided to end the letter before his hand wrote his most intimate - and embarrassing - thoughts out of its own accord.
"I can't come to The Burrow, but I hope we'll keep writing. See you around and take care of yourself, Harry."
Harry hoped that his letter didn't sound too eager or lovesick, as he was aiming for a more friendly tone. He really wasn't sure what his feelings for her were, but he decided to opt a friendly attitude for now. As soon as he was done, he sent a very excited and eager Pigwidgeon on its way, with his letters to Ron and Ginny.
* * *
During the second week of labor, Harry completely reorganized the cabinets in the garage and cleaned up the attic. After spending a day or two squeezed between a dirty wall and a not-so-clean-either car, Harry managed to rid the garage of all the cobwebs and oil stains. He then pursued his goal of tidying the Dursley house by attacking the attic. This room had always been locked and Petunia would have killed him had she found him in there. But then again, she would have killed him in pretty much any room he might enter, if she could have.
After opening the barricaded windows to let some fresh air enter the room, he began moving huge cardboard boxes that were piled up in trembling towers. He found a lot of amazing items, still more boring ones. There was a collection of Dudley's mouth prints and hair from ages one month to six years, ripped pictures that Uncle Vernon had taken of his neighbors' cars, mutilated dolls which probably had been Aunt Petunia's, and lots of other gadgets, falling apart and already part of the local rats' food chain.
In a darker corner, he stumbled upon a medium sized box pressed between two piles of cookbooks. These books obviously hadn't been read for a long time, judging by their disastrous state and Aunt Petunia's cooking. Harry opened the box and pulled out a blue and pink bunny holding a flower -a white lily. There also were some books, mainly classics, on which Harry recognized his mother's serious notes. There was also a spell book, smaller than the rest, covered in white and gold leather. The title read, "Love Charms: How They Changed the Course of Muggle and Wizard History". Harry opened it, and read some of the stories:
How Calypso kept Odysseus in her island during seven years by casting a simple spell...
How Viviane freed Merlin from Morgan's curse by using the power of her love...
How Romeo and Juliet, by dying for love, had managed to generate peace between to hateful families...
And finally how Iphigenia, by sacrificing herself, protected her father Agamemnon against the terrible curse the evil enchantress Artemis was about to cast upon him.
Harry felt his eyes water, and a tear fell on the page representing Iphigenia dying for her father. So his mother had known what she was doing when she protected her son. She had believed in this tiny book, believed in herself, believed in her love for Harry. To avoid crying and risking to be seen by the Dursleys, Harry opened an envelope that lay at the bottom of the box.
He stared astounded at twenty or so pictures of his mother; the colored rectangles spread on the floor like water spilling. He recognized his mother in the baby smiling at the photographer, in the little girl with a summer dress and a straw hat, and in the charming ten-year-old soccer player with her ball under her arm. He wished he could keep them all, but he figured Aunt Petunia would notice if he hung them in his room.
He decided to keep only one. A Lily looking fifteen, or perhaps a little less, was lying on her stomach, in the grass of a beautiful garden. Her dress looked like a cloud around her, and her face, emerging from a book, shined with the beginning of a smile. Harry felt tears in his eyes, again. He just couldn't stop it- she was so pretty, with her red hair and deep green eyes, why did she have to die so young, especially to save him?
She had died when she loved deeply, yet Voldemort, consumed by his hatred and anger, had managed to survive. This just seemed so unfair! Right now, Harry just felt like knocking the world over. He hesitated between giving in to his anger, or abandoning his fight for self-control. Maybe it was time for him to let go, and cry his heart out. The only problem was, he was alone, and desperate.
Petunia's screech, ordering him to come to dinner, brought him back to reality. Harry hid the picture in the book on love spells, and plunged it in his pocket. He left the now-tidy attic, hoping someday he could come back here and take away all these treasures, never to return in this detested household.
* * *
During the third and fourth weeks, Harry created an alley in the Dursley's garden. The cement path separated the lawn into two green rectangles, which made it look cleaner. But this was only due to tiring, hard work. He couldn't pretend he actually liked doing these tasks, but at least he didn't have to remain imprisoned in the house with the Dursleys. Besides, he truly enjoyed the smell of cut grass when night was coming, or the odorous humidity of the lawn in the morning. Not to mention the captious smell coming from trees in the neighboring gardens, or the incredible heat provided by the sun at its peak.
All in all, it wasn't so bad, especially considering the physical changes Harry got as a result from his chores. Once inside his room, Harry stared at his reflection. His bright green eyes stood out more than usual because of the light bronze color of his skin. His unruly jet-black hair was the same as ever, stubbornly refusing to obey Harry's brush. Harry didn't mind it one bit though, since it reminded him of his father.
Besides, it looked quite - manly, now that his body had developed. Indeed, his shoulders had broadened and he was no longer ashamed of his meager arms - which were far from being small at this moment. His abs even looked like tablets of Lindt, and his legs were... Well, let's just say young women who passed by the Dursley's house often stopped simply when seeing his muscular legs. Wow, he sometimes thought, hearing a woman's gasp, I wonder why they keep staring at me like that. I mean, it's not like I'm handsome or anything. I wonder... I wonder if girls at Hogwarts would find me attractive...
* * *
After a long day of work, Harry came out of the shower and was surprised to see Pigwidgeon hovering above his bed, on which he had dropped a letter. Ginny's reply, Harry thought, and his heart leapt. During the past few weeks, Harry and Ginny had corresponded quite regularly. They had kept their friendly tone, which still kept Harry in the dark as to how she felt about him. In her letters, Ginny didn't reveal anything concerning her feelings for Harry. Were these just friendly feelings? Or did they go deeper than that? That was what Harry wanted to know, but he didn't ask, of course.
Harry knew that letters were a very practical way to conceal one's emotions, for he had censored a lot of his hormonal feelings for her, making himself keep to the same, friendly tone as her. He longed to see her, but knew that he had to wait a bit more than a month. He eagerly opened the letter, and read:
"Hey Harry!
So, how's your work coming along? Are you still building muscles to make all the girls in school faint at the sight of you? Run screaming like banshees, more like! But I suppose you just want a certain Ravenclaw Seeker's jaw to drop to the floor as soon as she sees how handsome and charming you've become... Well keep dreaming!
Hahaha you know I'm only joking, right?
Did I tell you that Angelina came over at our house last weekend? Her and Fred are pretty...er...close, if you know what I mean. Mum and Dad were following them around everywhere, not letting them out of their sight for one second-- they even followed Fred to the bathroom!! They didn't go in, just stayed outside the door, of course... But still! As if he'd go there to meet up with Angelina for a quick shag! I don't know how she put up with Fred in the first place, but if I were her, I'd be so freaked out by my parents-- er, Fred's parents-- that I'd break up with him while I still have my sanity! Seriously, my family is too over-protective...
And this is just for Fred, so imagine if it were me bringing home a boyfriend! He would never hear the end of it! I mean, all my brothers would probably pound him for taking their "baby sister" away, and my parents would just lock me up until I turned forty-three. You see, my parents' policy is only to allow me to date after I'm married. Adults make a whole lot of sense.
Ha, right! I guess I'll be lonely all my life. If ever I meet a bloke crazy enough to be able to stand me, he'll still never survive, with the family I have! Otherwise, mom is going crazy with the sound of all the explosions coming from the twins' room. She's always threatening to take everything away! But when she does, they always manage to get more... And I've seen them get lots of letters, and write more order sheets for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
I wonder where they got the money for all of this. They even asked me what color I think Ron would look good in, because they want to buy him new robes! That is yet another mystery for (da-dum DA-DUM!) agent 000: Ny. Gin- Ny. Get it? (We talked about James Bond in Muggle Studies, and I just love it when he says: "Bond. James Bond."!!!)
Of course, I say "yet another mystery" because Hermione still hasn't told me ANYTHING about her mysterious pen pal other than the fact that she's meeting her. Seriously, I'm her best friend! And girls are supposed to tell each other things, right? Did she tell you anything more about her since the last time you wrote? I bet she's just hushing it all up and making it seem mysterious to make it look interesting, and to gloat because she knows something we don't.
Sometimes she's so annoying that she just makes me want to roll my eyes. She can be very immature. It's not like me, of course. "Mature" is my middle name (along with "Smart", "Beautiful", "Hilarious", and "Nice"... now that I think of it, my parents must really like me to give me all these names...) She also told me she had ANOTHER surprise for me. Perhaps she bought me a book on Goblin Rebellions (Oh joy! I just can't get enough of those! History classes leave me starving for more).
Well, I must get going. My schizophrenic self is now forced to adopt the persona of "Ginny the house-elf" in order to set the table (mum's throwing pillows at me to hurry up).
Love,
Ginny."
Harry felt like his heart fluttered, and didn't even have the sense to find this childish. She had signed "Love, Ginny". She had never done that before, had she? He would have noticed... That didn't mean anything, though: his best friend signed all of her letters with "Love from Hermione". But she had always done it, while Ginny... It was the first time! Did that mean that she actually liked him? Or did it mean she didn't anymore, and wasn't afraid of admitting her friendly love to Harry? These questions ran through Harry's head like a cloud of noisy bees, causing all the rest of his thoughts to blur.
Why am I making such a big deal out of this? When did I start hoping that she loved me more than as a friend? Are these just my hormones talking, or did I really develop feelings for her, over the small bit of correspondence we had over the summer?
His head was starting to hurt. But still, she had written: "Love, Ginny"... He sat down on his bed, feeling dizzy and yet so happy. Maybe she still loved him after all. Maybe she didn't. Harry examined all of the possibilities like others tear petals from daisies to find the answer. Finally, exhausted, burning with happiness and doubt, he let himself fall on his hard bed. He had never felt that way before, and he couldn't determine whether it was that he felt protected by Ginny's love, or that he himself was falling in love. A few seconds later, Harry fell asleep, his hand holding on tightly to Ginny's letter.
"A friendship can weather most things and thrive in thin soil; but it needs
a little mulch of letters [...] every so often - just to save it
from drying out completely."
-Pam Brown
Harry felt the excruciating pain on his forehead, he felt the horrible burn and death's icy hold at the same time, and he woke up. Sweat drenched his thin sheets and soaked his jet-black hair. Hot tears mingled with the cold sweat on his face. He could feel every salty droplet, each one as painful as his dreams and not helping the least against the bitterness in his thoughts.
Nightmares. Again. These horrible dreams. He hated sleeping: it was like reliving his worst fears over and over again. They crept over his shut eyes like Dementors, drowning him with memories and flashes of Voldemort's actions. He would often wake up yelling and crying in the night. The Dursleys never heard his screams: they were used to noise at night. Vernon and Dudley's snores were probably the loudest in the county. Harry was alone, utterly alone.
He did receive letters from his friends. Hermione, when she wasn't worrying about his scar hurting, or not being named prefect, would whine about Ron not writing to her. Ron's letters, on the other hand, bitterly complained about Hermione's "passionate" vacation with Viktor Krum. Ron probably hadn't paid attention to her letters well enough, since she clearly stated that her relationship with Victor was purely platonic. In fact, Hermione kept complaining about this redhead's incapacity to understand that she was not in love with Viktor. Although Harry believed that Hermione had flirted with Viktor only to make Ron jealous, he had his mind on other things right this minute.
Sirius had only sent him two letters so far. Harry supposed his godfather was getting closer to Hogwarts, as Hedwig took less time than before to deliver his letters. Padfoot's letters were extremely mysterious, since he had to remain hidden, but he was too concerned by what the scar hurting could actually mean. Harry didn't have any problem figuring that out... Hagrid didn't have time for writing letters, as he probably was on his mission with the giants. As for Dumbledore... well, the Headmaster had told him that should Harry have any more nightmares, or feel his scar burning, he would have to contact him immediately. However, Harry told himself that Professor Dumbledore probably had better things to do than to listen to one of his students complain about a little pain... Even though it wasn't just a little. Harry had never asked for that scar, or for his parents to be killed. He just wanted to be normal. The only problem was, Harry just wasn't a normal boy.
Right now, though, all he wanted was comfort, and no one was there to help him. He was alone with his constant pangs of guilt. Harry slowly got up, his knees trembling from the fear and pain his nightmares triggered, and leaned on the windowsill. The night was cool and starry; the creamy moon looked down on him and wrapped him in a glowing, appeasing shimmer. Full moon would be reached in a couple of days and Harry thought remorsefully about Moony, better known as Remus Lupin.
But even thinking about Remus was too painful: it reminded him of the Marauders, especially his dad, and Peter's treason. Harry's sequence of thoughts always drifted back to Cedric and his lifeless gray eyes, to Cho and her mourning face. Because Harry had decided to play heroic and generous, by accepting to share the cup with Cedric, he had practically killed him with his own hands. What a wonderful Gryffindor he was, sending his friends to their death, and causing pain to the girl he loved. He was so miserable; everything was his fault: his parents dying, Cedric dying, Ginny being trapped in the chamber of secrets, even the hollow looks Malfoy bore felt like they were his fault. And maybe they were...
Harry sighed heavily. He felt like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders--and actually, he did. The whole world had its eyes riveted upon his every move: everyone was counting on him. But no one was there for him. Harry curled up in his bed, hoping he could get some dreamless sleep; instead dry sobs racked his body. He desperately wanted his mum, any mum for that matter. He missed Molly Weasley, the only mother he could remember. Tears once more flooded his face and soon enough he was crying himself to sleep.
* * *
He shot up again, his mind still filled with the pictures of another nightmare. Checking his watch, Harry realized that he had slept not more than half an hour before this second dream had woken him up. Green light, red eyes and evil cackle. The mere thought of it was draining him, and he wished he could finally escape the evil clutches of his horrid nightmare. What is death, he thought, if not eternal sleep? Eternal, peaceful, nightmare-free sleep... Harry shook himself.
I must not think like that, he told himself, repeating it over and over like a mantra. I've got a family, the Weasleys, and friends at Hogwarts. I am the Boy who Lived, he thought bitterly, or so they say.
Yet he knew people who said that agreed with him on one point: I must not let everybody down. I must survive even when there seems no hope is left, or the fight is lost before it has even started. He had to write about his dreams to make them go away; write to someone who could understand him and reassure him. Sirius had always been his first choice for cases like this. However, this time, it wasn't possible. The risk was too high. He had to make sure that Voldemort could not find out about his dreams, otherwise the consequences would be dire. Ron and Hermione were too preoccupied with each other, and he didn't want to worry them too much.
Then he thought of Ginny. Somehow, writing to Ginny just felt... right. Surely she would understand; Harry supposed she had suffered from similar nightmares after her ordeal in the Chamber of Secrets in her first year. She wouldn't be overly protective like Hermione, or anxious like Ron. She would just be there for him. Or, at least, he hoped so. Harry turned his lamp on. His eyes hurting from the suddenly bright light, he scrambled for a piece of parchment and a quill. He finally began to write:
"Dear Ginny, How is your summer so far? I hope you are doing quite well. The Dursleys are giving me the silent treatment, but I guess that's an improvement on the screaming treatment. I've been having a lot of dreams, or rather... nightmares about Voldemort and Cedric lately. However, I just had a dream that was slightly different. It was about a woman I don't know, and her daughter I think, being attacked by Death Eaters. There was a blinding green light, and I woke up. Do you think this could have actually happened? "
Harry thought about what to write, and decided that he shouldn't talk about his dreams too much, otherwise Ginny might worry as well. Instead, he wrote:
"On a lighter note, I don't know if you are aware of the situation between Ron and Hermione. Ron is insanely jealous of Viktor, and Hermione is wondering whether he will ever notice that she likes him more than Viktor. Seeing as you're Hermione's friend and Ron's sister, maybe you could talk (or knock) some sense into them. I love them dearly, but they're driving me crazy!"
He was about to end with "Love, Harry" but he stopped short - maybe Ginny would think he was teasing her about the crush she had on him. Did she still have a crush on him? In any case, he preferred to simply sign "Harry".
The Dursleys had agreed to let Hedwig out of her cage whenever she wanted, as they were afraid of "that murderer godfather of yours". She had just come back from hunting, dropping a little mouse on his desk as a token of affection. How nice of you, Hedwig, Harry thought, tying the letter to his owl's leg, who was feeling quite content and seemed rather proud of herself. He let her fly away in the night and then went back to his bed. His last thought, before falling asleep once more, was that Hedwig represented the only being in this house who wasn't disgusted or scared to stand within two hundred feet of him.
* * *
Two hours later, at the crack of dawn, Harry was woken by a mad tapping at his window. Glancing over, he saw a shape outside that could only be Pigwidgeon, Ron's tiny owl; he kept knocking on the window with his beak. Harry dragged himself to the window to open it and caught the overexcited owl - thanks to his Seeker reflexes - before the bird fluttered in his room, bouncing from wall to wall like a Snitch gone awry. The feathery Snitch had even brought two letters, which was a personal record for this ridiculously small bird.
Harry smiled as he recognized Ron's untidy scrawl on the first letter and Ginny's neat little cursive on the second. He decided to open Ginny's letter first, just realizing that he must have woken her up with his letter. Harry Potter, the prat who wakes girls up at ungodly hours to tell them about a little bit of pain, he thought with remorse. Just then, Hedwig flew by the open window, a small parchment in her beak:
"Dear Harry, sorry I kept Hedwig and sent you Ron's owl instead, but she really was a mess when she arrived at The Burrow. I think she got caught up in a storm coming from France, and I cleaned her up so your uncle wouldn't be angry with you. I don't mean to keep you waiting --I saw that Ron and Ginny sent you some letters -- so I'll leave you to your reading. I do hope you can come to The Burrow during summer. Tell the kids whether you can come or not. Affectionately, Molly."
Harry shot Hedwig a commiserative look, but was too curious about Ginny's letter and decided he'd take care of the owl later. Opening the envelope, he found a big piece of parchment with a drawing of a serpent and a note that said:
"Harry, I'm giving this letter to Ron for him to send. Since I know my brother like the back of my hand, I assume he'll try to read it as soon as possible. RON, STOP READING!!!! This is why I bewitched the parchment included in this envelope so that it reveals its contents only if you say "diary" (which is the first word I could think of upon seeing the snake) in Parseltongue (and only in Parseltongue, so Ron, DON'T EVEN TRY!!!!) Don't worry; I didn't get a warning from the Improper Use of Magic Office because my parents use magic constantly. I think that they can only detect it if you live with Muggles (yes, Ron told me about Dobby and the pudding). When you're done reading, say "clear" (still in Parseltongue) and send it back to me, because I will be able to use it again. Ah, the things I have to do to keep my nosey brothers OUT OF MY PRIVATE LIFE (RON, THIS MEANS YOU!!!!) Ginny"
Harry was amazed at her elaborate scheme and had to smile. Wow, she really has changed... Wait a minute, this is my friend's sister I'm talking about here! So? So! What would Ron think if he knew what I was thinking? Who cares? I think I'll stop talking to myself now.
"Diary," he said, barely aware that he was actually hissing. Staring at the parchment, Harry couldn't register any change for some seconds. Then the reptile began to shimmer, and its shades moved from side to side as the snake's body trembled. In a quick and silent motion, the reptile then moved across the page, over and over, tracing Ginny's words with its tail with surprising rapidity.
"Dear Harry, Now that I got rid of my stupid brother (even though I know he's your friend, you have to agree that he can be quite annoying). I know you're not going to be happy about me telling you this, but I really think you should write to Dumbledore. Hermione told me that you often have dreams, thanks to your scar that links you to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. And if this is the case, which it is more than likely to be, think about how much you'll help with the fight against Voldemort by simply writing to Dumbledore, detailing your dream (that way he could maybe identify the victims?). If you don't write to him, not only will you be withholding crucial information that will help the Light side (and try to live with your conscience knowing that), but I'll also hex you into next week! (I know I'm sounding a bit harsh, but you can be quite stubborn, not unlike a certain brother of mine... All my brothers, in fact...)
While on the subject of my brother Ron, you are absolutely right: he is incredibly jealous. He used to get owls from Hermione quite often, which made him more and more irked every day, until they stopped coming altogether. Hermione wrote to me, of course, and said that it was no use, she couldn't make him see sense, but she was hoping that you and I could. Somehow, having "Ron" and "sense" in the same sentence is very disturbing. He's so thick; he wouldn't notice love if it hit him in the face and danced around him naked (which Hermione probably will... hit him in the face, I mean...).
Anyway, he can make himself useful sometimes. I've managed to control his Quidditch-mania by making him tutor me. Chaser is really my favorite position (yes, ok, the real reason is that I wanted to stand out and since Fred and George are Beaters, Charlie was a Seeker, and Ron's preferred position is Keeper, I didn't have much choice...). I hope you can come soon so that we can have someone to challenge Charlie! (we haven't used the Snitch all summer, as that wouldn't be really fair to the team that doesn't have Charlie on it). You can ask Dumbledore in your letter!
Oh great, Ron's hysterical owl just came in. I liked Pig at first, but he's really getting on my nerves now. I hope I can get an owl of my own someday soon.
Ginny
PS: By the way, Ron says you can keep Pig for a few days until you reply, since he will probably be too winded by his "humongous" delivery to do anything but sleep for a couple of days."
Chuckling, Harry turned to see Pig sleeping next to Hedwig. Ginny really is a nice girl. He tried to picture her playing Quidditch with Ron tutoring her, but somehow all he saw in his mind's eye was the wind playing with her long, silky hair, and the sun making her warm brown eyes sparkle. He shook his head and tried to focus on the letter once again. Apparently she hadn't known what closing statement to use either, he mused, a smile drawing on his lips. He couldn't concentrate once more, and his eyes glazed over as he found himself in another daydream... He could picture Ginny on her broomstick once again, her golden skin, adorable freckles and gracious movements, her beautiful suntanned skin, glowing like copper over the grass and in the bluish sky...
SNAP OUT OF IT!
He made a determined effort to stop his reverie and think about more. er. neutral things. Well, I suppose I should write to Dumbledore then. He took out a piece of parchment and a quill, and wrote:
"Professor Dumbledore, I really don't mean to annoy you, and I can guess that this summer must have been very hard to deal with, especially since Voldemort's return. However, you told me that I should warn you if my scar hurt, or anything similar. Well, I just had a dream: I saw a house being destroyed by Death Eaters. I didn't see what happened to the woman and girl inside (the woman had dark eyes, dark hair, and looked like she might have African origins; and the girl had long dark hair). I don't know if they were Muggles or witches, but I really hope all this is just a dream and that nothing happened. But my scar hurt horribly when I woke up; it was just like if my head was going to explode any second, and I could feel Voldemort's presence somewhere, probably just inside my head. As much as I would like to think that this was just a nightmare, I have a nagging feeling that this actually happened. I hope you will be able to find out what happened to the girl and the woman, and if they are all right. If I can help in any way, let me know. I would also like to ask you if it would be possible for me to go to The Burrow?
Thank you very much for your patience, Harry"
He decided to write a letter to Sirius as well, because otherwise, his godfather would probably find out anyway, and get hacked off at Harry for not telling him. In the letter, Harry told him about his scar and asked him how he was doing (and how his mission was going, just in case Sirius decided to share some information with him, as unlikely as that sounded). He tried to keep it short, since he figured that his godfather did not have much time to spare, because he was on an important mission for Dumbledore.
As Harry finished the letter, he suddenly remembered that Ron's letter remained unopened on his desk. Wow, the last time I got so many letters, it was because of that Rita Skeeter article on Hermione . That hadn't been very pleasant for her, though . . . What had Ginny thought at that time? Did she hate Hermione as Mrs. Weasley did? Or did she know it was all lies intended to destroy Hermione's reputation? She probably didn't believe a word of it, as Hermione was her best friend. Why is it that I can't stop thinking about Ginny? She didn't occupy my mind so much in the past... What happened? He supposed his hormones had gone a bit ...er, on overload during the summer.
Besides, he could tell from Ginny's letters that she had matured a lot. She no longer was the tiny eleven-year-old star-struck girl who blushed furiously and ran out of the room every time she saw her crush, the great Harry Potter. He liked her in a friendly way, or even as a sister, right? Her letter was nice and caring in a friendly way, but Harry doubted that her feelings for him went beyond that now. Although they used to. . . He read Ron's letter, which was mostly about Hermione and "bloody Krum".
"I see I'm not the only one whose hormones have gone a bit mad." Harry then realized that he had said this out loud, and stood perfectly still, dreading to hear his uncle's voice booming about too much noise when they were trying to sleep. Instead, he heard noise in the kitchen and noticed that it must indeed be the time when his aunt and uncle would be taking their breakfast. Harry sent Hedwig out, attaching the letters to Dumbledore and Sirius to her leg. As he headed down the stairs to the kitchen, he could picture Ginny in his mind, and decided that his day was turning out to be quite nice after all. How very wrong he was.
* * *
"BOY! GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!!" Uncle Vernon's heavy voice boomed and echoed across the small house on Privet Drive. The heavy thudding and trembling of the house informed Harry that the bellows of his Uncle had also awakened the fat piglet known as Dudley Dursley, and that the whale-sized boy was squeezing himself through his door to get down to the kitchen. Soon enough, the house shook violently to the rhythm of the fat boy's scurrying down the stairs.
"POTTER! I SAID NOW!!"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
With satisfaction, Harry registered that his throat issued these words resoundingly and without skipping. His voice had finished breaking. It was now deep and warm; it was a man's voice. He wondered when the change had occurred and figured he had been too absorbed by Cedric's death to notice that his body was changing. Harry was now the tallest of the Dursley household. Dudley, Vernon, and even the tall bony Petunia were under his eye level.
How convenient, he thought. Harry skipped the last steps absentmindedly and entered the kitchen.
Vernon immediately began his litany, "This summer, your aunt and I have compiled a list of chores that you are to accomplish if you want to go back to that bloody school of yours. You will be waxing the car, de-weeding the lawn, repotting your Aunt's flowers, tidying up the garage, and creating a cement alley across the garden. We'll let you know about the rest later. Is that understood?"
"Will I get paid?" Harry ventured.
He wasn't going to take the Dursley abuse this summer. It would have to change.
At this, Aunt Petunia's shrill banshee-like voice howled, "I MOST CERTAINLY THINK NOT! We should have left you on our doorstep fourteen years ago! But no! We had the decency to feed you, to put clothes on your ungrateful back, to give you a roof to live under, and even though you turned out to be a no good hooligan we kept you! AND NOW YOU WANT US TO PAY YOU!"
The wheels in Harry's head started turning and a smile tugged on his lips.
"Okay," he said. The Dursleys stared at him incredulously. Uncle Vernon's expression turned into a nasty smile.
But Harry continued, "Yeah okay, give me a minute to go tell my Godfather, Sirius Black in case you forgot, about my projects for this summer. You know how he likes to be informed."
Aunt Petunia blanched and fell into a nearby chair. "Vernon!" she pleaded.
He seemed to be pondering over the threats in that big ugly head of his. He glanced furtively at Dudley's large figure, sitting at the table, stuffing his face without registering the scene going on around him. "How much do you want?" he croaked.
"Two pounds a day and decent meals," Harry declared.
Uncle Vernon sputtered. "Are you out of your mind? Two pounds a day, for those ruddy chores! Who do you think you are!?"
A faint smirk tugged on the corners of Harry's lips. "A fifteen year old wizard with interesting connections."
"One pound a day, boy, not a penny more. Now get to work," Vernon conceded, choking and becoming all red, whether from anger or fear.
With those words, Petunia and Vernon turned away and left. "Deal." Harry grinned devilishly, treasuring his victory, even if it was a small one. The smile was wiped off his face when he cast a look upon the garden. Surely Hagrid's hair would be easier to tame than this mess.
"Yeah well, they fell a little behind," cackled Dudley.
"So did you," said Harry "On your diet, I mean."
A "little behind" was euphemism for his cousin's enormous behind and body. Dudley had doubled over the school year. He had accumulated so much fat that it had become a task to squeeze between the doorframes. Petunia would always complain that they made the doors too small in houses. She was still oblivious to the fact that she had made Dudley too fat for the house.
"Oh shut up you abnormal freak! I was wondering, what does a four-eyed abnormality do after school? You know besides joining a circus, or getting blown up with his family," commented Dudley.
He had barely time to finish his sentence before all the windowpanes shattered in a strident noise.
Bloody hell! The Dursleys are going to kill me!
The overweight boy scurried back upstairs. "MUMMY! He's done it again!" Dudley's face was white with fear.
But then again, so was Harry's. He knelt down beside the broken glass.
NO! Why the hell does this always happen to me? He was hoping with all his might that the windows would somehow fix themselves. When he opened his eyes, the glass pieces were flying across the room, miraculously getting back into place like a huge puzzle. The glass melted back together like a healing wound, and the windowpanes ended up unmarked. Expecting an owl to come in with a howler from the Ministry any minute, Harry prepared for the worst.
However, when Uncle Vernon came thumping to the veranda instead, Harry decided that people at the Ministry were probably too preoccupied denying Voldemort's return and didn't care about his wandless magic.
"What's going on? Dudley said something about you being abnormal again and breaking the windows."
"Nothing, Uncle Vernon. The windows are just fine. If Dudley is seeing things, I suggest you keep him out of the sun," Harry replied in an innocent tone.
"Well," grumbled the Dursley patriarch, "get to work! I'm not paying you to watch the weeds grow."
Harry exhaled deeply. This was going to be a very long summer. He got on his knees once more and started pulling the dandelions out with passion.
He had been working for over three hours and ripped off his oversized inconvenient shirt. His body was aching all over, arms and legs covered in dirt. Dudley had even had the immense pleasure of smothering Harry's face with mud. Harry didn't need that, because he was already dripping with sweat, and the mud only made him look more disgusting. As long as it stayed on the ground, though, the soil was cool and comforting. The smell of grass reminded him of the Hogwarts Quidditch field; that wasn't unpleasant at all. The whole Dursley garden appeared free of weeds in a matter of hours.
This isn't so bad, thought Harry, looking proudly at his work. However, when he got up to cut the grass, his sore body told him how wrong he was. Once he was done with the manicure of the lawn, he figured he could take the rest of the day off, so he decided he would spend it on the freshly cut lawn. He laid down in the sun and drifted off into a well deserved slumber, no nightmares involved. When he woke up, the sun had set behind the tall trees and an ochre color invaded the sky. He nonchalantly made his way back to the kitchen.
Aunt Petunia had disposed newspaper on the floor so that he wouldn't get the pampered house dirty. He decided to take a shower before dinner. The frugal sandwich he had munched down a couple hours ago felt like an eternity away. Never had a shower felt this good. It washed away all his troubles, worries, and thoughts. The soreness of his muscles started to fade quickly under the hot stream. He thought once more that he could get used to this routine.
Sure enough, he did. In about a week, the garden was perfectly manicured and the grass shown with a vibrant, youthful green. But most importantly, Harry had seven pounds in his pocket, as well as some new muscles and a shy sunburn. It would soon enough turn into a nice tan, as if to testify of his labor.
* * *
A few days after Vernon gave him his chore list, Hedwig flew in from the window, clutching three letters. Harry scanned the handwriting on the envelopes. Speak of the devil! Not only had Sirius replied, but Harry had received a letter from Dumbledore as well. They must not be very far, since I sent my letters to them two days ago. He opened Dumbledore's letter first, anxious to see if he would be able to go to The Burrow, at least for a week. As it turned out, Harry did not have Dumbledore's permission to go to The Burrow, "for security reasons." The Weasleys were warned, and albeit disappointed, they understood this was for the best. Harry did not understand what could be safer than a house full of wizards, until he remembered that Dumbledore had already mentioned the "special protection" that Privet Drive offered.
Feeling resigned and much less cheerful than when he had first seen Hedwig and his three letters, Harry opened the one from his godfather:
"Harry, I am in a bit of a rush since I am on some secret Dumbledore business, as you know, but I just wanted to let you know that I am all right so don't worry about me. I worry about you, on the other hand. Dumbledore informed me that you had written to him. That's a very good reflex. If ever your scar should hurt you again, or if anything unusual happens, DO NOT HESITATE TO WRITE to me or Dumbledore. You're safe at Privet Drive, so don't do anything stupid like running off to The Burrow without Dumbledore's permission. Take care, Snuffles."
Harry thought that Sirius's letter seemed a bit harsh, but then again, Sirius was under quite a bit of pressure at the moment, and he worried a lot for Harry. It was really no wonder that his stress made him sound unusually edgy in his letters. It wasn't unlike Ginny, who worried for Harry so much that she had adopted a quite bossy tone at one point in her letter. As he sat down to reply to her letter, another owl came in, shuffling his letters as it landed on his desk. This unfamiliar owl was about as big as Hedwig, and had brown and white stripes all over its body. The top of its head was brown with tiny white dots.
That's odd. I wonder whom it's from.
As soon as he had untied the letter from the newcomer's leg, the striped owl glared at Pigwidgeon, who was now fluttering about the room, rejuvenated after this long rest. The foreign owl gave a last dignified hoot, just to give that ridiculous sparrow an example of a real owl, and left without waiting for Harry's response. Harry recognized Hermione's writing, and supposed she was still in Bulgaria, because he had never seen an owl like that before.
"Dear Harry,
How are you doing? Actually, wrong question. How could you not have told me that your scar hurt you regularly? I mean, that's what friends are for: so you can tell them when something's wrong. You probably were trying to keep me from worrying, but you know, Harry, I really care about you, and I want to know everything that's happening to you so that I can help you.
Thank Merlin that Ron told me about you scar. That's the only interesting and sensible thing he told me since the beginning of the summer! Do you know what he actually thinks? I can't even tell you, it's so vulgar. Of course, it has to do with Viktor and I. But I mean, bloody hell, it isn't his problem! Besides, we are only friends, although that red haired prat refuses to believe me. You do believe me, don't you, Harry? Well, tell Ron that he's a git: I'm not writing to him anymore. I mean, what's the use? He's so mean and I hate it when he reacts like that. He's so childish, it's almost as if he were jealous. But of course he isn't. If he is, though, could you
Anyhow, he just shouldn't treat me that way. I'm not his property. And I thought he'd grow during the summer, so much for me!
Ok, enough about Ron. Just thinking about him makes me... I can't really describe it, but it makes me pretty angry. I probably won't be writing to you much for the following month, although I will try to stay in touch. I'm meeting a girl I've been writing to recently. She's really sweet, at least judging by her letters, and she used to be a friend of Fleur Delacour's. She goes to Beauxbatons, but before that she lived in Egypt. I never heard of a wizarding school there, so I guess I'll have to do some research about that. Well, I'll see you on September 1st. Or maybe sooner... Love,
from Hermione
P.S.: I'm sending this letter by a Boreal Owl, which is one of the local owls here in Bulgaria. Aren't they so cute? They're not as cute as the Eurasian Pygmy-Owls, though... I'm giving one to Ginny in the Hogwarts Express because I know how much she wants an owl of her own! (But don't tell her: it's a surprise!)"
Harry was thrilled that Hermione would be giving Ginny an owl of her own. She would be so happy! He was also intrigued about the girl Hermione had been writing to-- who could this mystery girl be? And why did Hermione write "Or maybe sooner?" She probably didn't know yet that he couldn't come to The Burrow. Harry didn't know if Hermione would come to The Burrow. Maybe so. He cringed as he thought of the many and frequent fights she and Ron would be having. Then again, maybe this would bring them closer together... After all, most of Hermione's letter was about Ron, and most of Ron's was about her. Harry rolled his eyes and considered writing them a collective letter along the lines of "Oh, just SNOG ALREADY!"
He pushed the thought away, as that would probably make them even more vehement in their denial of their love for each other. Instead, he wrote very similar - but still somewhat personalized - letters to each of them. When he finished Ron's letter, Harry realized that he hadn't yet replied to Ginny. I can't believe that I didn't even manage to make time to write back to her yet! He scrambled furiously for a quill and a parchment, and wrote:
"Dear Ginny, How are you doing? I'm so glad that you're playing Quidditch!"
Harry, in a moment of delirium, thought of writing "I've fantasized about you on a broom, oh, only about a million times" but instead wrote:
"I can't wait to see you play. Who knows, maybe you'll get chosen for the team! That is, if Katie, Angelina or Alicia decides to leave, since we can't just kick them out, really. . . I wrote to Dumbledore, like you asked me to (yes, master Ginny). He told me that I couldn't come to The Burrow! That means that I have to stay here all summer and do chores for the Dursleys. I did manage to make them pay me, though. Or else, I'm sure Hermione would have started some kind of association against my slave labour. Perhaps she would have called it "B.A.R.F.", for British Anti-slave- labour Rage Foundation.
I don't think we should worry about Hermione and Ron anymore. For now, anyway. I mean, they obviously like each other, but I think that letters won't do any good. The more we insist, the more they'll deny it (you know how stubborn they are). So for now, we should let time arrange things (and when we're at Hogwarts, we can take more active measures). Maybe there'll be another Ball or something, and we can convince Ron to ask Hermione. "
And I can work up the nerve to ask you, he thought .
Hey! Where did that come from?
Harry decided to end the letter before his hand wrote his most intimate - and embarrassing - thoughts out of its own accord.
"I can't come to The Burrow, but I hope we'll keep writing. See you around and take care of yourself, Harry."
Harry hoped that his letter didn't sound too eager or lovesick, as he was aiming for a more friendly tone. He really wasn't sure what his feelings for her were, but he decided to opt a friendly attitude for now. As soon as he was done, he sent a very excited and eager Pigwidgeon on its way, with his letters to Ron and Ginny.
* * *
During the second week of labor, Harry completely reorganized the cabinets in the garage and cleaned up the attic. After spending a day or two squeezed between a dirty wall and a not-so-clean-either car, Harry managed to rid the garage of all the cobwebs and oil stains. He then pursued his goal of tidying the Dursley house by attacking the attic. This room had always been locked and Petunia would have killed him had she found him in there. But then again, she would have killed him in pretty much any room he might enter, if she could have.
After opening the barricaded windows to let some fresh air enter the room, he began moving huge cardboard boxes that were piled up in trembling towers. He found a lot of amazing items, still more boring ones. There was a collection of Dudley's mouth prints and hair from ages one month to six years, ripped pictures that Uncle Vernon had taken of his neighbors' cars, mutilated dolls which probably had been Aunt Petunia's, and lots of other gadgets, falling apart and already part of the local rats' food chain.
In a darker corner, he stumbled upon a medium sized box pressed between two piles of cookbooks. These books obviously hadn't been read for a long time, judging by their disastrous state and Aunt Petunia's cooking. Harry opened the box and pulled out a blue and pink bunny holding a flower -a white lily. There also were some books, mainly classics, on which Harry recognized his mother's serious notes. There was also a spell book, smaller than the rest, covered in white and gold leather. The title read, "Love Charms: How They Changed the Course of Muggle and Wizard History". Harry opened it, and read some of the stories:
How Calypso kept Odysseus in her island during seven years by casting a simple spell...
How Viviane freed Merlin from Morgan's curse by using the power of her love...
How Romeo and Juliet, by dying for love, had managed to generate peace between to hateful families...
And finally how Iphigenia, by sacrificing herself, protected her father Agamemnon against the terrible curse the evil enchantress Artemis was about to cast upon him.
Harry felt his eyes water, and a tear fell on the page representing Iphigenia dying for her father. So his mother had known what she was doing when she protected her son. She had believed in this tiny book, believed in herself, believed in her love for Harry. To avoid crying and risking to be seen by the Dursleys, Harry opened an envelope that lay at the bottom of the box.
He stared astounded at twenty or so pictures of his mother; the colored rectangles spread on the floor like water spilling. He recognized his mother in the baby smiling at the photographer, in the little girl with a summer dress and a straw hat, and in the charming ten-year-old soccer player with her ball under her arm. He wished he could keep them all, but he figured Aunt Petunia would notice if he hung them in his room.
He decided to keep only one. A Lily looking fifteen, or perhaps a little less, was lying on her stomach, in the grass of a beautiful garden. Her dress looked like a cloud around her, and her face, emerging from a book, shined with the beginning of a smile. Harry felt tears in his eyes, again. He just couldn't stop it- she was so pretty, with her red hair and deep green eyes, why did she have to die so young, especially to save him?
She had died when she loved deeply, yet Voldemort, consumed by his hatred and anger, had managed to survive. This just seemed so unfair! Right now, Harry just felt like knocking the world over. He hesitated between giving in to his anger, or abandoning his fight for self-control. Maybe it was time for him to let go, and cry his heart out. The only problem was, he was alone, and desperate.
Petunia's screech, ordering him to come to dinner, brought him back to reality. Harry hid the picture in the book on love spells, and plunged it in his pocket. He left the now-tidy attic, hoping someday he could come back here and take away all these treasures, never to return in this detested household.
* * *
During the third and fourth weeks, Harry created an alley in the Dursley's garden. The cement path separated the lawn into two green rectangles, which made it look cleaner. But this was only due to tiring, hard work. He couldn't pretend he actually liked doing these tasks, but at least he didn't have to remain imprisoned in the house with the Dursleys. Besides, he truly enjoyed the smell of cut grass when night was coming, or the odorous humidity of the lawn in the morning. Not to mention the captious smell coming from trees in the neighboring gardens, or the incredible heat provided by the sun at its peak.
All in all, it wasn't so bad, especially considering the physical changes Harry got as a result from his chores. Once inside his room, Harry stared at his reflection. His bright green eyes stood out more than usual because of the light bronze color of his skin. His unruly jet-black hair was the same as ever, stubbornly refusing to obey Harry's brush. Harry didn't mind it one bit though, since it reminded him of his father.
Besides, it looked quite - manly, now that his body had developed. Indeed, his shoulders had broadened and he was no longer ashamed of his meager arms - which were far from being small at this moment. His abs even looked like tablets of Lindt, and his legs were... Well, let's just say young women who passed by the Dursley's house often stopped simply when seeing his muscular legs. Wow, he sometimes thought, hearing a woman's gasp, I wonder why they keep staring at me like that. I mean, it's not like I'm handsome or anything. I wonder... I wonder if girls at Hogwarts would find me attractive...
* * *
After a long day of work, Harry came out of the shower and was surprised to see Pigwidgeon hovering above his bed, on which he had dropped a letter. Ginny's reply, Harry thought, and his heart leapt. During the past few weeks, Harry and Ginny had corresponded quite regularly. They had kept their friendly tone, which still kept Harry in the dark as to how she felt about him. In her letters, Ginny didn't reveal anything concerning her feelings for Harry. Were these just friendly feelings? Or did they go deeper than that? That was what Harry wanted to know, but he didn't ask, of course.
Harry knew that letters were a very practical way to conceal one's emotions, for he had censored a lot of his hormonal feelings for her, making himself keep to the same, friendly tone as her. He longed to see her, but knew that he had to wait a bit more than a month. He eagerly opened the letter, and read:
"Hey Harry!
So, how's your work coming along? Are you still building muscles to make all the girls in school faint at the sight of you? Run screaming like banshees, more like! But I suppose you just want a certain Ravenclaw Seeker's jaw to drop to the floor as soon as she sees how handsome and charming you've become... Well keep dreaming!
Hahaha you know I'm only joking, right?
Did I tell you that Angelina came over at our house last weekend? Her and Fred are pretty...er...close, if you know what I mean. Mum and Dad were following them around everywhere, not letting them out of their sight for one second-- they even followed Fred to the bathroom!! They didn't go in, just stayed outside the door, of course... But still! As if he'd go there to meet up with Angelina for a quick shag! I don't know how she put up with Fred in the first place, but if I were her, I'd be so freaked out by my parents-- er, Fred's parents-- that I'd break up with him while I still have my sanity! Seriously, my family is too over-protective...
And this is just for Fred, so imagine if it were me bringing home a boyfriend! He would never hear the end of it! I mean, all my brothers would probably pound him for taking their "baby sister" away, and my parents would just lock me up until I turned forty-three. You see, my parents' policy is only to allow me to date after I'm married. Adults make a whole lot of sense.
Ha, right! I guess I'll be lonely all my life. If ever I meet a bloke crazy enough to be able to stand me, he'll still never survive, with the family I have! Otherwise, mom is going crazy with the sound of all the explosions coming from the twins' room. She's always threatening to take everything away! But when she does, they always manage to get more... And I've seen them get lots of letters, and write more order sheets for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.
I wonder where they got the money for all of this. They even asked me what color I think Ron would look good in, because they want to buy him new robes! That is yet another mystery for (da-dum DA-DUM!) agent 000: Ny. Gin- Ny. Get it? (We talked about James Bond in Muggle Studies, and I just love it when he says: "Bond. James Bond."!!!)
Of course, I say "yet another mystery" because Hermione still hasn't told me ANYTHING about her mysterious pen pal other than the fact that she's meeting her. Seriously, I'm her best friend! And girls are supposed to tell each other things, right? Did she tell you anything more about her since the last time you wrote? I bet she's just hushing it all up and making it seem mysterious to make it look interesting, and to gloat because she knows something we don't.
Sometimes she's so annoying that she just makes me want to roll my eyes. She can be very immature. It's not like me, of course. "Mature" is my middle name (along with "Smart", "Beautiful", "Hilarious", and "Nice"... now that I think of it, my parents must really like me to give me all these names...) She also told me she had ANOTHER surprise for me. Perhaps she bought me a book on Goblin Rebellions (Oh joy! I just can't get enough of those! History classes leave me starving for more).
Well, I must get going. My schizophrenic self is now forced to adopt the persona of "Ginny the house-elf" in order to set the table (mum's throwing pillows at me to hurry up).
Love,
Ginny."
Harry felt like his heart fluttered, and didn't even have the sense to find this childish. She had signed "Love, Ginny". She had never done that before, had she? He would have noticed... That didn't mean anything, though: his best friend signed all of her letters with "Love from Hermione". But she had always done it, while Ginny... It was the first time! Did that mean that she actually liked him? Or did it mean she didn't anymore, and wasn't afraid of admitting her friendly love to Harry? These questions ran through Harry's head like a cloud of noisy bees, causing all the rest of his thoughts to blur.
Why am I making such a big deal out of this? When did I start hoping that she loved me more than as a friend? Are these just my hormones talking, or did I really develop feelings for her, over the small bit of correspondence we had over the summer?
His head was starting to hurt. But still, she had written: "Love, Ginny"... He sat down on his bed, feeling dizzy and yet so happy. Maybe she still loved him after all. Maybe she didn't. Harry examined all of the possibilities like others tear petals from daisies to find the answer. Finally, exhausted, burning with happiness and doubt, he let himself fall on his hard bed. He had never felt that way before, and he couldn't determine whether it was that he felt protected by Ginny's love, or that he himself was falling in love. A few seconds later, Harry fell asleep, his hand holding on tightly to Ginny's letter.