In Every Darkness
Chapter Three: Dare to Dream
9.7.1996 (That Night)
Afternoon was well on the way. Harry sat, fidgeting as he tried to be calm and wait for night to fall. He knew he wouldn't make it – the desire to see his godfather was too great, but he was certainly going to try!
He was sitting still, his head resting against the palm of his hand as he stared at his clock and willed the minutes to pass faster. Suddenly, he jerked his head up in surprise. From all around the room came a soft sound, a song …
Harry felt like weeping from the beauty of it, even as he recognized it as phoenix song. What was happening? Why would a phoenix be coming to him? Then he remembered – it was three days since he'd last sent a letter to the Order, they would want to know what was going on. Was this Fawkes then, come to check up on him?
Harry was aware, dimly, that had he not been in the thrall of Fawkes's song, he would have been angry that the Order had not thought him able to contact them on his own. But the beauty of the song was far too great for him to feel anything more than a peace so total it seemed incredible.
And then the phoenix burst into being before him. Harry smiled in delight as the bird of flame twirled around him, coming to rest against his shoulder, a warm, comfortable weight against his cheek.
The phoenix trilled a last few notes of its song, and dropped a note from his beak onto the desk in front of Harry, then waited. Harry guessed he was waiting for him to read the note.
He reached forward and lifted it up. It was simply a piece of paper folded in half – obviously Dumbledore, for it must have been him that sent it, hadn't been at all worried about the letter going astray.
Flipping it open, Harry read the short note inscribed there.
Dear Harry,
You probably think that I do not trust you to write on your own, am I right? This is not the case. I will send Fawkes to you every three days. This way, if you are hurt, Fawkes will be able to come and tell me, and we can come to help. If you are hurt, you may be unable to write.
Though this method of communication is much safer than owl post, do not trust too much to anything you write. There are ways to intercept everything.
I hope you are well, and not too upset about not being able to come to GrimmauldPalace just yet. I sincerely hope you aren't beating yourself up about Sirius's death too much – it wasn't your fault Harry, if it was anyone's, it was mine.
There was no signature, but from the nature of the contents, and the look of the writing, as well as the fact that it had come with Fawkes.
As if aware that Harry's thoughts were on him, Fawkes gave a couple of trills.
"I am supposed to write back?" Harry asked the phoenix easily.
A couple of trills and a bob of the head.
"Fine then."
Harry picked up his quill and dipped it into the ink, thinking about what to write.
Professor,
All's been well here; the Dursleys are treating me just fine. There's been no whisper of trouble at all.
Will I be able to come to Grimmauld Place at some point this summer?
How is everyone?
Harry.
Short, Harry thought, but he couldn't really think of anything else to say. "Here Fawkes, take this back to Dumbledore," Harry said quietly, holding the paper up to the phoenix.
Fawkes took it gently in his beak, trilled a few times, and burst into flames. When the flames cleared, the phoenix was gone.
Harry sighed and put his quill down, then glanced at the clock.
"Hey, cool! It's ten minutes since I last checked!" He remarked, and settled down to will the clock hands to move faster.
By five o'clock that afternoon, Harry was thoroughly bored, and getting quite tired. Smiling, he decided that it was finally time he could try and talk to Sirius again.
Bouncing over to the bed, he lay down, got himself comfortable and allowed his eyes to drift closed.
Sleep, though, was some time in coming. Harry's thoughts raced, remembering his last visit with Sirius, thinking about what had happened that day.
Finally, however, Harry's exhausted mind and body drifted into a deep, restful sleep.
Harry's eyelids fluttered, he was on the brink of wakefulness, but he wanted to keep sleeping. He didn't want to get up.
But consciousness was calling him, and he knew that he would have to answer.
Harry allowed his eyes to open, staring at the white ceiling of his room. Sirius hadn't come. But neither had the nightmares… Harry wasn't sure if he was pleased or sad about the night's sleep.
With a sigh, he turned his head to look at the time and nearly gasped out loud. Four o'clock! And it had to be afternoon; it was light outside. He'd slept for almost twenty-four hours!
Shaking his head in amazement, Harry stumbled out of his bed and across to Hedwig's cage. She was nearly out of both food and water, which was unsurprising.
Harry took care of his owl, and wandered over to the desk. He was bored. He wondered how many other people found the summer boring, and decided that it couldn't be very many.
Harry opened his Defense Against the Dark Arts book and started reading…
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