"BOY!"
Vernon Dursley thundered up the stairs and down the hall and flung open the farthest door to find his nephew lying on top of his unmade bed, his eyes staring at the same exact spot on the ceiling and moving only to blink, one arm hanging limply over the side and the other gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles were white; a few red sparks spouted out of the tip of it every few seconds. It was the exact same position he'd been in since he'd come home from school. Vernon couldn't remember him moving at all except to use the restroom and to eat something once a day, when he ate at all. When Vernon continued yelling, it was in a somewhat subdued voice compared to the way he usually spoke to his nephew.
"Someone's on the phone for you, boy. Do you plan on answering it or should I take it back downstairs with me now?" Still, the boy didn't move. Another sprinkle of red sparks emitted from his wand.
"All right. If you're too busy in Dreamland, I'm going to hang up the phone. I won't have you tying up the line if you're not even going to speak to the boy." He turned and made to go down the stairs.
"Leave it."
Vernon turned with one hand on the doorknob. The boy still hadn't moved. "What's that?"
"Leave it here." Another spray of sparks.
Vernon stared at him oddly for a moment, then spoke sharply into the phone. "I don't know whether he'll talk to you or not. Doesn't seem to be interested in moving." Then he dropped it inside the boy's open trunk and left the room, closing the door behind him.
The boy idly shot another spray of sparks into the air before turning his head slightly to look at the phone. Should he pick it up? He really didn't feel like speaking to anyone at the moment... or ever again. But if it was someone important... someone with news... No. No one could give him the kind of news he wanted right now. He faced the ceiling again and shut his eyes, trying to block out the images that had been haunting him for the past week.
"Harry?"
The voice was strangely muffled, as though it were coming from a long distance, and oddly familiar... "Harry?"
He turned again and stared at the trunk. Ron... Against his better judgment, he slowly walked over, moved aside a book and some robes, and picked up the phone. "Ron?" His voice sounded dull, faraway.
"Harry! Er... hi."
"Hi Ron." He laid on his bed once more, his wand still in his free hand.
"Er... I figured out how to use a telephone, see? No more yelling."
Wow, no kidding? "That's good, Ron." There was silence on the other end of the line. Harry sent another spray of sparks into the air.
"Harry?"
Ron, if you want to say something, say it. "I'm here."
"Oh, okay. So, er... how are you?" His voice sounded tentative, as though he knew he were treading on thin ice that might crack at a moment's notice.
How am I? How do you bloody well think I am? "I'm just fine."
"Are you... sure?"
Ron, I don't want to talk about it. "I'm sure."
"Oh." More silence. More sparks. "Say, Harry... Dad's got tickets to the Quidditch Cup again this year! D'you... I mean... would you want to come?"
No, I don't want to come! I don't want to do anything ever again! "Dunno. Maybe."
"Cool! Uh... D'you think the muggles will let you?"
I hope not. "Probably. I think they're a bit frightened to keep me from doing anything I want to right now."
Ron gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah, after what Moody and them said, I'd be scared too..."
I suppose that's the only reason they're letting me have this conversation. I wish Moody hadn't said a word. "Yeah, I suppose so."
More silence. "So... guess you should ask the muggles if you can come, eh?"
More sparks. "I guess I should. If I decide I want to come."
"Why wouldn't you want to see Quidditch?"
Hmm. Think real hard, Ron. "I'm not really in the mood to do much of anything at the moment."
Ron gave a frustrated exclamation. "Come on, Harry! Look mate, I know you're still upset about Sirius. Who wouldn't be? I know he was..."
"DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT HIM!" Harry had sat up so quickly that his head began to spin; massaging his forehead, he continued. "Look, I know you all seem to think that 'talking about it will help me' or something like that, but you're wrong. Dead wrong. I never want to talk about it, or him, ever again. So just stop pestering me about it! Now is that all you wanted to talk about? Because if it is, you can go now."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Harry felt almost sorry for yelling at him so. Then, "Okay, Harry. I won't ask about it again. Mum said you might want to talk about it, that's all. But-- don't hang up on me, Harry-- if you ever want to, you know, talk... er, I'll be here." He gave a sort of embarrassed cough and went on. "So... want to come to the Cup?"
Harry remained in a sitting position and leaned against the wall. He really didn't want to... but he didn't really want to blow Ron off, either... "Who's playing?"
"England! Isn't that brilliant? They made it this year, and they're playing against Australia... my dad's really excited. Says the Aussies are a really fun crowd, great accents and they really know how to party... but he also says we won't be able to see that, because there's no way they're going to beat England, we're much better. But no one expected the Ireland- Bulgaria either, did they? And..." Harry let Ron ramble on while he went over his options. He was slightly interested in seeing England play, since he'd heard and read all about them. And it would probably do him good to spend some time with the Weasleys, the only people in the world who still loved him... but then he imagined what Mrs. Weasley would say. "Are you all right, dear?... well no, of course you're not. Who would be? You know dear, I understand what you're going through... but you have to leave the past behind you, you can't dwell on it, Harry dear..." Bla bla bla.
"Won't he?"
Harry shook his head and centered back on what Ron was saying. "Uh... sure, yeah he will."
"So... d'you want to come, Harry?"
Harry leaned back, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "I... I don't know, Ron. Can you... would it be all right if I take a day or two to think about it? I'll send Hedwig over as soon as I decide."
"Oh... sure, that should be fine." Harry felt a small stab of guilt at the deflated tone in Ron's voice. "So... I'd better go. Unless there's anything else you want to talk about?"
How many times are you going to try it, Ron? "No, nothing I can think of."
"Okay then... see you, Harry."
"See you, Ron." He turned off the phone and stared at it for a moment, replaying the conversation in his head. After a minute he made his way to the top of the stairs, set the phone down, and gently nudging it with his foot, calling "I'm finished with the phone." He then quickly retreated to his room and laid down on his bed again, in the same position Uncle Vernon had found him in. He checked his clock: 1:16 PM. Another spray of red sparks emitted from the tip of his wand before he fell fast asleep.
Vernon Dursley thundered up the stairs and down the hall and flung open the farthest door to find his nephew lying on top of his unmade bed, his eyes staring at the same exact spot on the ceiling and moving only to blink, one arm hanging limply over the side and the other gripping his wand so tightly that his knuckles were white; a few red sparks spouted out of the tip of it every few seconds. It was the exact same position he'd been in since he'd come home from school. Vernon couldn't remember him moving at all except to use the restroom and to eat something once a day, when he ate at all. When Vernon continued yelling, it was in a somewhat subdued voice compared to the way he usually spoke to his nephew.
"Someone's on the phone for you, boy. Do you plan on answering it or should I take it back downstairs with me now?" Still, the boy didn't move. Another sprinkle of red sparks emitted from his wand.
"All right. If you're too busy in Dreamland, I'm going to hang up the phone. I won't have you tying up the line if you're not even going to speak to the boy." He turned and made to go down the stairs.
"Leave it."
Vernon turned with one hand on the doorknob. The boy still hadn't moved. "What's that?"
"Leave it here." Another spray of sparks.
Vernon stared at him oddly for a moment, then spoke sharply into the phone. "I don't know whether he'll talk to you or not. Doesn't seem to be interested in moving." Then he dropped it inside the boy's open trunk and left the room, closing the door behind him.
The boy idly shot another spray of sparks into the air before turning his head slightly to look at the phone. Should he pick it up? He really didn't feel like speaking to anyone at the moment... or ever again. But if it was someone important... someone with news... No. No one could give him the kind of news he wanted right now. He faced the ceiling again and shut his eyes, trying to block out the images that had been haunting him for the past week.
"Harry?"
The voice was strangely muffled, as though it were coming from a long distance, and oddly familiar... "Harry?"
He turned again and stared at the trunk. Ron... Against his better judgment, he slowly walked over, moved aside a book and some robes, and picked up the phone. "Ron?" His voice sounded dull, faraway.
"Harry! Er... hi."
"Hi Ron." He laid on his bed once more, his wand still in his free hand.
"Er... I figured out how to use a telephone, see? No more yelling."
Wow, no kidding? "That's good, Ron." There was silence on the other end of the line. Harry sent another spray of sparks into the air.
"Harry?"
Ron, if you want to say something, say it. "I'm here."
"Oh, okay. So, er... how are you?" His voice sounded tentative, as though he knew he were treading on thin ice that might crack at a moment's notice.
How am I? How do you bloody well think I am? "I'm just fine."
"Are you... sure?"
Ron, I don't want to talk about it. "I'm sure."
"Oh." More silence. More sparks. "Say, Harry... Dad's got tickets to the Quidditch Cup again this year! D'you... I mean... would you want to come?"
No, I don't want to come! I don't want to do anything ever again! "Dunno. Maybe."
"Cool! Uh... D'you think the muggles will let you?"
I hope not. "Probably. I think they're a bit frightened to keep me from doing anything I want to right now."
Ron gave a weak chuckle. "Yeah, after what Moody and them said, I'd be scared too..."
I suppose that's the only reason they're letting me have this conversation. I wish Moody hadn't said a word. "Yeah, I suppose so."
More silence. "So... guess you should ask the muggles if you can come, eh?"
More sparks. "I guess I should. If I decide I want to come."
"Why wouldn't you want to see Quidditch?"
Hmm. Think real hard, Ron. "I'm not really in the mood to do much of anything at the moment."
Ron gave a frustrated exclamation. "Come on, Harry! Look mate, I know you're still upset about Sirius. Who wouldn't be? I know he was..."
"DON'T TALK TO ME ABOUT HIM!" Harry had sat up so quickly that his head began to spin; massaging his forehead, he continued. "Look, I know you all seem to think that 'talking about it will help me' or something like that, but you're wrong. Dead wrong. I never want to talk about it, or him, ever again. So just stop pestering me about it! Now is that all you wanted to talk about? Because if it is, you can go now."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Harry felt almost sorry for yelling at him so. Then, "Okay, Harry. I won't ask about it again. Mum said you might want to talk about it, that's all. But-- don't hang up on me, Harry-- if you ever want to, you know, talk... er, I'll be here." He gave a sort of embarrassed cough and went on. "So... want to come to the Cup?"
Harry remained in a sitting position and leaned against the wall. He really didn't want to... but he didn't really want to blow Ron off, either... "Who's playing?"
"England! Isn't that brilliant? They made it this year, and they're playing against Australia... my dad's really excited. Says the Aussies are a really fun crowd, great accents and they really know how to party... but he also says we won't be able to see that, because there's no way they're going to beat England, we're much better. But no one expected the Ireland- Bulgaria either, did they? And..." Harry let Ron ramble on while he went over his options. He was slightly interested in seeing England play, since he'd heard and read all about them. And it would probably do him good to spend some time with the Weasleys, the only people in the world who still loved him... but then he imagined what Mrs. Weasley would say. "Are you all right, dear?... well no, of course you're not. Who would be? You know dear, I understand what you're going through... but you have to leave the past behind you, you can't dwell on it, Harry dear..." Bla bla bla.
"Won't he?"
Harry shook his head and centered back on what Ron was saying. "Uh... sure, yeah he will."
"So... d'you want to come, Harry?"
Harry leaned back, taking a deep breath and exhaling. "I... I don't know, Ron. Can you... would it be all right if I take a day or two to think about it? I'll send Hedwig over as soon as I decide."
"Oh... sure, that should be fine." Harry felt a small stab of guilt at the deflated tone in Ron's voice. "So... I'd better go. Unless there's anything else you want to talk about?"
How many times are you going to try it, Ron? "No, nothing I can think of."
"Okay then... see you, Harry."
"See you, Ron." He turned off the phone and stared at it for a moment, replaying the conversation in his head. After a minute he made his way to the top of the stairs, set the phone down, and gently nudging it with his foot, calling "I'm finished with the phone." He then quickly retreated to his room and laid down on his bed again, in the same position Uncle Vernon had found him in. He checked his clock: 1:16 PM. Another spray of red sparks emitted from the tip of his wand before he fell fast asleep.