The Tree of Life

Disclaimer: I forgot one of these last chapter. I don't own Harry Potter or any of his friends excepting Penelope. Please don't use Penny without my permission, or bad things will happen.

Thank You: blumberg, you're the coolest! Thanks for being my first reviewer and giving the spiffing idea for a title. I love you!

History: I decided to call this story "The Tree of Life", which is a line from a beautiful poem called "Jesus Christ the Apple Tree." This story has nothing to do with religion…I just liked the sound of the title.

Plugs: Lately I've been reading "The God of the Lost" by Gravidy and "Mindless Snogging" by Catelina. I'm a Draco/Hermione obsessive.

Ahem…well, school's starting soon, and I reeeeally wanna do well, so this probably won't be updated frequently. However, be of stout heart. I will finish this fanfic. It won't go on infinite hiatus like "Homecoming."

Chapter One: My Soul Hath Seen

Harry Potter woke to the gentle tapping of beak against windowpane. Hedwig, his owl, was back, carrying an envelope in her claws. Shoving his round glasses onto his face, Harry looked at his clock. It was just after two-thirty A.M. Getting out of bed, Harry pulled the window open and stepped back to allow Hedwig inside. The owl dropped the letter into Harry's hands, nipped lightly at his ear, and fluttered into her cage.

Grabbing a flashlight, Harry opened the envelope, recognizing Hermione's neat handwriting. He scanned its contents.

Dear Harry,

How are you doing? I hope your aunt and uncle are being fair, after Moody talked to them.

Ron and I went on a trip to Ireland and took Ginny with us. Fred and George made some extremely rude comments about that. I won't write them. Really, they can be quite vulgar sometimes, and they just live to make fun of Ron.

We'll be sending someone for you shortly, so you can celebrate your birthday with us. We don't know who it will be yet, but they will be someone who can act enough like a Muggle not to arouse suspicion.

You-Know-Who's been rather quiet recently, but his Death Eaters haven't;we'll fill you in when you get here, all right?

So! Expect to be picked up sometime on July 10th. Tell your family not to send any salespeople away that day until you've had a look at them. Ron got in a fight with Crookshanks over a gnome, so he can't hold a quill, but he sends his regards anyway.

Love,

Hermione

Harry grinned. It sounded like things were going well with Ron and Hermione. That was good. Getting hold of a quill, he wrote a quick reply.

Hey Hermione,

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are a little scared, but a lot less nasty. Dudley's the same as ever. He's been insisting that the next time Moody comes by he'll take him down a peg or two. I hope Moody doesn't come by, for Dudders' sake.

Thanks for sending somebody, I was about to go berserk. If they act like a salesperson, they'd better be ready to sell a car, because Dudley wants one.

Tell Ron hi for me. The edible wardrobe is doing quite well for food, though it gives me splinters every once in a while.

See you soon,

Harry

Putting out his flashlight, Harry hopped back into bed. The dreams followed him everywhere, but he was learning to get away from them. Picturing his friends having a fun time at the Burrow, he managed to slip into some kind of fitful doze.

Harry trotted into the kitchen in time to see Dudley hang up the telephone, fuming. As his cousin heaved his bulk into a chair, Harry slid into one on the other side of the table, using his "avoid Dudley at all costs" technique. Though not particularly afraid of his enormous relative, Harry saw not getting punched in the face first thing in the morning as a plus. Aunt Petunia deposited a plate of bacon and eggs on the table and sat down at her customary spot. "Vernon, I have to go to London today, so I'm leaving him—" she jerked her head in Harry's direction—"at Mrs. Figg's."

"Why d'you have to go to bloody London today?" Uncle Vernon said waspishly.

"What about my car?" Dudley demanded.

Ah, yes. Another pleasant morning in Dursleyville. Aunt Petunia looked put out. "Yvonne's in the hospital with some funny sickness—she's been mumbling and shivering and they think maybe seeing friends will help."

"What about my car?" Dudley was raising his voice a little. "They said they couldn't deliver it until Wednesday and I want it today!"

Aunt Petunia winced. "There's not much we can do, sweetums," she whispered. "They'll deliver it when they can…"

Harry very quietly left the table. Wednesday was the tenth. Fred and George would call that fortuitous. Besides, mumbling and shivering sounded distinctly like the effects of an Unforgivable Curse. He added a postscript to his note to Hermione and gave the letter to Hedwig.

Mrs. Figg was quite nice. Although Harry's guardian could not give him any news of the Order ("loose lips killed the cat"), she did allow him to watch the news for any sign of strange behavior. There were a lot of people who had shown up at hospitals all over Britain, mumbling, shivering, and not knowing who they were. Mrs. Figg, watching with him, muttered something about the Malfoys, and Harry remembered what Hermione had said about the Death Eaters not being quiet.

As he walked home that evening, Harry looked up at the sky. It had become a habit for him to gaze at the stars and imagine a being up there who looked down on earth and wept at the state of mankind—wizard and Muggle alike. Though he could not call himself religious, Harry felt an affinity with a deity such as that. It seemed that it had been a long time since he'd been purely happy, especially since Sirius had died. Harry could not wait for Wednesday.

It actually came sooner than he'd thought. On Tuesday, Harry had packed his trunk, adding the remains of the edible wardrobe to the contents of the trashcan. This had been a thoughtful gift from Hermione, "just in case." It was, apparently, a cross between a talking wardrobe and a boggart—Harry would always feel thoroughly ill contemplating the biology involved in this—and it changed its flavor according to Harry's thoughts. However, it could never fully get rid of the taste of mahogany varnish, and Harry only used it when he desperately needed a midnight snack. He could still hear it weeping pitifully from the confines of the dumpster early on Wednesday morning, and he heartily wished it would stop begging to be eaten. Then he realized what day it was, and he sprang out of bed and forgot all about the wardrobe.

The ring of the doorbell came during a commercial break in the morning news. Dudley, clearly excited (oh yes—the car), leaped from his chair and waddled down the hall as fast as his legs would carry him, Aunt Petunia close behind. Harry, curious as to the nature of his escort, followed them. Aunt Petunia opened the door, ready to welcome the salesperson graciously—and shrieked. Harry felt rather as though Dudley had hit him very hard. Standing on the front steps and looking quite surprised at the welcome she was getting was a young woman who looked very much like Harry's mother. Her red hair, streaked with gold, was tied in a bun behind her head, and her face was heart-shaped and open. Her eyes were crinkling around the edges, and Harry realized that she was probably laughing her head off inside.

Aunt Petunia recovered quickly. "I'm sorry," she said with a shaky laugh, "You look a lot like…someone I used to know." For a moment, Harry thought he saw disappointment in his aunt's eyes, but it was gone the next second.

The woman smiled reassuringly. "It's alright. My name's Penelope. I'm here to deliver—" she consulted a clipboard—"Dudley's car, and then I'm picking up Harry and taking him to his friend's house."

Aunt Petunia looked sharply back at Harry. Noticing him, the woman grinned and waved a little. "You all right Harry? It's nice to meet you, I wasn't sure if I'd recognize you. As soon as I've got your aunt and uncle to sign these last few forms, we'll go, right?"

Harry gulped. He had forgotten to tell them. "Umm…"

Aunt Petunia looked back at the girl, sizing her up. Harry knew what his aunt was thinking: Does she look normal enough to speak to? By this time Uncle Vernon had come to see what all the commotion was about, and Dudley, although he had never met Harry's mother, knew enough to feel a little threatened by the way Aunt Petunia was reacting. Harry decided to head off a war. "Umm…yeah, Aunt Petunia, my friend Hermione wrote me Monday, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. Can I…go?"

Aunt Petunia settled on looking terrified. "You…delivered Dudley's car?" she asked faintly.

The woman's lips twitched. "Yes, I did. Is there a problem?"

Uncle Vernon pushed past Harry and seized the woman's arm, pulling her into the house and kicking the door shut. "Yes, there is a problem," he hissed. "Who knows what you've done to that car? I'm not going to let my son drive a car that's had one of…your kind in it!"

The woman's face had turned shocked and angry. "Please remove your hand from my arm," she said quietly, "or you will be very, very, sorry."

Uncle Vernon removed the offending hand from her arm as if he had been burned. The woman turned to Harry, her features becoming merry again. "Do you have your things ready, Harry?"

Harry nodded.

"Then why don't you run upstairs and get your stuff, and I'll get this paperwork dealt with, hmm?"

Deciding to get while the getting was good, Harry went upstairs, hearing the woman—Penelope—saying, "Now Mr. Dursley, these are a few waivers and things, just recapping what you've already signed at the sale of the vehicle. I hope you're not reconsidering the purchase, are you?"

Uncle Vernon mumbled something incoherent, sounding cowed. Harry had to grin. This Penelope person was either a little crazy or quite brilliant, and he couldn't help liking her.