Chapter Two: The Unexpected Owl
Summer at Privet Drive had never been something that Harry enjoyed. So, it was no surprise that he had spent most of the first two weeks of it sulking in his room.
Not that he didn't want to sulk, because he did. He didn't want friendship, he didn't want love, he didn't even want acknowledgement. He just wanted to be left alone, left alone to mourn.
Sirius had had such a hard life, and Harry was coming to realize that it really was his fault. Sirius would have never been in Azkaban if he hadn't been born and his parents hadn't been killed. Sirius never would have gotten killed if Harry hadn't been stupid and acted too quickly.
Sirius wouldn't have been out of Azkaban if not for you, the voice in his head tried to get in. Harry simply shut it out. He didn't want to think about the good times, the good things that happened, the parts of Sirius's life that were filled with joy.
All he wanted to do was cry.
He never did cry of course; boys don't cry, and he made a habit of keeping to that unwritten rule. He did, however, come quite close on numerous occasions during the last weeks. It wasn't enough though. He didn't miss Sirius enough; no one could. The man deserved so much more than he had ever gotten, and now, once he was gone, things in his direction were still sorely lacking.
It was during this session of grief-wallowing that the owl came. Harry sighed and got up, assuming that it was Hedwig, back from her trip to Hermione's. Harry had not wanted to write to her, of course, but he had felt the need to answer Hermione's letter of two days ago with a polite reply.
However, the owl that he found at his window was not Hedwig, but Pigwidgeon, the Weasley family owl. "Oh great, Ron's written to me. Why do I have to have two best friends?" Harry pondered as Pig flew in the window. Harry quickly grabbed the piece of parchment from Pig's claws and sent him back out the window from which he came.
Settling himself on his bed, Harry unrolled the parchment and sat there, staring at the parchment for a few moments. What he saw surprised him a great deal. The handwriting was definitely not Ron's, definitely not the twins', definitely not Arthur or Molly's, so it had to belong to Ginny. With that tidbit of information in mind, Harry began to read.
Dear Harry,
I hope you are doing well and have had a nice summer. I doubt it though; your relatives sound simply horrid. However, I didn't write to you about your relatives, but about something entirely different.
A few days ago, I received a letter from Professor Dent (you know, the Muggle Studies professor). Over the summer, I have a Muggle Studies project that I'll be doing. I get to live in Muggle London for a month-and-a-half, doing 25 tasks that Professor Dent has assigned us.
The catch? There's no magic allowed.
Anyway, since I am not a Muggle-born, it is required that I chose a Muggle-born partner to stay with me. I owled Hermione, but she's going to Bulgaria for a visit. Ron absolutely blew his stack when I told him; you should have seen his face!
Since Hermione can't go, and my brothers would adamantly refuse to allow me to go with Dean, Hermione suggested that I ask you. I know that you probably want to sit around and sulk (oh wow, that sounded really mean!), but I owled Dumbledore to ask him anyway.
Surprisingly, he said that it would be perfectly all right for you to be my partner. I have a feeling that there're going to be Aurors in the area anyway, so he thinks that you'll be safe.
So, would you like to come with me? Please owl me soon, since the project starts on July 4th. It'll be over 1-and-a-half months later, which is on August 15th. Anyway, just owl me and say if you'll come or not. If you can, then Ron and I'll pick you up at the Dursleys' on the 2nd, which is next Friday.
It's Wednesday the 28th, is case you've been too busy wallowing in self-pity to notice (sorry, it slipped out again).
Hope to hear from you soon,
Ginny
Harry's immediate response was "Yes, yes yes! I get to spend an entire month-and-a-half with someone other than myself and the Dursleys!" Then, he remembered that he didn't want to spend time with anyone; he wanted to be alone and to grieve.
He was torn. He wanted to mourn, but he wanted to get away from the Durselys. He wanted to be alone, but he also wanted to be with a friend. Ginny Weasley wasn't exactly his friend, but now that she had gotten over her crush on him, he felt it safe to pursue a friendship.
Something about that seemed so wrong to Harry, but he couldn't place exactly what it was.
"I'm going to say no," he told himself, determined to stick to his eat-sleep-and-mourn schedule. He was about to write back when he heard an insistent rapping on his door. He stuffed Ginny's letter under the bed, walked over, and carefully opened the door.
"It's time for breakfast," Dudley informed him coldly, and then turned on his heel and ran down the stairs. Harry found it almost funny how, just last summer, Dudley had bullied him constantly. Now, Dudley was so afraid of him that just speaking to him gave the boy nightmares.
Harry felt quite pleased that he could do that to someone he had always hated. He liked the feeling of power that came with knowing someone was frightened of him.
It wasn't just Dudley though, it was the whole Dursley family. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been simply numb with shock on the ride from Platform 9¾. They had barely spoken a word to him since then, except a few of the normal orders. This summer, instead of having 100 chores to do, Harry was completely and totally ignored.
That gave him more time to mourn, and he was grateful.
So, off he trudged, down the stairs and into Number 4 Privet Drive's kitchen. Once he got there, he saw that breakfast had already been made. He had yet to get used to not making breakfast for the whole family, so he still started a little when he saw food on the table.
Of course, he didn't get much food, and he never ate more than a bite or two, so it didn't really matter. Harry knew that he was getting thinner, painfully so since he had grown another inch over the summer, and he didn't want to even imagine what Molly Weasley would say when she saw him.
"She'll probably faint dead away," he thought as he slid into his chair. Silently, he stuck his fork into the half omelet that sat before him and lifted it up and into his mouth. He didn't really care what Molly thought or did, however. He didn't want to eat, he didn't want to enjoy himself, and he certainly didn't want to be genuinely happy.
And yet, there was that nagging sensation in the back of his mind that told him he would be missing out on a great deal if he didn't go with Ginny. Somehow, Harry knew that the voice was right, but he didn't want to listen to it. He had made a habit of not listening to any of his voices; they never, ever told him what he wanted to hear.
The problem? He didn't know what he wanted to hear.
"Boy, we have some chores for you to do today," Petunia informed him sourly. Harry looked up from his omelet to stare at the woman. Chores? Why would they start giving him chores now?
"Well, there's no reason to complain. It'll give me extra time to wallow in my thoughts," Harry thought, nodding slightly at his aunt. Petunia looked smug, and Harry had a feeling that he would not like these chores very much.
"So, you're finally ready to be put in your place," Vernon commented, and something inside Harry snapped.
"And what place would that be?" Harry asked, wondering, through his anger, how far Uncle Vernon was willing to take this. Harry was willing to go as far as he could without completely killing the man, but Harry had always been more courageous than his uncle.
"You're queer Harry, and everyone knows it. Just because you've found "acceptance" in your little world doesn't make you anything more than you once were. From now until the end of time, you're going to be worthless Harry. The only thing you could possibly do is try not to muck up everything in sight," Uncle Vernon shot back.
Harry was appalled, angry, surprised, and sad, all at the same time. He was appalled that his uncle would say something like that to him, and he was angry for much the same reason. He was surprised that Uncle Vernon had found the courage to still speak to him that way, but most of all he was sad. He was sad because he knew, deep down, that his uncle was right.
But why not get away from it all, at least for a little while? Why not bask in the light of the fact that he might have friends, while they were still in the dark as to how worthless he was?
So, he had decided. He was going to work with Ginny on her Muggle Studies project. He would try to grasp what little bit of comfort he could find.
"Thank you Uncle Vernon. You have truly put me in my place. I will be leaving on July 2nd, the Weasleys are picking me up," Harry said, his voice laced with ice. Before his uncle could get out a word of protest, Harry was gone, up to his room to write back to Ginny.
Dear Ginny,
You're right, my summer hasn't been so great, but it just got better. Thanks for inviting me on this Muggle Studies trip of yours; I think we're going to have lots of fun. Feel free to pick me up next Friday, but don't floo in. I think my aunt and uncle would have simultaneous strokes if you did.
See you on Friday. I can't wait.
All the best,
Harry
Harry smiled as he re-read the parchment for the fifth time, making sure all he had wanted to say was there. As soon as the smile reached his lips, he immediately turned the corners down. He hadn't smiled since the beginning of the summer, and it was a shock to him that something so simple would bring one on.
With a quick shake of his head, he looked around the room, and realized that he had no way to get the letter to Ginny. "I hope Hedwig will be back soon," Harry mused, laying down on his bed and closing his eyes.
It was about five minutes before his owl appeared, swooping in through the open window. He was so lost in thought that he didn't notice her until she was on top of his head and picking at his hair.
Being careful not to startle her, Harry slowly sat up and grabbed the sides of Hedwig's body. He could let her rest on his arm; her talons would have ripped it to shreds. Holding her out in front of him, her feathers feeling almost too soft in his hands, he shoved the parchment into her flexing claws. "Now take this to the Burrow, okay? It's for Ginny."
As Hedwig took off, Harry could have sworn that he saw a glint in the owl's eye. "Stop imagining things Harry," he told himself sternly, lying once again on his bed. A yelling voice from downstairs broke into his reverie only moments later. "Oh yeah, chores," Harry grumbled, sitting up and making his way down the stairs.
"Soon," he thought, "Soon I'll be with my friends. The only place where I've ever nearly belonged."