CHAPTER 2 - From the Burrow to the Letterbox
For once Harry Potter was having a good holiday. He needed a really good break after all the trauma of last year at Hogwarts. The Triwizard Cup, Cedric Diggory, Voldemort's return, all held painful memories that he didn't need playing around in his head simply because there was nothing else to think about. You'd have thought he'd have suffered enough for one fifteen year old boy in losing his parents and having to live with the Dursleys, but no, life, it seemed, still had plenty more crap to throw at him. He'd just better make himself a moving target and make it a bit more difficult for all the shit to get him in its sights.
Staying with the Weasleys made up a bit for the horrible two weeks he'd spent at Privet Drive. His heart had leapt with joy when the invitation to live with them at their ramshackle house in Ottery St Catchpole, and had felt even better when the Dursleys had said yes (any excuse to get rid of him). Dumbledore had wanted Harry to at least stay with the Dursleys for part of the holidays, but he must have given the all clear for the Weasleys to invite Harry over.
At least now he could discuss with Ron about how he had received the strangest birthday present of his life, weirder even than the ones Hagrid normally sent him. The Dursleys never gave him anything anyway so it was no surprise when he got nothing from them. Hermione, Ron, Hagrid, Sirius and even Lupin and Dobby had all sent their presents by Owl Post as usual and he was busy unwrapping them in the dead of night (the Dursleys would have definitely nicked them if they knew that he did get birthday presents!) when he heard a strange noise from downstairs, like someone trying to shove something too large through the letterbox. It couldn't be any of the Dursleys - he could hear their triple-toned snores shaking the house.
Opening his door silently so as not to wake his so called family ('As if they'd hear it over those snores,' he thought to himself,) and crept downstairs. What met his eyes was far more bizarre than he'd have ever imagined.
Wriggling half in and half out of the letterbox was a rabbit!
The rabbit suddenly stopped moving as if it had seen him, but that was impossible, Harry thought, because he could see from the way it flopped limply from the slot that it was dead. Whoever was trying to push it through must have heard him. This was the sort of thing Hagrid would send him, except that he would do it by owl and not try to shove it through the letterbox.
Over the Durselys immense racket that seemed to be increasing by the second, he couldn't hear any more, although whoever had been trying to push it through appeared to have gone.
Harry opened the front door to see the rear end of the rabbit dangling on the other side and a small, badly-wrapped, blood-speckled package on the doorstep with almost illegible scrawl doodled on it, from which he could just make out the words "Happy Birthday Harry" on it.
Carefully removing the rabbit from the letterbox (he could just imagine Aunt Petunia's screams if he left it there, but decided against it because he'd only get the blame and it wasn't worth it) and hoped it wouldn't leave bloodstains down the immaculate varnish of the front door before taking both it and the parcel upstairs.
He dumped the rabbit in Hedwig's cage and received a hoot of thanks from her as she bent her beak to eat it. Then Harry sat down on his bed and examined the package. It was wrapped in pages of The Daily Mail and tied together with short pieces of red and blue baling twine. The writing had obviously been done in green felt-tip pen which had appeared to have run out half way through the word Birthday and it had been swapped to blue crayon. It didn't look like anything a wizard would have done, but what Muggle would have sent him a birthday present?
He cut the knotted twine with the 241 use penknife that Sirius had given him, which apart from the usual knife, corkscrew etc also held many other things on it like broomstick clippers, flame-thrower, dragon scarer and various other fascinating things.
The newspaper fell away from what it was containing - a sculpture of a wolf made out of what looked like tinfoil. It was about the size of Harry's hand and almost perfect in its features. It must've taken whoever made it weeks to mould so beautifully. The fact that it didn't move convinced Harry that it wasn't a wizard who sent it, but that just made the mystery deeper. Still, even though it didn't move, if it weren't made of foil Harry could've almost sworn that it was real.
'That's it?' Ron's freckled brow was lined in puzzlement. 'No note, no explanation, no saying who it's from, just a dead rabbit and a silver wolf?'
The silver wolf sat side by side on Ron's windowsill with a miniature model of a dragon - a Hungarian Horntail to be precise - Harry's souvenir from the first task of the Triwizard Cup. It eyed the wolf evilly and flexed its black wings before apparently deciding that the wolf, lifeless as it was, was too big for it to take on, at least for now.
'Yep, that's it. I thought it might be Hagrid having a laugh at first, but it's not his style.'
'You don't think it's a kind of threat, do you?'
Harry could remember stories about the Muggle Mob putting horse's heads in peoples beds, but a rabbit through a letterbox didn't quite hold the same menace. 'I don't think so. Fancy a game of Quidditch?'
'As long as I can have a go on your Firebolt!'
Harry's Firebolt was his most prized possession - the best broomstick that money could buy. Sirius had given it to him for Christmas a couple of years back. It was definitely more than Ron could afford, so it made him happy just having a go on it every now and then.
As they left Ron's room, Firebolt in hand, Harry looked back and thought for a moment that the silver wolf was looking at him.
'Come on, Harry!' Ron yelled. Harry told himself he was being stupid and went outside with Ron.
The holidays passed uneventfully in long days of sunshine, good food and plenty of fun. At the end of it all Harry was almost sorry to go back to Hogwarts, he'd never felt so much like a part of a family in all his life. His only real family, he never counted the Dursleys in this, was his Godfather, Sirius, who was still on the run from Azkaban, the wizard prison, after escaping imprisonment for multiple murder, none of which he committed.
When the morning of September 1st rolled around, the day to go back to school, it was the traditional madcap rush to pack anything they had forgotten into the trunks before they left ('Ginny, have you seen my toothbrush?' 'Look at this hole in my robes!' 'Fred, did you put these dungbombs in my shoes?')
But all seemed to fall magically into place - the arrived just in time for the train on platform nine and three-quarters, met Hermione on the platform before all three sat down in a free compartment on the Hogwart's Express. As usual Harry bought the traditional stack of cauldron cakes on the train, despite being loaded down with sandwiches by Mrs Weasley.
The letterbox incident cropped up again and Hermione's reaction was exactly what they had both expected. 'You really ought to tell someone, Harry. After all, with You Know Who back again you never know who might have taken it upon themselves to, well, you know.' She didn't need to say 'kill you' because they all knew very well. Then, after a pause, she added, 'Can I see it?'
'The rabbit? No, Hedwig ate it, plus it'd stink to high heaven by now if I'd have kept it.'
'Harry, don't be an idiot, you know I meant the wolf.'
Harry dug around in his trunk until he found the little silver wolf. He'd kept it and the Horntail apart. He didn't trust the lizard one bit. Harry handed it to Hermione who examined it carefully. It stood upon three legs, one front paw raised, as it howled at the moon. 'It's really beautiful, Harry. It looks almost lifelike. Look, you can see the teeth in its mouth and everything. Are you sure there's no spells on it?'
'Nothing's happened so far, but we'll all keep an eye on it.'
The train began to slow down as it came near to Hogsmeade station. A familiar loud, arrogant voice drifted into their compartment, '.Of course my father was outraged. To think that someone would have the nerve to steal it from our mansion. Still, I'm not surprised, it's probably worth twice all that the Weasleys own. It wouldn't shock me one little bit if it was them that stole it just to get their hands on the reward money, it's 700 Galleons.'
Ron had flushed to the roots of his hair, so red, in fact, that it put his loose mop to shame. It always touched a nerve when someone made fun of his family's lack of funds.
'Don't worry, Ron, your family's worth twice what Malfoy's is,' Harry said kindly, but he really meant it.
Ron tried to brush off his embarrassment, 'Yeah, I know. I wouldn't have his sour-faced old witch for a mother if you paid me a million Galleons.'
Hermione, however, was being thoughtful again, 'I wonder what Malfoy's dad had stolen that was worth so much?'
'Probably some other piece of Voldemort memorabilia, like that diary,' Harry said, remembering the Chamber of Secrets incident without much relish as the Express pulled into the station.
For once Harry Potter was having a good holiday. He needed a really good break after all the trauma of last year at Hogwarts. The Triwizard Cup, Cedric Diggory, Voldemort's return, all held painful memories that he didn't need playing around in his head simply because there was nothing else to think about. You'd have thought he'd have suffered enough for one fifteen year old boy in losing his parents and having to live with the Dursleys, but no, life, it seemed, still had plenty more crap to throw at him. He'd just better make himself a moving target and make it a bit more difficult for all the shit to get him in its sights.
Staying with the Weasleys made up a bit for the horrible two weeks he'd spent at Privet Drive. His heart had leapt with joy when the invitation to live with them at their ramshackle house in Ottery St Catchpole, and had felt even better when the Dursleys had said yes (any excuse to get rid of him). Dumbledore had wanted Harry to at least stay with the Dursleys for part of the holidays, but he must have given the all clear for the Weasleys to invite Harry over.
At least now he could discuss with Ron about how he had received the strangest birthday present of his life, weirder even than the ones Hagrid normally sent him. The Dursleys never gave him anything anyway so it was no surprise when he got nothing from them. Hermione, Ron, Hagrid, Sirius and even Lupin and Dobby had all sent their presents by Owl Post as usual and he was busy unwrapping them in the dead of night (the Dursleys would have definitely nicked them if they knew that he did get birthday presents!) when he heard a strange noise from downstairs, like someone trying to shove something too large through the letterbox. It couldn't be any of the Dursleys - he could hear their triple-toned snores shaking the house.
Opening his door silently so as not to wake his so called family ('As if they'd hear it over those snores,' he thought to himself,) and crept downstairs. What met his eyes was far more bizarre than he'd have ever imagined.
Wriggling half in and half out of the letterbox was a rabbit!
The rabbit suddenly stopped moving as if it had seen him, but that was impossible, Harry thought, because he could see from the way it flopped limply from the slot that it was dead. Whoever was trying to push it through must have heard him. This was the sort of thing Hagrid would send him, except that he would do it by owl and not try to shove it through the letterbox.
Over the Durselys immense racket that seemed to be increasing by the second, he couldn't hear any more, although whoever had been trying to push it through appeared to have gone.
Harry opened the front door to see the rear end of the rabbit dangling on the other side and a small, badly-wrapped, blood-speckled package on the doorstep with almost illegible scrawl doodled on it, from which he could just make out the words "Happy Birthday Harry" on it.
Carefully removing the rabbit from the letterbox (he could just imagine Aunt Petunia's screams if he left it there, but decided against it because he'd only get the blame and it wasn't worth it) and hoped it wouldn't leave bloodstains down the immaculate varnish of the front door before taking both it and the parcel upstairs.
He dumped the rabbit in Hedwig's cage and received a hoot of thanks from her as she bent her beak to eat it. Then Harry sat down on his bed and examined the package. It was wrapped in pages of The Daily Mail and tied together with short pieces of red and blue baling twine. The writing had obviously been done in green felt-tip pen which had appeared to have run out half way through the word Birthday and it had been swapped to blue crayon. It didn't look like anything a wizard would have done, but what Muggle would have sent him a birthday present?
He cut the knotted twine with the 241 use penknife that Sirius had given him, which apart from the usual knife, corkscrew etc also held many other things on it like broomstick clippers, flame-thrower, dragon scarer and various other fascinating things.
The newspaper fell away from what it was containing - a sculpture of a wolf made out of what looked like tinfoil. It was about the size of Harry's hand and almost perfect in its features. It must've taken whoever made it weeks to mould so beautifully. The fact that it didn't move convinced Harry that it wasn't a wizard who sent it, but that just made the mystery deeper. Still, even though it didn't move, if it weren't made of foil Harry could've almost sworn that it was real.
'That's it?' Ron's freckled brow was lined in puzzlement. 'No note, no explanation, no saying who it's from, just a dead rabbit and a silver wolf?'
The silver wolf sat side by side on Ron's windowsill with a miniature model of a dragon - a Hungarian Horntail to be precise - Harry's souvenir from the first task of the Triwizard Cup. It eyed the wolf evilly and flexed its black wings before apparently deciding that the wolf, lifeless as it was, was too big for it to take on, at least for now.
'Yep, that's it. I thought it might be Hagrid having a laugh at first, but it's not his style.'
'You don't think it's a kind of threat, do you?'
Harry could remember stories about the Muggle Mob putting horse's heads in peoples beds, but a rabbit through a letterbox didn't quite hold the same menace. 'I don't think so. Fancy a game of Quidditch?'
'As long as I can have a go on your Firebolt!'
Harry's Firebolt was his most prized possession - the best broomstick that money could buy. Sirius had given it to him for Christmas a couple of years back. It was definitely more than Ron could afford, so it made him happy just having a go on it every now and then.
As they left Ron's room, Firebolt in hand, Harry looked back and thought for a moment that the silver wolf was looking at him.
'Come on, Harry!' Ron yelled. Harry told himself he was being stupid and went outside with Ron.
The holidays passed uneventfully in long days of sunshine, good food and plenty of fun. At the end of it all Harry was almost sorry to go back to Hogwarts, he'd never felt so much like a part of a family in all his life. His only real family, he never counted the Dursleys in this, was his Godfather, Sirius, who was still on the run from Azkaban, the wizard prison, after escaping imprisonment for multiple murder, none of which he committed.
When the morning of September 1st rolled around, the day to go back to school, it was the traditional madcap rush to pack anything they had forgotten into the trunks before they left ('Ginny, have you seen my toothbrush?' 'Look at this hole in my robes!' 'Fred, did you put these dungbombs in my shoes?')
But all seemed to fall magically into place - the arrived just in time for the train on platform nine and three-quarters, met Hermione on the platform before all three sat down in a free compartment on the Hogwart's Express. As usual Harry bought the traditional stack of cauldron cakes on the train, despite being loaded down with sandwiches by Mrs Weasley.
The letterbox incident cropped up again and Hermione's reaction was exactly what they had both expected. 'You really ought to tell someone, Harry. After all, with You Know Who back again you never know who might have taken it upon themselves to, well, you know.' She didn't need to say 'kill you' because they all knew very well. Then, after a pause, she added, 'Can I see it?'
'The rabbit? No, Hedwig ate it, plus it'd stink to high heaven by now if I'd have kept it.'
'Harry, don't be an idiot, you know I meant the wolf.'
Harry dug around in his trunk until he found the little silver wolf. He'd kept it and the Horntail apart. He didn't trust the lizard one bit. Harry handed it to Hermione who examined it carefully. It stood upon three legs, one front paw raised, as it howled at the moon. 'It's really beautiful, Harry. It looks almost lifelike. Look, you can see the teeth in its mouth and everything. Are you sure there's no spells on it?'
'Nothing's happened so far, but we'll all keep an eye on it.'
The train began to slow down as it came near to Hogsmeade station. A familiar loud, arrogant voice drifted into their compartment, '.Of course my father was outraged. To think that someone would have the nerve to steal it from our mansion. Still, I'm not surprised, it's probably worth twice all that the Weasleys own. It wouldn't shock me one little bit if it was them that stole it just to get their hands on the reward money, it's 700 Galleons.'
Ron had flushed to the roots of his hair, so red, in fact, that it put his loose mop to shame. It always touched a nerve when someone made fun of his family's lack of funds.
'Don't worry, Ron, your family's worth twice what Malfoy's is,' Harry said kindly, but he really meant it.
Ron tried to brush off his embarrassment, 'Yeah, I know. I wouldn't have his sour-faced old witch for a mother if you paid me a million Galleons.'
Hermione, however, was being thoughtful again, 'I wonder what Malfoy's dad had stolen that was worth so much?'
'Probably some other piece of Voldemort memorabilia, like that diary,' Harry said, remembering the Chamber of Secrets incident without much relish as the Express pulled into the station.