I'll admit, I was desperate for a change. shrug This story will always be
my favorite fic, mostly because it was the first one I ever wrote, and
consequently the one that really got me into the fandom (Imagine my shock
when I discovered that gasp! I wasn't the only person on the face of the
earth to go about writing my own HP tale!). But reading back over it
recently, it hit me that this little yarn (two years in the making as of
Christmas 2003...wow, so about 2 and ½ years now!!), which I began writing in
eighth grade...really sounds like I began writing it in eighth grade (not
dissing eight graders or anything, just saying that my writing style's
changed immensely since then!). Therefore, having the whole summer ahead of
me, I've begun to re-work it...tweaking it here and there, removing some
really annoying clichés...just generally making it easier and more enjoyable
to read! (I hope...heh.) So that said, I hope you like the new version! :D
ciao!
-hg-
A/N: thoughts are denoted by asterisks surrounding the thought. italics and emphasized words are denoted by underscores on either side of the word.
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, don't even make me say it. I don't own it. Duh.
Chapter 1: New Beginnings
In the sleepy wizarding town of Yorkville, in the American state of New York, there was a hill. A large grassy hill, upon which was perched a humongous wooden structure. A well-weathered sign reading "Willowfletcher's Institute of Higher Magical Learning" was hung above the massive front doors. The school, containing one-hundred-and-fifty rooms, had two small, square windows about every two yards, peeking into the crowded classrooms and dormitories.
Inside the halls, seven hundred students, in their first through seventh years of schooling, raced to get to their next classes. A few stragglers dashed through the hallways to their wooden cupboards, to grab a forgotten supply or two, a slight dark-haired girl in 4th year among them. She hurriedly removed a large silver briefcase from her own cupboard, and took off running down the corridor.
Breathless, she swept into the Potions classroom. The solid wooden door slammed behind her, rattling the assorted jars lining the walls of the brightly lit room. Blushing, she walked over to her seat and sat down, before unlocking the twin catches on the front of the case.
As the lid swung open, Mrs. Carver gave her a withering look. "I trust you'll be on time tomorrow, Ms. Modello?"
The girl nodded solemnly, trying to conceal a laugh. Mrs. Carver, in the process of scribbling the ingredients needed for a Sweetening Solution on the blackboard, hushed a few whispers and giggles.
Reading off the recipe as the teacher wrote it, the tardy girl flipped open various small compartments in the box, pulling out such items as powdered horn of a unicorn and extract of nightshade.
The remainder of the Potions class passed quickly, and soon, a note clutched in her thin hand, the young girl was walking at a quick pace toward the principal's office.
Upon her arrival, she paused momentarily beside the frosted-glass door, took a steadying breath, and turned the brass doorknob. The girl stepped inside, and closed the door behind her quietly.
"You wanted to see me, Mrs. Teague?" she inquired politely, although she was slightly nervous at the purpose of this summons. The steely-haired headmistress stood from her leather chair, showing the full extent of her imposing 6-foot frame.
"Yes, Ms. Modello," she replied, a crisp British accent seeming to formalize her words. "Please sit down."
The girl took a seat rather carefully in the pale green easy chair across from the principal's desk. Mrs. Teague remained standing for another moment, then drew her leather chair up behind her and sat back down. Her broad build rose and fell as she heaved a deep breath.
"Ms. Modello, I've summoned you to my office to discuss a very important matter. You see..." For a moment, her voice faltered, as though she was not confident in her next words. Despite this, she tarried no longer. "I believe, as do your teachers, that our material is...er, holding you back, so to speak."
A confused expression crossed the student's face. "What on earth do you mean by that?" she asked, bewildered.
"Well, it seems that you are advancing in not only the quality of your abilities, but your understanding of them, at a quite faster rate than your classmates."
The girl stared at her headmistress for a moment, before stammering in shock. "Mrs. Teague, I-I don't think so. I think you've got the wrong girl- "
The woman gave her a faint smile. "You know we love having you here, Kelsey," she said, her voice warming quickly. "It's just that...well...you need a better program. We can't keep up with you and it is impossible to move you up a year, I-"
"But that's ridiculous!" Kelsey protested. "And why would moving me up be impossible?"
Mrs. Teague continued speaking as though she had not been interrupted. "- I've corresponded with the headmaster of another wizarding school, Albus Dumbledore. He has reviewed the situation and agrees with me. I am pleased to give you this." As Mrs. Teague spoke, she handed Kelsey an envelope, and gave her a firm handshake.
Still more than a little puzzled, Kelsey warily took the envelope from Mrs. Teague's hand. She carefully removed the red wax seal stamped across the flap of the envelope, opened it, and pulled out the folded slip of paper it contained. Another, smaller piece of parchment fell out of the envelope. She picked it up, unfolded the larger paper, and began to read.
Dear Miss Modello,
Your headmistress, Mrs. Teague, has informed me of your special situation. Knowing that your father went to Hogwarts, and admittance as a legacy is plausible, I have reviewed this situation to the furthest possible extent, and, after consulting my staff and giving much thought, I have come to a conclusion. I am happy to inform you of your acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed, you will find a sheet printed with the supply list for fifth years. Mrs. Teague has informed me that you are up to par on your courses, so you will be able to join our fifth years right away in their studies. Please purchase the listed materials, and I will see you on September the First!
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore,
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"So...you're telling me I'm supposed to go to this Hogwarts place for my fifth year?" Kelsey asked incredulously, looking up from the letter to meet her headmistress' coal-black eyes. "Where is this school, anyway? I've never even heard of it!"
Mrs. Teague sighed, tucking a stray wisp of gunmetal hair back into the severe bun at the nape of her neck. "I'm not at liberty to discuss its precise location, but I can tell you it is in the United Kingdom."
Kelsey bolted upright in her chair, bluish eyes round. "I'm going to school ABROAD?!"
!!!
Across the Atlantic Ocean, a fifteen-year-old wizard named Harry Potter woke with a start. His hand automatically flew to his scar, but oddly enough, it was not burning, as it usually did when a dream woke him.
"An American? At Hogwarts?" he said aloud, wondering if the ridiculous notion was just that, a random product of his nighttime brain.
In the murky dimness of the morning sunlight filtering through the blinds at his window, he fumbled atop his bedside table for paper and quill. Finding a barely-inked quill and a sheaf of parchment, he jotted a short message to each Hermione and Ron, tore the paper into two pieces, and crossing the room, took his owl Hedwig from her cage and tied the notes to her legs. He gave her an affectionate stroke under her beak before sending her off through the open window.
Harry had just climbed back into his still-warm bed, trying to catch a few more moments of sleep before the Dursleys woke him for breakfast, when Aunt Petunia's piercing voice barking suddenly at him from outside his bedroom door drove away all such hope.
"Get up, you lazy brute! That crusty old man is coming to get you today!" Petunia shrilled, banging on the door with her bony fist.
"Coming, Aunt Petunia," he replied, loud enough for her to hear that he was awake and thusly cease her shrieking. He quickly pulled on a plain black T- shirt and almost-unwrinkled jeans, flung his door open, and raced down the stairs. He had almost forgotten! Professor Dumbledore was coming today, to escort him to his best friend Ron Weasley's house. For the rest of the summer, he thought, immense relief coupling with his excitement.
He arrived in the kitchen just as Uncle Vernon was rattling his newspaper open. A large picture of a glaring man in handcuffs spanned the front page, topped with the headline "RUDD'S CAPTURE PUTS END TO CRIME SPREE IN NORTHERN SURREY."
"Bacon and eggs today, boy," Vernon barked from behind the printed page, without so much as a "good morning". Lowering the sheet for a moment, he narrowed his already incredibly small eyes at his nephew. "And make it fast. That Dumble crackpot is coming today..." At this point he paused, a contemptuous sneer twisting beneath his thick blond mustache. "To take you to...to the Wheezys', or whatever they're called."
Harry dropped only three pieces of bacon on the griddle (he was far too excited to eat), and pulled the egg carton out of the refrigerator. He cracked open the eggs, and, one-by-one, dripped their yellow contents into a skillet.
Aunt Petunia bustled into the kitchen just then, one of her bony arms clutching her Diddy-kins round the waist, with considerable difficulty, bearing in mind his immense girth. They took their seats at the table, Petunia beaming at her son. Dudley, however, was not in the best of moods and began almost immediately to whine for his breakfast.
"Mum, can't he cook any faster?" he griped to Petunia.
"Don't worry, darling, breakfast's almost ready," she simpered, patting her son's fleshy forearm before sending a murderous glance at Harry over her shoulder.
Harry, fighting to prevent showing any outward signs of his irritation, transferred the eggs and bacon to three waiting plates. Attempting not to scowl, he brought the dishes over to the table and set them down rather carefully in front of his aunt, uncle and cousin. And not a single 'thank you', he thought in resignation.
Just as Harry was sitting down with a small glass of orange juice, the doorbell chimed. A grin split his face as Harry leapt up and rushed through the excessively clean house, until he reached the front room. Happier than he'd felt in weeks, Harry swung the front door open, immediately feeling the warmth of the summer day rush in to meet him. "Good morning, Professor Dumbledore!" he greeted.
"Good morning, Harry, my boy!" Dumbledore returned, his eyes glittering. He reached up to adjust his spectacles, and Harry started.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Won't you come in?"
Dumbledore nodded graciously at this, and stepped inside the doorjamb. Harry noted that the headmaster had taken pains to appear slightly more acceptable to the Muggle eye, in order not to arouse suspicion of any sort. In lieu of his usual colorful robes, at lengths so as to sweep the floor, he wore a simple black traveling cloak, fastened in such a way that one could not really discern any other articles of clothing beneath it. Also noticeable only in its absence was his pointed wizard's hat, instead leaving Dumbledore's cottony hair to gleam palely in the morning sunlight.
By now, the Dursleys had come to stand beside Harry, not content to let another wizard just waltz freely into their home. A look of fear did nothing to soften Petunia's angular, horsey features, and the expression was mirrored, or perhaps magnified, on Dudley's flabby face. Both demeanors understandable, seeing as how the last time a full-grown wizard had entered their home, Dudley had ended up with a four-foot slimy tongue lolling out of his mouth.
Dumbledore smiled genially at Harry's family. "And you must be the Dursleys. What a well-kept home you have!" The look of fear remained, but Aunt Petunia's grimace wavered slightly at this genuine compliment.
"So...where are your things, Harry? We really should be going soon," Dumbledore said, peering around the entry good-naturedly.
"I'll go get them, they're just upstairs," Harry answered, before hurrying up to his room, leaving the wary Dursleys alone with the elderly wizard.
When Harry returned, lugging his trunk down the stairs behind him, none of the Muggles had started to yell or carry on, to his relief.
Several minutes later, Harry, Professor Dumbledore, and Harry's school things were all together on the front porch. "Well...er...I guess we'll be off, then. Um...g'bye Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley." Harry grabbed the handle of his trunk and hefted it down the front walk to the Ministry car waiting in the driveway. The driver, a tall, swarthy man, smiled at him and helped load his things into the open boot of the car.
Having taken care of his luggage, Harry opened the back door and was just lowering himself onto the leather seat, when a quick glance showed Dumbledore still to be standing on the front stoop. Oh, no, Harry groaned inwardly.
"Aren't you going to say goodbye to Harry, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley?" Dumbledore asked, his tone nothing but pleasant.
Vernon looked as though he were about to refuse, but Dumbledore leveled him with the light-blue stare Harry knew so well.
"Goodbye, then, Harry," Uncle Vernon said stiffly, swallowing hard. Murmurs could be heard from Aunt Petunia and Dudley as well.
"Farewell." Dumbledore inclined his head in a partial bow, then turned from the Dursleys and strode down the front walk to the waiting car.
As they pulled out of the driveway and into the street, Harry barely heard Dumbledore request to be taken to the Burrow. He watched 4 Privet Drive sink out of sight amongst the identical rows of houses, as the Ministry car bore him away to a much more enjoyable summer.
!!!
When they arrived at the Burrow, most of the Weasley clan, excepting, of course, Bill and Charlie, stood in the yard, grinning and waving, as the black Ministry car bumped and trundled down the dusty, rutted drive.
Even before the vehicle had come to a complete stop, Ron rushed over and flung open the door for Harry. "Hey, mate!" he greeted, grinning wide beneath his vibrant, floppy hair.
Harry wholeheartedly returned Ron's enthusiasm, and stepped out of the backseat, stretching his legs after the considerable car ride.
As soon as the Ministry chauffeur had unloaded Harry's trunk and Hedwig's empty cage, Ron seized him by the inside of his right elbow. "I got your owl," he whispered, casting a wary look back at his parents, who were striding quickly over. "Come on, let's get your stuff up to my room."
Ron grabbed Hedwig's cage, and Harry grasped the handle of his trunk. But before they could so much as drag the luggage past the car, Mrs. Weasley dashed over and grabbed Harry up in one of the tightest hugs he'd ever experienced. "Glad to see you looking so well, dear," she said, her tone that of immense relief. Harry could easily imagine her worry as she waited for him to arrive in the Muggle way.
Dumbledore stepped out of the cab, and smilingly shook Mr. Weasley's hand. "I really appreciate you taking Harry in again, Arthur, Molly. I am much obliged."
Once Harry had worked his way out of Mrs. Weasley's embrace, repeatedly reassuring her that he was fine and had been having a perfectly normal summer up until now, he and Ron made a bit more hastily towards the house, anxious to get out of earshot from the rest of the family.
Just as Harry reached the door to house, setting his trunk down briefly on the cobblestones in order to get a better grip on the now slightly sweaty handle, the door flew open. A flame-haired girl rushed past him, then stopped. Spinning on her heel, Ginny Weasley came running right back over to Harry, to his immense surprise.
"Hey, Harry! Good to see you!" she exclaimed, smiling at him and, shockingly, meeting his gaze dead-on. Harry was rather relieved that Ginny did not seem nearly as uncomfortable around him as she had been since he'd known her, although he did notice the faintest tinge of pink blooming in the apples of her cheeks.
"Hi, Ginny," he replied, returning her smile. Then, grasping his trunk, he hauled it through the open doorway, Ron following right behind him.
Moving quickly into the house, Harry groaned inwardly when they reached the staircase.
Ron must have seen Harry's face, because a beat later, Ron reached over and took the trunk from Harry. "I'll take it, Harry. You go ahead." Taking the birdcage from Ron's hand, Harry swiftly climbed the stairs.
As soon as they reached Ron's room, as vivid orange as ever, the boys both dropped their burdens. Harry, spotting Hedwig perched on the windowsill, crossed the room to greet her, while Ron shut the door behind them.
Harry held out a hand, on which Hedwig eagerly alighted, and Ron, collapsing back onto his Cannons bedcover, cut to the chase.
"So, this dream you had...you don't think it's true, do you?"
Harry sighed and slid down to sit on the floor. "I don't know what to think. I mean, usually only my dreams that have something to do with Voldemort-" Harry pretended not to see Ron's obvious wince at the name. "- have any grain of truth to them."
He paused, thoughtfully stroking Hedwig's snowy down and staring at a particularly large crack in the ceiling above his head.
"But, just the same...I can't see how I possibly could have dreamed in such detail otherwise."
Ron pulled himself to a sitting position, his expression puzzled. "Well, do you think this means that this...uh..."
"Kelsey Modello," Harry supplied, guessing Ron was stumped for the mysterious girl's name.
"Yeah. So, do you think this Kelsey is connected with You-Know-Who?" Ron continued, quirking a ginger eyebrow at his best friend.
Harry frowned. I hadn't really thought of that. "Well, I hope not...but maybe my scar would've hurt, in that case. I really don't know..."
Ron nodded slightly. "And she's American! An American at Hogwarts! That is such a strange thing to think about."
As they were musing over such thoughts, a tawny brown owl swooped in Ron's open window, and dropped a note on the floor next to Harry. He picked it up, and unfolded it. It read:
Harry,
An American? At Hogwarts?? Are you sure? It's possible your dream could actually be true, but I wouldn't count on it just yet. Hope you're safe and sound at the Burrow. Oh, and send the details by return owl. The description you gave me of you dream was rather sparse.
Write soon!
Hermione
"Well," Harry said after scanning through the lines of Hermione's curly handwriting. "Doesn't seem like Hermione has any answers, either."
Ron was silent for a moment, picking at a worn spot in his threadbare comforter. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded forcedly casual. "So, er...what did this Kelsey girl...look like, anyway?"
Harry hid his grin, and shrugged. "I didn't get much of a look at her face, but she had dark hair, she wasn't tall—about Hermione's height—and she was fairly thin. That's about all I can tell you."
"But, think of it this way," Harry added, grinning, as Ron finally looked up at him. "If she's even a real person, we might be seeing her at school as it is!"
ciao!
-hg-
A/N: thoughts are denoted by asterisks surrounding the thought. italics and emphasized words are denoted by underscores on either side of the word.
DISCLAIMER: Yeah, don't even make me say it. I don't own it. Duh.
Chapter 1: New Beginnings
In the sleepy wizarding town of Yorkville, in the American state of New York, there was a hill. A large grassy hill, upon which was perched a humongous wooden structure. A well-weathered sign reading "Willowfletcher's Institute of Higher Magical Learning" was hung above the massive front doors. The school, containing one-hundred-and-fifty rooms, had two small, square windows about every two yards, peeking into the crowded classrooms and dormitories.
Inside the halls, seven hundred students, in their first through seventh years of schooling, raced to get to their next classes. A few stragglers dashed through the hallways to their wooden cupboards, to grab a forgotten supply or two, a slight dark-haired girl in 4th year among them. She hurriedly removed a large silver briefcase from her own cupboard, and took off running down the corridor.
Breathless, she swept into the Potions classroom. The solid wooden door slammed behind her, rattling the assorted jars lining the walls of the brightly lit room. Blushing, she walked over to her seat and sat down, before unlocking the twin catches on the front of the case.
As the lid swung open, Mrs. Carver gave her a withering look. "I trust you'll be on time tomorrow, Ms. Modello?"
The girl nodded solemnly, trying to conceal a laugh. Mrs. Carver, in the process of scribbling the ingredients needed for a Sweetening Solution on the blackboard, hushed a few whispers and giggles.
Reading off the recipe as the teacher wrote it, the tardy girl flipped open various small compartments in the box, pulling out such items as powdered horn of a unicorn and extract of nightshade.
The remainder of the Potions class passed quickly, and soon, a note clutched in her thin hand, the young girl was walking at a quick pace toward the principal's office.
Upon her arrival, she paused momentarily beside the frosted-glass door, took a steadying breath, and turned the brass doorknob. The girl stepped inside, and closed the door behind her quietly.
"You wanted to see me, Mrs. Teague?" she inquired politely, although she was slightly nervous at the purpose of this summons. The steely-haired headmistress stood from her leather chair, showing the full extent of her imposing 6-foot frame.
"Yes, Ms. Modello," she replied, a crisp British accent seeming to formalize her words. "Please sit down."
The girl took a seat rather carefully in the pale green easy chair across from the principal's desk. Mrs. Teague remained standing for another moment, then drew her leather chair up behind her and sat back down. Her broad build rose and fell as she heaved a deep breath.
"Ms. Modello, I've summoned you to my office to discuss a very important matter. You see..." For a moment, her voice faltered, as though she was not confident in her next words. Despite this, she tarried no longer. "I believe, as do your teachers, that our material is...er, holding you back, so to speak."
A confused expression crossed the student's face. "What on earth do you mean by that?" she asked, bewildered.
"Well, it seems that you are advancing in not only the quality of your abilities, but your understanding of them, at a quite faster rate than your classmates."
The girl stared at her headmistress for a moment, before stammering in shock. "Mrs. Teague, I-I don't think so. I think you've got the wrong girl- "
The woman gave her a faint smile. "You know we love having you here, Kelsey," she said, her voice warming quickly. "It's just that...well...you need a better program. We can't keep up with you and it is impossible to move you up a year, I-"
"But that's ridiculous!" Kelsey protested. "And why would moving me up be impossible?"
Mrs. Teague continued speaking as though she had not been interrupted. "- I've corresponded with the headmaster of another wizarding school, Albus Dumbledore. He has reviewed the situation and agrees with me. I am pleased to give you this." As Mrs. Teague spoke, she handed Kelsey an envelope, and gave her a firm handshake.
Still more than a little puzzled, Kelsey warily took the envelope from Mrs. Teague's hand. She carefully removed the red wax seal stamped across the flap of the envelope, opened it, and pulled out the folded slip of paper it contained. Another, smaller piece of parchment fell out of the envelope. She picked it up, unfolded the larger paper, and began to read.
Dear Miss Modello,
Your headmistress, Mrs. Teague, has informed me of your special situation. Knowing that your father went to Hogwarts, and admittance as a legacy is plausible, I have reviewed this situation to the furthest possible extent, and, after consulting my staff and giving much thought, I have come to a conclusion. I am happy to inform you of your acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Enclosed, you will find a sheet printed with the supply list for fifth years. Mrs. Teague has informed me that you are up to par on your courses, so you will be able to join our fifth years right away in their studies. Please purchase the listed materials, and I will see you on September the First!
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore,
Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
"So...you're telling me I'm supposed to go to this Hogwarts place for my fifth year?" Kelsey asked incredulously, looking up from the letter to meet her headmistress' coal-black eyes. "Where is this school, anyway? I've never even heard of it!"
Mrs. Teague sighed, tucking a stray wisp of gunmetal hair back into the severe bun at the nape of her neck. "I'm not at liberty to discuss its precise location, but I can tell you it is in the United Kingdom."
Kelsey bolted upright in her chair, bluish eyes round. "I'm going to school ABROAD?!"
!!!
Across the Atlantic Ocean, a fifteen-year-old wizard named Harry Potter woke with a start. His hand automatically flew to his scar, but oddly enough, it was not burning, as it usually did when a dream woke him.
"An American? At Hogwarts?" he said aloud, wondering if the ridiculous notion was just that, a random product of his nighttime brain.
In the murky dimness of the morning sunlight filtering through the blinds at his window, he fumbled atop his bedside table for paper and quill. Finding a barely-inked quill and a sheaf of parchment, he jotted a short message to each Hermione and Ron, tore the paper into two pieces, and crossing the room, took his owl Hedwig from her cage and tied the notes to her legs. He gave her an affectionate stroke under her beak before sending her off through the open window.
Harry had just climbed back into his still-warm bed, trying to catch a few more moments of sleep before the Dursleys woke him for breakfast, when Aunt Petunia's piercing voice barking suddenly at him from outside his bedroom door drove away all such hope.
"Get up, you lazy brute! That crusty old man is coming to get you today!" Petunia shrilled, banging on the door with her bony fist.
"Coming, Aunt Petunia," he replied, loud enough for her to hear that he was awake and thusly cease her shrieking. He quickly pulled on a plain black T- shirt and almost-unwrinkled jeans, flung his door open, and raced down the stairs. He had almost forgotten! Professor Dumbledore was coming today, to escort him to his best friend Ron Weasley's house. For the rest of the summer, he thought, immense relief coupling with his excitement.
He arrived in the kitchen just as Uncle Vernon was rattling his newspaper open. A large picture of a glaring man in handcuffs spanned the front page, topped with the headline "RUDD'S CAPTURE PUTS END TO CRIME SPREE IN NORTHERN SURREY."
"Bacon and eggs today, boy," Vernon barked from behind the printed page, without so much as a "good morning". Lowering the sheet for a moment, he narrowed his already incredibly small eyes at his nephew. "And make it fast. That Dumble crackpot is coming today..." At this point he paused, a contemptuous sneer twisting beneath his thick blond mustache. "To take you to...to the Wheezys', or whatever they're called."
Harry dropped only three pieces of bacon on the griddle (he was far too excited to eat), and pulled the egg carton out of the refrigerator. He cracked open the eggs, and, one-by-one, dripped their yellow contents into a skillet.
Aunt Petunia bustled into the kitchen just then, one of her bony arms clutching her Diddy-kins round the waist, with considerable difficulty, bearing in mind his immense girth. They took their seats at the table, Petunia beaming at her son. Dudley, however, was not in the best of moods and began almost immediately to whine for his breakfast.
"Mum, can't he cook any faster?" he griped to Petunia.
"Don't worry, darling, breakfast's almost ready," she simpered, patting her son's fleshy forearm before sending a murderous glance at Harry over her shoulder.
Harry, fighting to prevent showing any outward signs of his irritation, transferred the eggs and bacon to three waiting plates. Attempting not to scowl, he brought the dishes over to the table and set them down rather carefully in front of his aunt, uncle and cousin. And not a single 'thank you', he thought in resignation.
Just as Harry was sitting down with a small glass of orange juice, the doorbell chimed. A grin split his face as Harry leapt up and rushed through the excessively clean house, until he reached the front room. Happier than he'd felt in weeks, Harry swung the front door open, immediately feeling the warmth of the summer day rush in to meet him. "Good morning, Professor Dumbledore!" he greeted.
"Good morning, Harry, my boy!" Dumbledore returned, his eyes glittering. He reached up to adjust his spectacles, and Harry started.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Won't you come in?"
Dumbledore nodded graciously at this, and stepped inside the doorjamb. Harry noted that the headmaster had taken pains to appear slightly more acceptable to the Muggle eye, in order not to arouse suspicion of any sort. In lieu of his usual colorful robes, at lengths so as to sweep the floor, he wore a simple black traveling cloak, fastened in such a way that one could not really discern any other articles of clothing beneath it. Also noticeable only in its absence was his pointed wizard's hat, instead leaving Dumbledore's cottony hair to gleam palely in the morning sunlight.
By now, the Dursleys had come to stand beside Harry, not content to let another wizard just waltz freely into their home. A look of fear did nothing to soften Petunia's angular, horsey features, and the expression was mirrored, or perhaps magnified, on Dudley's flabby face. Both demeanors understandable, seeing as how the last time a full-grown wizard had entered their home, Dudley had ended up with a four-foot slimy tongue lolling out of his mouth.
Dumbledore smiled genially at Harry's family. "And you must be the Dursleys. What a well-kept home you have!" The look of fear remained, but Aunt Petunia's grimace wavered slightly at this genuine compliment.
"So...where are your things, Harry? We really should be going soon," Dumbledore said, peering around the entry good-naturedly.
"I'll go get them, they're just upstairs," Harry answered, before hurrying up to his room, leaving the wary Dursleys alone with the elderly wizard.
When Harry returned, lugging his trunk down the stairs behind him, none of the Muggles had started to yell or carry on, to his relief.
Several minutes later, Harry, Professor Dumbledore, and Harry's school things were all together on the front porch. "Well...er...I guess we'll be off, then. Um...g'bye Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Dudley." Harry grabbed the handle of his trunk and hefted it down the front walk to the Ministry car waiting in the driveway. The driver, a tall, swarthy man, smiled at him and helped load his things into the open boot of the car.
Having taken care of his luggage, Harry opened the back door and was just lowering himself onto the leather seat, when a quick glance showed Dumbledore still to be standing on the front stoop. Oh, no, Harry groaned inwardly.
"Aren't you going to say goodbye to Harry, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley?" Dumbledore asked, his tone nothing but pleasant.
Vernon looked as though he were about to refuse, but Dumbledore leveled him with the light-blue stare Harry knew so well.
"Goodbye, then, Harry," Uncle Vernon said stiffly, swallowing hard. Murmurs could be heard from Aunt Petunia and Dudley as well.
"Farewell." Dumbledore inclined his head in a partial bow, then turned from the Dursleys and strode down the front walk to the waiting car.
As they pulled out of the driveway and into the street, Harry barely heard Dumbledore request to be taken to the Burrow. He watched 4 Privet Drive sink out of sight amongst the identical rows of houses, as the Ministry car bore him away to a much more enjoyable summer.
!!!
When they arrived at the Burrow, most of the Weasley clan, excepting, of course, Bill and Charlie, stood in the yard, grinning and waving, as the black Ministry car bumped and trundled down the dusty, rutted drive.
Even before the vehicle had come to a complete stop, Ron rushed over and flung open the door for Harry. "Hey, mate!" he greeted, grinning wide beneath his vibrant, floppy hair.
Harry wholeheartedly returned Ron's enthusiasm, and stepped out of the backseat, stretching his legs after the considerable car ride.
As soon as the Ministry chauffeur had unloaded Harry's trunk and Hedwig's empty cage, Ron seized him by the inside of his right elbow. "I got your owl," he whispered, casting a wary look back at his parents, who were striding quickly over. "Come on, let's get your stuff up to my room."
Ron grabbed Hedwig's cage, and Harry grasped the handle of his trunk. But before they could so much as drag the luggage past the car, Mrs. Weasley dashed over and grabbed Harry up in one of the tightest hugs he'd ever experienced. "Glad to see you looking so well, dear," she said, her tone that of immense relief. Harry could easily imagine her worry as she waited for him to arrive in the Muggle way.
Dumbledore stepped out of the cab, and smilingly shook Mr. Weasley's hand. "I really appreciate you taking Harry in again, Arthur, Molly. I am much obliged."
Once Harry had worked his way out of Mrs. Weasley's embrace, repeatedly reassuring her that he was fine and had been having a perfectly normal summer up until now, he and Ron made a bit more hastily towards the house, anxious to get out of earshot from the rest of the family.
Just as Harry reached the door to house, setting his trunk down briefly on the cobblestones in order to get a better grip on the now slightly sweaty handle, the door flew open. A flame-haired girl rushed past him, then stopped. Spinning on her heel, Ginny Weasley came running right back over to Harry, to his immense surprise.
"Hey, Harry! Good to see you!" she exclaimed, smiling at him and, shockingly, meeting his gaze dead-on. Harry was rather relieved that Ginny did not seem nearly as uncomfortable around him as she had been since he'd known her, although he did notice the faintest tinge of pink blooming in the apples of her cheeks.
"Hi, Ginny," he replied, returning her smile. Then, grasping his trunk, he hauled it through the open doorway, Ron following right behind him.
Moving quickly into the house, Harry groaned inwardly when they reached the staircase.
Ron must have seen Harry's face, because a beat later, Ron reached over and took the trunk from Harry. "I'll take it, Harry. You go ahead." Taking the birdcage from Ron's hand, Harry swiftly climbed the stairs.
As soon as they reached Ron's room, as vivid orange as ever, the boys both dropped their burdens. Harry, spotting Hedwig perched on the windowsill, crossed the room to greet her, while Ron shut the door behind them.
Harry held out a hand, on which Hedwig eagerly alighted, and Ron, collapsing back onto his Cannons bedcover, cut to the chase.
"So, this dream you had...you don't think it's true, do you?"
Harry sighed and slid down to sit on the floor. "I don't know what to think. I mean, usually only my dreams that have something to do with Voldemort-" Harry pretended not to see Ron's obvious wince at the name. "- have any grain of truth to them."
He paused, thoughtfully stroking Hedwig's snowy down and staring at a particularly large crack in the ceiling above his head.
"But, just the same...I can't see how I possibly could have dreamed in such detail otherwise."
Ron pulled himself to a sitting position, his expression puzzled. "Well, do you think this means that this...uh..."
"Kelsey Modello," Harry supplied, guessing Ron was stumped for the mysterious girl's name.
"Yeah. So, do you think this Kelsey is connected with You-Know-Who?" Ron continued, quirking a ginger eyebrow at his best friend.
Harry frowned. I hadn't really thought of that. "Well, I hope not...but maybe my scar would've hurt, in that case. I really don't know..."
Ron nodded slightly. "And she's American! An American at Hogwarts! That is such a strange thing to think about."
As they were musing over such thoughts, a tawny brown owl swooped in Ron's open window, and dropped a note on the floor next to Harry. He picked it up, and unfolded it. It read:
Harry,
An American? At Hogwarts?? Are you sure? It's possible your dream could actually be true, but I wouldn't count on it just yet. Hope you're safe and sound at the Burrow. Oh, and send the details by return owl. The description you gave me of you dream was rather sparse.
Write soon!
Hermione
"Well," Harry said after scanning through the lines of Hermione's curly handwriting. "Doesn't seem like Hermione has any answers, either."
Ron was silent for a moment, picking at a worn spot in his threadbare comforter. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded forcedly casual. "So, er...what did this Kelsey girl...look like, anyway?"
Harry hid his grin, and shrugged. "I didn't get much of a look at her face, but she had dark hair, she wasn't tall—about Hermione's height—and she was fairly thin. That's about all I can tell you."
"But, think of it this way," Harry added, grinning, as Ron finally looked up at him. "If she's even a real person, we might be seeing her at school as it is!"
