Yo! Now, before I get to my usual gratitude, I do have one thing to say. I think someone has gone and cast Hastega on some of you. Shall I counter it with Slowga? Anyway, thank you to all readers so far! And forgive any typos. I pulled my back earlier and it hurts like a bitch. Editing is hard to do right now.

Harry was in a pretty good mood. O.W.L results had just arrived and he was pleased to see that despite the intense stress he'd been feeling at the time, he'd done a pretty good job. He'd only failed Divination and History of Magic, but who cared about those? The only A he'd gotten was in Astronomy, but he couldn't really be blamed for that, considering Umbridge had decided it was a good idea to attack McGonagall and Hagrid at the time. Other than that, his marks were split between O's and E's.

Just wanting to be alone for a little while, Harry wandered through Grimmauld Place, lost in thought. He hated being stuck in this house like his godfather had been. He'd actually tried to escape twice already, but he'd been caught fairly quickly both times.

Pleasant mood deteriorating, Harry began to scowl. He was sure that he'd have already gone insane if he hadn't been writing to Voldemort. Still, there were only two and a half weeks left in the break before school started up again. He would survive.

Speaking of Voldemort, Harry hoped the Dark Lord had managed to get rid of that Furby. He couldn't believe the thing had come to life. Fred and George definitely hadn't been aiming for that. In fact, they had no clue how it even happened. They suspected that it had something to do with a strange reaction between magic and Muggle technology. Luckily, they hadn't told Mr Weasley about it.

But not even Voldemort deserved to have to deal with a sentient Furby. Wormtail and Umbridge did though. Yes, they would definitely deserve it. And maybe Bellatrix too.

Why was the Dark Lord writing to him anyway? What was the point of all this? Neither of them was even revealing any secrets to one another, so why was he-why were they still doing this? Harry didn't mind, of course, considering he was actually enjoying himself for once. Still...

How had no one stopped him yet? They knew he was writing to Voldemort. They had to. He'd mentioned it in the letter he'd sent to Dumbledore with the Voldeclown drawing, and he'd told Tonks about it too, the day she'd been attempting to stalk him. Hell, hadn't she ditched guard duty to tell Dumbledore about Voldemort's letter? There was no way they couldn't know by this point.

So then, why was no one saying anything about it? Why was no one doing anything about it? He knew they'd read the most recent letter, but what about the ones from before? Had they read those too?

Hungry and figuring it was about time for lunch, Harry made his way over to the basement kitchen, honestly surprised he'd managed to stay alone for so long. Normally Ron and Ginny would have dragged him off by now, irritated by his (totally understandable) brooding.

Stepping into the kitchen, the first thing Harry noticed was Hedwig perched on one of the chairs. He hurried over, only to quickly realize she had nothing for him. Well, that was strange.

"Hey, girl. He didn't give you a response? The Furby didn't kill him, did it?"

Hedwig didn't get the chance to answer, because Mrs Weasley, who was also in the room, did so first.

"Oh, she came in with this, Harry dear," she said cheerfully, passing over a sheet of parchment. It was clear she had read this one too.

Harry didn't bother questioning that and focused his attention on the letter, curious to see whether the Furby counter had worked.

'Potter,

The counter did absolutely nothing. I left it at the top of Mount Everest. It got back to my manor before me.

It called me daddy.

Fix this.

NOW!

Voldemort'

"...Crap."

"Harry! Watch your language, young man!"

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley," he said automatically, thoughts already focused on what he could do to help the Dark Lord. Though he did absently wonder why the woman had said nothing about who he was writing to. After all, Voldemort had signed the letter, right?

Now, what could he possibly do to stop what appeared to be a Furby that had become sentient due to magic?

He blinked, frowned, then blinked again, before a sharp gasp left him and he rushed out of the room, his owl flying along behind him, trying to keep up with her crazy master.

But...it couldn't be that easy, could it?

That's it for now. Looking forward to reviews! Laterz!