AN: Here's chapter 2!

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Mr. Weasley looked up, drumming his fingers against his chin.

"Hmm? Sorry Harry, what did you say?"

Harry repeated myself, gesturing to the white mask in his hands.

"Is that a surgical mask Mr. Weasley? Where did you find one of those?"

"Ah! So that's what it is!"

Nodding to himself fervently, Mr. Weasley grabbed the mask and held it up to his face.

"But these… these straps? Or strings? Where might they go?"

Harry smiled, and tapped his ears.

"On your ears, Mr. Weasley. That way the mask won't slip off."

"Ah, I see I see. Quite ingenious quite ingenious indeed!"

Mr. Weasley proceeded to fumble with the mask, eventually managing to get one side on properly, then the other, but instead of covering his mouth, like Harry had seen in the few glimpses of tv that he had got during his time at Privet Drive, the mask came across Ron's dad's eyes, blinding him. He nodded once more, then turned to face Harry, blindly.

"So, Harry, I must confess, I am rather confused to the purpose of this mask. I can't see a thing!"

Unable to help himself, Harry laughed, shaking his head. Ron looked over, and frowned.

"Dad, what on earth is that supposed to be? More of that muggle ridiculousness? Last time it was battle eyes (read: batteries) and eleckticity and now this-this blindfold?"

"Ahem, almost there Mr. Weasley. You just have to tug it down a bit…"

Mr. Weasley brought the mask down past his eyes, revealing a slightly flustered but curious sparkle in his eye.

"Oho! So, it's for the mouth then?"

Harry nodded, gesturing vaguely at my mouth and nose.

"It's supposed to cover your mouth and nose, I think it's to prevent germs from getting in? Or getting out? Which was it again…? I'll check with Hermione when she gets here."

Nodding, Mr. Weasley turned to me.

"So, what was it called again? Sir Jickle? Is that the man who invented this contraption?"

"Ah, no, surgical. S-u-r-g-i-c-a-l. Doctors and nurses use them during surgery."

With his voice muffled by a full mouth of toast, Ron's eyes lit up.

"That barbaric thing you muggles do? Cutting people up to heal them… absolute nutters you are."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm no doctor Ron, but surgery can be lifesaving, and it's come a long way from just cutting people open. And with anesthetic, it's hardly barbaric at all. But anyway, Mr. Weasley, where did you find a surgical mask?"

Mr. Weasley fumbles around in his pockets, eventually bringing out a crumpled cutout from a newspaper.

"Here! Aurors captured a few crates of these masks being smuggled into the muggle world. Apparently, they weren't actually manufactured masks, but replicated using the Gemino Charm. I don't know if someone was trying to prank the muggles, make a bit of easy money, or genuinely trying to hurt some people, but it turns out that the charm was rather poorly cast, and the masks weren't up to standard. I suppose they wouldn't have been much use keeping any germs out in that kind of condition… Of course, it was just a small batch of them, and the culprit was quickly shut down. Naturally it wasn't really considered good enough or important enough evidence for the Auror department, so they sent them down to us."

Reaching into another pocket, Mr. Weasley revealed another mask, this one sealed in a plastic wrap.

"I actually ventured into muggle London to get an actual one! It seems like there was a shortage earlier this year, would you happen to know anything about that, Harry?"

Harry tilted his head, thinking back to what he could remember of the brief glimpses of news he could sneak while at the Dursley's. Ever since the news about Sirius had made muggle news, he had realized that for all of the secrecy of the wizarding world, not everything could be hidden. As such, when forced to get the mail every morning, Harry would take some time to run his eyes over the day's headlines. Combine that with the sounds of the television leaking through the living room window as he gardened, Harry had been able to gain a semblance of understanding of the news of the world.

"Well…"

Harry winced.

"With the Dursley's being the Dursley's, I don't really know too much, but… I did hear some things about a bit of a virus going around in Europe. Apparently, it was a new variant of some disease that everyone had thought was gone. I don't think it was anything crazy, like the Black Death, but it had everyone scared for a while. That probably explains the whole thing with the masks, I saw something about shortages in a few countries, panic buying, that kind of thing. We weren't really affected that much; I didn't see anyone wearing a mask in Privet Drive; I think it was more in the mainland. I think the worst of it's over, just a little bit of a scare."

Mr. Weasley nodded.

"That would explain it. Well, I'm glad it seems to have been dealt with, I would hate for the muggles to have to struggle with that sort of thing."

Ginny, who had quietly been nibbling on her eggs, piped up from across the table.

"Dad, would there be any chance that we could get whatever sickness that was going around the muggle world?"

Mr. Weasley smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think so dear. We seem to have a good bit of resistance against that kind of common cold, or flu that might have your normal muggle resting in bed for a few days. Unless it was something magical, like spattergroit, or dragon pox, it shouldn't trouble us at all. Luckily for us, it doesn't seem to be anything of that kind, so we should be just fine."

Harry frowned. When he thought about it, he couldn't really remember ever getting really sick, or having to go to a doctor at all but…

"So, wait, Mr. Weasley. Do witches and wizards have some sort of resistance against non-magical types of sickness or injury?"

Mr. Weasley drummed his fingers against his chin.

"I think to a certain extent, yes. Usually, if the cause of something is non-magical in nature, then you should be able to fix that up with magic in no time. But if the cause if magical, then that can lead to some pretty nasty damage."

Harry nodded slowly.

"I suppose… that does sound like it could make sense."

Mr. Weasley chuckled.

"Do we have a budding healer on our hands? I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would be happy to shed some more light on the topic, I'm afraid I can't really go much deeper. And of course, the Hogwarts library is sure to have some books on the topic, so if you're still curious, I think that would be a good place to start."

Harry ducked his head.

"I'm just curious… but not at all, thank you Mr. Weasley, you've been really helpful! I'll definitely ask Madam Pomfrey about some of this stuff, and Hermione will probably be all too happy to have me in the library with her."

Ron's head snapped up.

"Oi, Harry. You aren't about to become a bookworm, are you? One I can handle… but two? That's pushing it mate."

Harry stood up, taking his plate to the sink. As he passed Ron, Harry patted him on the shoulder, as if to reassure him.

"I'm sure you'll manage somehow."

Grinning at the audible moan Ron let out, Harry placed his plate on a stack by the sink, where a floating brush was merrily cleaning the rest.

"Thanks for the meal, Mrs. Weasley! It was delicious!"

"Oh, you flatterer you. It was nothing dear!"

Harry left the chatter and bustle of the kitchen behind, heading back up the stairs to the room he was sharing with Ron. Entering the room, he closed the door behind him, muffling the sounds of the Weasley household. Harry walked back over to his borrowed bed, flopping down and staring at the ceiling. Well, Harry thought, letting himself lean back into the mattress, he was glad to have a proper meal in his stomach. It had been a while since he had to go days with only a stale crust of bread, and a meager few cups of water. He certainly had gotten used to the incredible meals at Hogwarts, three hearty meals every day. Going back to that small room in Privet Drive was more punishment than ever. I miss my four-poster bed…

But being able to go to the Quidditch World Cup! To see the very best of the sport, and live at that. Every part of Harry couldn't wait for the show. Whether it was because he had never been to a stadium, never seen a sport live, or because Quidditch and flying were some of the few things that he truly felt right doing, he didn't know. Harry's eyes fell over to his luggage, where he could just see that wooden handle sticking out from behind a pile of clothes. Those burnished gold letters on the smooth wooden handle spelling out one word: Firebolt. Harry closed his eyes, remembering the sensation of flying, away from any earthly troubles, the wind rippling through his hair, and his eyes locked on the snitch.

"Sirius!"

Harry jerked upright. That's what I was forgetting, I have to tell Sirius about this! I don't want to make him too jealous… him being on the run and all, and me watching the biggest sporting event in the wizarding world but… he'd want an update, right?

Harry rolled over to his side, and stood up, making his way over to his luggage. With a wry smile, he muttered under his breath.

"Hermione wouldn't stand for this mess…"

Grabbing a roll of parchment and making his way over to the cluttered desk, Harry thought about what to write.

Snuffles,

I've been freed from the Dursley's, I'm not sure how I managed to survive, but I did. Thank God for the Weasley family and their kindness. Tomorrow we're all leaving for the Quidditch World Cup! I really still can't believe that I'm actually going. To the Quidditch World Cup! We're going there a day early, Mrs. Weasley in her infinite wisdom changed the plan of going on the morning of the game… I think that was probably for the best, especially with some of the heavy sleepers here. And it's always nice to have some free time.

I wish you could be here with us, not on the run. I hope you're doing well, and Buckbeak too! Hopefully we won't have anything all too horrible happen at Hogwarts this year, although, as I write this, I feel like I've just jinxed myself and everyone around me. Hopefully that's not the case. I still can't believe you got me that Firebolt, I can't wait to use it in the upcoming season for Gryffindor. We've got a good thing going, and we really could do with the points. Hopefully I can see some stuff at the world cup, take some lessons from the pros.

If you need anything, let me know! I'm pretty sure with a featherlight charm, and a shrinking charm, Hedwig could carry a few tons of food and snacks, or soap, anything at all. So, tell me if you need anything.

Like I said, I hope you're doing well, Snuffles. Hope to hear from you soon!

Best,

Harry

Harry set aside the quill, and waved the parchment around in the air, waiting for it to dry. Placing it in an envelope, he swiveled his head, and called out.

"Hedwig? Could you take this letter for me? I know it says it's for Snuffles, but it's actually for Sirius. Can you find him girl?"

Hedwig chuffed, haughtily looking down at Harry, insulted at even the insinuation that she wouldn't be able to deliver a letter to its recipient. Harry grinned, abashedly.

"Heh, sorry Hedwig, I should never doubt you. Hang on, let's go downstairs, I'll grab you a rasher of bacon as a treat before you go."

Hedwig perched on his shoulder; Harry walked down the stairs.

"Mrs. Weasley, would it be alright I just grabbed a strip of bacon for Hedwig?"

"Hmm?"

Mrs. Weasley turned from her seat.

"Oh yes, yes of course! Here dear, take two. Such a beautiful bird deserves it after all."

Harry snorted, but took the two strips, feeding them to Hedwig.

"You spoil her… but I can't disagree."

Harry turned to the window, and opened it.

"Well girl, have a safe trip!"

With a light nip of Harry's ear, Hedwig took off, letter in claw, and soared out over the grass of the garden.

Behind Hedwig, the tall, slanted shape of the Burrow faded to nothing more than a speck on the horizon. Her wings beat strong and steady, powering her through the air. While her white coat wasn't particularly suited to the climate to England, when seen from below, she was little more than another white blob in the sunny sky. Hedwig's shadow flitted across roofs, as she sped off with purpose, into the warm summer breeze.

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In a darkened room, shades closed to prevent any of the bright sunlight from leaking in, a sinister meeting was taking place. A high-backed chair stood alone in the middle of the dark room, lit faintly by candlelight. Before it, a dirty looking middle-aged man prostrated, face buried in the meager carpeting of the room. Beside him, on his knees, equally as subservient but much less pathetic, was a younger man. Head bowed, his dark hair falling over his face, he awaited his orders. They came, in a vicious, sibilant whisper, a voice that would send shivers down the hardiest of men.

"Moody."

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AN: And there's chapter 2! I'm going to try to increase chapter length from here, so updates might take a bit longer; I'm also going to be busier and busier so that will also factor in. I'll definitely try to make some time for this every day though! Also, if you didn't notice, I did some 'art' today, made up a little cover art. It's really amateurish, but hey, it's my work. Hopefully it can catch a few eyes. Another thing; it's absolutely nothing at all, but I noticed that I have 2 follows on this story! That's honestly huge motivation for me, hell, even if it was just one person reading this, it would make me happy. I'd love some feedback if you have any! Sorry for the long AN, I'll try not to make you wait too long for the next chapter!