I don't own Harry Potter.
...
Over the summer the Weasleys got used to Harry's seemingly odd behavior.
Because the Weasleys now knew of Harry being a Parselmouth, Harry would occasionally hiss a few phrases if he was feeling glum about being mute. Hissing was producing sound and vibrations, which was all Harry generally needed to cheer up. So it was not unusual to hear Harry speaking Parseltongue now and then, at the most random of moments.
They got used to his silent laughter soon enough, too. With Fred and George around there was always laughter, and most of the times whatever prank they'd pulled or joke they'd cracked was just too funny for Harry to hold in his mirth. Admittedly, they had still stared a little out of the corner of their eyes, at first, but the strange sight of Harry laughing was no longer quite so strange.
They also got used to his occasional "slip ups"; in other words, the times he forgot that he couldn't speak and tried to say something, only to have no sound come. Mostly these happened if he acted on an impulse: Ron shaking him awake in the morning and Harry automatically trying to say "good morning," or "what time is it"; shouting in frustration at the garden gnomes, yelling encouragement to a team mate in their games of Quidditch, muttering in annoyance about his homework, and calling for Mrs. Weasley to wait before leaving for Diagon Alley because he had forgotten to ask her to get him a new cauldron.
It was times like these that Harry was painfully reminded of his disability. Hermione had sensed this too, and usually gave him some sort of consolation after he "slipped up," as he called it. She insisted that they were not slips; it was perfectly natural, she said, to try to speak. They weren't mistakes on his part, because there was nothing wrong with them.
This did help, but there were some days that Harry just woke up depressed.
...
Harry was studying sign language again. He had actually progressed quite far, as he was now onto his second level text book. While the first text had mainly taught the signs for different words, the second began on the grammar and syntax part of the language, and sometimes it got downright confusing. Harry had never been one for grammar and writing, even when it was in English. Now he was studying it in another language entirely and sometimes it just drove him mad. Hermione had to carefully explain a concept or rule to him often, as she was on the third and last text. She knew all the rules and all the signs; the only thing she had not yet mastered was fluidity, speed, and accuracy. Instead of focusing on the practical part of the study, signing, she had focused on the concepts and rules which could be memorized. The practical part just took practice.
This was the first weakness in Hermione's study habits that Harry had ever noticed, but looking back, he realized that she had always been very theoretical as opposed to practical. True, she was also very good at practical, but she always mastered the memory bits before tackling something that required practice to achieve.
Still, Hermione was a major help where the second level text was concerned, and Harry doubted he would ever finish it without her.
Ron had also moved onto the second text, and had maintained his place with Harry. They were on the same level so they could study together, practice equal conversations with each other, and of course, complain about the work it required together.
Harry also continued with his study on the theory of silent magic and practiced focusing his mind. He couldn't try actual silent magic as he was under-age and out of school, but if he knew what he was supposed to do inside and out all that would be left would be to get results.
He practiced mind focus by repeating the exercises Snape had given him over and over. That was all he could do with the current resources he had. He did feel as if the exercises were coming easier and easier, though, so he assumed he was making progress. He'd have to get a book on occlumency in order to make further progress.
Ron hadn't bothered to research silent magic, but Hermione had dived right into it. But, for once, she was having trouble overtaking Harry in progress. He was so fascinated by what could be accomplished through silent and wandless magic that he had a desire to learn the books'' contents, inside and out.
He was determined to reach the level of Dumbledore and Voldemort, if not past that. He was entranced with the idea of being able to command his magic with simple intent, and being able to fire multiple purpose magics in different directions all at once. If he could learn how to do that Voldemort would be a piece of cake, and he would be able to live the rest of his life in peace because no one dared to mess with him.
So Harry spent most weeks of the summer studying and daydreaming about what a nice, quiet, unbothered life he would have after he defeated Voldemort.
...
The end of July, and Harry's seventeenth birthday, came quickly. Harry was counting down the days in his head, waiting for the hour when he would officially be free to perform magic outside of school, apparate, and officially be of age.
He would also be able to put to use all the silent magic theory he had been studying.
Before he could celebrate his birthday, however, an unexpected visitor arrived: Rufus Scrimgeor, the Minister of Magic.
Harry saw the man arrive with his four-auror escort. He had been studying his silent magic when he happened to look out of the window and see them apparate at the edge of the Burrow's wards.
Harry narrowed his eyes in distaste; Fudge had been a narrow-minded bumbling idiot, but Scrimgeor was radical and ruthless in getting his way.
Harry stomped twice on the wooden floorboards, heavily. It was his own invented way of calling for someone.
Mrs. Weasley poked her head into the room.
"What is it, Harry dear?" she asked. Harry moved out of her view and pointed the figures of the Minister and his guard walking towards the front door. Mrs. Weasley came to the window and squinted, trying to make out the figures. Harry tapped her shoulder and finger-spelled, "Minister." All of the Weasley family had by now learned how to finger spell in BSL, but only Ron, Ginny, and the twins had made it past that so far. Everyone else was just occupied with other things and didn't have the time to study the language extensively.
"Oh my! The minister! Harry, go and get everyone else and make sure they look presentable. I'll go greet them and get them settled…" she bustled off to the kitchen to put away her apron.
Harry, remembering that the twins were upstairs, dashed up the rickety staircases to their room. Ominous hissing and spitting noises came from behind their locked door; not a good sign. They were experimenting again.
Harry knocked.
"What is it?" Fred asked.
"We're sort of busy!" George said. The hissing intensified.
Harry knocked again. Eventually, they would figure out the lack of response meant that the knocker was Harry.
"What the…No! Fred, don't try that charm, it'll blow it…" George's panicked voice said right before a BANG echoed, making dust fall from between the ceiling boards.
Harry knocked again, unphased.
"What the bloody…" Fred began to ask, annoyed, as he opened the door a crack. He face was covered in purple powder.
"Oh, sorry Harry. Thought you were Ron trying to play some sort of prank…" Fred started to explain, but Harry cut his hand through the air to interrupt.
"Minister arrived with 4 aurors. Mum said get downstairs, look good." Harry signed.
Fred took a moment to translate what Harry had said, and then he shouted back into their room, "George! Harry says the minister's at the front door and that Mum's about to have a panic attack that her family won't be respectable! Come on, we'll cast cleaning charms at each other together."
"One!" George said.
"Two!" Fred announced.
"Three!" They shouted simultaneously, followed by "scourgify!" When Fred reappeared he was no longer covered in purple powder.
"Could you find Ron? I'm supposed to be getting everyone together but I don't know where he is.""
"Sure thing, Harry. We'll get everyone else. We can do it faster than you, you know. We'll apparate!"" Fred declared, then two pops echoed around the hall and Fred and George were gone. Harry shrugged and returned to the living room.
Rufus Scrimgeor was seated on the couch, holding a cup of Mrs. Weasley's tea. His aurors were waiting outside, something that relieved Harry. Mrs. Weasley was just placing a plate of biscuits on the coffee table when Harry entered. She and the Minister looked up.
"What he want?" Harry finger spelled to Mrs. Weasley as he frowned to make sure she knew he was not pleased to see the Minister. Ministers always tried to manipulate him; that was how Harry saw it.
"Harry, the Minister is here to talk to you, Hermione, and Ron about Headmaster Dumbledore's will." Harry frowned. What did he and his friends have to do with the deceased headmaster's last wishes? As far as he knew the only thing Dumbledore had left him with was a mission, a mission to destroy Voldemort.
"Where are the others? Did you find them?" Mrs. Weasley questioned. Resigning himself to using his notepad, Harry wrote his next message.
"I found Fred and George, and they apparated to get everyone else. I guess they should be here in a minute." Then he showed it to Mrs. Weasley, who nodded.
"Good, I should have thought of them to get the others. Goodness knows they take any chance to apparate they get…that's fine, Harry. Why don't you sit with the Minister for a minute while I prepare some sandwiches, alright?" Without waiting for a response she hurried into the kitchen.
Harry eyed the Minister warily, but, just to be polite, he took a seat. The farthest seat from the minister, of course, in an armchair. From then on he just watched the minister casually, trying not to seem as if he were staring. He would have said "hello", and ""how do you do," but he wasn't wasting his pen ink.
"How are you doing, Mr. Potter?" Scrimgeor asked a little awkwardly. He obviously wasn't quite sure, despite seeing Harry communicate with Mrs. Weasley moments ago, if Harry could respond.
"As well as can be expected. Yourself?" Harry wrote, and then showed the message to the Minister. Scrimgeor cleared his throat, and Harry withdrew his notepad.
"As you…wrote," Harry's dislike of the man reached a new level, "…I am doing as well as can be expected. Fighting a war is exhausting."
"But you have an administrative position. Even though I am sure you are tired by the end of your day, sir, you job is not life-threatening, like the aurors. And please do not refer to my means of communication as 'wrote.'' 'Said,' is fine. It is what everyone else says when quoting me." Again, Scrimgeor cleared his throat uncomfortably. He probably thinks I'm abnormal. A valuable piece in his war strategy and a famous name, but distasteful.
"Yes…I am not in lethal situations daily. However, I would like to point out to you that as the Minister of Magic an assassination attempt could be made on my life any day…"
Harry interrupted in his own way: slicing his hand suddenly through the air. Then he wrote a message quickly on his pad.
"By the time I was twelve I'd already had two attempts on my life. Now, only five years have passed, and the count has reached six. Those are just the ones where Voldemort himself tried to kill me. That does not count the time I was nearly kissed by a swarm of "Azkaban" dementors, another time two "Azkaban" dementors hunted me and my cousin down over the summer, one time when a nest of acromantulas tried to eat me, the first task in the tri-wizard tournament when I had to evade a dragon, and the time I was nearly killed by a werewolf. That puts life-threatening situations at eleven. If you count my latest injury which could have killed me, it's twelve, and I''m still counting. I didn't even mention them all. I've always been a target, for my entire life so far. I don't think you have anything to say to me about assassination attempts. Sir.""
