Harry awoke with a start to the sound of a scratching noise on his bedroom window. He opened his eyes to nothingness and noticed that his glasses were pressed uncomfortably across his forehead. He pulled them off, checking to see if they were broken, and then felt around for the bedside table for a place to put them.
The scratching noise came again and he remembered why he woke. He climbed out of bed, his hands following the edge of the table to the window frame, where he found the latch, undid it, and pulled up the window frame to let Hedwig inside. Cool night air brushed against his skin, pushing away the stale, heavy air of the room.
Hedwig hooted impatiently on the sill until he got it up high enough. Once she hopped inside, he felt around the outside of the window, confirming that the Dursleys had not replaced the bars on the window that had been yanked out by Fred, George, and Ron as they rescued Harry from his prison of a room in their father's flying Ford Anglia the summer before.
He leaned out the window. Over the constant haze of traffic and the distant rumble of trains, crickets thrummed their songs, echoed by frogs in the not too distant park. More of the cool night air pushed past Harry and into his room. Hedwig made a soft growling noise and he ducked back into the room.
"Hiya, Hedwig," Harry said as he smoothed her soft feathers where she was perched on the table by his bed.
His throat tightened; he was thankful for a companion. She thrust her head into his hand, begging for more caresses. After a bit, she started hopping around oddly.
"What are you doing, Hedwig?"
He felt down her body and found that she was sticking out her leg. He must have received a letter. He sighed heavily and untied the scroll from her leg. He unrolled it and ran his fingers over the small bit of parchment. He could feel the swell where ink had absorbed into the paper and knew that someone had written him a note, but he couldn't decipher it.
"Do you know what it says, Hedwig?" he asked as he laid it down on the table next to his glasses.
She gave a gentle hoot, her claws scratching on the table. She seemed to be rooting around again.
"Are you looking for food, Hedwig?"
She bobbed in response.
"Sorry, girl. I don't have anything. You'll have to hunt."
She hopped to the sill and, in a burst of flapping wings and claws scritching against the sill, was gone. His stomach rumbled in response.
He was going to have to sneak down to the kitchen to hunt for food himself. How many times had he done this? It dawned on him that he could easily navigate this house in the dark. The thought made a small flame of hope light in his core.
He knew it was night because the house was quiet (except for Vernon's snores) and he couldn't see any lights at all, but he had no idea what time of night it was. He remembered something the Healer had said about his staff and walked over to where he'd left it by the door. His foot struck something metal that clanged loudly and he stumbled against the door, banging into it.
He froze as he listened, his heart beating wildly. Vernon was sure to wake up and come storming into the room. He heard the snoring stop and held his breath, waiting for the explosion. But then the snoring started up again, uneven at first, then more rhythmic. As he slid down the door, his hand found the cat flap that had been fitted on the door last summer. He reached out to find whatever it was he had crashed into.
Hedwig's cage.
His things must have arrived while he was sleeping. He imagined that his trunk was locked in the cupboard under the stairs.
He sat for a while with his back against the door, making sure that Vernon was snoring regularly again, relieved that he didn't have to face him just yet. He breathed in a lungful of the cool night air that was wafting in through his open window. He hoped Hedwig was finding a good meal (and that she'd eat it far away).
His stomach gurgled again and he rose carefully. He placed Hedwig's cage in its normal spot on his dresser, patting around to make sure that there was nothing on top already. Then he walked more cautiously to the door again, hoping that nothing else had been thrust into his room while he slept.
He found the staff without making a racket this time and ran his hands over the carved surface. It was smooth and sturdy. Though he was inclined to despise it, he actually liked the feel of it—just the right height and surprisingly lightweight, and when he held it, it gave him the same spark of connection that he felt with his wand. Maybe it was like a wand? He wished he had been more aware when Healer Smethwyck had been explaining how to use it.
He tried to recall what the Healer had mentioned about the staff telling him the time.
He tried just asking it, "Staff, what time is it?" Nothing. Then he remembered Percy using his wand to find out the time and tried, "Tempus."
A clear female voice sang out in lilting tones, "It is 1:52 am."
He froze as the snoring stopped for a moment, then breathed again when it resumed. Tempted though he was to try other spells he knew he had to wait until he wouldn't be overheard by the Dursleys. Afraid it might start talking again, Harry left the staff in the corner of his room by the door and eased open the door.
Harry poked his head out the door, listening for any disturbance in the snores. He took a few tentative steps toward the toilet holding his arms out in front of him until he found the hall wall. It took a moment of feeling the wall to find the door frame, but once he was in the toilet, the room was small enough and familiar enough that he could navigate around it pretty comfortably. After he used the toilet, he quietly washed his hands and listened at the door before making his way down the hallway to the stairs, trailing his knuckles on the wall.
His muscle memory kicked in and he avoided the squeaky floorboards without even thinking about it. Down the stairs, he followed the hallway wall toward the kitchen, his outstretched hand found the table in the hallway before he bumped into it, and he skirted around it.
He paused before the door and peered into the darkness, listening hard, hopeful that this wasn't a night when Aunt Petunia was sitting up nursing a cup of tea in the middle of the night. On those occasions in the past, he'd see the sliver of light under the kitchen door and know that he needed to retreat. He blinked hard assuring himself that he couldn't see any light and then gently pushed the door open.
He made his way to the kitchen counter, thankful for a spotless, clutter-free kitchen with everything in its place for once in his life. He knew what kind of food he had to take… food that would not be missed… a slice of bread with a smear of jam, a slice of cheese, a couple of biscuits. He devoured them while hovering in the kitchen. He tucked a small apple in his pocket for later. He had done this in the dark before and was quite adept at it.
He drank milk directly from the bottle to avoid having to wash a mug and relished the thought that it would drive Aunt Petunia mad if she knew. He ran his hands over the counter in search of stray crumbs that would give him away, capturing them in his palm, and went to the bin to throw them away. He paused, mindful of how it was prone to clang when opened, and then remembering the tossed leaflets.
Hermione's voice was there in his head again, urging him to find those leaflets and squirrel them to his room to save them for when he could find someone he could trust to read them to him. He cringed at the thought, both of having to ask someone for help and imagining what might be in the bin and smeared all over the literature.
Hermione's voice won out, though, and he carefully lifted the lid and held it so that it wouldn't ring out. Awkwardly brushing off the crumbs, he reached in heedful of what he might find and was relieved that there wasn't much in the bin and what was there wasn't wet or gooey. He found the leaflets (three as he remembered) and the bit of parchment with the notes about his courses still tucked together. He also found another large piece of parchment that he imagined was the letter from Dumbledore. Wizard paper was so different from muggle paper. He tucked them all into the waistband of his jeans and went back upstairs stealthily.
Once he was back in his room with his door shut, he relaxed and pulled out the leaflets to hide them under the loose floorboard beneath his bed. He added the scroll that Hedwig had delivered to the papers and then leaned out the window to breathe in the cool night air, listening for his owl and enjoying the vision of the moon that must have moved out from behind clouds—indistinct though it was—against the expanse of the starless sky.