AN: Happy Mother's Day! I hope all you moms out there are having a good time so far. I know I said May would be busy, but I definitely wasn't expecting half the stuff that's happened to me so far. I really, really don't like May, especially when I get sick and have a power outage. Yeah, I could've done without that. This chapter is more of an interlude than anything else. It's not about to become a common occurrence, so if you're not a fan, don't worry. I just thought it would be good to include some extra POV's and background info. Plus, we're only fifteen followers away from 1,000! Just fifteen! So if you're not following yet, do it now and it'll make me super happy! Not that I'm not incredibly thankful for all my current followers and favorites. I am doubly thankful for the reviewers this chapter: To the TARDIS, Books are air, B00kw0rm92, LegendaryArimaspi, MusicAnimal, Jmw, Penny is wise, Firenze Fox, Kairan1979, Narnia and Harry Potter 4 EVER, ladysavay, Narcissa-Weasly, serialkeller, Spring Raine, Tellur, Lady Sabine of Macayhill, magitech, TheElfThatRodeADemonWalrus, MariusDarkwolf, geetac, ElementKitsune, and red-Jacobson. Remember, we're just fifteen followers away!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter franchise.
Angelina Johnson loved rollercoasters.
Her mother Stephanie was a Muggle, and despite the fact that the woman generally preferred the wonder of the Wizarding world, it didn't stop her from showing her daughter some of the Muggle world's own magic. Angelina had been treated to amusement parks and movie theaters, among other thrilling experiences, but rollercoasters could hold her attention again and again.
She wasn't entirely sure what it was about them. It wasn't the feeling of the wind through her hair, because she had that on a broom, and it didn't induce that exact sense of euphoria. She had made rather risky saves during Quidditch, but it still didn't measure up.
Angelina had a theory though. She thought it might be the way her stomach dropped every time she went upside down, or raced down the tracks at frightening speeds. It was true that she could technically do that on a broom, but it just wasn't the same. Angelina suspected that it might be because, on a rollercoaster, the rational part of your brain knew that you were safe, but the rest of your body was terrified that something would happen, even for just a moment.
Angelina lived for those moments.
She had never felt anything quite like it. At least, not until the summer before her fifth year, when she received a startling letter from Harry Potter. She relieved the owl at the window of his burden, and she had calmly unfolded the letter, just as she always did. She skimmed through it at first, before her eyes got caught on a sentence that made her stomach drop, just like on a rollercoaster.
"…blew up my aunt…"
She staggered and collapsed back onto her bed. He blew up his aunt? How was that even possible? And what did he mean by blowing up? Did he mean like a balloon, or like he had accidentally caused her to explode like a stick of dynamite? Knowing Harry, it was most likely the former, but Angelina couldn't stop the shudder that ran up her spine.
She continued to read as her palms began to sweat and her heart began to race. Other phrases jumped at her, and she blinked rapidly.
"…Cornelius Fudge waiting for me…"
"…acted really strangely…"
"…didn't even get punished!"
Angelina swung her legs over the side of her brass bed before walking over to the window and sticking her head out. She took deep breaths, feeling like those little kids who were stupid enough to stuff themselves with candy floss before getting on a fast Ferris wheel. She read the last sentence over and over again to reassure herself.
"I'm doing fine now though, and I can't wait to see you again."
Harry was fine, she told herself. The ministry hadn't punished him, for reasons unknown. Maybe it was simply because he was Harry Potter? It didn't quite add up, but Angelina brushed that off. The less time she spent pondering what could've happened to Harry, the better. In fact, it would probably be best if she put the whole incident out of her mind for the time being. Harry certainly seemed inclined to do so.
Something about it didn't feel right. She shut the window and sat at her desk, thinking. Finally, she composed two letters, one to Harry and one to George. After that, she firmly resolved to think of things that wouldn't be likely to give her a heart attack for the rest of the day. She had a feeling she wouldn't be getting on a rollercoaster any time soon.
Seamus Finnegan was bored.
He tried to stop it, honest, he did. But was it really his fault that his mam had wanted to spend the summer out in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do? And was it really his fault that his dad had complained that Seamus was too dependent on magic, and that he had to spend his whole summer going entirely muggle? No, of course it wasn't.
Seamus was tired of doing nothing all day. And perhaps the worst part was that he couldn't ask anyone for suggestions on what to do. His mam told him to clean, which was ridiculous, because everything would just get messy all over again anyway. His dad suggested that he take a nap, but there was only so much sleeping you could do before you were awake at night and asleep during the day. The barkeeper downstairs had asked Seamus to help out with the customers, despite the fact that the town had a population of about fifty, and the pub was the only business for fifty miles.
Everyone in the town was over the age of sixty, and consequently didn't know the meaning of the word fun. Seamus had been lucky enough to stumble across a wizard out by the bog, but he was crabby and sour on his best days. Seamus had to leave his Agrippa chocolate frog card at home, as well as the model of Irish Keeper Darren O'Hare. These were both things that some bloke off the street could just walk right in and steal if he wanted, and yet Seamus's father didn't appear to care.
Why didn't people understand that just sitting on the cheap cot in the inn and staring at the sheep wasn't amusing? Really, they all looked the same! Half the time he wished one of those wolves he always heard about would come and snatch one. At least then something would be happening.
Technically, Seamus was only supposed to be contacting his friends through Muggle mail. But Seamus figured that took far too long, so he snuck over to the crabby old wizard by the bog and used his owl. Marius, the wizard, generally didn't mind, though he did take the chance to insult Seamus. Seamus's friends would respond through Marius's owl, and Seamus would sneak their letters back to the inn to read in private.
Something about the letter Seamus received from Harry about two weeks before the end of summer holiday made him think twice about leaving Marius's without reading the letter immediately. He tore open the letter and read, sitting underneath a tree. His eyes grew wide as he continued.
Harry had blown up his aunt? Harry, who had generally seemed so patient, who hadn't gotten irritated when Neville spilled ink all over him, or when Lavender suggested that he get his glasses framed in black instead of silver? It didn't seem to match up with what Seamus knew of Harry Potter. And what the bloody hell was the minister thinking? Was there something in the water back in England that made everyone act so strange?
He raced back to Marius's cottage, pounding on the door.
"Whataya want?" Marius snarled.
"Can I use some parchment and ink to write a letter to my friend?"
Marius didn't exactly give his permission, because he never did, but he did move aside.
"Yeh look like a fool with all that moss on the seat of yer trousers!" Marius barked.
Seamus rolled his eyes and penned a hasty reply to Harry. He rolled up the parchment and handed it off to Marius's owl.
"Ain't you supposed ter to ask me if yeh can use me owl?" Marius asked pointedly.
Seamus let out a sigh. "Can I use your owl?"
"Young people these days. Always in such a hurry," Marius mumbled, turning away.
"Bye Marius!" Seamus called over his shoulder, beginning to run back to the inn.
"Better wipe off yer tush before yer mam sees yer trousers like that!" Marius sneered.
Seamus kept his head down, but followed the old man's advice. Well, he thought laughingly, at least I'm not bored anymore.
Dean Thomas was humiliated.
It was hard to gain respect at the art camp he went to. The people there had never cared for his work, because it was usually of things they didn't care to depict. One of the first lessons taught there was that you should paint things you were familiar with, things that you can refer to often as a reference point. Dean's artwork, therefore, included rough sketches of Hogwarts, the giant squid, and lately, his professors.
The other kids sketched things like their school, their pets, and their teachers. In theory, Dean was doing the same thing. The only difference was, no one could know. The instructors laughed at McGonagall's pointy hat and the many turrets and complicated staircases of the castle. One had even gone so far as to say that Dean had "completely misunderstood the assignment". Supposedly, Dean's drawings were childish and imaginary, thus making him completely ridiculous as an artist.
Even before Hogwarts, Dean had drawn things like dragons and fairies, to the point where all the boys started calling him Prince Charming and laughing at him. Dean couldn't help it; the images were always in the back of his mind, begging to be painted. One of the older instructors was always going on and on about obeying the muse, and Dean had.
The jokes about how weird he was had bothered him, but he had never gotten truly angry about them. He had thought of his art as unique, as something that would end up changing the stuffy old portraits shown at London galleries. He had taken all of his criticism and put it towards his work. He glanced down at the portrait of Professor Burbage. She had sat for it one afternoon, and Dean had worked quickly, getting the shape of her jaw and nose down before her next class. Later, he had done a real sketch of her, progressing to a full scale painting, just as he had done with Harry, Seamus, and many others.
This summer, Dean had been told to work on his animals. He sat in Mr. Lambert's class as a trained dog lounged in the front. He glanced back and forth between his drawing and the dog. Something wasn't quite right. Dean couldn't figure out just what it was…
"Make the snout longer, Thomas," Mr. Lambert ordered.
A group of nearby kids began to snicker.
"But sir," One began innocently, "dragon snouts need to be squished like that. Didn't you know?"
Dean grew hot and began erasing the snout without speaking.
"I'm sure Thomas is the only one who knows that, which is why his art will never sell in the real world," Mr. Lambert said cruelly.
That was what hurt. For the rest of class, Dean didn't look up at the dog again. He lengthened the snout and shaded in the fur before packing up and going to his dorm room. The other children had said that Dean wouldn't be able to make it as an artist, but he had been able to brush it off. What did they know of the real art world? They had no idea what people would think of his art. But hearing it from Mr. Lambert had reinforced what Dean had felt this whole time.
Reaching the Wizarding world had been like a saving grace for Dean. Finally, a place where he could take pride in his art and the less than normal subjects. But the Wizarding world wasn't all that appreciative of art, which meant Dean didn't have any sort of future there. Art was it for him. It was all he wanted to do, and Mr. Lambert had just crushed his dreams with one small sentence.
He was holed up in his dorm room as the other kids joked and laughed when an owl tapped impatiently at the window. Glancing around, Dean got to his feet and retrieved the letter. He recognized the chicken scratch instantly; this was a letter from Harry.
He read the letter slowly, feeling his concern grow and grow. The last line reassured him, and he heaved a sigh as he realized that Harry was okay. Then he began to reread the letter, taking note of the incredibly detailed description of Aunt Marge and her altered state. He smiled; Harry knew him well.
Taking out a clean sheet of paper and a pencil, he began to draw an impossibly large woman, floating in a gaudy dining room with her head hitting the ceiling. Just as he finished up, his three dorm mates burst in.
"What's that you're drawing?" One of them sneered.
"What does it look like?" Dean retorted.
The boys fell silent.
Dean tacked the sketch up on the wall right above his head. Maybe his art didn't have to be so real after all.
Parvati Patil was on cloud nine.
Parvati believed that magic carpet rides were the most romantic thing in the world. What could be better than soaring through the sky, reaching out and touching clouds, getting so close to the stars, and all while staying in relative comfort? It was nothing like a broom, which was uncomfortable and required some concentration to maneuver. As much as Parvati loved flying, there was no denying that magic carpets were simply superior. Well, she thought wryly, Oliver would probably argue with that.
Her parents were more than a little annoyed that she wasted time and galleons on such frivolities as magic carpet rides. Why couldn't she be more like Padma, they complained. Why couldn't she content herself with family visits and historical sightseeing? This didn't anger Parvati. She knew her twin was receiving the opposite criticism.
When her parents found out they were having twins, they rejoiced. Not one, but two chances to have the perfect child! Parvati often wondered if they might have been happier with just one. If Parvati and Padma could be combined into one person, that person would most likely be perfect. Padma's weaknesses were Parvati's strengths, and vice versa.
Padma was smart and resourceful. She didn't rely on people to do things for her. She went out and did them herself. Padma didn't get lost in daydreams and think of childish fairy tales as real life. Padma did her duty to the family. But Padma had terrible people skills, unlike Parvati. Parvati could walk into a room full of dusty old men and make friends.
Parvati was more valuable to their parents in terms of making connections. There wasn't any piece of gossip in Hogwarts that Parvati didn't know, and sometimes bribery and blackmail were useful to the Patils' business. To her credit, Parvati had never given up any information on her friends.
Often times the Patils' business contacts were surprised to find that there were two Patil girls. This was something that Parvati could easily explain. Anika and Ishan Patil typically didn't refer to the girls by name, and said something vaguer, like "my daughter". This led to some thinking that Patils had one, superhuman daughter, who could do just about anything.
Parvati and Padma didn't get angry with each other about this. At least, Parvati didn't think they did. Padma was good at bottling things up. Parvati tried to do the same, but it seemed her heart was permanently stuck on her sleeve. The two girls were as different as night and day. Parvati had been relieved when they'd gotten in separate houses.
She supposed Ravenclaw would've been an honor, seeing as how it was the house of the intelligent. But intelligence had never been on Parvati's list of priorities. Gryffindor was the house of the brave. Ravenclaws sat around and talked about what should be done. Gryffindors actually tried to do something about it. Parvati wanted someone like that.
It was another "silly fantasy" that her parents always admonished her for. Parvati always wanted a prince. Not necessarily to come save her, just a prince to keep her company, to understand her. Padma insisted that dreaming of such things was pointless, and that women had a more prominent role in society these days, and that Parvati shouldn't take such things for granted, and whatever else she blabbered on about as Parvati dreamed.
Parvati wasn't taking it for granted. She knew that it was important to be an independent woman. But what was stopping her from dreaming of true love? Nothing, of course. She wanted someone brave and strong. Whether or not he was smart didn't matter to her. As long as he could string together a few sentences (mostly things like "I love you" and "Will you marry me?"), she would take him.
"Parvati!" Padma screeched. "There's a letter for you!"
Parvati jumped and raced downstairs. "Give it here!"
"Okay, okay," Padma huffed.
The letter was not a declaration of love from a foreign prince that Parvati had never heard of, nor was it the latest edition of Witch Weekly. That didn't mean a letter from Harry wasn't welcome. In fact, it was more than appreciated. What was not appreciated was the unpleasant feeling in Parvati's chest as she read the letter. It felt almost like an icy hand was clenched around her heart, tighter and tighter until she finished the letter and took a deep breath.
To calm down, she began the checklist her parents had devised in moments of emergency.
Is Harry okay? Yes.
Does he need help? No.
Does he want help? I don't think so.
Can you handle this by yourself? No.
Is there someone (not us) who you can talk to about it? Yes.
If No, send a brief, concise letter to Anika and Ishan Patil. If Yes, send a brief, concise letter to that person. Do not make any rash judgments or take drastic action until you have consulted the proper authorities and considered all possible solutions.
Parvati took another deep breath and began writing a letter to Harry. What she wouldn't give for a prince to swoop in and save the day…
Oliver Wood felt disoriented.
Quidditch camp was not at all what he had imagined it would be. Oliver had always figured it would be a breeze. He couldn't have been more wrong. He supposed he should've figured that the others would give him a hard time because he was a rookie. He supposed he should've guessed that the current Keeper, Joseph Summers, would have some hard feelings. He supposed he should've known that Puddlemere United Quidditch camp wouldn't be all fun and games.
He should've thought of all these things beforehand, but he didn't.
Why would he? Oliver had always been told that getting signed was next to impossible, and he had assumed that actually being guaranteed a spot on the team was the hard part. Why didn't the other players like him? It might've sounded stupid and arrogant, but Oliver truly couldn't see a reason for them to hate him so. The cold shoulder from Summers, one of his heroes, had stung, but Oliver had shrugged it off. Summers would come around, wouldn't he?
Summers' attitude affected practically everyone. The Beaters "accidentally" launched their Bludgers his way. The Chasers refused to ever let him rest, and performed some of the most complicated flight patterns, some of which Oliver had never even seen. The Seeker, rather than do his bloody job and find the snitch, insisted on hanging around the hoops and shouting insults to Oliver when Coach wasn't looking.
And that was another strange thing. The players didn't seem to want to be called by their names. Coach was just Coach. Somehow, the beaters and the chasers always knew who was who, despite the fact that they were all called Chaser or Beater. Oliver had attempted to introduce himself, but he never received a reply.
Every night before bed, Oliver would take out the picture of his father that he kept in his jacket. He used it for motivation. Tristan Wood would have killed to be on the Puddlemere team, no matter how awful they were. As long as Tristan had been alive, Oliver had heard about what an honor it would be to get chosen for Puddlemere. It seemed like every week, his father would sit him down and give a small spiel on how important it was to never give up. Tristan had given up, and he'd never stopped regretting it.
To be honest, Oliver hadn't paid too much attention to his father's advice. At least, not until after the accident. That was when Oliver had realized that his dad had been on to something. To play for Puddlemere would mean getting to play the sport he loved, every day for the rest of his life. It meant he could be on a broom and get paid for it, make a living out of it. It meant that a boring desk job wasn't what was in his future.
It meant that he could live.
Staring at the picture, he swallowed hard. Only two more weeks, he told himself. Just two more weeks, and then you're back at Hogwarts, playing with your friends again.
He was startled by a tapping on the window. He carefully unfurled the letter as the owl helped itself to some water. He frowned as he read. Harry had blown up his aunt. Well, that was something unexpected. Truth be told, Oliver didn't know what he was supposed to think. If Harry had been in trouble, he would have rushed down there immediately, Quidditch camp be damned. But if Harry was okay, then what?
"P.S. Hope you're enjoying Quidditch camp."
Oliver grimaced. Yeah, he was enjoying it all right.
"Hey kid," Seeker snapped. "Shut the window, will ya? I'm freezing in here."
"Er, yeah, okay," Oliver agreed, shutting the window. "Listen, I'm just gonna go fly for a bit, okay?"
"Yeah, whatever," Seeker grumbled.
Maybe a quick ride around the camp would improve his mood. Maybe it would even make him think better of his situation.
The Weasley family was in disarray.
This was nothing new. For almost the entire visit to Egypt, the group couldn't seem to contain themselves. Fred and George kept nicking Percy's Head Boy badge, just to laugh at him as he went into a frenzy, thinking he'd lost it. Mrs. Weasley continued to fuss over the length of Bill's hair, to the point where he threw up his hands and went for a walk to blow off steam. Ron wouldn't stop bringing up Ginny's friends, finding it amusing to see her squirm. There was only so much of this that one could take. The current hotel they were staying at all wondered who would be the first to crack. The answer might surprise you, and it certainly surprised the Weasleys.
"Alright, that's enough!" Mr. Weasley shouted at the breakfast table, standing abruptly. "I am tired of all this yelling and fighting that's going on. I don't care who's starting it, I want it to end. NOW!"
Ron's jaw dropped, causing Ginny to wince at the sight of chewed up sausage.
George reluctantly gave Percy's Head Boy badge back.
Bill piled his hair up into a hat.
"Thank you," Mr. Weasley said in a strained voice. "Now, we're only here for a little longer, so let's all try and get along just fine without any raised voices. Got it?"
An owl began tapping on the window behind him.
A five way race for the letter began, as the youngest members of the Weasley family rushed at the owl. Percy shoved Ron out of the way, only to be tripped by Ginny, who was blocked by the twins, who didn't see Ron dodge them, only to be pushed to the floor by Percy, who reached the letter triumphantly.
"It's from Harry," He declared.
Ginny let out a squeak and stretched out her hand demandingly.
"Why would he be writing to you?" Ron snorted, looking at Percy expectantly.
"It just says Weasley Family," Fred read over Percy's shoulder.
"That means me!" Ginny squealed happily.
"No, it means all of us," Bill corrected, holding in a laugh. "Can I assume that Harry is Harry Potter, from the way you're all crowing around that letter like it's a million galleons?"
"You would be correct," Percy said, sliding his glasses back up his nose. "Let's read it then, shall we?"
"I do hope Harry's alright," Mrs. Weasley said worriedly.
"I'm sure he's fine, Molly dear," Mr. Weasley said lovingly.
Fred and George made twin looks of disgust.
"We won't know unless we read it," Ron pointed out impatiently.
Percy unfolded the letter and began to read, pausing at the appropriate moments, anticipating the commentary from his family.
"I knew something was wrong," Mrs. Weasley murmured, wringing her hands.
"But he's fine now, right?" Ginny asked anxiously.
"Bloody hell," Ron whispered in amazement. "How d'you think he did it?"
"…but the good news is that I'm fine. No punishment at all. I hope I can see you all in Diagon Alley before the end of the summer. Harry," Percy read aloud, before folding the letter back up perfectly. "That's so strange. It's not like the ministry to just let someone get away with something like that. What about you Dad?"
Mr. Weasley had suddenly gone pale. "Oh, um, no I don't think I have, Percy." He traded a knowing glance with Mrs. Weasley. "I just don't know why they would…yes, well, let's get on with the sight-seeing, hmm?"
"Dad, what's going on?" Ginny asked innocently.
"Oh, I'm sure it's nothing. Nothing at all. Now, everyone get dressed," He instructed, leaving the room quickly, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Bill.
"What was he on about?" George asked suspiciously.
"I dunno," Percy admitted, narrowing his eyes.
One thing was for sure: something weird must be going on for the ministry to let Harry off the hook that easily.