Chapter 3

Burrow In For Summer

Harry woke early the next morning with an unfamiliar hollowness in the pit of his stomach. He felt empty after his argument with Ginny and was glad that he didn't have to talk to any of the others yet. He needed to clear his head, but this time, he would be more careful.

The sun had not yet risen. He put on his glasses and glanced over at the couch that had been brought in the previous night. Ron was slouched in it with a blanket wrapped around him. As Harry watched him he snored softly, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like 'Hermione'.

He peered out from between the curtains that surrounded his bed, making sure that he could hear the relaxed breathing that signified sleep coming from the other bed with closed curtains. The door to Madam Pomfrey's was closed and locked; Harry was sure that she too was sleeping.

With one last quick glance at Ron, he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He placed his right foot on the floor first, followed more slowly and gingerly by his recently injured left. A small twinge of pain ran up his heel when it first touched the cold tiles, but quickly faded to a dull ache. Reaching under his bed, he found his rucksack and pulled out some more suitable clothes than the hospital attire he was currently wearing. He grabbed a pair of socks and pulled them onto his feet, followed closely by his shoes. He left the laces undone to reduce the pressure on his throbbing left foot. Without a second thought he grabbed his wand and shoved it into his pocket, before reaching into his rucksack again.

The Invisibility Cloak was as light as a feather in Harry's hands. He marvelled at it for a moment; in his hands, he held one of the three legendary Deathly Hallows. A shiver ran down his spine when he thought of the other Hallows. The Elder Wand was hidden and the Resurrection Stone was lost, he told himself firmly.

Once he was fully dressed and made sure his wand was securely in place, he slipped the cloak of Ignotus Peverel around him. His body disappeared with a quiet swishing noise as the effects of his ancestor's cloak took hold. He took one more look around, pulled his hood up and hurried toward the doors, a slight limp in his step.

The halls had an emptiness in the pre-morning hours. The not yet risen sun was sending its first rays over the distant mountains, washing the castle in an eerie blue light. Through the windows Harry could see the black trees of the Forbidden Forest swaying in the wind. Once or twice he imagined he saw the dark shape of a Thestral rising up above the trees before diving back into the cover of the forest.

With a sudden whoosh, Peeves flew straight through the classroom wall to Harry's right, cackling madly. He stopped abruptly within feet of where Harry was standing, invisible. Harry paused, knowing full well that the poltergeist senses could see right through the cloak's illusion.

"Peevesy knows you're there even if he can't see you," he said, cackling again, "Wee kiddies shouldn't be around alone so soon after the big bang."

Harry sighed, whispering, "It's me, Peeves."

The poltergeist's eyes widened in recognition at Harry's voice, "Ah, old Potty. Peevesy was wondering when we'd meet again." Something seemed to click in Peeves' eyes, "Ah, what is Potty doing out of the hospital so early? Peevesy thinks nobody knows."

"Don't try, Peeves," Harry warned, his voice dangerously quiet, "You know better than to rat on me." He laid an invisible hand on the handle of his wand.

Peeves cackled again, "Headmistress wouldn't be happy with Potty if she found out he was alone in the corridors, with only old Peevesy for company." He opened his mouth, probably to call Filch.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Harry muttered, whipping out his wand, "Langlock!" As in Harry's sixth year, Peeves' tongue suddenly became stuck to the roof of his mouth. Peeves gave Harry a sullen glare and zoomed off down the hall, mumbling what Harry guessed would be very obscene words if he could speak properly.

The Entrance Hall was slightly tidier than when he had last been through it three days ago. The four house hourglasses had been completely restored. The rubies, sapphires, emeralds and gold stones were shining immaculately within their glass casing, already prepared for the next year. The statues had been repaired and once more stood guard over the entry to the castle.

Harry eased the door open a few inches, when something caught his eye that made him do a double-take. The large silver lock had had its centre burned out. What was even more disturbing was that it appeared to have been melted from the inside. Pulling his cloak more tightly around him, Harry vowed to tell McGonagall about it as soon as he returned to the castle.

The grounds were devoid of life, only Hagrid's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest showing signs of any inhabitants. Harry veered toward the lake as he approached the Quidditch pitch; he wasn't quite ready to see the pitch again so soon.

There was a large tree near the rocky shore and Harry sat down beneath it, slowly pulling off the hood of his cloak. It was in this very place that Harry had seen his father and his friends torment a much younger Severus Snape. A spike of pain ran through him at the thought of James, Sirius and Remus and he hurriedly pushed them out of his mind. For a while he just sat, watching calmly as the morning passed him by.

The light grew steadily and he idly realised he would have to get back to the castle soon or else they would know he was gone. But as he stood up, he heard a whimpering noise echoing up from the shore below. It sounded like a person in pain. Hastily pulling his cloak back up around his face, he drew his wand and crept slowly toward the lake's edge.

There were several large rocky ledges that led down to the water. Harry slid slowly down the steep shore, winding his way in between the rocky crags. The pitiful noises got ever closer and Harry became more apprehensive, raising his wand. Finally, he landed softly behind the last of the ridges and heard the whimpering not five feet away. He lifted his head slowly and peeked over the top. He had to stifle a gasp when he saw what it was.

A man lay on the stony ground, his black hair thickly matted with mud from the water's edge. His breathing was hoarse and his hands were mangled ruins, as eight of his fingers had been cut off at the knuckle. But that was not the worst of it. Down the centre of his chest, there was a long gash. The front of his cloak was drenched in blood and he was lying in pools of it. Every now and then, he would retch loudly, each cough spraying blood onto the stone around him.

Throwing caution to the winds, Harry ripped off his cloak and shoved it into his pocket. He leapt over the stone obstacle between him and the other man and leant over him urgently, "Can you hear me?"

The man's eyes snapped forwards and he stared at Harry for a moment before gasping with pain again. He coughed up large chunks of blood before returning his gaze to Harry. Harry saw fear in the man's eyes, but of what, he couldn't say, "We have to get you to the hospital wing."

If it was possible, the man's eyes widened further. "No!" he gasped as a drop of blood ran out of his mouth and down his chest, "He will find me there. He can find me anywhere!"

Harry felt a chill run down his back, "Who will find you? What are you talking about?"

The man was reduced to gasping for breath, before grabbing the front of Harry's robes and pulling him close, "You … he wants you … I failed …" His voice faded into a gurgle. Harry felt cold; the man was drowning in his own blood.

"Don't move! I'll get help!"

Adrenaline coursing through his veins, Harry leapt to his feet and pelted back in the direction of the castle, disregarding the intense pain in his foot, yelling for help at the top of his lungs. Waves of fear and panic washed over him at thoughts of the man back at the lakeside. He burst through the front doors of the castle and into the Great Hall, taking no notice of the stares he attracted as he limped up to the head table. McGonagall was watching him with a mixture of surprise and anger.

"Mr. Potter, I made my intentions quite clear that I didn't want-" She cut off abruptly when she noticed the blood on the front of Harry's robes.

"There's no time, Professor," Harry said exasperatedly, "There's a man down by the lake. He's dying."

All signs of anger evaporated from the Headmistress' face. She looked off balance for a moment, then her face set and she pointed toward the door, "Lead the way, Mr. Potter."

Once more ignoring the stares of the hundreds of occupants of the hall, Harry led McGonagall out of the Hall and out of the castle. He practically ran to the shoreline, every now and then glancing back to make sure the Headmistress was still following. He jumped over the last few ridges of rock, making his left foot scream in protest. His stomach jolted when he saw there was nobody there. The man who had been lying here dying was gone.

He heard McGonagall arrive beside him, but he didn't really acknowledge her presence. He looked around wildly, searching for signs of the man who had lain here not ten minutes ago. There was nothing; even the blood was gone.

"Harry," McGonagall said gently. Harry turned to look at her, beating down the feeling of dread that had risen inside him. There had to be some explanation pointing him in the right direction, there just had to be. He had been right there.

"Harry," McGonagall said kindly, "We had better get back to the castle."

"He was lying right here," Harry said, his frustration getting the better of him, "I swear Professor."

"Potter, there's nothing here," McGonagall said, an air of finality ringing in her firm voice, "It's past time we return to the school. And return you to the hospital wing." She added.

"Then where did the blood on my shirt come from," he said stubbornly.

McGonagall had had enough, "Mr. Potter if you insist on wasting my time on these matters, I will make sure that you are under guard and supervision until the time when Madam Pomfrey sees fit to release you."

Harry glared at her, but reluctantly followed her back up the hill towards the castle. He glanced over his shoulder once or twice, as if to make sure that the dying man was really gone. As they approached the door, it occurred to him to warn McGonagall about the burnt lock, but as she was currently in his bad books, he let it 'accidentally' slip his mind.

McGonagall accompanied him as far as the door of the Hospital Wing. With one more disapproving look, she moved off to attend to her duties.

Harry cautiously pushed through the doors of the ward. A furious Madam Pomfrey swooped down on him as he tried to sneak back to his bed. He shrank away from her rage, trying not to snarl at Hermione who was looking at him in a way that shouted 'I told you so'.

Madam Pomfrey almost had apoplexy when she saw the blood stains on the front of his clothes, nearly tearing him out of his clothes and forcing him back into bed. He barely managed to stuff his wand and Invisibility Cloak into his rucksack before she forced a steaming potion down his throat.

He glared at Hermione and Ron, who was guffawing at him stupidly, and then became inexplicably drowsy. He managed to cough out a single insult before the potion knocked him out.

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Two days later, Harry was finally released from the Hospital Wing. Madam Pomfrey had been unwilling to let him go, but had let him off with a warning not to do too much running in the nearby future and given him a prescription of dreamless sleep potions. Harry walked out with Ron and Hermione by his side, disgruntled at the long delayed departure. His ankle made Harry wince every now and then, but mostly it didn't bother him.

"I've got to tell you something," Harry whispered to them as soon as they were clear of the Hospital Wing. He hadn't had an opportunity to talk to them alone yet, since he had so many visitors and well wishers coming in daily. Before they reached the Great Hall, Harry had filled them in on everything he had seen.

"Harry, are you sure this man was … real?" Hermione said, disbelief evident in her voice. The lack of faith from his best friend annoyed Harry; he would have thought that after all this time and after all the adventures they had gone through together, she might at least believe him on a matter like this.

"Of course I'm sure," he said hotly, "I'm not going mad Hermione. If you choose not to believe me then that's your decision."

"But Harry," Ron interjected, "Where'd the bloke go then? If a man's drowning in his own blood he's not going to just get up and walk away."

"Maybe the attacker came back," said Harry desperately, throwing himself into a seat opposite Seamus, "He could have finished the fellow off and then cleaned up after himself."

Hermione looked doubtful, "Harry, according to you, this man looked like he had been lying there for a while. What are the odds that for the few seconds you walk away, the murderer comes back and finishes the job?"

Harry flung up his hands in frustration, tearing into a bowl of meat balls. The truth was, he was no longer sure if he had seen the man himself. So many people were questioning him, and he was not a hundred percent certain of his own claims. Maybe he had been seeing things.

Their departure had been arranged for after dinner. They would go straight to the Headmistress' office and Floo from there to the Burrow. Bill, Charlie and Mrs Weasley had left the previous night and to Harry's grim satisfaction, they had taken Ginny with them.

Harry tried to savour what would be his last meal at Hogwarts, but the food felt tasteless in his mouth. After another minute of trying to force down some food, Harry pushed his plate away. He couldn't be going mad, could he?

They reached McGonagall's office as the last rays of the sun shone through the upper windows. She barely glanced at them as they entered, although she did give Harry a rather searching look.

"The powder is on the mantel," she said absently, turning back to her work. The three of them nodded their thanks. The picture of Armando Dippet, hanging over the grate, smiled warmly at them as they approached. Ron went first, grabbing a large handful of the Floo powder from above the fireplace and stepping into the empty grate. With a shout of 'The Burrow', emerald green flames enveloped Ron and he was gone. Hermione smiled at Harry and with another bright green flash she was gone.

"Potter, could I have a word with you please," McGonagall said as Harry took his own fistful of Floo powder. Harry glanced at her in surprise, but carefully dropped the powder back in the pot and sat opposite the Headmistress.

"Harry, I want you to take this summer off," McGonagall said. Seeing the confusion etched into his features, she continued, "I don't want you getting into any trouble. You've just defeated the most powerful Dark wizard of all time, so you've probably made as many enemies as you have friends," Harry remembered Bill using almost exactly the same words, "So I want you to, how do Muggles put it, lie low for the summer."

Harry chuckled, "Don't worry, Professor. I have no intention of drawing attention to myself this year. I think I've had enough of being famous for one life."

She smiled, standing up, "Until next term, Potter."

"Goodbye Professor." He walked over to the empty fireplace and grabbed another fist of Floo powder. He glanced over to the portrait of Dumbledore in the corner. The onetime Headmaster smiled warmly at him with a twinkle in his eye. Harry grinned back before walking into the hearth. Tucking his elbows in carefully, he dropped the powder in his hand. Emerald green flames shot up around him; hot, but not burning. With a nod to Headmistress McGonagall, he called out clearly, "The Burrow!"

Harry started to spin, spiralling up and out of McGonagall's office. He saw thousands of fireplaces shoot by him as he spun through that strange place in between firesides. He felt himself begin to slow, and then the spinning stopped. With a loud thump he found himself standing in the fireplace of the Burrow. He sighed and stepped out, trying to quell the disquiet in his stomach and wiping his glasses on his cloak. Floo travel did not agree with him.

Looking around, Harry felt a rush of affection for the first place he had called home. A clock hung on the wall above the mantel, rather different from the traditional Muggle clock. Instead of numbers, its face was surrounded by names of locations and situations. The hands, each symbolic of a member of the family, having been continuously pointing to 'Mortal Peril' for the last three years, were all pointed toward 'Home'.

Something rubbed itself up against his legs and Harry glanced down to see a bundle of ginger fur lying at his feet. He bent over and scratched Crookshanks behind the ears. The cat purred in content. Glancing around for signs of Ron and Hermione, Harry pushed past the comfy sofas and walked through the door to the kitchen.

Ron and Hermione were sitting at the table with Ginny, speaking quickly and earnestly. Well, Hermione was talking and Ron was nodding, putting in his own word every now and then. Whatever they were talking about, Ginny didn't look best pleased with them. Then she caught sight of Harry. With a very loud ahem, she murmured something to Ron and Hermione and then left the room, acting as if Harry didn't exist.

"She just won't let it go, will she?" he muttered angrily, sitting down across from his best friends.

Hermione opened her mouth indignantly, but shut it when she got a warning look from Ron. She contented herself with a dark glare at Harry over the table.

"Oh Harry you're here," Mrs Weasley said, bustling into the kitchen, "Wonderful. I must thank you for sending Kreacher over. He's been most helpful around here."

Harry grinned, "It's no trouble at all Mrs Weasley. Speaking of Kreacher, where is he?" He glanced around, half expecting to see the house-elf cooking a steak and kidney pie.

"He'll be down in the garden," she replied, grimacing, "He seems to take a strange pleasure in conversing with the gnomes that live down there. Not going to help getting rid of the little blighters, but anyway …"

Harry laughed, a funny image forming in his mind of Kreacher and three gnomes sitting on toadstools and having a civilised conversation. Ron chuckled and even Hermione smiled tentatively. Harry considered this a giant leap when he thought about her view of elven 'slave labour'.

Mrs Weasley waved her wand and a large knife flew out of a drawer, narrowly missing Harry's head when it flew toward a chopping board. With a few more flicks of her wrist she had dinner in motion; potatoes were peeling themselves over the bin, vegetables were boiling in a pot above the stove and a knife was carving up some meat above the basin.

"Bill, Charlie," Mrs Weasley called upstairs, "George, Ginny, dinner will be ready in five minutes." A chorus of shouts echoed down, followed slowly by the thumping of several sets of feet marching downstairs. Mrs Weasley pointed her wand at the first person through the door, "Charlie, could you set down the plates, please?"

Charlie nodded and moments later the plates and cutlery were floating out of the cupboard and settling themselves on the table. Harry leant back as a particularly eager plate rocketed past him, shooting off the end of the table and smashing on the floor. Mrs Weasley glared at Charlie, who hastily repaired the plate.

"Dad's on his way," Bill said as he entered the kitchen. Sure enough, a few seconds later Mr Weasley walked through the back door.

"Hello all," he said cheerfully. Everyone called a general greeting to him. Spying Harry, he smiled, "Good to see you again, Harry. I must say I got a little worried when I heard you'd been attacked again. But, as usual, you're alright again."

He sat down at the head of the table, while Mrs Weasley began serving up food. Harry found himself seated between Bill and Mrs Weasley. He ignored Hermione, who kept shooting pointed looks between Harry and Ginny. He was very thankful when Ron finally cottoned on and made her stop.

Dinner was delicious, all the more so because Harry hadn't really eaten anything before they left Hogwarts. It was a stew made from red meat, boiled vegetable and a creamy sauce, with mashed potatoes on the side. Harry noticed that Mrs Weasley kept shooting worried looks towards the stairs. At last, she whispered something in Bill's ear and the eldest Weasley nodded. He filled up a plate with food and disappeared upstairs.

"We've been having some trouble since you defeated You-Kn … Voldemort, Harry," he said conversationally. Seeing the look on Harry's face, he hastily added, "Nothing serious; just a few young wizards playing around for celebrations. Some just don't know when they've taken it too far."

Harry and Ron both finished off third courses, each trying to outdo the other. Everyone gave them disgusted looks when the two them lowered their heads to their plates, groaning. Mrs Weasley sent them to bed with a look of the most severe disapproval on her face.

"That," Ron said, as he struggled up the stairs, "was brilliant."

"Absolutely," Harry agreed thickly.

Hermione just shook her head in exasperation. They reached the landing where Ginny's room was and she bade them goodnight, opening the door a little way and slipping in.

The two young men made their way up to Ron's room, passing Bill on the way, who was heading back down. Something clicked in Harry's mind.

"Where did Bill take that plate of food?" Harry asked Ron. Surprisingly, Ron gave him a weighing glance then put his finger to his lips, asking for silence. When they were within the small confines of Ron's room, Ron pointed his wand at the door, whispering, "Muffliato."

Harry looked at him expectantly, "Well … what is it?"

"It's George," Ron said finally, and Harry felt his heart sink, realising George hadn't been at dinner, "He hasn't exactly been himself since, you know …"

Harry nodded gravely. Fred's death during the Battle of Hogwarts would surely take a long time to sink in to the tight-knit Weasley family, especially for his twin brother George. The two of them had been inseparable, planning and building their joke shop, the Weasley Wizard Wheezes. The loss of what would seem like half of your soul would be worse than death for many.

"He's hardly come out of his room since then," Ron continued in hushed tones, "Mum's been getting really worried. For some reason, the only one who can get anything out of him is Ginny."

Harry took a deep breath, pushing down the anger coursing through his veins. Ginny's name alone should not stir any fury, it was unreasonable. Ron seemed to sense his mood and hurriedly began changing into his pyjamas. Harry changed and climbed into the sleeping bag which had been set up on the floor, carefully placing his glasses on the bedside cabinet.

After a few minutes, a quiet snoring began to drift over from Ron's side of the room. A few minutes more, and Harry felt his own eyelids beginning to fall …

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A black haired child ran around a well groomed yard, laughing. His emerald green eyes sparkled with excitement. Once or twice he glanced back into the shade of the house and smiled at the figures of his proud parents.

Without warning, the happy scene dissolved.

The Philosopher's Stone weighed heavy in his pocket as Quirrell bore down on him … the sword of Godric Gryffindor felt light as a feather as he stabbed fiercely through the skull of the basilisk … the rat fled off into the night as the werewolf reared its head and howled at the moon … Cedric Diggory crumpled to the ground in a flash of green light … Sirius' face looked surprised as he fell through the veil … Dumbledore flew over the side of the tower … it was too much!

Harry woke up in a cold sweat. Realising where he was, he glanced at his watch. It read one thirty.

Sighing, he reached over and started rummaging through his rucksack. He grabbed a hold of something large and gave a sharp tug. With a quiet curse, he managed to pull the book out of the bag. Making sure Ron was still asleep, he grabbed his wand, whispering, "Lumos." A light sprung from the end of his wand and he began to read. It was hard, as he was exhausted.

But it was easier than the dreams that plagued his sleep.

I'm sort of buggered; i dont know what could happen in the summer holidays. ive got an idea but i need help. basically; REVIEW AND GIVE ME IDEAS