Chapter 15: H
The weeks had dragged by for Harry. He had hoped that at least this year he would be removed from the Dursleys, but no, that hadn't been the case.
Instead he had been forced to do the chores as always, though this time round, he had one less source of trouble to worry about.
Dudley.
His cousin, while not exactly being very friendly, had managed to remain civil for long periods of time whenever he found himself in the same room or sharing space with Harry. And while before he used to go out of his way to taunt him (even though Dudley was scared of Harry's magical abilities), this time round it was the complete opposite.
What had surprised Harry the most was that Dudley had offered to help him out with the chores when Harry's aunt and Dudley's mom, a Petunia Dursley, was not looking. Needless to say, this didn't quite translate into getting help for many tasks, but in some of the other ones, Harry was grateful for Dudley's help.
There was hardly any conversation between them though. Fifteen years of having treated each other like the enemy could do that to people. Topics that could be construed as civil were done in the first couple of conversations itself, leaving both of them in an extremely awkward position.
It was on one such morning, while Harry was out gardening, and for which Dudley was helping in the background, practicaly unseen by his mother, did their topics of conversation become more personal.
And it had all started with an owl delivering a letter to Harry.
Harry had been extremely surprised. He had gotten what he considered to be the formal ones - the one from the Ministry with his OWL results (he had done decently; he would have preferred one grade higher in most subjects, but considering the stresses he had been under, he felt he had done quite OK), the ones from Hogwarts annoucing the books that he would need for his sixth year there and being pleasantly surprised that he had been made Quidditch Captain, something that he had not even remotely expected (he had always figured it would go to Katie Bell, the Gryffindor Chaser and the one who would be stating her NEWT year at Hogwarts) - and many informal ones as well - the one from Professor McGonagall that had flummoxed him greatly but to which he had replied politely with a heartfelt thanks for her offer and letting her know that he would contact her if he needed any help (though privately, Harry doubted that he would take any serious matter to her; past experiences had taught him that she hadn't exactly been on his side and it was difficult for Harry to trust someone who had broken his trust a couple of times), the ones with Neville and Luna, one being a tad more formal in tone but which had become more and more informal thanks to Harry's persistence (he knew he could count on Neville to have his back at all times and to be a voice of reason when necessary) and the other being typical of the writer's personality (one which Harry enjoyed immensely as well as it was truly refreshing) and who had both written to him independently of the other that they were becoming more interested in the other party (Harry had rubbed his hands in glee when he had read the two mails; he now had material with which he could tease the two with, which should be fun).
And then there had been his correspondence with his two best friends - Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Both letters too amused Harry to no end, for their mails were truly reflective of their personalities. Ron's would often talk about Quidditch and other random things and had none of the hard questions or anything to do with feelings (Harry suspected it was a mix of both, Ron's reluctance to deal with emotions and to keep Harry distracted from thinking about what had transpired during the OWLs and before the summer break). Hermione's letters on the other hand, were a mix of a lot of things - most of it was definitely not random, and the whole letter had content ranging from what Hermione was planning to do over the break, what courses she planned to take up for the coming year, that Harry was not to worry nor feel upset about anything, that Harry had done well in his exams and that she knew he would always top the batch in Defence Against the Dark Arts, that there were topics that she was looking into and would be sharing with Harry, particularly the ones that she felt would be useful and important to him, that he not shut himself away as that was not something that Sirius would have wanted, that she was always there to help if he needed her help at anytime, school term time or not.
While Harry appreciated Ron's letters, it was Hermione's letters that he particularly enjoyed reading. And with every mail he read, he thanked his stars for having a friend like her, someone who he could depend on entirely to be by his side always.
He didn't know why Hermione stuck with him and Ron, especially because they hadn't been the nicest blokes to her nor had they done much fo her. He wasn't sure if he should ask her the question though - partly from the fear that she would curse him into next week (and possibly with curses that he had never even heard of before), but majorly from the fear that once he asked the question, she would do some thinking and realize that she indeed had nothing positive to get from the friendship and break it off. Harry knew he was being irrational, and that Hermione would never take that view and follow it up by walking out on him, but a small part of him was still unsure.
He had received a letter from Mad-Eye Moody as well. That had been most amusing to Harry. He didn't think that given his paranoia, the ex-Auror would ever send anything via owl mail.
He had been wrong.
And he had been right.
The ex-Auror had indeed sent him an owl mail.
But true to Moody's form, there was nothing of import in it. In fact at first glance, the mail that he had received from Moody seemed to Harry to be some sort of joke, one that some prankster had played (he had initially doubted the Twins, but he very quickly shook off that thought; whatever their faults maybe, the Twins would never prank someone like this, especially on a matter that was definitely serious). There were just magazines and a few newsletters that made Harry think that he had picked everything up at the wizarding equivalent of a garage sale and had mailed it to Harry.
The problem was that even the magazines and the newspaper articles had all been random. It had made no sense to Harry until about a couple of days after he had received the letter.
It had been password protected.
And knowing Moody, there was only one password that he could have possibly used.
Constant Vigilance!
Except that when Harry had spoken the words aloud with the mail in hand, nothing had happened. For a long moment, he had wondered if he had made a mistake.
But then the thought struck him that he was a wizard. Following that line of thought had led him to realize that he probably needed his wand with him to get it to work, like how the Marauders Map had worked. He had been slightly hesitant because he wasn't sure if there was going to be any magical spells tied to his signature and location that would be performed the minute he uttered the password. Although he knew that at the moment, the Ministry wouldn't dare slap charges against him considering that they had been wrong for the whole of last year and there was no longer the threat of expulsion and wand breaking now that he had finished his OWLs, it was not something that he wanted to chance.
Praying to himself and hoping that Moody had not been foolish in overlooking this tiny yet major detail, Harry had placed his wand on the envelope and had stated clearly "Constant Vigilance!"
And that had done the trick.
He had received no mails or warnings from the Ministry for having performed magic in a non-magical household, which was a relief for Harry. It had meant that Moody had smartly used two layers of security, one being his favourite phrase and the other (the more important one) being the magical signature of the person. Once the envelope had detected that the magical signature had matched the recipient magical signature that had been encoded in it, it had revealed itself.
It was fascinating for Harry to watch as all the newspaper articles and the magazines first sorted themselves out, rearranged themselves in a particular order and then fused together to become one thick book. The Glamour spell which had been in place to cover the actual contents in the original mail had all disappeared, giving Harry his first look at the tome in his hand.
Wandless & Non-Verbal Magic: What You Are Never Told by M.E. Mastor
The title sounded interesting to Harry. He vaguely remembered that non-verbal magic would be taught during his sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts, but there had been nothing about wandless magic. He had never heard of the author of the book, and assumed that the tome itself was not a very popular one or that it was out of print.
There was no note, nothing in the inside of the book to suggest anything to Harry on why Moody had sent it to him. But Harry hazarded that he had been sent this by Moody because he thought it would be necessary, perhaps his very survival depended on knowing this branch of magic. He had heard rumours, though he did not believe all of them that Voldemort was supposed to be very skilled at wandless magic as well as non-verbal magic.
He had spoken briefly with Remus and Hermione about this, and about why Voldemort had always seemed to never use those skills in whatever battle that he had heard Voldemort had fought in. And he had been struck by the sheer simplicity of the answers that they had both given him. Answers that he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt were true the moment he had heard them.
It was the best way to spread terror and panic.
Every time someone faced Voldemort and he cut them down, it would have maximum impact if the spells he performed were verbal. Not for the person being cut down, but for the ones who were nearby. They would keep hearing his voice over and over again during their nightmares and that only serve to heighten their fear of him and consequently increase his hold over them.
And using a wand helped to further focus power into a spell. Wandless magic could be just as powerful, but that required strong concentration skills. And there was always the possibility that Voldemort was just as skilled in wandless magic as well, but did not showcase it in case he had to use it as his trump card.
All things considered, Voldemort was a genius who knew how to use every single thing in his favour.
And Harry was the one destined to vanquish him.
(For a brief moment, Harry's thought went to the rather bizarre notion that if he drove a van over Voldermort and squished him, could it be taken as he had vanquished him?)
Harry's thoughts came back to the present when the owl that had landed in front of him had given an indignant hoot. He had apparently been lost in his thoughts long enough that the owl was irritated with him. It was giving him a look that plainly said, "Look here kid. You can do your daydreaming about pretty girls later. For the moment, just get the damn letter off my leg and take delivery of it. I have better things to do than to wait for you to finish your fantasy"
Unfortunately for the owl (who liked to call himself Mr. Wingles), the entire gamut of emotions being conveyed by the look was lost on the recipient of the letter, who had taken one look at the origin of the post and had very nearly fainted.
Thankfully for Mr. Wingles, Harry did not faint, and managed to pull himself together to get the letter off the owl. The minute Harry had removed the letter, Mr. Wingles had taken off without so much as a backwards glance at him, but with yet another indignant hoot directed at Harry.
Leaving a very bemused looking Harry.
Mt. Wingles really was someone who was very important with tight schedules to follow!
Although the temptation to open the letter immediately was too great, Harry decided to first tuck it into his pockets and finish up the gardening. The last thing he wanted was to give his aunt and uncle ample excuses to have a go at him. As it was, they were always ready to criticise him. So why add fuel to the fire?
Besides, he wasn't yet trusting enough of Dudley to ask him to cover for him. Yes, they were civil, but old experiences where people had befriended him only to turn around and prank him massively before dissolving a budding friendship still weighed heavily on Harry. He wasn't willing to take a chance on Dudley yet.
What this essentially meant was that he still had about a couple of hours work at the very least before he could get done with the gardening and then read the letter. Correction, he would first have to wash up thoroughly, for otherwise Aunt Petunia would berate him for that, followed by having to wash his clothes, again if that wasn't done at the earliest, he would again get yelled at.
He sighed audibly. If only he were allowed to do magic, then he could probably be done in half the time. But no. His aunt wouldn't allow him to nor would the Ministry.
Muttering darkly, Harry ended up using a little more force than was necessary to pull out the weed. The end result was that he went tumbling along the garden.
He sighed again. It was going to be a long couple of hours.
He was finally done. He could now read the letter in peace.
Although as he took the letter, his hands started shaking. On the back of the envelope where he would have to open the letter, was the seal of Gringotts. There was nothing else written or indicated save for his address on the front.
To Harry, considering that he had not received any such mail over the past five years in the wizarding world, there was only one conclusion that could be drawn.
It had to be something from Sirius.
More specifically it had to be something that had been activated after his death.
As he thought of this, his eyes began to tear up. He could not forgive himself, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he wanted to believe what Hermione and Remus and Luna and Neville had told him.
It had been his fault. And the thoughts haunted him again.
If only he had learned Occlumency properly before.
If only he had checked every possible avenue before heading to the death trap.
If only, if only.
It took him a long while to compose himself. The floodgates had closed once again, but there was still the trickle of tear drops that refused to be locked away but instead wanted to mourn for Sirius. There was the odd sniffling and hiccuping as well.
Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind, Harry took out his pocket knife (not the one that Sirius had given, for that had been lost to the ages at the Department of Mysteries) and slit open the envelope carefully cutting through only the seal and not the material of the envelope itself.
Gently, reverentially, as if it were a prized commodity (and to him it definitely was), Harry opened the envelope and took out the letter.
The shaking of his hands which had stopped when he had been breaking open the seal, now returned in full force. Added to that his palms had also begun to sweat.
He had half a mind to not read the letter, for fear of what Sirius might have said to him. If he had blamed Harry for his death, then it would shatter him into a million pieces. If he had not blamed him and had instead told him that Harry should definitely not blame himself, then too Harry felt that he would shatter into a million pieces. Either way it would confirm that the man who had been closest to a father figure was definitely no more.
Steeling himself, for that was what Sirius would want of him, Harry began to read the letter.
He read it again.
And again.
He couldn't believe some of the things that was there in the letter.
And some others he could believe but he could not reconcile to the fact that he himself had overlooked all that.
Anger. Rage. Sadness. And finally he returned to the state he had been before he had started on the letter.
In tears.
By the window side, looking at her human, Hedwig hooted softly. Harry got up, placed the letter with a paperweight on the cabinet on which Hedwig's perch stood and stroked her feathers, looking out into the night.
Deciding that he needed a walk to clear his head, and that breathing exercises alone would no longer do the trick, Harry grabbed the closest jacket that he could find and left the house. The Dursleys were out for dinner at a friend's place and so weren't going to be a problem for Harry. The only possible issue was that he would have to return soon, for he had no idea in what mood and at what time they would be back.
Picking the lock had been child's play for him. Letting himself out, Harry walked out into the night, with the breeze non-existent.
Upstairs in his room, Hedwig watched from the window as her human walked away from the house deep in thought.
Hooting sadly, she turned her big amber eyes onto the parchment that had been placed next to her perch and perused its contents. She again hooted, again sadly.
The letter began:
Dear Pup,