Harry strolled home, genuinely puzzled and genuinely amused. He wondered whether Luna Lovegood would ever stop surprising him. He loved every moment he spent with her, and he was also more than a little intrigued by her request for a few hours of privacy. He stirred, imagining.
When he arrived home, there was a massive bowl of Paneer Tikka Masala next to a platter piled high with buttered garlic Naan, a plate of Samosa Chaat, and a variety of chutney in small bowls. He spent the next hour slowly savoring the brilliant flavors, reflecting distantly on the summer of peanut sandwiches he'd left in his recent past.
He headed up the stairs to his loft after dinner. Planning to wash up, he headed to his wardrobe. On the way, he noticed a small stack of letters on his writing desk.
Harry,
I've just heard from Dumbledore that it's okay to write to you again.
Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry you've been so alone. I received all your letters, and I hated every minute thereafter. I'm so sorry. I've doubted a hundred times whether it was the right thing to ignore them. There's just so much I don't know. I was afraid, Harry. I was afraid that by writing you back I'd compromise your safety, and I couldn't accept that, even if it meant sending a thousand notes of apology.
I hope you're okay. I can't imagine what you're going through. On the heels of Cedric's death, after everything you went through at the tournament, in the graveyard. With no one to speak to aside from those awful Dursleys. Oh, Harry, I can't imagine, and I'm so sorry.
I want to do whatever I can to make it right. Please write back, Harry, as soon as you're able.
— Hermoine
Harry,
God, I've been such an ass. It wasn't enough, apparently, that I failed you fourteen years ago. It wasn't enough that I fled like a coward last summer. It wasn't enough that I've hardly had a moment with you since my freedom.
Dumbledore. I fear I've been enslaved to him, somehow. I fear that my allegiance, my damned blind allegiance to the old fool has cost me everything.
He told me, Harry, that you and Voldy shared some sort of connection. He told me that we had to keep distance — for your safety, and for the greater good. He told me that the Death Eaters would have a leg up if we kept in touch.
And I bought it. I sent you some bullshit note asking you to 'calm down' and 'be patient,' when all I wanted to do was blow a hole in that damned Dursley's home and get you out of there.
I don't imagine you'll want anything to do with me. I understand. But I'm here, as I should have always been.
— Snuffles
PS – Folded into this note is a slip of paper. Read it, not out loud. You can come visit my place any time. That is, of course, if you can ever forget how much of a royal bastard I've been.
Harry,
Dumbles says I can write you again. What a mess this summer's been. It's not been the same, you being out of reach and all.
They've moved us all to Sirius' place. It's protected by some sort of magic that means we're safe from You-Know-Who's guys. Fred and George are driving Mom nuts, and Ginny won't stop asking if you're alright.
I'm not worried though. After fighting a dragon and surviving a duel with You-Know-Who, what's a few weeks, right?
Do you think you'll be allowed to visit sometime soon?
— Ron
Harry sat in the nearest crimson red wingback, flipping from letter to letter, not at all knowing what to think.
He reread Hermoine's note. He couldn't help but feel her contrition, and it helped that she recognized the darkness they'd left him in. He could imagine her tears as she fought every inclination to reply, as she willingly, eagerly drafted the first of what could be dozens of apologies (though Harry had no intention of pressing her).
Yes, she'd contributed to a difficult season. But knowing that she knew what that must have felt like really helped Harry forgive her for the distance.
Hermoine,
You're right. It was a really difficult stretch. I needed you there. You've always been the one to help me think clearly about dark, complicated matters. Your distance was painful.
I understand, though.
I question, sometimes, how much confidence we've invested in Dumbledore. He is, of course, brilliantly powerful and so consistently wise. But he's made mistakes, more than a few. I trust him, but I wonder whether unflinching loyalty and blind obedience is the way to go.
He visited me recently. I've never seen him like that, Hermoine. He was broken. He apologized, really apologized for a series of bad decisions. Really bad decisions that have made my life so much harder than it needed to be. But he also gave me something that I can't wait to show you.
I am okay, Hermoine. So much better than okay. I met someone.
We actually met on the train. Her name is Luna. Luna 've been spending a lot of time together, and she's brilliant. I can't wait for you to meet her, Hermoine, she's lovely.
I've got a strange request, but it'll make sense soon. When can you convince your parents to let you visit? Yes, here.
It's so good to hear from you again.
— Harry
Harry sealed and set aside his reply to Hermoine. He reread Sirius's letter.
On the one hand, he could never harbor bitterness toward his godfather. Sirius had already suffered so much, and his freedom hinged in many ways on Dumbledore's benevolence. He was at the mercy of circumstance, his luck running thinner every time he risked a stroll on a public street. If anyone's letters were to trigger a series of catastrophic events, it would be Sirius's.
On the other hand, Harry's unwavering affection for his godfather made the summer's distance that much more painful. He had come to rely on Sirius, whose fatherly love and sage counsel had steadied him throughout the course of the last year and the trauma of the tournament.
Harry thought for a moment, reread the letter once more, and set quill to parchment.
Snuffles,
Yes, I hated the distance. It's been a really tough summer, and I have so many questions, and I needed you there.
But I get it. Dumbledore isn't easy to ignore. He explained it all to me, and I understand to some degree why he asked you to keep your distance. It was your choice to do so, and it sucked that you went that direction. But I'm not sure I wouldn't have done the same thing.
It's so hard to know, now, what Voldemort will do, and how to keep everyone safe.
As far as whatever "connection" I may share with Voldemort, I don't have any further insight and Dumbledore hasn't been willing to share his thoughts. It's bullshit, how Tom's found a way into every arena of my life. I'd do anything to be rid of him, and all that he stands for, forever.
Speaking of. I think I've been wasting a lot of time. The library here is brilliant, and I've learned more in the last few days than I did in my first year at Hogwarts. I was hoping you'd help me focus my efforts.
Can I drop by sometime tomorrow?
— Harry
PS — I've met someone, Snuffles. A girl named Luna Lovegood. I want you to meet her, she's absolutely brilliant.
After sealing his letter to Sirius, Harry glanced again at the short note from Ron.
Ron.
What an idiot.
As much as Harry had appreciated his friendship, a lot had changed since the tournament began. Months of Ron's foolish jealousy, harsh bitterness, and sharp-edged silence had seriously damaged, perhaps permanently, the easy bond they once shared. Harry had hoped that painful stretch was an anomaly, that Ron would recognize he'd been a comprehensive ass and forever change course. But things weren't the same. Ron wasn't there. Ron didn't care.
And as much as Harry wanted to ignore it, he was beginning to think that Ron wasn't capable of depth. The trials of Harry's first years at Hogwarts had forced him to mature beyond his years. Hermoine, too, had changed, developing empathy and awareness and compassion and depth as they survived perilous seasons together. But Ron was still… just Ron.
Harry reread the note and rolled his eyes, deciding not to reply at all.
Just then, Asher flew into the open window of Harry's loft bedroom. He bobbed excitedly on the perch, a letter loosely tied just above his left talon, and a small vial loosely attached to his right.