Recurring nightmares aside, summers were always hellish, Harry mused, tugging stubborn weeds out of his aunt's overgrown garden. Neither the oppressive heat nor the vivid dreams offered him much-needed respite. As usual, the Dursleys went to absurd lengths to make his stay as miserable as humanly possible. Their only restraint was the looming threat of his godfather, a so-called escaped convict, which kept their cruelty under barely-there wraps.
Chores were chores. Complaining would only earn him the usual sermon about how he was "fed, clothed, and housed." Merlin forbid he so much as sigh in frustration; they'd probably double his workload for a week.
Ignoring the rustling bushes nearby, Harry assumed it was just a stray dog and continued yanking weeds. Still, the noise soured his mood further. No letters worth reading, no updates, and no explanation as to why he was stuck here with his tormentors. His friends offered little solace, their correspondence frustratingly vague: Don't do anything rash. Be careful. We can't tell you anything yet.
He ground his teeth, stuffing down his irritation. Sirius wasn't much help either, which stung more than he cared to admit. And Remus? He dismissed him outright. The man's a bloody omega, too willing to roll over and take orders, Harry thought bitterly.
Not even The Daily Prophet had answers—unless gossip and smear campaigns counted. They dragged his name through the mud with the finesse of a drunk troll. But he held on to it regardless. "Know thy enemy," he muttered whenever asked about the stack of papers hidden under his bed. Be it the Prophet, Voldemort, or Dumbledore, information was vital.
His lips quirked at the memory of Uncle Vernon's dismay when an unusually generous client gifted him a state-of-the-art television set. Petunia treated the thing like royalty, dusting it lovingly every day. Of course, Harry wasn't allowed within ten feet of it. Still, Vernon's bragging brought enough noise pollution to make anyone tune in accidentally.
Grimacing, Harry turned back to his weeding. Last year had been one blow after another. First, Ron's jealousy—over his name being pulled from the Goblet of Fire—left a bitter taste. Though Ron had apologized after the first task, Harry couldn't shake the unease that it might happen again. And Hermione? She was torn, as always, between keeping the peace and following her heart. Even if the pair fancied one another, Harry doubted their long-term compatibility.
Between Ron's half-hearted apology, Skeeter's malicious articles, and Cedric's death, cracks in the "golden trio" had deepened. Adding insult to injury, Dumbledore's inability to protect anyone—or even detect an impostor right under his nose—was galling. The betrayal was hard to stomach.
Harry had become careful with his words since the letter fiasco. Brevity was easier than letting his frustration show. He shuddered at the memory of Dumbledore forcing him to recount every nightmare he'd had about Voldemort over the summer. With a deft use of Legilimency, the headmaster even unearthed fragments Harry had forgotten, dissecting them for any hidden meaning. The ordeal had provided Sirius, Lupin, and his friends with yet another topic to endlessly fuss over.
His standard check-in messages went like this:
Snuffles & Friends,
Safe. Nothing happened. No dreams.
Harry
Those, at least, were tolerable. As for the other letters? Straight into the fire. Watching them burn always put a crooked grin on his face—and freaked the Dursleys out of their wits. Vernon's red-faced sputtering almost made summer bearable.
They still hadn't forgot his fit at beginning of first year when he made chimney choke out all the letters vernon burned in a whirlwind of chaos.
As the telephone rang in the background, Petunia's shrill, simpering voice followed, breaking Harry's thoughts. He turned his gaze skyward, glaring at the relentless sun. Best to finish quickly.
--
"The meeting of the Order of the Phoenix is concluded," Professor McGonagall said curtly, while Dumbledore watched benevolently from his perch at the table.
"One last thing," Mrs. Weasley interrupted, fidgeting nervously. "It's about Harry. I doubt he's being fed properly, poor boy."
"Potter? Starving? Hardly," Snape drawled, leaning back in his chair. "He's likely being pampered like the spoiled golden child he's always been."
"Oh, shut up, Snivellus! No one asked for your opinion," Sirius snapped, rising to his feet. "I'm worried too.He hasn't replied to any letters his friends and I have sent him . Only the Check-in letters And they always have the same reply. "
"Calm down, Sirius," Remus said cautiously.
Dumbledore raised a hand to silence the bickering. "Harry is grieving, Molly. Last year was traumatic, and it will take time for him to heal. For now, we must give him space."
"If you say so…" Mrs. Weasley replied hesitantly, but her concern didn't dissipate.
"Oh I'm sure the mutt—
A warning growl ripped the tension.
"Severus" Dumbledore admonished calmly.
"Sirius calm down please" Remus pleaded.
"Honestly you two still fight like children. Behave !" Mrs Weasley scolded.
"Ah! yes it would behoove both of you to listen to Molly and apologise to each other. I think it is time to forgive and move on from the past", he ignored two vicious, disbelieving looks directed at him from opposite corners of table, and popped another lemon drop he got from some god forsaken place
"Meeting adjourned." Dumbledore dismissed them all with a serene smile, ignoring the fierce glares exchanged between Sirius and Snape as they filed out.
--
"Shame Fred and George aren't here," Ron muttered. "We could've used those Extendable Ears."
"Where are they anyway?" Hermione inquired.
"They're working on something new," Ginny replied with a smirk, biting into her bread.
They heard shuffling as people hurried out to go home. They quickly went back to their rooms. Within few minutes they heard Mrs Weasley's unmistakable voice shouting"Ron, Hermoine , Ginny; it's dinner time come downstairs"
"About time " Ron rejoiced.
"Honestly Ronald ,is food all you can think about!" She threw up her hands exasperated.
"Eh what is wrong with you hermione , it is food" he declared and hurried downstairs.
She huffed while Ginny laughed "Come on , if we don't go there will nothing left for us. My pig of a brother , will gobble everything in the void he calls stomach" .
As they neared the dinning table , Mrs Weasley called out " Ah! Ginny, dear please call your brothers for me . Those two -" she tuned out the rest of her rant and heard ginny answer with an affirmative.
Mrs weasley turned her attention on her in the meanwhile "Eat up dear , you are stick thin lass " she mustered up a smile and helped herself to some garlic bread and chowder.
Hermione frowned, pushing her food around her plate. "I'm worried about Harry," she admitted. "He's barely responding to us, and Hedwig seems downright angry when she visits."
Ron shrugged. "Mum said Dumbledore's handling it, and Harry'll be here soon enough. At least, I hope so."
Hermione sighed, shoulders slumping. "I have a bad feeling about this."
--
Dudley slammed his salad bowl down with a roar. "I WANT MEAT!" His tantrum echoed through the house, met by Vernon's whiskers twitching with suppressed pride and Petunia's pursed lips.
Before they could answer, Harry entered the dining room, placing a steaming bowl of roast on the table. His emerald eyes were cold, and his pale complexion only added to the eerie effect.
"Pot roast, anyone?" Harry offered, voice dripping with sarcasm.
Dudley practically launched himself at the dish and sprinted back to his room, slamming the door behind him.
Outside in the garden, Harry disposed of feathers and burned papers.
Hermione had been right—it wouldn't end well. For anyone.