Disclaimer: If it were mine, I would have my own private mansion. And a butler. And a housekeeper. And David Tennant all to myself...
In a small garden overshadowed by an ancient yew tree, a little girl of seven knelt on the dry grass. It was the middle of the afternoon, and boiling hot, but in front of her a small, black-and-white kitten crouched uncertainly. The girl slowly reached out a hand, and cautiously, the cat edged closer to sniff it. Sensing no danger, it allowed itself to be stroked gently. Cat and girl sat in mutual affection for a few minutes.
A sudden bang from inside the house jerked them out of their revere. All traces of comradeship disappeared as the kitten tensed, its hair standing on end. Loud voices and unpleasant laughter were heard, and then â“ a scream. The girl jumped up, her eyes wide. Unheeded, the cat fled into the shadows of the yew tree, and watched the girl run into the houseâs dark interior, her blonde plaits swinging to and fro as she pattered up the steps barefoot. As she entered the house, her eyes blinking furiously to return her vision, the sounds of struggling reached her ears. The noise was coming from the kitchen. She tip-toed to the door, opened it an inch and peered through the gap.
Figures in black were standing in the kitchen.
âCrucio.â Desperate screams echoed through the room. The little girl put her hands over her ears, petrified, but she couldnât run â“ her body had frozen. The screams stopped. A voice that would send chills down the spine of any man was heard.
âWormtail⌠open the door.â
âYes, my lord.â
Before she could move, the door creaked open slowly and her hiding place was revealed.
A man lay on the floor, dead. A woman with beautiful blonde hair much like her daughterâs was huddled in next to him, her dry sobs echoing in the otherwise silent room.
âWhat is your name?â
The voice spoke again and the girl looked up into the face it belonged to â“ white and snakelike, with red eyes that burned with malice, and he was locked in the coils of a creature with red eyes, so tightly bound that Harry did not know where his body ended and the creatureâs began: they were fused together, bound by pain, and there was no escape â“ it seemed to take Sirius an age to fall: his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backwards through the ragged veil - ⌠and neither can live while the other survives⌠- âUse it if you need me, alright?â â“ âYou are very kind, Harry, but your blood is worth more than mine.â â“ âAvada Kedavra!â â“ Not Harry, please not Harry!â â“ âAVADA KEDAVRA!â â“ a pair of golden eyes behind round glasses â“
Harry woke up.
He stared up at the ceiling of his room in number four, Privet Drive, and waited for his heart to slow down. After a moment he sat up, rubbing his eyes â“ they had already begun to adjust to the half-light â“ and looked at his alarm clock. Three oâclock in the morning. Great. Just great. He frowned in irritation, not really wanting to go back to sleep and face more nightmares.
Harry had been at Privet Drive for just under two weeks now. The Dursleys, particularly Uncle Vernon, had not been at all pleased about their nephewâs early arrival. Dudley was still away at school, Aunt Petunia avoided Harry as much as possible and Uncle Vernon was certainly never around, but the few words that had been exchanged had led Harry to suspect that things werenât going so well for the Dursleys â“ Uncle Vernon in particular. Understatement of the century, Harry thought grimly. He winced, remembering the night before, when he had been woken from a vivid nightmare by his Uncle grabbing hold of his left arm, hard. Lucky he didnât go for my neck, he told himself. I mightâve found that a bit harder to hide. When he had visited Ron and the rest of the Weasleys at Grimmauld Place last week, he had been careful to make sure that the hand-shaped bruise was covered by his shirt sleeve. He wasnât sure what was stopping him from telling someone, but he felt it would be stupid to go running to the Weasleys â“ or even Hermione â“ about it when there really wasnât anything anyone could do to change the situation. He had to be at the Dursleys for another two weeks at least, and if anyone decided he should stay for longer he only had to wait for the end of July before he could do whatever he wanted. He imagined walking away from Privet Drive for the last time and smiled. Finally. Slowly he drifted off into daydream upon daydream.
When he next opened his eyes, the sun was peeking in through his window, and he glanced at the clock. Six oâclock. He just had time to go downstairs and grab breakfast before his Aunt and Uncle got up. Then he could guarantee not having to see them for a few hours.
Harry had been avoiding his aunt and uncle a lot recently. It worked quite well; he made sure to get up early enough to have breakfast before them, he made his lunch early and ate it outside whenever he felt like it, and at dinner heâd eat as quickly as possible and leave the table as soon as he could. Other than meals, he rarely saw them anyway, so there was no problem there. Heâd visited Grimmauld Place three times in the last two weeks, getting there via the floo at Mrs Figgâs house, and not coming back until late evening. He was going there again today â“ and Hermione was going to be there too. Sheâd been spending the last two weeks with her parents, on holiday in Spain for some of the time, and she had written that she couldnât wait to see them all again. Harry wasnât sure if he felt the same. He might have been able to fool the Weasleys with a bit of luck, but Hermione would be more difficult. She would want to know everything about Harryâs time with the Dursleys, and she would probably be the one person aside from Mrs Weasley to ask why he was wearing long sleeves in the middle of June.
Harry sighed, got up, and walked downstairs.
*
Ron paced nervously up and down in front of the fireplace. Hermione would be there any minute now â“
The fire flashed green and a girl with long bushy hair stepped through into the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.
âHello Ron,â Hermione said. She smiled and Ron swallowed, then cleared his throat.
âHi âmione. Harryâs getting here around midday today, so youâve got an hour or so before he gets here, unless heâs early, which he is sometimesâŚâ Ron bit down on his lip to try to stop himself talking. Hermione seemed to be trying not to laugh.
âDo you want to play chess?â she asked. Ron nodded, relieved to have something else to think about. As they walked out into the hall, he heard his mother bustling around a floor above. He paused and called up to her,
âHermioneâs here, Mum.â
âAlright, dear. Call me if you need anything.â
A few minutes later they were sat in the drawing room, either side of a chessboard. Hermione spoke.
âHowâs Harry?â Ronâs bishop captured Hermioneâs pawn.
âOkay. At least, heâs pretending to be,â Ron said. Hermione had been scrutinizing the board, but at this she looked up.
âWhat do you mean?â
Ron ran a hand through his hair.
âI think the muggles are giving him a hard time again.â Hermione bit her lip, worried, but there was also a certain amount of surprise in her expression: Ron wasnât usually this perceptive.
âWhen did you say he was getting here?â
âMidday.â
âSo we can check up on him then, right?â
âI sâpose.â Ron shrugged.
The game continued. Hermione surprised Ron with a carefully placed knight, but he was soon back on form.
âCheckmate.â Ron grinned. It was nice to be able to beat Hermione at something, even if it was just a game. She, however, looked rather put out, as she always did on the few occasions that he actually out did her. He began to pack away the pieces.
âWhatâs the time?â asked Hermione.
âQuarter to twelve.â
They walked through to the kitchen. They had just reached the fireplace when the flames flashed green, and the thin frame and messy black hair of their best friend began to materialize in the grate.
Harry stepped out of the fireplace and into the underground kitchen of Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and was met by the sight of a tanned Hermione and a Ron whom Harry was sure had grown another six inches since he last saw him. As he brushed the soot out of his hair Hermione came forward and hugged him. Over her shoulder and through a cloud of bushy hair, Harry could see Ron grinning. He grinned back as Hermione released him, looking at him critically.
âAre you okay?â
Harry mentally re-checked what he looked like. His bruise was covered, he shouldnât be any paler than normal, and Mrs Weasley hadnât commented on him being thin for at least a week⌠so what had she spotted?
âYeah, fine,â he said, âwhy do you ask?â
âOhâŚjust checking.â She gave him a bright smile and changed the subject. âI nearly beat Ron at chess earlier, you know!â
âNo you didnât!â Ron argued. Harry let their argument wash over him. So she hadnât spotted anything⌠he was just getting paranoid⌠not that there was anything to spot, anyway, he thought hurriedly. I just donât want them to worry about me⌠she was probably only checking, after Dumbledore⌠died⌠she wasnât sure, so thatâs probably it.
But as he walked ahead of them to go up to the room he and Ron shared he heard an angry mutter from just behind him.
âOh, well done!â
âWell itâs not my fault. What would youâve said?â
âI wouldâve been more subtle!â
âYou? Subtle? Oh, please.â
âHey! Just because â“â
âHarry!â Mrs Weasley came up behind them, quickly ending the whispered fight.
âHello Mrs Weasley.â
âHow are you?â she asked. What is it with people today? Harry thought as he answered.
âIâm fine, thank you.â
âGood. Lunch will be late today, so Iâll expect some help â“ â here she gave Ron a very pointed look â â“ at about half-past one.â
The trio murmured their agreement, and trooped upstairs to Ronâs room.
Harry and Ron joked around for a while, Hermione inserting her own opinions every now and then as she flicked through one of her old textbooks absent-mindedly. At one particular comment, Ron gave out a loud laugh. Hermione ignored him.
âSo, Harry â“ Ron, will you shut up!â She sounded annoyed. Ron struggled to regain control, and coughed nervously.
âSorry,â he muttered. Hermione continued to ignore him.
âAnyway. Weâve been talking for over an hour and you still havenât told us how your summerâs been, Harry.â She smiled in a friendly enough way, but Harry felt guilt crawling at his insides. He never kept secrets from them â“ at least, not ones that they wanted to know about. He still wasnât sure why he couldnât tell them nowâŚ
âNot too bad.â He mentally cursed. That was about all he had to say; he tried to think of something that would satisfy Hermioneâs curiosity â“ but he was rescued by the bang of the front door and Mrs Blacksâ screams of hate.
âFilthy muggle-lovers befouling my noble house! Blood traitors and mudbloods and half-breedsâŚâ
Mrs Weasleyâs voice suddenly rose above the screams.
âGinevra Weasley! How many times have I told you not to slam that door? And you were supposed to be back half an hour ago â“ DONâT YOU WALK AWAY FROM ME, YOUNG LADY!â
Hermione looked curiously at Ron. Harry turned to gaze out of the window. No way was he having this conversation.
âGinny.â Ron said, wincing. âSheâs been like this for ages.â He did not seem to want to elaborate, so Hermione asked.
âWhat dâyou mean?â
âWell⌠sheâs been a bitâŚâ He gestured helplessly, and glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eye.
âOh⌠I dunno,â he finished lamely; âitâs probably just girl stuff. But sheâs always out and mumâs getting really fed up.â He shrugged.
âI thought she was Luna,â Hermione said, âat least, thatâs what she told me.â
âYeah, sheâs always in and out, it makes mum nervous.â Ron shrugged again. Harry couldnât help wondering, somewhat nervously, if it had anything to do with him. After all, he had been the one to break up with her â“ No way. He snapped away from that train of thought. Just how big-headed was he? Ginny was fine without him â“ better, even. In fact, she was probably thinking about someone else already. Sheâd probably forgotten all about him. Harry tried to quash the disappointment that rose at this idea.
âRon! Could you come downstairs and help with lunch, please?â Mrs Weasley called, sounding rather flustered, and the trio got up and went downstairs. On their way out, Harry glanced towards Ginnyâs room at the end of the corridor. The door was shut firmly, and Harry knew even without looking that it would be locked from the inside. It had been for the last two weeks â“ at least when Ginny was here and not eating, which she seemed to be doing increasingly fast, not speaking to anyone except her mother, and then only if she absolutely had to.
Ten minutes later, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sat down in front of a pile of potatoes. Harry reached across the table for the knife. As he did so, the sleeve covering his left arm was tugged up. He felt a hand grab his wrist â“ Hermione.
âHarry, whatâs happened to your arm?â He snatched it back and pulled the sleeve down, re-covering the bruise.
âI â“ um, I trapped it in a door yesterday,â he lied, hoping she hadnât seen its shape. Ron winced sympathetically, but Hermione looked more â“ concerned? Curious? OrâŚsuspicious?
But she just bit her lip and nodded. She doesnât believe me. Harry picked up a potato and started to peel it, perhaps slightly more viciously than he normally would. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her watching his movements closely. He ignored her, and carried on peeling.
âHarry, mateâŚIâm sorry about us not being at Privet Drive with you,â Ron said awkwardly, looking at him nervously. Harry shrugged and smiled at him.
âDonât worry about it.â
But mentally he rolled his eyes and sighed. It had all sounded so planned, so simple on their last day of term, but the reality was far from it. As soon as Hermioneâs parents had found out she would be leaving Hogwarts early, they had insisted she come with them on holiday. Hermione had written a very apologetic letter to Harry from her house, saying how sorry she was and explaining that she had spent very little time with her parents recently and that she wanted to make it up to them before she left to help him look for the Horcruxes. He had written back immediately of course, telling her not to worry, that he understood. Really, he had been disappointed, crushed, especially when Ron told him that he couldnât stay either. He had asked his Dad as soon as they had gotten home, but Mr. Weasley had asked him to stay at Grimmauld â“ if only for Mollyâs sake, because with Bill, Charlie, Percy and the twins hardly ever there, he didnât want her to be left alone in the house. Harry knew it was the right thing to do. Every time he had seen Mrs Weasley in his visits she had looked more and more weary â“ and he also knew that her shouting at Ginnyâs behaviour had more of a fearful tone to it than actual anger.
But knowing it was the right thing to do didnât make him feel any better about it. He would never admit this to his friends, because he knew it was selfish, but Harry was hurt that they couldnât be there. Privet Drive seemed lonelier than ever now, given that he had been anticipating spending the time with his two best friends.
And what about Ginny? asked a voice in the back of his head. But he brushed it aside, and focused on the job at hand, trying to forget about the prophecy, the Horcruxes, the Dursleys and Ginny at least for a little while. I have too many things to worry about, he thought, more than a little bit grumpily.
*
Lunch was awkward. Harry had known that the Weasley brothers knew he and Ginny were no longer together, but he hadnât really seen them around enough to know their feelings on the matter. Now he did.
Heâd noticed Ronâs badly covered happiness with his and Ginnyâs relationship. It seemed that the others had felt the same way. All the way through the meal (sausages, mountains of mashed potato, and peas), he could see them glancing at him, and then at Ginny, who was sitting at the opposite end of the table not speaking to anyone but stabbing at her sausages as though they had mortally offended her. He tried to ignore their blatant curiosity. If they wanted to know, they could ask Ginny. If Ginny wouldnât tell them, then he wouldnât either. He had no intention of telling them something Ginny didnât want them to know.
After lunch, he Ron and Hermione helped Mrs Weasley clear up before retreating back to Ronâs room, despite all attempts on Mrs Weasleyâs part to get them to go out in the garden on âsuch a sunny dayâ.
They spent most of the afternoon talking, arguing good-naturedly over Quidditch while Hermione rolled her eyes, and discussing possible Horcruxes and their locations. Hermione had quietly cast a silencing charm on the door when that topic was breached; not that it was needed, with Mrs Weasley bustling around downstairs and Ginnyâs door firmly locked â“ but better safe than sorry, as Hermione had said afterwards. Harry agreed with her.
âAnd we need to work out what weâre going to do about Hogwarts,â she said thoughtfully. Harry paused.
âWhat do you mean?â he asked guardedly. Surely she hadnât forgotten what she had said at the end of term?
âOh, didnât you hear? Itâs re-opening. Donât think Iâm reconsidering what I said,â she continued, âbut, Harry, weâre going to have to have a really good alibi for not being there, or people are going to get suspicious.â Harry nodded, annoyed that he hadnât already thought of that.
âIâll work on it.â
âWell, weâll start doing some research right away,â she said as she and Harry got ready to leave. âRon, could you start looking in the library here?â Ron grimaced but nodded.
âWhat do you want me to start with?â he asked.
âStart by looking up as much information you can find on the four founders of Hogwarts,â Hermione said. âIf youâre careful, you can make it look like part of your History of Magic work.â
Ron raised his eyebrows.
âOh come on, âmione. You know I never end up doing homework till the end of the summer!â
âSay Hermione made you,â suggested Harry lightly. Hermione tutted and sighed as Ron and Harry swapped grins behind her back.
Despite the jokes, they made their way downstairs feeling the heavy weight of responsibility upon them. Harry and Hermione said goodbye to Mrs Weasley and took the floo, one after the other, back to their respective homes.
*
As soon as the trio had gone, a long, thin piece of what looked like string that had been lying in the shadows by Ronâs bedroom door moved. It was tugged quickly along the floor until it reached the supposedly locked door at the end of the corridor. Then the door was nudged open the smallest amount, through which not much was visible â“ save a curl of soft red hair and a pair of worried brown eyes.
*
After dinner that day, Harry was surprised to hear a knock on the door. He was even more surprised to hear Billâs voice greeting his Aunt, and came downstairs remarkably fast to find Bill Weasley in the living room, looking oddly serious.
âHi Harry.â
âHi Bill â“ whatâs going on?â Harry asked. âHas something happened? Is everyone okay?â
âEveryoneâs fine, Harry,â Bill replied. âIâm just here to check up on things, to make sure your aunt and uncle know whatâs going on.â He turned to them, smiling blandly.
âIâm sure you remember what was said last year, on the platform. I wasnât there, butâŚI expect you know what we mean.â
Harryâs aunt and uncle stared from Harry to Bill and back again as though they had grown antlers. Uncle Vernon in particular looked furious.
âHarry has to stay until sometime next week. We havenât quite got the date yet, but when we do weâll contact Harry the normal way with the time and whoâs meeting him.â He paused, picking up on the tension in the room, which was strong enough to knock out an elephant. âAnyway, I think thatâs all you need to know. Weâll drop by to pick Harry up soon.â Harry and the Dursleys accompanied him to the door.
âOh, and Harry? Can I have a quick word outside?â Harry nodded and stepped out onto the porch. Bill pulled the front door almost shut, then turned to face him, his worry evident on his face.
âHarry, I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.â He stated.
âOkayâŚâ Harry agreed warily.
âAre you alright?â
Harry wasnât sure what to say. He didnât want to lie to Bill â“ for one thing, he was likely to see right through it â“ but he didnât want everyone worrying about him.
âNot bad,â he mumbled eventually, staring at the floor. There was a pause. Bill bit his lip, wondering what to say, before sighing in regret. He could see what Ginny had meant but he really had no idea how to breach the topic with Harry. Feeling disappointed with himself, he decided he would try and talk to Harry the next time he came to Grimmauld. He nodded.
âOkay.â
Harry could hear the disappointment in Billâs voice, but kept himself from releasing all his feelings. Sorry, Bill.
âSee you at Grimmauld.â
âYeah. See you,â Harry echoed miserably, before going back inside.
As soon as the door had closed behind Bill, Uncle Vernon strode over to Harry, who had started to move back upstairs.
âWhat have you been saying, boy?â
âNothing.â
âOh, Iâm supposed to just believe you am I?â he said sarcastically. Harry turned around, angry.
âWell whatâs the point in asking the question if youâre not going to believe the answer?â
His uncleâs hand lashed out and struck Harry across the face.
The scene froze for a split second. Aunt Petunia bit her bottom lip and glanced at the door nervously.
Harryâs face had turned with the impact. He slowly righted himself, looking at the ground. His Uncle was watching him intensely with his piggy eyes.
âDo you think youâre better than us?â
Harry reigned in all his emotions. He couldnât let them get a reaction.
âNo, Uncle Vernon.â
âGood. Now get to your room!â
Harry fought down all urges to run and walked steadily up the stairs. His hand on the banister was shaking slightly.
*
When Bill returned to Grimmauld Place, Ginny was waiting for him.
*
That evening, Harry lay back on his bed at Privet Drive and stared at the ceiling. A close observer would see that his eyes seemed glazed, unseeing almost. Harry James Potter was gazing into the past.
This aforementioned observer, had they been there, would have watched his face carefully, for it changed â“ from as closed and as shut-off as the door of a Gringottâs vault, to as open and readable as a book. From the face of someone who took things in, judged them and considered them before throwing them out â“ to the face of someone who had reached out for something with which to steady themselves, only to discover it wasnât there. From a ruthless, determined fighter â“ to an agonized, petrified teenager, frightened into a role he did not want to play.
And if the observer had watched closer still, after a while they would have been able to see him firmly pulling all of these emotions back inside himself, sealing them in and closing his face once more, before turning out the light and giving himself to sleep.
A close observer would have noticed all of these things. But there was no-one there.
*
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