BOOK 4 ¾

~ For Paffy ~

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters sob - I've just borrowed them to play with while I wait for JKR to write the next book. I've brought them back all in one piece, though… (well, more or less.)

Rating: No slash, no sex – not even too much violence. Lame, hey? Read on…

The boy called Harry Potter stared out of the tiny window, and sighed. A white owl sat on his shoulder, tweaking his ear with her beak, and Harry rubbed her feathers absently with an affectionate finger.

"Oh, Hedwig," he said miserably.

That summer was the worst Harry had ever had. Not because Dudley was back off his diet and insisting that he eat all of Harry's food as well as his own, not because Aunt Petunia had decided her little Dudders should take up some kind of sport instead, and suggested he practise his aggressive yoga on Harry; it wasn't even because Uncle Vernon had threatened to handcuff him to the piano if he uttered a single word about Hogwarts or his wizarding friends. No, it was the worst summer of Harry's fourteen years because Sirius Black had sent him an owl asking if he, Ron and Hermione would like to go and stay with him in his house – and there wasn't a thing Harry could do about it.

Sirius Black was Harry's godfather. He was also a convicted murderer – in both the magic and muggle worlds – accused of a crime he hadn't committed, and hiding from the Ministry of Magic. Harry had been delighted to hear from him: he wanted nothing more than to spend the remainder of the holiday with him, and his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He wasn't worried about the danger of Sirius being caught – in his letter, Sirius had said that he was safe where he was, and Harry believed him. He knew Sirius would never place him or the others in danger if he could help it.

But there was simply no way that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would let him go. Although scared at the prospect of Harry having a homicidal maniac as a guardian, they had both nonetheless sternly forbidden Harry to bring up the subject

"But why?" Harry had asked, exasperated over breakfast one morning. "You want to get rid of me – I want to get out – so why don't you just let me go?"

"That'll be enough of that, boy," Uncle Vernon had said, furiously, toast crumbs flying from his mouth as he spluttered. "One more word – one more word – and it'll be the piano for you."

Harry had quickly learned to dislike the piano thoroughly: the last time Vernon had left him there, Dudley had came and jumped repeatedly up and down on the keys, making loud discordant noises very close to Harry's head. He hadn't stopped until Aunt Petunia had called him in for lunch – which, naturally, Harry wasn't given – and his ears were still ringing. That had been two weeks ago.

So Harry sat in his small room, looking wistfully out of the window, being careful not to make any noise that might make his Aunt or Uncle remember he was there and shout at him to mow the lawn or some equally tedious task, and waited hopefully for more owls from Ron, Hermione or Sirius. But the days wore on, and still no news came.

And then, a month after Sirius's invitation and Harry's reluctant refusal, Pigwidgeon arrived.

Pigwidgeon – or Pig, as Ron, his owner, called him – was a small and highly excitable owl that more closely resembled a bundle of brown feathers. He flew straight in through Harry's open window one night, his little bullet-shaped body diving into Hedwig and rebounding, and landed breathlessly on top of Harry's bed. His fingers fumbling with the knots, Harry hurried to untie the letter strapped to his leg, Pig hooting at him affectionately all the time: scared that the noise would wake His Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, Harry apologised quickly to the little owl before deftly snapping an elastic band round his beak and receiving an extremely indignant peck for his troubles. Harry ignored his bleeding fingers, and read the letter.

Dear Harry, it read.

Just had an owl from Sirius – he's invited us to go and stay with him! I can't believe it. Hermione says she got one, too. When can you come? My mum says she'll pick you up and take us to wherever Sirius wants to meet us. I can't believe she agreed to it, especially after her reaction the last time she saw Sirius… Anyway, I hope you're not having too many problems with the Muggles this year – I told my mum we're going to have to use a caxi (sp?) to come and get you this time, because I don't think that your uncle approved of the floo powder. Fred and George want to come to fetch you too, so make sure that Dugley or whatever his name is stays inside. On second thoughts, don't: they've just invented these cool new sweets called hubble gum which make you blow bubbles that trap your head, and you can't get out of them until you use up all the oxygen. Then they burst. I don't know where they got the money from. Mum went mental when she tried one. I think she's re-writing her will to disinherit them.

Anyway, send Pig back A.S.A.P. I can't wait to see Sirius again – and you and Hermione, of course. See you soon.

Ron.

Harry re-read the letter twice, glumly, and then folded it up and tucked it into his pocket. He hated to let Ron and the others down – but what could he do? There had to be something…

He looked up in shock as a shadow fell across his face and, as his eyes finally focused on a dark shape, he realised it was another owl. It swooped and landed gracefully next to Pigwidgeon on the bed, who sidled up to it and started trying to make friends.

Harry took the letter from the second owl's leg, and his heart grew even heavier. This one was from Hermione.

Dear Harry,

How are you? Have you had a good summer? Have you been doing much work? I've just finished reading the book list for next year's courses, they're all absolutely fascinating. And I've been brushing up on my –

Harry put the letter down and gave a hollow laugh, that was echoed eerily by Hermione's owl. On closer inspection, he saw it was in actual fact a parrot: wondering idly where she'd got one from, he picked the letter back up, skipping over the details of Hermione's homework and holiday 'fun'. Hermione's idea of leisure was a library the size of London, and Harry had scanned through at least two thirds of the letter before he began to read it properly again.

I got an owl from 'Snuffles' (you know who!) the other day, it continued, and he told me he's asked us to go and stay with him. Harry, do you think it's safe? I know he said it was, but with You-Know-Who around again, I'm not so sure. But if you and Ron are going I will too: I had an owl from Ron's mum yesterday saying that she'll pick me up and take us there.

Do you like Herbert (the parrot)? I bought him a few weeks ago. He and Crookshanks don't get on particularly well, and he spends most of his time on our roof. Mum and Dad don't approve. They didn't like my teeth, either. Write back as soon as possible.

Love, Hermione

Harry screwed the letter up and threw it at Herbert, who was leering at Hedwig, and felt even worse. But he was beginning to build up the determination to leave: images of him, Ron, Hermione and Sirius sitting happily out in the sun kept invading his mind and suddenly he couldn't bear it any longer. Grabbing up his quill and two scraps of parchment, he began to scribble furiously.

Dear Ron, he wrote, blotting the ink with the oversized sleeve of one of Dudley's hand-me-down T-shirts (that dangled inches over his hands). He ignored the smudges, and carried on.

I'm going to leave, tomorrow. I don't know how, yet, but I'll think of something. I can't stand staying cooped up here much longer. Tell Hermione. Ask your mum to tell the taxi (T.A.X.I., Ron – and wear Muggle clothing if you want the driver to let you into his car) to drop you at Privet Drive and I'll meet you outside. I hope Pig gets this to you tonight. I'll write and ask Sirius where to meet us…

Harry suddenly stopped writing. Yet another owl, this time a long eared, brown one with huge amber eyes had flown straight into the inkpot and knocked its contents everywhere.

"Damn," muttered Harry, knowing he'd have to somehow clear the mess up before his Aunt or Uncle saw it. Another reason to leave soon, he thought. He made a swipe at the owl's leg; but this owl seemed to want to play, and there ensued a bizarre game of silent hide and seek as Harry blundered around in the dark after the flying owl, who hooted now and again. Pig was getting excited, and fell off the bed nearly to the floor before he remembered he could fly.

Finally Harry snatched the big bird down from where it was gliding around by the ceiling, and tore the letter off its leg. The owl glared at him, and he glared back.

Harry, said the letter.

I know you want to come and stay with me really – or are the Dursleys really that nice? I didn't think so. Find a way to get out tomorrow and meet me at a place called Hog's Back – it's quite close to Surrey. Not hard to find. Bring Ron and Hermione: see you there tomorrow at 6 o'clock.

Sirius.

Harry suddenly broke into a grin, and patted the owl on the head. It stabbed its beak at him, angrily, but Harry ignored it and scrawled out a quick note on the second piece of paper.

Dear Sirius,

Meet you at Hog's Back at 6, then. Is that really a place? See you later.

Harry,

P.S. you're a much better alternative to the Dursleys, don't worry.

Wrapping it tightly round the brown owl's leg using the elastic band he had tied Pig's beak up with, Harry carried the owl bodily over to the window and thrust it through. The owl hooted twice and flew away, and Harry turned back to the letter he'd been writing to Ron. He crossed out the bit that said he'd write to Sirius, and said instead:

Sirius will meet us at a place called Hog's Back at 6 o'clock, so meet you at about 4?

See you tomorrow! Can't wait either.

Harry

And suddenly things looked like they were going to improve. Harry managed to bundle Pigwidgeon out through the window, prayed he'd make it all the way back to Ron's in one piece, then flung himself onto his bed and promptly fell asleep.