Book 4, let's go!

Chapter 1: Of Lethargy and Letters

Her torch started to flicker. Chrys frowned and smacked it against her pillow. The torch spluttered and died. She blinked in the sudden darkness and pulled open the curtain around her bed. Orange light spilled in through the curtains over the bedroom window. She could read (and had read) by less, but… the alarm clock said 3 a.m. She sighed and closed the book she'd been reading.

She had nearly drifted off when her scar started to burn. She gasped and held her hand to her forehead. Her skin felt hot to the touch.

Harry groaned in the bunk above her. She climbed the ladder and pulled open his curtain. Her brother was tossing and turning in his sleep. She shook his shoulder.

"Harry—Harry wake up!" She whispered. Harry's arms floundered and he smacked her in the face. "Ouch!"

Harry froze. "Chrys?" He squinted at her. "What—?" He sucked in a breath. "What's going on?" Sweat shone on his brow.

"You were having a bad dream," she told him.

"Oh." Harry frowned. "I'm starting to remember…" He sat up and winced.

"Your scar hurts too?" Chrys guessed. Harry grunted. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead didn't look any different than usual.

"Chrys…" His eyes widened. "The last time our scars hurt…" The last time their scars hurt, it had been a warning—a warning that their parents' murderer was close by. Harry grabbed his glasses. They scrambled down from the top bunk. He pulled back the window curtain and peered down at Privet Drive. He breathed out. "Nothing. He's not here." Chrys frowned as she closed the curtain.

"Why would he be here? The other times he was nearby it was cause he found some kind of magic he could use to bring back his strength… but there's no magic on Privet Drive."

"Except us," Harry pointed out. "And we know what he'd like to do with us."

"Well… yeah… but if he was here to kill us, he would've done it already," Chrys figured. "So… he's not here… probably. But, then… why did our scars hurt?" She rubbed her forehead. Harry opened the bureau and frowned at his reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. He touched his scar tentatively.

"It could be… something to do with my dream," he said slowly. Chrys looked at him expectantly. "Two men were talking—well, one wasn't a man exactly it was— It was Voldemort, but I can't remember exactly what he looked like. Whatever it was, it was…" He shuddered. "Anyway, in the dream, Voldemort was talking with Wormtail." Chrys made a face. Wormtail, aka Peter Pettigrew, was a former friend of their parents who had betrayed them to their killer, Voldemort. "And there was another man… an old man… I can't remember…"

"What were they talking about?" Chrys pressed. Harry hesitated. Her heartbeat quickened. "Harry…"

"They were talking about someone they had killed, a woman, I think, but I can't remember her name—it's all slipping away from me. And they were plotting to kill…" He hesitated. "…To kill someone else."

"Us?" Chrys guessed. Harry grimaced.

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time."

"Uh-huh. Once when we were babies, at least twice in our first year, and at least once in our second," she listed on her fingers. Harry nodded distractedly as he sat on her bed.

"Chrys… do you think our scars hurt just because I saw him in my dream?"

"Well…" She sat next to him. "Do you think it was just a dream?" He looked at her sharply.

"What do you mean?"

She chewed at her lip. "I don't know… I was just thinking about Trelawney's prediction."

"Oh." Harry's brow furrowed. Last year, their Divination teacher had made an uncharacteristically realistic prediction, that a servant of the Dark Lord would escape and join him, to bring him back stronger than ever before. "Then… you think my dream was some sort of vision, or something? But that's just… I mean, is that even possible?"

"No idea," she admitted. "I have no idea how these scars work. Does anybody? Usually if I don't know how something works, I'd ask Hermione, but…" Harry glanced at the birthday cards their friends Ron and Hermione had sent them this summer.

"Your scars hurt?" He said, mimicking Hermione's high-pitched panicked tone. "Harry—Chrys, that's really serious… Write to Professor Dumbledore! And I'll go and check Common Magical Ailments and Afflictions… maybe there's something about curse scars…"

Chrys laughed slightly. "The scars aren't common, but writing to Professor Dumbledore might not be a bad idea…"

Harry frowned. "But what would we write?"

"I don't know… Dear Professor Dumbledore, I don't suppose you know why my scar hurt this morning. Hope you're having a lovely holiday, Chrys."

Harry snorted. "That's just stupid," he muttered, rubbing his forehead again.

She crossed her arms. "You have a better idea?"

Harry hesitated. "I guess we could try Ron…"

"Your scars hurt?" Chrys said, mimicking Ron's bemused voice. Harry's lips twitched. "But… but You-Know-Who can't be near you now, can he? I mean… you'd know, wouldn't you? He'd be trying to do you in again, wouldn't he? I dunno, mates, maybe curse scars always twinge a bit… I'll ask dad."

"Mr. Weasley is very clever, but I doubt he knows anything about cursed scars in particular," Harry thought. "And he would probably mention it to Mrs. Weasley."

Chrys grimaced. "And Mrs. Weasley would fuss worse than Hermione."

Harry sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

"That's the problem with telling Ron something like that—pretty soon the whole Weasley family would know."

"Ginny is a good listener," Chrys said, of the youngest Weasley sibling and only girl.

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't know. She barely speaks to me."

"True…" Chrys said slowly. Ginny was shy around Harry, having fancied him since before she'd even met him.

"And Fred and George would think we've lost our nerve," Harry figured, speaking of the Weasley twins, a couple years older than themselves. "What I'd really like is someone like…" Harry flushed slightly. "…Someone like a parent." Her chest hurt.

"Harry…" She said softly.

He took a deep breath. "… An adult who I can talk to without feeling stupid, someone who cares about me, who has experience with Dark Magic—" He blinked and then broke into a smile. "It's so simple—I'll write to Sirius." Sirius Black was Harry's godfather.

Chrys looked at him. "Well, I'm sure Sirius would be happy to hear from you… but if it's about the Dark Arts, wouldn't it be better to write to Remus?"

Remus Lupin had been their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher last year. At the end of the year Chrys found out he was her godfather. They had exchanged a few letters since, and each time she read them she felt warm inside.

Harry frowned. "I don't know… I mean, Professor Lupin is great, and he knows his stuff—and I know he's your godfather, Chrys… but I can't help thinking of him as a teacher. And it would feel weird to talk to a teacher about something like this."

"Oh." Chrys wilted slightly. "Okay. I—I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything…" Harry considered her.

"Look, maybe we're overreacting, it could just be a nightmare and a headache," he said. She raised her eyebrow at him. "I'll mention it casually to Sirius, and if he thinks it's something to worry about, then we'll write to Lupin—All right?"

Chrys nodded. "All right." She yawned. He studied her again.

"…Have you slept at all tonight?"

"…No," she admitted. "But I might be too nervous to sleep."

"Give it a try," he suggested.

In a couple of hours, Harry woke her up for breakfast.

Or, what was currently considered breakfast in the Dursley household.

"Is this it?" Uncle Vernon asked.

Chrys frowned down at the piece of grapefruit Aunt Petunia put down on her plate. Then she looked around at the other plates. The Dursleys each had a quarter piece, while Aunt Petunia seemed to have split the last quarter up between Harry and Chrys.

Dudley eyed her piece hungrily, already having finished his own. Chrys inched her plate out of his reach. She supposed hunger was subjective. For most of his life, Dudley had always been allowed whatever he wanted—and he wanted a lot. It had gotten to the point where he took up two chairs at the table. His school nurse sent a note home saying he needed to go on a diet.

Dudley screamed and threw things, and Aunt Petunia cried, but for once put his health over his wants.

She also decided to show solidarity by putting them all on the diet.

Harry and Chrys had sometimes been locked in the cupboard under the stairs (where they used to sleep) without meals as a punishment. So, they were no strangers to lack of food, but over the past few years they had gotten used to three square meals at school.

When they told their friends about the diet, they'd received plenty of snacks. Mrs. Weasley's were the best—big meat pies and an actually delicious fruitcake.

Then on their birthday they had received five cakes—one from the Weasleys, one from Hermione, one from Hagrid, one from Remus, and another from Sirius.

The doorbell rang. Uncle Vernon got up to answer it. They could hear someone laughing outside. Uncle Vernon slammed the door and came stomping back.

"You two," he barked at the twins. "In the living room." Harry and Chrys exchanged a wary look. "Now!" Chrys took pity and handed Dudley her plate on her way out.

Uncle Vernon closed the sitting room door behind them.

"So…" He said, his face reddening. "So…" Harry opened his mouth, probably about to say something stupid. Chrys elbowed him. He cringed and shut his mouth. "This just arrived…" Uncle Vernon brandished a piece of purple paper at them. "…It's about the two of you."

Harry and Chrys exchanged a confused look. Everyone they knew used owls to send letters.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat and read the letter, which was from Mrs. Weasley, who identified herself as Ron's mother, seeming to think that Uncle Vernon would have at least heard of Ron from the twins. She was writing to tell him that it was the Quidditch World Cup this Monday, and Mr. Weasley had managed to get tickets through work. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity (the first time Britain was hosting the Cup in 30 years!) so Mrs. Weasley really hoped Uncle Vernon would allow Harry and Chrys to come, and the Weasleys would be happy to host the twins for the rest of the summer afterwards. "P.S. I do hope we've put enough stamps on." Uncle Vernon pulled something out of his pocket. "Look at this!"

He held up an envelope, which was covered so completely in stamps that Mrs. Weasley'd had to write the Dursleys' address in miniature.

Harry and Chrys pointedly did not look at each other.

"She did put enough stamps on, then," Harry said, fighting back laughter.

"The postman noticed," Uncle Vernon growled. "Very interested to know where this letter came from, he was. That's why he rang the doorbell. Seemed to think it was funny."

The twins waited as Uncle Vernon seethed.

"Er… can we go, then?" Harry asked after a while. Uncle Vernon's brow furrowed.

He looked down at the letter again. "Who is this woman?" He asked, sounding disgusted.

"You've seen her," Harry told him. "She's our friend Ron's mother. She was meeting him off the Hog—"

"—Off the train from school," Chrys interrupted him. Harry shot her a grateful look. He had almost said 'Hogwarts Express.' The name of their school was kind of taboo in this house.

Uncle Vernon's face screwed up. "Dumpy sort of woman?" He asked. Harry frowned. "Load of children with red hair?" Uncle Vernon glanced through the letter. "Quidditch… Quidditch… what is this rubbish?"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "It's a sport. Played on broom—"

"All right!" Uncle Vernon said loudly. He looked over the letter again, his lips moving. His brow furrowed again. "What does she mean the normal way?"

"Normal for us," Harry said. "You know, owl post. That's what's normal for us."

Chrys shot Harry a look. Uncle Vernon went very red and started shaking. He looked out the window nervously.

"How many times do I have to tell you not to mention that unnaturalness under my roof?" He hissed. "You stand there, in the clothes Petunia and I have put on your ungrateful backs—"

"Only after you're finished with them." Harry'd had to stab extra holes in Dudley's old belt to hold up his jeans. His sweatshirt fell past his knees. Meanwhile, Chrys had started to grow over the summer. Skinny Aunt Petunia's hand-me-downs pinched in all the wrong places.

"I will not be spoken to like that!" Uncle Vernon spat. Harry straightened up, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Harry—" Chrys warned. He shook his head.

"Chrys—I'm done with following their rules." He took a deep breath and looked Uncle Vernon straight in the bulging eyes. "Are you done? I've got a letter to Sirius I need to finish—you know, my godfather." Uncle Vernon froze.

"You—you're writing to him, are you?"

"Yeah, well…" Harry shrugged. "It's been a while since he heard from me, and, you know, if he doesn't he might start to think something's wrong."

Chrys tried not to smile as Uncle Vernon struggled to think. Harry had casually mentioned the fact that his godfather was a convicted murderer (conveniently leaving out the part that he was innocent) at the start of the summer, and had been bringing him up again whenever Uncle Vernon got particularly difficult.

"…Well, all right then," he grunted. "You can go to this ruddy… this stupid World Cup thing. You write and tell these—these Weasleys they're to pick you up, mind. I haven't got time to go dropping you off all over the country. And you can spend the rest of the summer there. And you can tell your—your godfather… tell him… tell him you're going."

Harry grinned. "Okay, then!"

As Chrys closed their bedroom door, Harry jumped into the air.

"Yes!"

Chrys laughed. Hedwig hooted. Chrys turned to their owl.

"Hi, how was your hunt?"

Hedwig looked towards the window. There was something small and grey hovering outside. Harry opened the window wider and the fluff ball came zipping inside.

"Ouch!" Harry said as the ball smacked him on the head.

"Oh, that's the owl Sirius gave Ron," Chrys recalled. Harry rubbed his head. She bent down and picked up the letter the owl had dropped. She read it aloud. "Harry—Dad got the tickets! —Ireland versus Bulgaria, Monday night. Mum's writing to the Muggles to ask you and Chrys to stay. They might already have the letter. I don't know how fast Muggle post is. Thought I'd send this with Pig anyway."

Harry stared at the owl, which was now bumping against the ceiling like a bug in a jar.

"I've never seen anything that looked less like a pig," he thought.

Chrys smiled. "Wait, there's more… We're coming for you whether the Muggles like it or not—good old Ron—you can't miss the World Cup, only mum and dad reckon it's better if we pretend to ask their permission first. If they say yes, send Pig back with your answer pronto, and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday. If they say no, send Pig back pronto and we'll come and get you at five o'clock on Sunday anyway." They laughed. "Hermione's arriving this afternoon—oh! Excellent! —Percy's started work—the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don't mention anything about Abroad while you're here unless you want the pants bored off you. See you soon, Ron." She looked up at Harry, who was trying to catch the owl. She laughed again. "Aren't you supposed to be the best Gryffindor seeker in a hundred years?" Harry played seeker on their house Quidditch team. The seeker was responsible for catching a small fluttering object called the snitch.

"Shut up, Chrys." The owl hooted happily as it flew out of his grasp. He groaned. "Calm down! Come here, I need you to take my answer back!"

Chrys walked over to the desk and pulled a box of owl treats out of the drawer. Hedwig looked up expectantly. Chrys gave her one, stroking her beak for a moment before rattling the box. "Come here, Pig!" The owl swooped over and landed on top of Hedwig's cage. Hedwig stared at him. Chrys gave him a treat as Harry scrawled down a note. While the owl was distracted, Harry grabbed him. It took their combined effort to attach the note to his leg. He appeared to be vibrating with excitement. As soon as they let go, the owl was zipped off out the window.

They said goodbye to Hedwig as well, as she went to deliver Harry's letter to Sirius.

"We'll be at Ron's when you get back, alright?" Harry told her. Hedwig hooted and nipped gently at his fingers. Harry watched her fly off as Chrys pried open the loose floorboard.

"What flavor do you want?" She asked, holding up two of the leftover birthday cakes.