Author: Atlantis Potter
E-mail: [email protected]
Category: Romance, Mystery
Keywords: Year 5, Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and Petunia
Rating: R
Spoilers: All Four Books.
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Please R/R! If you like it, let me know. If you hate it, let me know!
The car ride from King's Cross to Little Whinging got longer every year. It was a beautiful, sunny summer day and there was no greater foil for Harry Potter. Harry, unlike the average student, did not like the summer holidays. He would much rather be at school, studying spells, transfiguring buttons into beetles and playing Quidditch. No, Harry Potter was definitely not your average student and no one understood this better than his Uncle Vernon. The grumpy relative was steering his new MG down the motorway, staring directly ahead, both hands clenching the steering wheel. He seemed just as annoyed as Harry was. After sneaking a quick peek at his uncle, Harry turned back to stare out the passenger window.
The summer holidays following his fourth year did not look promising. There was no trip to the Burrow to look forward to or any Quidditch championships. Instead, he had stacks of work from his professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He wouldn't even have Ron to help him make up predictions for Professor Trelawney's Divination classes. Dumbledore had told Harry that he would be spending his summer with the Dursleys, especially after the events at the end of the school year.
Shuddering, Harry tried not to think about the Triwizard Tournament. The nightmarish circumstances stood out freshly in his mind. He saw Cedric's lifeless body, the shadows of his parents, and the red, snake-like eyes of Lord Voldemort.
Vernon noticed the shudder.
"What's your problem, boy?"
"Nothing," responded Harry quietly, not looking in the direction of his uncle.
Vernon grunted.
Silence filled the car again and Harry looked down at his hands, which were folded in his lap. His eyes caught site of a loose thread on the sleeve of his shirt and he began to fiddle with it. He concentrated on the thread, not allowing his mind to wander to anything else.
Vernon cleared his throat. "Your aunt and I have decided that this summer, you'll be doing some extra chores. I've had enough of your dallying about, wasting time when you could be doing useful things. And I don't want any silly ideas about you going off to see those-those, well, your kind," Vernon decreed.
"I didn't plan on it," responded Harry, his voice carrying a hint of bitterness that he hadn't intended.
"Don't you talk back to me! I won't have you talking like that around me or you'll be on the street, a poor bum, just like your parents were!"
Harry longed to throttle his uncle. Wishing he could throw something or scream--anything to get whatever had been nagging at him since the Third Task, Harry clenched his teeth and said, with the most control he could muster, "My parents were not bums. You've said enough about my parents and it'd probably be best if you shut up about it."
The shock on Vernon's face mirrored that which Harry felt. Had he really just said that? He didn't have time to ponder as Vernon nearly drove the car into oncoming traffic. His face turned a dark aubergine colour before he stuttered senselessly. Gaining control of the vehicle, Vernon let out an animal-like roar.
"Don't you dare speak to me like that! Who do you think you are? After all that we've done for you. You are a shameless ingrate. You spend your time lolling about, not doing any real work! You are worthless and if it had been up to me, I never would have let you into my house. Your aunt, for some reason or another, insisted. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be around, taking all the handouts your aunt and I have given you…"
Harry stopped listening. As Vernon continued on his rant, turning several shades of red throughout, Harry was startled. His aunt had insisted? Vernon must be mistaken. Or, perhaps, Petunia did possess a shred of humanity. Harry realised that a part of him had always wondered why his aunt and uncle had taken in him.
He brushed aside the thought as Vernon turned the car into the drive of Number Four, Privet Drive. Vernon stopped the car and got out, not even bothering to help Harry with his school things. He merely popped the boot and went inside. Harry walked to the rear of the car, pondering how he was going to get his heavy things out of the car, into the house and finally up the stairs.
The more spiteful part of him longed to open his trunk right there in the drive and take everything out and carry it in armfuls to the house. He could imagine the looks on the Dursleys' faces as he carried load after load of robes and quills and parchments. His broomstick alone could very well send Petunia into hysterics. However, he resisted, deciding that the punishment wouldn't be worth the fifteen or twenty minutes of half-hearted amusement. Gathering his strength, Harry heaved his trunk for the car, wincing only slightly as it smacked against the bumper. He dragged it into the house and pulled it up the stairs, being sure to create at least some noise as he went.
He passed Dudley's room, where his cousin was sitting at the computer. Walking into his room, Harry stopped dead. Everything that had once been in there was gone. The room was stripped bare; there were no books or broken toys. All that remained was the bed, the desk (presumably empty) and a bedside table. The lamp had no shade, just a bare bulb and the only sign of life in the room was the alarm clock, which was blinking 12:17. Checking his watch, Harry saw that it was nearly five o'clock and set about changing the clock, which was not an easy task. The minute button kept sticking and once the time was set, the clock did not stop blinking. Resigned to a very miserable holiday, Harry began to unpack his trunk.
Harry looked woefully at his stack of books. He checked the lists of assignments. The three-foot parchment about various truth potions that Snape has assigned looked downright deadly and his transfiguration work didn't look like fun and games either. Harry was settling in to begin his first transfiguration assignment when his aunt screeched from the bottom of the stairs that it was time for tea. Trudging down the stairs, Harry began to think of reasons why his room could be as bare as it was. His questioned was answered as he sat at the table.
"I've made of list of chores for you. Your room has been emptied so that you will not have anything to distract you," stated his aunt as she dished out potatoes for Dudley before handing the bowl to Vernon. Harry bit back an annoyed response and settled on rolling his head towards the ceiling. After all, there's nothing like a bunch of broken, useless toys to provide distraction.
"I expect you to begin work on the garden after dinner. This summer, I have joined a gardening club and I want the beds weeded and freshly mulched before you begin planting. Tomorrow, I expect the garden to be worked on, the grass mowed, and the car washed. In the evenings, I want you to help my Duddykins with his school assignments," his aunt continued, handing him the bowl she was passing around.
"But Aunt Petunia! What about my school assignments?" asked Harry, forgetting to wonder why he would be doing all the work in the garden; he hadn't joined the garden club. His annoyance increased threefold as he went to scoop potatoes onto his plate and instead found the bowl empty. He clanked the spoon into the bowl and set it in the centre of the table with a thud.
"Boy, I don't care about your bloody school assignments! It's just as well if you failed out of that- that- school of yours! Then you could get an honest job and start to pay for some of your living expenses!" Vernon roared suddenly, catching Harry off-guard.
Harry tried to squelch the anger bursting inside him. Failing miserably, he began to see red as the vase of flowers on the table shattered. Dudley ducked under the table as Vernon bellowed. He grabbed Harry by the collar of his shirt and pulled him across the glass shard-covered table. Harry tried to wrench himself from his uncle's grasp and as he squirmed, he noticed the shock written all over Vernon's face, which was followed quickly by total dismay. Vernon let go of Harry's shirt at the exact moment that Harry realised he was no longer splayed across the table. He was in fact, levitating just above Dudley's no longer hidden head. He caught the look on Petunia's face, just before she screamed. Harry fell to the table, jumped down and ran to his room; his footsteps thundered up the stairs and causing all of the framed Dudley pictures to shake and rattle.
In his room, Harry collapsed on the bed in shock. It had been nearly two years since he had lost control like that. With a bemused smile, remembered the last time he'd been that angry. Aunt Marge floating in the kitchen. He almost laughed before the look on Petunia's face slammed back into his memory. Picturing her horsey face, he realised with a shock what that look had been. Before she shrieked, had his aunt been smiling?
The afternoon sun burned cruelly on Harry's back as he worked. His aunt Petunia watched from the air-conditioned kitchen as Harry slaved away in the backyard. Of course, the first day of holidays had to be odd weather. No rain today or cool air. Instead, there had to be the hot sun and no breeze. Of course, the day had been dull and unending. After Uncle Vernon had finished screaming at him about the scene at dinner the night before, ("Once more and you are out of my house!"), Petunia had shoved him into the garden, handing him a small bin to collect weeds. After finishing the garden, he went in for tea. The appetizing meal consisted of a slice of stale bread and a glass of lukewarm water from the tap. He had decided against boiling it to make his afternoon tea, being somewhat cautious of his aunt's wrath.
Once he was outside again, attempting to mow the lawn with his uncle's old, partially broken lawnmower, Harry heard the flapping of wings and looked up to see two owls approaching. The first owl dropped a letter with emerald writing, addressed to Harry and the second letter was not marked. Harry opened the letter with the emerald writing.
Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus
Dear Mr. Potter,
In light of the current situation facing the wizarding world, Hogwarts will begin a training module in the fall for ten of the best and brightest students in the school. This program will involve intensive study in your usual course studies, as well as extracurricular subjects. In order to justly select the students enrolled, all pupils from fourth year and up will be administered an exam at some point during the summer holidays. The exam will arrive via owl post and should be completed in the mandated time limit. If you are selected for this program, you will receive further information. In order to properly prepare for you exams, it is recommended that you review the past summaries of studies at school. These shall prove to be immensely useful. Good luck.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress, Hogwarts School
School of Witchcraft and Wizardry
Harry pondered the letter once more. It seemed unlikely that he would get into the program, but he was able to think of several others that would be accepted. Then realising that he was still clutching the second letter, Harry opened it, not surprised by the sender.
Harry,
Have you received the letter about the new program yet? I'm thrilled about the exam. Can you imagine working on different topics than our usual courses? It will be terribly exciting. However, there is the small matter of the acceptance exam. I've compiled a list of books that should help. Do you expect that the Dursleys will allow you to meet Ron and me in London for a bit of revising? Send your reply with Hedwig!
With love,
Hermione
He smiled as he reread her letter. While everyone else was most likely grimacing at the idea of an exam over the holidays, Hermione was actually excited at the thought of a dreadfully difficult exam. Harry's thoughts drifted to Hermione's kiss on Platform 9¾. Absentmindedly, his fingers reached up to touch his face where she had kissed him. What had that meant? Never before had Hermione shown such an outward display of affection. Harry smiled to himself and shut off the lawnmower. Just as Harry was walking inside, Uncle Vernon came striding into the kitchen with a smirk on his face. He thumped Dudley on the shoulder and shot Harry an icy glare, all the while beaming at his son. As soon as Vernon's glare was off of him, he made a face at his wide back.
"How would you fancy a holiday this summer, Dudders?"
"Holiday?" Dudley answered stupidly.
"Grunnings is offering a retreat this summer for its employees. It's especially for fathers and their sons. I thought we could take the retreat and then visit your Aunt Marge for a bit before you returned for fall term at Smeltings." Dudley grinned excitedly as Petunia strode into the kitchen, looking like she had something foul-smelling under her nose. As Vernon relayed his plans to her, Petunia could not disguise the look of abject terror on her face. "I will not spend the summer holidays alone with that!" she screeched, gesturing wildly at Harry. "But Petunia, we already agreed to this. It will only be for about a month. Dudley and I need the male bonding time!" Vernon said, looking at her rather pointedly.
"How will Dudley finish his assignments before school starts?" she asked, trying a different method of deliberation. "The boy can help him finish before we leave," replied Vernon, once again assuming a tone that implied that Harry was not in the room, or for that matter, even in existence.
As the argument continued, Harry felt torn. On one hand, the idea of Dudley and Vernon being gone most of the summer was tempting, but on the other, the idea of spending the summer with Petunia was terrifying. Also was the added negative of having to spend even more time with his stupid, whale-like cousin than was absolutely necessary before he and Vernon left. As he mentally debated his stand on the issue, his aunt and uncle's argument came to an end.
"Petunia! Enough! It is time you let Dudley go! We will be perfectly fine and it will do him some good. I will not have you holding back my son from such freedom!"
Aunt Petunia blanched and resigned herself to giving smouldering glares to Uncle Vernon's back as he sat with Dudley discussing the plans for their trip. The departure date was July 30th and Harry grinned at the small, accidental birthday present.
"You, boy! What are you smiling about?"
"Nothing, Uncle Vernon."
"I don't want to hear about you doing anything to embarrass your aunt!"
Seizing the opportunity to get something he wanted, Harry replied, "Uncle Vernon, can I go to London?"
"Why would I pay for you to go to bloody London?" His uncle looked confused now, most likely wondering where Harry would ever come up with a trip such as the one he was suggesting.
"Well, we're allowed to use magic to study for these upcoming entrance exams. And I know how much you hate me using magic. I wouldn't want to embarrass Aunt Petunia." Harry emphasized had emphasised the word 'magic' and waited patiently for Vernon's response.
Vernon sputtered at the dreaded 'm-word', much to Harry's satisfaction.
"And you expect me to pay for this blasted trip?"
"Of course not."
"Alright, but if you use any, of, that in my house…"
Harry grinned and before Uncle Vernon could finish his sentence, Harry dashed up the stairs to write Hermione and Ron.
Harry laid down the book that he had been reading for his holiday assignments. He slid his glasses onto his forehead and lightly pinched the bridge of his nose as he closed his eyes. The upcoming fifth year in History of Magic was expected to be more exciting than previous years. There would be no more Goblin rebellions. The students would begin their studies of modern magical history and there were new books and less boring assignments for the class. Harry closed his eyes at the thought of school. It was his first week of the summer holidays and already he was contemplating the upcoming school year. There would be loads of class work in preparations for the OWLs. Everything would be much more difficult and Harry found this new plethora of difficult tasks was daunting, yet somewhat comforting at the same time.
Anything that would keep his mind off of the Triwizard Tournament was good for Harry. He allowed himself a brief lapse into the memory and almost immediately, a wave of those screams washed over him. He had hit the grass in the pitch and the panicked screams of the crowd had hit him immediately. His heart clenched at the memory. The duel with Voldemort had been terrible and strange. The images of his parents' ghost-like figures floated in his mind, one of the many things that haunted his nightmares. He heard his mother's voice. He felt the pain of the Cruciatus Curse that Voldemort had inflicted upon him. He imagined once more the feeling of the blood trailing slowly down his right arm from the crook of his elbow and he looked down at it now. It was a bright pink colour. Madame Pomfrey had healed it as best she could, but had told her that nothing would take away that remaining scar.
Another scar.
He mentally chastised himself. A scar? A scar was nothing compared to what Cedric had. Or didn't, as it was. Most vividly of the night-of the all the vile things that evening in the graveyard-Harry remembered the weight of Cedric's lifeless body. He remembered the struggle, to pull Cedric…to reach the Cup…
A sob caught in Harry's throat. No matter how much he would fight Voldemort. No matter whether or not Harry was a formidable opponent. No matter how much Harry struggled for his life time and again. No matter what happened, the idea of death lingered with Harry. He had always lived with the death of his parents, but aside from that, Harry did not know of true death. In all of his fighting and power enhancing, there was nothing that Harry could do that would cheat death. It had been too late for Cedric. Harry had made up his mind as he'd brought the body back to Hogwarts. Never again. Never again would Voldemort lord his power of Harry. Harry would fight until one of them was dead. Really dead. A shadow of Voldemort's former existence would not be enough. An all-consuming feeling of blind hatred flooded over him. He was enraged.
Harry closed his eyes tighter, feeling the tears slide down his cheeks. Inside, Harry silently begged for some sort of mercy. A reprieve for this guilt and horror and anger. Harry knew that he was falling apart inside. He needed someone that could support him and would love him unconditionally as a friend. He needed someone to hold him and tell him that it would all be okay.
As if on cue, Hedwig flew silently in through Harry's window. She landed next to him on the bed, her amber eyes reflecting great concern for him. He untied the small parchment on Hedwig's leg and handed her an owl treat. She fluttered to her perch and Harry broke the seal on the parchment.
Harry,
I hope you don't mind me writing this letter to you. I know it's late and I hope that I haven't woken you up. I just wanted to tell you that I'm worried about you. I hope you're not blaming yourself for this mess. It's not your fault and don't for one second believe that it is. I wanted to let you know that if you ever needed someone to confide in, I'll be here for you. Just owl me anytime, day or night, and I'll do my best to be there for you. Best wishes, Harry.
Your friend,
Ginny
Harry smiled. Ginny would be a good friend. Ever since second year, they'd shared the unusual bond of a terrifying experience. It had brought him the friendship of Hermione and Ron and he hoped to increase his friendship with Ginny. She was a smart witch and had a quick wit. They hadn't talked much since the Chamber of Secrets second year, but he made it a point to acknowledge her in the hallways and to occasionally chat with her. He was grateful for this extension of friendship from the girl, knowing that she had a good heart and that was propelling her to do this more than anything else.
Sighing, Harry reached for the book he'd laid down. The book slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. It was half past one in the morning and Harry waited for some sort of reprimand from Vernon. There was only silence, mingled with a light snoring from someone in the Dursley household. He picked up the book and it fell open in his lap. The book had opened to the Arts section. A moving wizard's photograph on the page showed a bright young actress at an award's ceremony. The small caption cited the actress as Amarante Zinia. She was tall and thin with flowing red hair. Her eyes were a cornflower blue. She waved and smiled cheekily at him. Occasionally, she would wink.
The story of the vibrant young actress saddened Harry. According to the article, she had been brilliant. She was revered throughout the wizarding world for her part in a wizard play company. Everyone adored her. However, about sixth months before the fall of Voldemort, she had disappeared without a trace. No one had ever heard from her since her disappearance. Harry saddened as he read her story. She had been second in her class at Beauxbatons, only in her early twenties at her disappearance. The brief summary, oddly enough, told nothing of the young witch's family. Another victim of Voldemort. How many others had there been?
There was something about the picture that kept grabbing Harry's attention. The eyes were so familiar. They captivated the reader, demanding only the most rapt of attentions. He stared and stared at the picture until he noticed that the eyes were gone. The actress now lay curled in her cloak on the stage where she had earlier received her award. Harry softly closed the book. He shut off the lights. A brief battle raged in his mind. His tired and aching body begged him not to leave the bed, but he did not want to risk another loud bang from the book hitting the floor. Harry wished he had his wand so that he could levitate the book to the desk. Of course, he knew that was out of the question. Underage wizardry was frowned upon. And that was putting it lightly.
Suddenly, Harry felt as a great weight had been lifted. He opened his eyes and indeed, one had. His book floated a few inches above where it had lain on his cover. It shook a bit, teetering on an invisible balance. Feeling stupid, but curious, Harry waved his hand in the general direction of the book. Suddenly, it sped forward, moving towards the desk at lightning speed. Harry winced, expecting the book to smash into the opposite wall. No crash came and he peeked an eye open, looking suspiciously towards the book, which was lying neatly on his desk. His exhaustion forgotten, Harry stood slowly and moved stealithly towards the desk, dreading what would happen if he awoke the Dursleys. He stared hard at the book and waved his hand cautiously this time. Yet there it remained, unmoving. He waved his hand a second time. Again, nothing. He felt like an idiot. However, before he could even begin to ponder the reasoning behind this, Harry's mind and body fought viciously for sleep once again. He allowed his rubbery legs to carry him to his bed, where he collapsed, letting the sleepiness envelop him and carry him off into dreamless slumber.
The Dursley house was chaotic. Vernon and Dudley were running rabid through it, attempting to pack for their retreat. Dudley was currently throwing a temper tantrum because Vernon had told him that he would not need his racing bike for the trip. Harry was also packing for his trip to London, albeit with much less of a scene.
As he was placing a robe into his bag, a great eagle owl flew into the room. Untying the letter, Harry handed the great bird an Owl treat and it took off through his bedroom window.
Harry,
I have been informed of your upcoming trip to London. Seeing as you will be in Diagon Alley, you should be safe. However, we will be keeping an eye on you and if something should happen, I have enclosed a portkey that will take you directly to Hogwarts. Be careful and on the lookout for trouble.
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster, Hogwarts
Harry opened the small box with the portkey inside. He chuckled at one of Hermione's SPEW badges, resting on some soft fabric tucked into the box. He shook his head and tossed it into the bag that contained a few pieces of wizarding gold. Mentally, he listed the objects required on this trip before loading them into his pack. A few of the schoolbooks recommended in a letter from Hermione, parchment, quills, two sets of robes, and some owl treats. Deciding he was set for the short trip, he hoisted the bag onto his shoulder, grunting at the weight. As he marched down the stairs, he silently hoped it wouldn't be a long weekend.