Harry Potter and the Heartwood Arrow

Chapter 1: Cats and Fangs

    It was raining on Privet Drive, and had been for most of the last two weeks. An ankle-deep river ran down the street and the prim, tidy gardens had been turned to miniature swamps by the unrelenting rains. Aunt Petunia had wept when her well-trimmed flowerbed began to float downstream.

    Harry continued to stare out the window. He had spent the entire day like that, praying for the storm to let up, just long enough for an owl or two to get through.

    He ached for news of the wizarding world, but Hedwig hadn't returned in almost a month, no doubt because of the weather. It was his birthday, so he knew someone would send him something, but only if the winds died down.

    A glance at the alarm clock told him it was a quarter to three. Maybe he should go see if Mrs. Figg had heard anything. He'd go crazy if he stayed here staring at the storm. Of course, he'd have to BE crazy to actually go out into that storm. But Harry had always had an overabundance of courage, and he wasn't going to let a little rain (or a lot of it) stand between him and possible news.

    Three o' clock found Harry plodding down Privet Drive in one of Dudley's old slickers. Even a raincoat specifically tailored for someone Harry's size would have failed to keep him dry in these conditions, and, as it was, he was completely soaked and quite numb by the time he reached Mrs. Figg's.

    "Oh, you poor dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Figg upon opening the door. "Come in, before you catch your death of cold!" She quickly ushered him inside before calling out to someone in the house. "Charlie! Be a dear and get a fire going!"

    Harry was idly wondering if she could possible mean Charlie Weasley, when he entered the living room and there he was, dressed in a dark green shirt which sported a dragon on the front. He was poking at a violet fire with his wand, but stopped as he saw Harry.

    "Harry!" Charlie said, gesturing for Harry to come sit by the fire. "What on Earth are you doing here?"

    Harry laughed. "I could ask you the same thing." He sat down and held his hands out towards the fire. Instantly, he felt the warmth sink into him, driving away the cold. A dark black kitten climbed onto his lap almost as soon as he had settled, and promptly fell asleep.

    "Caught up with Lucius Malfoy down in Athens a few weeks ago," he said with a grimace. "I managed to capture him, but he did a number on my leg in the process." Charlie lifted up the hem of his robe to reveal a heavily bandaged leg. "They sent me here for some R&R just before the storm hit."

    Harry looked up at Charlie, as something struck him. "What were you doing in Greece?"

    "Don't really know," Charlie shrugged. "I was just following the prat. I've been following him ever since the latest Azkaban breakout. He's led me halfway across Europe."

    Harry leaned forward, keen to hear more. This was exactly the type of thing he had been hoping to learn. "So what was he after? What's in Athens?"

    Charlie shook his head. "I wish I could tell you, but we don't really know what Voldemort's after. I was sent here to recuperate before he was ready to be interrogated. Mad Eye's taken over." Charlie looked upset, and Harry could guess why - Charlie had gone through all the effort to catch Lucius Malfoy, but the same storm that kept Harry out of the loop prevented Charlie from learning anything either.

    A thought occurred to Harry. "Couldn't you just apparate back to Athens and find out?" he asked. He had spent much of the last two weeks wishing he was old enough to apparate with that very goal in mind.

    "No good," Charlie said with a sigh. "Too much energy in the air." As if to demonstrate his point, the sky rumbled with thunder. "It's too dangerous to apparate or use portkeys. Flu network's down, too." he added as an afterthought. "Hell, I couldn't even go down the street to wish you a happy birthday with my leg the way it is."

    "That's okay," Harry said, feeling slightly guilty. "If I had known you were here, I'd have come by sooner."

    "Probably better that you didn't," Charlie replied, solemnly. "Now that the prophecy's gone, Voldemort's likely to focus on his original goal again."

    Harry blinked. "His original goal?"

    "Killing you," Charlie said, fixing his gaze on Harry. Then he shook his head. "Let's move on to brighter topics, then. I got you something. Hold on and I'll go get it."

    He bustled off, and Harry sat basking in the heat of the fire, while Mrs. Figg told him all about her cats. Apparently, Mittens had a litter of kittens, and now Mrs. Figg was trying to find homes for them.

    "It's not easy," she confided to Harry. "These are scryling kittens, so I can't sell 'em to muggles, and all the wizarding folk are all paranoid and nervous, what with You-Know-Who about and everything. But I have to find people to take them, before they're too old to Bond. You've heard about Bonding, haven't you?"

    Harry hadn't, but he had a guess. "It's like with Filch and Mrs. Norris, right?" Mrs. Figg gave him a confused look, and Harry realized that she probably had never met Filch or his cat. He looked down at the ball of black fur curled up on his lap.

    "Can anybody bond with them?" Harry asked, attempting to break the awkward silence. He hadn't really thought about it before, but a cat like that could be useful.

    "I think so," Mrs. Figg said, pursing her lips in thought. "It's mostly squibs that get them. I don't think the Bonding is quite as strong with full wizards, but I'm not really sure." Then a smile crept slowly onto her face as she realized the implications of Harry's question. "You want one, then?" she asked. "Your aunt and uncle won't mind?"

    Harry was pretty certain that his aunt and uncle WOULD mind, but that was their problem. It occurred to him that they might even tolerate something as seemingly ordinary as a cat.

    "It'll be okay," he assured her. He stroked the kitten on his lap, who purred affectionately. "How much for this one?"

    "Oh," Mrs. Figg declared. "I could never charge a friend, especially on his birthday. It'll be worth it to know she's in a good home."

    "Really?" Harry asked. "Thanks! Does she have a name yet?"

    Mrs. Figg looked almost appalled. "Dear, no! Naming the kitten is how you start the Bonding process. I've only named two of them: Chloey and Marbles. The rest I'm trying to find owners for. So what are you going to call her?"

    Harry studied the kitten, who stared up at him intently. Her eyes were a very dark blue, almost black, with white pinpricks that made Harry feel as if he was looking into a starry sky.

    "I think I'll call you Midnight," he told the kitten. She mewed and rubbed her head against his hand. The moment they touched, he felt a sudden surge of emotion, in the back of his head. He could feel the kitten's appreciation for the name, her desire to please and protect him, and to be protected by him in turn. It was completely unlike anything Harry had ever felt before. Then Midnight leapt off his lap to chase a ball of yarn, and the feeling vanished.

    "There's nothing quite like seeing somebody Bond with a scryling," Mrs. Figg said with misty-eyes.

    "Did I hear someone's giving away free kittens?" Charlie asked, grinning as he stuck his around the corner. "Where do I sign up?"

    "Just take one!" Mrs. Figg said exasperatedly, although there was a smile across her face. "Believe me, you'll be doing me a favor."

    Charlie surveyed the multitude of kittens scattered across the room. Then, quite suddenly, he spun around and grabbed the dark purple kitten that was in the process of pouncing at his shoelaces. Harry was impressed. He wasn't sure if those fast reactions were a necessity when dealing with dragons, or if they were remnants of Charlie's days as a Seeker. Probably a bit of both, he decided.

    The purple kitten let out a confused meow as it dangled from Charlie's hand. Then it spotted the dragon on his shirt, and tried desperately to claw at that, its current situation completely forgotten.

    "That's it," Charlie laughed. "You're Dragonbait." Then a strange look came over him, and Harry knew he was experiencing that same wave of emotion Harry had felt only moments before. Harry's thoughts turned to Midnight, who tried to impress on him the gravity of the situation as she stalked the ball of yarn across the floor.

    "Oh," Charlie said, still a little dazed from the Bonding. "I almost forgot your present, Harry." He reached into his pocket and removed a small package, wrapped in blue paper. "Happy birthday!" he grinned, handing the parcel to Harry.

    "Thanks!" Harry said, as he excitedly tore the paper from the box and opened it. Inside was a necklace with six black fangs on it.

    "It's a dragon tooth necklace," Charlie explained. "From the Horntail you beat two years ago." He sighed. "She went wild and had to be put down. Been happening a lot since Voldemort came back." He shook his head as if to cast off the depression and continued. "Anyway, that necklace will help protect you, especially from fire. It won't do anything drastic, like let you stick your hand in the fireplace, but every little bit counts, right?"

    "Certainly couldn't hurt," Harry laughed.

    The three of them spent the next few hours talking about scrylings, and dragons, and anything else that crossed their minds. Although both Mrs. Figg and Charlie would change the subject whenever Harry brought up Voldemort, it had been so long since he was able to talk about ANYTHING magic related that it didn't bother him much. They probably would have kept on talking for hours more if the grandfather clock hadn't struck six.

    "Oh my!" Mrs. Figg exclaimed. "You should go. Your aunt and uncle will be worried."

    "Yeah," Harry said wryly. "Worried I'll come back." But he got to his feet and called to Midnight, who scampered up the back of a chair and leapt onto Harry's shoulder.

    "Hold up a moment, Harry," Charlie called out, struggling to his feet. He walked Harry to the front door. Rummaging through the closet, he emerged, not with the slicker Harry had brought in, but an old, weatherbeaten red coat. It glowed slightly in the dim light, like the embers of a dying fire.

    "My old drycoat," he said, offering it to Harry. "It's seen better days, but this coat will keep you dry as a bone in the middle of a monsoon." Harry began to protest, but Charlie cut him off. "This is a loan. I'll want it back. I can't use it right now, so it might as well be keeping somebody dry.

    "All right," Harry said, sliding into the coat. It was a bit broad around the shoulders, but all-in-all it was a much better fit than Dudley's old slicker. It was warm, too, as if it had just been run through the dryer.

    Harry was about to leave, when Charlie grabbed him by the shoulder.

    "Harry, I want you to promise me that you won't come visit me again."

    Harry blinked in confusion. "Why not?"

    "Privet Drive isn't safe right now. If there was an attack, there'd be no way to get help. Until this storm blows over, I want you to stay at home. If something happens, use the muggle telefun lines to contact me. Got it?"

    "Tele-PHONE lines," Harry corrected, forcing a smile. Charlie didn't return it.

    "Promise me, Harry."

    "Fine!" Harry wrenched his arm from Charlie's grasp. "I'll stay at home and be a good boy. Happy?" Midnight, sensing Harry's anger, hissed at Charlie. Tucking the scryling into one of the coat's large pockets, he stormed out the door.

    His anger faded when he discovered what a useful gift the drycoat was. Despite the pouring rain, Harry was warm and dry, as if he was still sitting in front of the fire. It was tempting to just walk around in the storm, but something in the back of his mind told him to hurry home.

    His heart began to race as he made his way towards number four. The rains masked everything more than a foot away from him in a gray haze, and he began to feel claustrophobic.

    Was he hearing things, or was there a splash behind him?

    'Stop it,' he told himself. 'You're getting paranoid.' Yet all the same, he quickened his pace.

    He had never been so relieved to see number four, Privet Drive before.

    There it was again. There was definitely a splash.

    Harry bolted, running as fast as he could for the door. He wrenched it open, and flung himself inside. As he turned around, he saw the silhouette of a man, barely visible in the endless rain. He gulped nervously, and quickly closed the door.

Chapter 2: Unexpected Guests

    Harry stood there for a moment, his back against the door as his breath came in heavy gasps. The image of that shadowed figure wouldn't leave his head. He shivered as he remembered Charlie's warning; if trouble came, there'd be no way to get help.

    Then he was suddenly overwhelmed by a soft, warm feeling. It was as if somebody was saying "There's nothing to worry about. It's warm and cozy. What could possibly happen?" Harry couldn't help but grin as he pulled open the drycoat to see Midnight staring up at him from the oversized pocket she was in.

    "I wish things were that simple, Midnight," he told the kitten. But the sense of panic had vanished. Dumbledore's spell would protect him as long as he lived with his aunt. He wouldn't call Number Four "warm and cozy," but at least he was safe here.

    Harry quickly pulled the coat closed (receiving feelings of discomfort and annoyance from Midnight) as Aunt Petunia entered the foyer. He knew he wouldn't be able to keep Midnight a secret very long, but he didn't feel like putting up with a rant about "taking in strays" at the moment.

    "Wipe your feet!" she snapped as she batted at the railing with a feather duster. "If you leave so much as a spot of mud..." She let the threat hang. If she had given Harry so much as a second glance, she might have noticed that despite having just come in from that torrential downpour, he was completely dry. As it was she was busy chasing imaginary dust particles, and continued into the dining room muttering something about having sense to come out of the rain.

    The last time Harry had seen his aunt go this ballistic cleaning the house was when the Masons had visited four years ago. That had not gone well, with the subsequent arrival of Dobby. Nobody had mentioned anything about visitors to him, but considering he tried to spend as little time as possible with the Dursleys, that was hardly surprising. He didn't really care. Anybody the Dursleys invited over was undoubtedly somebody Harry would rather not meet. It was probably just more business partners of Uncle Vernon, anyway.

    He pulled Midnight out of her pocket and deposited her on his shoulder before he hung the drycoat up in the closet. It looked very odd, Harry noticed as he closed the door, glowing dimly in the dark. He shrugged. His aunt and uncle were so obsessed with the mundane, though, that they probably wouldn't notice.

    Harry's stomach growled, and he decided he should get food while he could, before he was locked in his room for the night.

    The smells in the kitchen were overwhelming. A large turkey sat in the oven, while a kidney pie cooled on the counter. On the table was an artfully arranged platter of cheese and biscuits. There was also a meal set out for Harry – stale cheese on stale bread – and a note telling him not to touch anything.

    Harry nicked some of biscuits off the platter, carefully choosing ones that wouldn't make noticeable holes in the display.

    "Hungry?" he asked Midnight, offering her a piece of cheese. She snapped it up eagerly, and Harry couldn't help but laugh. He winced a second later, as Midnight dug her claws into his shoulder in order to keep her balance. She shot him an angry look.

    "All right, I'll be more careful in the future." He rubbed a finger along her head. Her eyes closed and she purred loudly. "I'm certainly glad I trekked out to Mrs. Figg's, or I wouldn't have ended up with you." He felt a wave of happiness and gratification flow through him.

    "What in blazes is that!?" The warm feelings fled from Harry as he turned to face his uncle. Midnight hissed.

    "It's a cat," he said. He'd had very little patience for his uncle since the rains had isolated him. Not that he told his uncle about his inability to communicate with the wizarding world. Uncle Vernon's fear that half a dozen wizards might show up at any moment was the only reason Harry got any peace these days. "You know, four legs, a tail, says 'meow.' A cat."

    Uncle Vernon's face started to turn red. "Don't you take that tone with me, boy!"

    Harry sighed. He was tired of this. He was tired of it all. He had put up with everything for sixteen years to the day, and he was tired of it. He was tired of his only family treating him with hatred and fear. He was tired of the entire wizarding community gawking at his scar and whispering about him like he was some great oddity. He was tired of being called a liar and a crackpot, only to have those same people call him a hero a moment later. He put up with it all and he had nothing to show for it.

    "Look, it's just a kitten Mrs. Figg gave me. I'll take care of her, and she won't claw at the furniture or anything like that, so can we skip the argument? I just want to go to my room, and as you're obviously expecting company, I'm sure you want me there, too."

    Uncle Vernon didn't seem to know how to respond to this. He opened his mouth several times, but didn't say anything.

    "Er... fine then," he finally managed to say. "I guess it's... as long as it doesn't... Right, you can keep it if you stay in your room the entire night, and don't do any... you know."

    "Fine," Harry said. "Good night." He stepped past his uncle, and started towards his room. Even the act of walking seemed to be a terrible amount of effort.

    It had been like this all summer. He was fine as long as he kept busy, but if he stopped too long for any reason, everything seemed to catch up to him and sap away his energy. It became even worse since the rains came and trapped him inside.

    Midnight mewed curiously, and Harry felt his apathy lift just a little. She purred and rubbed her face against his cheek.

    He encountered Dudley on the stairs, nervously running a comb through his blond hair. His eyes narrowed when he saw Harry. They flicked briefly to Midnight before returning to Harry.

    "You'd better not mess things up tonight," Dudley warned.

    "Whatever you say, Dudley." Harry pushed past him, which wasn't easy, as Dudley took up most of the staircase. Part of Harry wondered who the visitors were, if Dudley cared so much, but a larger part of him found it was too much of an effort to care.

    Fortunately, Dudley didn't seem interested in picking a fight at the moment and Harry was able to make it to his room without incident. At the moment, he just wanted to collapse onto his bed and go to sleep.

    The trouble was, there was already someone sitting on it.

    "Dobby?" Harry could hardly believe his eyes. "I- When did- What are you doing here? And what are you wearing?" For Dobby was dressed in what appeared to be a muggle postman's uniform. Considering Dobby's usually extreme taste in clothing, he hadn't done too bad a job. The socks, of course, didn't match, and neither did his gloves. The hat might have fit him, if it weren't for his large ears. As it was, it dangled loosely from one of them. Midnight appeared not to be phased by the house elf's presence. She hopped off of Harry's shoulder and curled up on his pillow.

    "Dobby is delivering letters to Hogwarts students!" Dobby shouted happily.

    "Shhh!" Harry warned. "Keep it down."

    The smile quickly fell from Dobby's face. "Harry Potter does not want Dobby here?"

    Dealing with house elves, especially ones like Dobby, was a tricky business Harry had known Dobby for several years now, however, and he had learned how to handle troublesome situations with the elf.

    "I don't mind you being here, Dobby," he said quickly, "but there are two rules you have to follow. One, keep your voice down." Dobby nodded. "And two, under no circumstances are you to punish yourself. If you feel you have to, wait until you're out of the house. Understand?" He didn't want to think of what Hermione would say if she saw him bossing Dobby around. Still, Hermione never had to count on a house elf behaving to avoid the Dursley's wrath. "So, what are you doing here, anyway?"

    Dobby nodded again, then whispered. "Dobby is delivering Hogwarts letters." He handed Harry a thick package with the familiar emerald green writing on it. "It is too dangerous for owls in this weather," Dobby went on, "but house elves is not supposed to mind the weather."

    "I thought it was too dangerous to apparate with these storms going on, though."

    "For wizards, yes!" Dobby nodded. "But house elves can manage. Dobby started yesterday, when the storms lessened a little." Harry thought back to the day before. If the rains had been any lighter then, he hadn't noticed.

    "You must be doing pretty well, if you've made it to 'P' already," Harry said with a grin. Dobby didn't grin back.

    "Actually, Dobby was delivering a letter to Lewis, Tom, who lives only a few miles from here, and Dobby thought he might pay Harry Potter a visit." Dobby looked ashamed, and started glancing around, presumably for something solid to hit himself with.

    "No punishing yourself," Harry warned, "remember? Delivering a letter or two out of order isn't a big deal. I'm sure Dumbledore won't mind. How's he doing, anyway?"

    "Master Dumbledore is very busy these days," Dobby sighed. "Tired, Dobby thinks. He is running all over helping people with hardly a minute to himself. Poor Master Dumbledore." Harry wasn't sure how serious to take Dobby's lamentations. On one hand, he sounded very similar to Winky when she worried needlessly about Mr. Crouch. On the other hand, Dobby was different from most house elves, and Harry wasn't sure if he'd fuss over his employer as much as Winky. Regardless, Harry wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to find out what was going on in the fight against Voldemort.

    "So, what exactly has he been doing?" he asked, eagerly.

    Dobby shook his head. "Dobby cannot say. Master Dumbledore made Dobby his personal house elf, and Dobby keeps his master's secrets."

    "You got promoted?" Harry said, fighting between disappointment that Dobby wouldn't tell him what was happening and enthusiasm for Dobby's good fortune.

    "Dobby impressed Master Dumbledore by cleaning the Gryffindor common room when no other house elf would. Master Dumbledore had to remind them that students cannot set house elves free. Dobby has been running errands all over Europe for Master Dumbledore! It's a lot of fun, although Dobby does miss cleaning. Master Dumbledore is very tidy, so Dobby does not get to clean very often."

    Harry grinned as Dobby's enthusiasm chased away his bad feelings. "That's great! How's Winky doing?"

    "Dobby is not knowing. Winky disappeared from the kitchens shortly before Dobby got promoted!" Harry felt a pang at how carelessly Dobby mentioned Winky's disappearance. "Oh! Here is a letter for Harry Potter. Dobby almost forgot!" He handed an envelope to Harry. Harry checked both sides, but there was no emerald green ink, nor any writing of any kind on it. He opened it excitedly, and pulled out a piece of parchment, but that, too, was blank.

    "Dobby, is this the wrong letter?"

    "Nope, that is Master Dumbledore's letter, see?" He pointed eagerly at the parchment. Harry was about to protest, when he noticed ink seeping through the parchment to spell out words. It must have had an enchantment, to prevent other people from reading it. As soon as the words were legible, he began to read.

Dear Harry Potter,

    For starters, I would like to congratulate you on reaching your sixteenth birthday. It has been a long difficult journey, but you have proven yourself many times over to be equal to the task.

    As much as I am sure it will pain you to hear words of caution, I am afraid I must give them to you. These storms make it difficult to discern what Voldemort is up to, but I am certain he will try something soon. Exercise caution if you leave your aunt's house for any reason.

    I believe the storm will lighten up a bit some time late tonight (assuming Dobby does indeed skip a few names), and concurrently, you will have an entire flock of owls at your window. I am sending a present that I believe you will find most useful if you decide to take the Weapon Dueling class being offered this year. I strongly urge you to consider this class, although I am quite sure you need no encouragement on that front.

    Somebody will come to pick you up one week after the storms truly end. We will begin your occlumency instruction as soon as you are safe. For now, the protection spell should keep most dreams out of your head. If you do have any strange dreams, I encourage you to ignore them. Voldemort is very tricky, as I am sure you know, and you mustn't give him any opportunities.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

    Harry fell back onto his bed. The end of the letter had crushed all the happiness it had first instilled him with. He knew how tricky Voldemort could be, and the consequences of falling for his schemes. If Harry had not allowed himself to be duped, Sirius Black would still be alive.

    "Is Harry Potter all right?" Dobby asked, peering intently at Harry.

    "No, Dobby," he said. "I'm not all right. I can't let go of him. It's my fault he died."

    "Harry speaks of Sirius Black? Dobby met him last year. Sirius Black was a good man. Dobby did not know him well, but Dobby is thinking he wouldn't want Harry to be sad. He died so Harry could live. Harry Potter should live happily. Oh, but perhaps Dobby is out of place."

    "No, it's all right. It's something I need to learn to live with."

    "Maybe..." Dobby looked around nervously. "Maybe if Dobby gave Harry Potter his birthday present, he'd be happier?"

    Harry smiled weakly at the house elf. "Sure, Dobby. Go ahead." Dobby grinned and snapped his fingers. A mountain of socks appeared on Harry's bed. One was blue with gold lightning bolts on it. Another was red with broomsticks. A third one was orange with "Harry Potter" written down the side of it in flashing letters. No two socks were the same color and each had a different pattern on it.

    "Wow!" Harry said, unable to think of anything else to say. "It certainly is a lot of- Shhh!" He had heard footsteps outside his door. They stopped, and the door handle turned. Harry's heart was racing. If the Dursleys caught Dobby in Harry's room, that would be bad enough, but if one of the visiting muggles came in, things would be much worse.

    The door opened, and Harry's heart came to a sudden stop. Looking through the doorway was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Large blue eyes peered out from behind golden bangs. Her creamy skin was perfect, save for a cute spattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose.

    "Oh," she said, "I'm sorry. I just heard voices. Dudley didn't mention having a brother."

    "Cousin," Harry croaked. His mouth had suddenly gone quite dry. He swallowed nervously and continued. "Our mothers were sisters."

    She smiled, and Harry almost fell off the bed. "Well, it's nice to meet you," she said. She held out her hand. Harry stood up to shake it. Her hand was soft and smooth, and Harry couldn't help but notice how sweaty his hand was. "Amanda Dale," she said.

    "Harry Potter." Amanda's eyes went wide at the mention of his name.

    "Not THE Harry Potter?" she asked. Harry had no clue what to make of this. He had been fairly certain the the Dursleys' guests would be muggles, but this was the kind of reactions he usually got from fellow wizards. It did occurr to him, though, that if Amanda was in fact a witch, the Dursleys probably wouldn't know.

    "No wonder Dudley never mentioned you," Amanda went on, grinning. "I never thought I'd meet the 'Terror of Little Winging' here!"

    Harry blinked in confusion. "The what?"

    Amanda shrugged her shoulders. "That's what they call you on Rose Hill, anyway." Rose Hill was just a little ways north of Privet Drive. It was a slightly richer, classier neighborhood, drawing the line between upper class, and upper-middle class. Harry knew Aunt Petunia dreamt of moving to a big house on Rose Hill some day.

    "Apparently my reputation precedes me," Harry said, wryly. "You sure you want to be seen with me?"

    "There's no one here to see us," Amanda laughed. It was a pretty, musical laugh, and Harry found himself trying to think of something else to say that would make her laugh again. "And anyone's better than Dudley," she went on, rolling her eyes. "The boy's got all the subtlety of a rhinoceros. I told him I had to use the bathroom just to get away from him for a bit. Then I heard you talking." She stopped, as if something had suddenly occurred to her. "Say, who were you talking to?"

    Harry had completely forgotten about Dobby until just now. Glancing around though, Dobby, along with the giant pile of socks, had apparently vanished..

    "No one," he said. "Just going over some homework problems out loud." The mention of homework made him realize that if she saw his books, he'd be in real trouble. There was a lot scattered about his room that muggles shouldn't see. "Anyway," he went on, speaking a bit faster than he normally would, "I'm done for now. Just let me put these away." He quickly gathered up his books, snatching up his pocket sneak-o-scope and the open photo album as well, and stuffed them under the bed.

    He turned back to face her, and his heart froze. Right behind her was the Monster Book of Monsters. It had grown tamer in the last year or so, but it still wasn't a good thing for Amanda to see. It opened its pages to pull on her dress, when suddenly there was a loud CRACK.

    "What was that?" Amanda said, turning around to look for the source of the noise. The book, fortunately, was gone, although Harry thought he heard a muffled whimper from the closet. He hoped Dobby was okay.

    "Must've been a car backfiring," Harry said quickly.     "So..." He tried to find some way to steer the conversation to safer topics, "What are you doing here?" The moment he said it, he wanted to hit himself. "I mean, uh, the Dursleys didn't tell me they were having people over tonight."

    Amanda sighed. "My father knew Mr. Dursley from back when they were both attending Smeltings. Mr. Dursley's a few years older than my father, and apparently my father looked up to him a lot back then. They ran into each other when Mr. Dursley ended up contracting my dad's company to upgrade his company's computer network. They decided that since they both had kids the same age, we must be perfect for each other." She glanced at the door, then made a face. "I should probably go back before Dudley comes looking for me."

    "Wait!" Harry called out. He wasn't sure why he said it, either. He just knew that if Amanda left now, he'd probably never see her again, and he wanted to talk with her more. "Don't go if you don't want to."

    She turned to look at him. "I don't want to get you into trouble."

    "You're worth it," Harry said without thinking. He cursed himself silently. Amanda blushed slightly, but she smiled. "I mean," Harry stammered on, not sure of what he was saying, "you're the most interesting thing that's happened to me in two weeks, with the rain and all. That is to say-"

    She giggled. "Don't worry," she told him. "I understand what you mean. My father tries to control my life, always forcing me to do the most boring things, like sewing and cooking... and tonight, for that matter, until I ran until you. I'm sure all parents are like that to some degree or another, right?"

    "I wouldn't know," Harry sighed. "My parents died when I was just a baby. My aunt and uncle raised me, but they try to pretend I don't exist most of the time."

    "Oh, I'm sorry." Amanda turned away, running a nervous finger along the edge of his dresser. "My mother died when I was only three." There was a long, awkward pause. Harry stared at his hands, while Amanda continued examining the dresser. "So you have a bird?" she finally said, looking at Hedwig's empty cage.

    "Yeah," Harry nodded, grateful for the change in subject. "Hedwig. She's a snowy owl. She's been out for a while, hopefully somewhere drier." It suddenly dawned on Harry that he shouldn't be making Amanda stand. "Uh... do you want to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to the bed. It was a mess, as he hadn't bothered making it that morning, although he was starting to wish he had. "Sorry I don't have a chair," he added.

    "That's fine," Amanda said, flashing another smile that made Harry's knees buckle. She walked over to the bed and sat down. She looked at Harry, who was still standing. "It's going to be awkward if you don't take a seat, too. Haven't you ever been in bed with a girl?" She batted her eyes with a falsely innocent expression, and Harry felt his face go all red. Amanda laughed again and pulled him towards the bed. He sat down, feeling much more awkward than when he had been standing.

    The was a soft mewing as Midnight got up. She stretched her back, and started across the bed. She walked right over Harry's legs as if he wasn't even there, and curled up in Amanda's lap.

    "Oh, how sweet!" Amanda said, stroking the kitten.

    Harry looked down at Midnight. "Hey, you're supposed to be MY cat." Midnight looked up at him curiously.

    "Jealous?" Amanda asked, cocking her head to one side. Harry wasn't sure if she was asking if he was jealous of her for getting the cat's attention, or of Midnight for getting Amanda's attention. "What's her name?"

    "Midnight," Harry told her, reaching over to scratch the kitten's chin. "I got her today from a neighbor."

    "Well, she's very sweet... And so are you." Before Harry could recover from that last bit, Amanda leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek.

    Under normal circumstances, Harry probably would have had a sheepish grin stuck on his face for the next several minutes. However, what happened next drove any smiles away from his face. A tall, thin man came barging into the room. Harry could see the Dursley's hovering outside his door.

    "Amanda!? What are you doing here?"

    Amanda turned away from both Harry and her father. "We were just talking."

    "We came here so you could meet Dudley, not this... this boy!"

    "I'm sorry if I ruined your plans by actually having fun tonight."

    "Don't you take that tone with me, young lady. We're going home, right now."

    Amanda muttered something under her breath that Harry couldn't make out, but she got up and deposited Midnight in his lap. Midnight mewed sadly. Whether she was upset about not being petted anymore, or echoing Harry's disappointment that Amanda had to go, Harry couldn't say. Amanda stormed past her father without even looking at him. He gave Harry a nasty glare, said a curt goodbye to the Dursleys, then followed his daughter down the stairs.

    "What do you think you're playing at?" Vernon demanded, once Mr. Dale was gone.

    Harry couldn't help but grin. "I did exactly what you told me to. I stayed in my room the entire night."