Taking the Consequences

Taking the Consequences.

The moonlight shone over the lawns of Privet Drive and waltzed in through a window on the second floor in Number Four, Privet Drive. With a moan, Harry Potter let "Quidditch through the Ages" fall out of his hand and land with a soft thud on the bedspread. Harry had a splendid headache, and felt so miserable that not even the thought of Quidditch could cheer him up. It was in the middle of the night, and he was lying on his bed, still wearing his clothes. The pyjama lay thrown on the floor. When Harry turned his head to the right, causing a great deal of pain, he looked out through the opened window out in the dark of the night, catching sight of the full moon in the sky. Another look to the right and he saw the time on the luminous alarm clock on his bedside table. The red numbers showed 3.58. He let out another moan and got out of bed. He had been reading his book since the old day turned into a new, meaning since midnight. Now he started to wonder if it would matter if he was sleeping or not.

It was the summer after Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was still feeling rather bad after what had happened on the Ministry of Magic before the school ended for the summer, and now he devoted his time to ignoring Dudley Dursley's idiotic comments. If last summer had been tough, this was worse.

If someone had told him last summer what was going to happen to him during his fifth year at Hogwarts, he would have smiled and said that nothing could be worse than the Triwizard Tournament; the Hungarian Horntail in the first task that caused such problems, not to forget the egg and the lake in the second task. And the third task in the maze - the one that Harry still thought was the worst of them all. He couldn't get it out of his head; if he hadn't told Cedric to take the Triwizard Cup, Cedric would probably still be alive, and he wouldn't have messed this up with Cho, or done everything like he had done. And also, he would have thought that even staying at Privet Drive was a smaller dead.

Sometimes he wondered if Ron hadn't been right, because what if, the third task had been done in May, and Cedric had been murdered by Lord Voldemort then? Harry would have been forced to be at Hogwarts for a month before going home, and then everyone would have seen how he felt about it. He wasn't dancing, that was for sure.

But at the same time, Harry wished that he hadn't been in the Triwizard Tournament at all. The fact that he had been, was because Alastor "Mad - Eye" Moody had put his name in the Goblet of Fire. No, not Moody, but Bartemius Crouch Junior. As a Death Eater he had been trying to come back to Voldemort by giving him his enemy on a plate.

In fact, it must have been too bad for Lord Voldemort that both he and Moody had failed. Because, obviously, Harry was still alive. Even if it didn't feel like it.

Harry's thoughts had wandered away with him, and being thrown back into reality, was not pleasant. Once again, he thought of Sirius, and the way he had died.

"Oh, it's useless," he muttered and throw himself at the bed, landing on something hard. "Ouch!" Turning around, rubbing his back, he picked up a book. It was one of his books, "Quidditch through the Ages" by Kennilworthy Whisp. He opened the book, and watched the players zoom around a Quidditch pitch on their brooms once more. He wanted to fly so much that it hurt. He jumped to his feet, opened his wardrobe and took out his Firebolt, which Sirius had bought to him during his third year at Hogwarts. A little tear trickled its way down his cheek. He put the Firebolt back in the wardrobe.

Slowly walking back to his bed, a stubborn little thought grew in Harry's mind. He was going to contact Ron Weasley, he was sure that Ron would invite him to the Burrow.

"Hedwig," he said with a soft voice, and woke the owl up. Hedwig looked at him, a bit sourly, and Harry stroke her feathers to make her feel better.

"Hedwig, do you feel up for a journey?" Harry said, and opened the cage. The owl fluttered out and landed on his outstretched hand. She hooted firmly and stretched out her leg.

"Hang on, I haven't written it yet." He let her go, and grabbed a quill on his bedside table and went to the desk for some parchment. He dipped the quill in an ink bottle and wrote hastily:

Ron, I'm turning mad in this place. I would rather be in Grimmauld Place than here. If I don't get away from here, I'll kill myself, and I'm serious. I cannot stand another week here in Privet Drive, the Dursleys are a complete nightmare - I actually think that they know about Sirius being dead, cause they have treated me as if I wasn't worth a single penny. I don't have anything to live for if I don't come to friends.

Ron, either save me, or send a curse or even better, send me a Hungarian Horntail to kill me. I swear that I will give you my Firebolt if I die.

Harry

He attached the parchment to Hedwig's leg and watched her take off. He knew that Ron would either save him, or - well, he didn't have much of a choice, did he? Harry had been serious; he was going to kill himself if he didn't get away from Privet Drive. He had his wand, and he knew Adava Kedavra, the killing curse, it was the same one Lord Voldemort had used to kill his parents, Cedric Diggory and many more. It was one of the unforgivable curses. One of the most horrible curses you could perform as a wizard. Magic in its darkest form.

He sat down on his bed, sitting straight up, watching the full moon, and then he fell backwards on his back. The pain in his head seemed to have spread its way down his body, because now he felt as though he was going to throw up. He looked up in the ceiling, hearing Dudley's snores on the other side of the wall. Suddenly he just simply hated his cousin.

He tried to go to sleep, but failed. A sleepless night lay before him. Again.

A couple of days passed, and Hedwig didn't return. Harry's stomach lurched every time he heard a soft hoot or the sound of wings outside his window. He hadn't left the house for at least a week, and he started to feel like a bat - a bat that didn't liked the sun. Very normal for a bat, of course, but not for a sixteen year old boy. Aunt Petunia had pushed small amounts of food on a tray through the gap in the door. Harry had barely touched it. He had gone to the bathroom on the mornings and evenings, and every time he had avoided looking into the mirror. But on day number five when he woke up, he saw Hedwig sit in her cage. She hooted softly when he scrambled out of bed and to his desk.

"Hedwig!" he said, stroking her feathers. "Do you have a letter for me?" The owl stretched out her leg and Harry quickly ripped off the piece of parchment and opened it. It was from Ron.

Harry, don't worry, mate, we'll come and get you. Probably this week. I don't know how, but I'm sure that mum and dad have a few suggestions. Hermione's already here, she came a couple of days ago, both she and mum wailed when Ginny read your letter aloud. Hang in there, mate, and don't let them get to you.

Ron

Feeling utterly relieved, Harry quickly wrote a reply.

Thanks Ron. I don't know what I would have done without you. Hopefully seeing you soon. Say hi to Hermione and your family from me.

Harry

The reply was lying there in front of him. The snowy white owl hooted softly and spread out her wings to keep herself on her feet. Harry suddenly laughed.

"Good girl, Hedwig. Do you still want to take of with this to Ron, or do you want some food before you're going?" He didn't really need an answer, so he picked up some food from the tray aunt Petunia had given him last night and placed it in her bowl. Hedwig ate it, looking rather pleasant with herself, and then she reached out her left leg. Harry quickly tied the letter onto her leg, and stroke her feathers once more.

"Thanks, Hedwig," he mumbled. "I'll be here when you arrive."

After he had watched her take off, he put changed shirt and put on a pair of socks, the one he had got from Dobby the house elf. They looked a bit silly; since they were two different kinds, but Harry felt so up that he didn't bother.

Walking down the stairs and into the kitchen, Harry whistled on the melody of the summer's most played song on the Muggle radio. He whistled all the way through the kitchen, and sat down at his place by the kitchen table.

Uncle Vernon, a very large man with hardly any neck, but a very large moustache, looked up from his newspaper, looking very sourly.

"Stop the whistling," he grunted. "I'm trying to read." He looked down again, trying to focus on the paper. Obviously he failed, because he looked up again and said:

"What are you doing here? I thought that you were living your life in despair upstairs." Harry didn't look at his uncle.

"Thought I'd come down and see what you were up to," he said. Uncle Vernon stared at him.

"But..." he said, and, loosing his temper, he suddenly yelled:

"Cut your hair, for crying out loud!" Harry grinned.

"Why, uncle Vernon? I really can't see any use to it."

Harry wanted to make uncle Vernon feel insecure, because then he could do something.

Aunt Petunia looked at him and snorted, but didn't say a word. Dudley, taking up an entire side of the square table by himself, was heading for his forth plate of egg and bacon; but now he looked up and said loud and clear:

"You've been sending letters again." Harry closed his eyes, shutting out the image of uncle Vernon's furious face, and wished Dudley far away.

"You've been sending letters, have you?" uncle Vernon growled. "For how long?" When Harry didn't answer, he turned to Dudley.

"For how long, Dudkins?" Dudley, now being sixteen years old, just like Harry, shuddered when he heard the nickname his parents used. His own friends said "Big D" most of the time.

"Don't know," he said, his eyes fixed at the television on the kitchen bench. "A while."

"Only twice!" Harry burst out. Uncle Vernon raised an eyebrow, being very calm considering the consequences.

"Oh really?" he said, "only twice?"

"And what if the neighbours saw anything!" Aunt Petunia shrieked, eyeing Harry with horror upon her face. "They'll wonder, you know, if that owl keeps flying in and out of your window. Don't forget that you're going to St Brutus's."

Harry frowned a bit.

"And?" he said. "They don't care." Uncle Vernon stared at him.

"Oh yes, they very much do!" The beginning of a row was hanging like an unfinished sentence in the air, very clear to everyone present in the room, but just as Harry got to his feet, the doorbell rang.

"I'll take it!" Dudley yelled, and got to his feet, speeding his way through the kitchen, the hall and finally reaching the door. He opened it and Harry, standing in the stair on his way up to the second floor, suddenly saw Dudley's cheek turn red. Fascinated, Harry watched his cousin's face grow redder and redder, until Dudley looked as though he was going to burst.