Living in the Past

*******

Chapter 1: Past Regrets

"Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.

No other road. No other way.

No day but today." - RENT

Harry heard a click as his uncle turned the deadbolt lock of the front door of 4 Privet Drive. He listened to the sound of the engine of the black Mercedes that Vernon had purchased after he won an award at the British Tool Makers' Convention for his work as Director of Grunnings (apparently Grunnings had the highest worker productivity for the lowest salaries of all tool production firms in Britain) turn over. The engine sound slowly faded as the car drove down Privet Drive and turned left onto Magnolia Lane.

When Harry had been ten, this was what he had wanted more than anything, to be left alone, unsupervised in his house. Now that he had it, he didn't think he'd be able to enjoy Dudley's computer or any of the prime time TV programs he used to want to watch. Sighing, he went back to his bedroom and lay down on his bed.

He felt isolated.

He knew what it was like to feel cut off from the world. He remembered the summer after his first year, when a house elf called Dobby had managed to stop Harry from getting the mail his friends were sending him. Of course, Dobby had his reasons, but he never did really have a good sense of what was best for Harry. Though he did come through for me with the gillyweed . . . Harry started to think, then cursed himself for coming back to those memories.

As soon as he started thinking about being alone, he knew that he was going to think about how he felt when he had to face Voldemort at the end of the Triwizard Tournament last year. After Cedric . . . died (he couldn't bring himself to admit that he had been killed), it was only him, Harry, versus one of the most powerful Dark wizards of all time and his faithful servants, all of whom wanted nothing more than to see Harry dead. Nobody even knew he was there. He was going to die, alone.

He cursed himself again for thinking about it, as the tears started to come. But this time, Molly Weasley wasn't there to help ease his pain by comforting him, holding him, hugging him like the mother he had never had.

It's all my fault, Harry thought to himself. Cedric died because of what I told him to do. Harry removed his glasses, knowing that he would forget later and scrape his hand on them as he tried to wipe his eyes. "And if that weren't enough," he said aloud, needing to hear the words to believe them, "Pettigrew . . ." He couldn't avoid the word any longer, " Pettigrew killed Cedric, and Pettigrew was only alive," he reminded himself, "because of me. I could have let Sirius kill him in the Shrieking Shack. I could have not been so stupid as to have had him tied to Professor Lupin and Ron." He paused to punctuate his sentence with a sob. "I could have chased after him after he transformed. I am the only one to blame . . ." He trailed off, his voice too hoarse from crying to continue. His tears were flowing very freely now; they turned the normally jade green of his eyes to a muted moss. Two meandering rivulets of tears flowed down his pale, thin cheeks, and left two small puddles on his pillow.

It is commonly known that the tears of a phoenix have healing powers. It is not as well known that human tears actually have the same effect. For while phoenix tears heal the body, human tears help heal the soul.

Let's just say that Harry's soul needed a lot of healing at that point.

For once, he was glad that he was alone, that he didn't have to put on the brave face of "The-Boy-Who-Lived." In fact, he was quite happy becoming a whimpering mess for the rest of the summer. He could just be a fourteen-year old boy (fifteen in less than a month) who had undergone more tragedies in his life than most people three times his age.

Now I know what it feels like to be Neville in Potions, he thought to himself, letting a small laugh escape before he felt guilty about thinking that about Neville, whom he knew had a past almost as troubled as his. Even so, it was the first time he had laughed since he had read The Letter.

The Letter had come two days before, and was so important that it merited two capital letters. It was the second most important letter of Harry's life. Obviously, no letter could be more important to Harry than the one Hagrid had delivered to him on his eleventh birthday, the letter that told him he was a wizard and that he would be rid of the Dursleys for ten months of the year. The letter that introduced him to Hogwarts and wands and pewter cauldrons (standard size 2) and owls and his textbooks and his new life. However, this one took a close second . . .

***

The Letter arrived just as Harry had finished preparing breakfast for himself and the Dursleys while they watched the morning news. Dudley's Smeltings diet was actually working somewhat well (mostly since the cafeteria workers at Smeltings had enforced it on Dudley very strictly while he was there), so some of the restrictions on Dudley's eating were dropped. Harry was serving the eggs, and was about to sit down when the unmistakable flap of the mail slot sounded. None of the Dursleys made a move or indicated that they were going to collect the post, so Harry said, "Oh, I suppose I'll just go get the mail then. Not like any of it is for me anyway . . .."

As Harry walked to the front door, he heard Uncle Vernon mumble things that sounded quite suspiciously like "ungrateful snot" and "ruddy owls." He was actually quite surprised that Uncle Vernon didn't object, as Harry had gotten odd pieces of mail through the Muggle post before, like last year's invitation from the Weasleys to go see the Quidditch World Cup. Harry laughed at the memory of seeing Mrs. Weasley's letter covered with enough postage to send it around the world at least five times.

He was pulled out of his amusing recollection by his Aunt Petunia shouting, "I don't like the way you're laughing out there. What's going on?"

"Nothing, Aunt Petunia. Never mind," he replied, while hurriedly scooping up the mail. However, as he did so, he realized that something wasn't right. The letter on the bottom of the pile had an odd feel to it, almost like . . . but how could that be?

He turned over the letter and confirmed it: a parchment envelope, which bore the Hogwarts seal on the back. He thought to himself, What is this doing here? It can't be for me, or the owl would have taken it directly to my window. For a moment, he considered retrieving his wand from his room to check the envelope for curses. Then he realized that 1) checking a suspicious envelope probably wasn't a pressing enough reason to justify violating the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry, and 2) the Hogwarts seal could only be used by an authorized witch or wizard, so the letter was probably okay.

Finally, he realized how stupid he was being and turned the envelope over to see to whom it was addressed. Not surprisingly, it was addressed not to him, but to his aunt and uncle. It doesn't have a stamp on it, so it must have been delivered by owl, Harry reasoned. I guess they thought an owl swooping into the kitchen and landing on the breakfast table might upset the Muggles.

"What's taking you so long, boy?" Uncle Vernon bellowed, storming out of the kitchen and grabbing the letters from Harry's hand. "I bet you were trying to read our post, weren't you?"

"First, you'll notice that none of your letters are opened," Harry replied coolly. He knew how to deal with the Dursleys now that he had Sirius to back him up; there was no point in getting mad at them. "Secondly, I couldn't care less about what Aunt Marge ate on her vacation or how much your bills are." Uncle Vernon flashed red at this but didn't say anything. "And thirdly, there's a letter from my school there, but it's addressed to you. I thought it was suspicious, so I was checking it out before I brought it into the kitchen, where it could have potentially reduced us all to smithereens. For once, I was thinking of your three sorry hides and how risky it is for you to have me living here. Now I," he said with an air of finality, "am going to go eat my breakfast." Harry strode past a stunned Uncle Vernon into the kitchen, where Dudley, true to form, had eaten the food that had been on Harry's plate.

Harry sighed and went about making some more eggs for himself. Petunia curtly reminded him to clean up the kitchen when he was done and then get started on his chores. It was only after Harry heard Uncle Vernon yell from the living room, "Petunia, get in here now," that he realized Uncle Vernon hadn't followed him back into the kitchen. Harry was too busy making his eggs to notice that his uncle's yell had had a slight tremor in it.

Dudley turned away from the kitchen TV and asked Harry, "What'd you do to get my dad all riled up this time, dumbass?"

" I dunno," said Harry, ignoring the dumbass jab, considering that it implied that Dudley was so slow that that was the best he could come up with. "He got a letter from my school, though, but I'm not sure what it would be about. Probably just some stupid form or something."

Dudley sniggered.

"What's so funny?" Harry demanded.

"Oh, nothing," Dudley said, shaking with laughter.

Dudley reminded Harry of Malfoy when he knew something Harry didn't. Though, Harry admitted to himself, Malfoy does a better job of not laughing like an idiot when he does. Harry slid his eggs onto his plate. Dudley giggled. Harry sprinkled some salt and pepper onto his breakfast. Dudley tittered. Harry started to take a bite. Dudley burst out laughing. "Look," Harry said, exasperatedly, "either tell me what you're going on about or leave me alone to finish my breakfast in peace."

"Oh," said Dudley, "it's probably just THAT form."

"What do you mean 'THAT' form? And what would you know about Hogwarts's forms anyway?" asked Harry.

"The form for permission to take THAT class, dumbass. Mummy and Daddy had to fill it out for me last year," Dudley replied.

"You keep saying 'THAT' as if it were written in capital letters. Kindly explain yourself or leave," Harry retorted, realizing a second later how much he sounded like Professor McGonagall. He gave a small shudder at that thought.

Dudley colored slightly. "You know," he mumbled. Then, he said something else, but his voice had dropped so low that Harry couldn't quite make it out.

If only he could be that quiet all the time, Harry thought. "What? I couldn't hear you," he said.

Dudley mumbled it again, though a little louder this time.

Hexes? What would Dudley know about hexes? he thought. "No, I don't think Professor Dumbledore would allow us to have a class that taught hexes, though I do know some myself, from doing extra reading," Harry said. And now I sound like Hermione, he thought to himself.

"Not hexes, you dumbass, and you'd better not try any of them on me," Dudley practically shouted, backing away. He paused, then dropped his voice again, but enunciated this time, blushing, "You know . . . Sex Ed."

Harry paused. "Oh." He blushed.

"Do, ummm, you know, your kind, umm, have, you know, sex?" Dudley inquired.

"I'm fairly certain we do. We are still humans. Well, most of us are," Harry added, thinking of Professor Lupin. "I'm sure there are some, umm, differences though. Perhaps some, uhhhh, methods, or objects, or spells that might make it . . . a little different, I suppose."

"Spells? Really?" Dudley perked up, a little too enthusiastically for Harry's taste.

"Well, I suppose so. I heard a rumor that my headmaster's brother was convicted of practicing some, ummm, inappropriate charms on a . . . well, on a goat. But, sorry, Dudley, wizards aren't allowed to cast magic on Mug-- I mean on normal people," Harry replied. "Also, we don't learn how to cast, ummm, charms on ourselves, to, uhhh, 'modify' ourselves, until sixth year. Maybe that's when we take, errrr, THAT class."

"Oh," Dudley said. "I thought it was maybe because your school is co-ed and at Smeltings, it's just us in chaps, I mean just us chaps," Dudley stammered. Harry got a very bad mental picture at that point.

As Harry ate his eggs, he wished with all his might that THAT form wasn't what was in the envelope. He really didn't want to get the infamous "talk" from Uncle Vernon. He supposed that Sirius would be better, though, on second thought, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear about Sirius's "experiences" in that realm. After thinking a little bit more, he reasoned that Mr. Weasley would probably be the best choice, though asking him would probably be a little awkward. Harry figured he had had to give it probably four times already, so he'd know what to do. Plus, just as Mrs. Weasley was the mom Harry never had, the woman who cared about his well-being and sent him presents at Christmas, Mr. Weasley was the kindly father who was ready to answer Harry's questions about the wizarding world (as long as Harry explained all things Muggle to him). He thought of Ron and Fred and George like brothers, as well as Bill and Charlie and Percy. He also thought of Ginny as his sister, though he was concerned that she harbored non-brotherly thoughts of him. And thus, his mind returned to the topic at hand.

"Well, I would think that being co-ed would require, errr, earlier education in THAT subject. Or maybe Hog-- my school is just more conservative than I thought," Harry responded, after clearing his mind. "And you know what, Dudley? On second thought, I don't think it could be, ummm, THAT form," Harry said. "The last form I needed your dad to sign was sent to me. This must be something else."

"Oh. Well, that's that, I suppose," Dudley sighed. "I wonder what it is, then. Hmmmm," he said, thinking, and making it look like a difficult task.

Harry was confused for a second. He and Dudley had always been at each other's throats during the holidays. However, Harry felt like, for a minute there, they had connected somehow, almost like brothers. Maybe some time apart has done us some good, Harry reasoned. He continued eating his eggs in silence.

"I know what it's about," Dudley sneered in such a way as to make Harry forget everything he had just thought about him and Dudley's relationship. "I bet they're telling him you failed out, and you'll have to go to Stonewall High," Dudley said with what would have been a malicious grin if he knew what the word malicious meant, or how to spell it even. "It's never too late to practice flushing your head down the john."

Harry sighed. Some things never changed.

"First off, enough weird things happen to me in bathrooms at my school to begin with. Having our heads flushed down toilets is the least of our worries," Harry said, recalling his second year escapades in Moaning Myrtle's girls' loo. "Secondly, I couldn't have failed out because I didn't have to take exams last year."

"What--you lucky bastard," Dudley exclaimed. "How come you didn't--"

"I'd rather not talk about that right now," Harry interrupted, with enough of a tone of anger and threat in his voice that Dudley came close to falling out of his chair for fear that Harry would blow him up like he had his Aunt Marge. Good thing he didn't fall, Harry thought to himself, evilly. The house might have collapsed from the impact.

"Tou-chy," Dudley muttered to himself after a short pause.

Harry quickly finished his eggs and started cleaning up the kitchen. Over the sound of Dudley's TV program, he kept hearing murmurs from the living room. What could Hogwarts have wanted to write to my aunt and uncle about? Harry asked himself. Why wouldn't they have sent it to me? Maybe it's something serious, and Professor Dumbledore wants them to break the news to me. What if it's about Sirius? I haven't heard from him at all this summer. I know it's only been about two weeks since school ended, and I know he's been busy with helping Professor Dumbledore, but what if . . .? Harry decided it was best not to finish that thought. Geez, I'm becoming more of a worrywart than Ron. If it were really bad news, someone would have come and told me in person. Or, I would hope that's what they'd do . . ..

He was pulled from his thoughts by Uncle Vernon shouting from the living room, "Harry and Dudley, both of you, in here, now."

Harry figured that it was better to be safe than sorry, so he replied, "I'm still cleaning up the kitchen."

"It can wait," Aunt Petunia replied.

Wow, thought Harry. That's a first, telling me to wait on doing a chore. It must be really serious, then. Uh-oh.

Dudley reluctantly turned off his TV and followed a very worried looking Harry into the living room. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were on the couch. Petunia was holding what appeared to be the letter in her lap while Vernon was getting out his wallet.

"I'll deal with you first, Dudley," he said. "Your mother and I are very pleased with how well you've been keeping to your diet, so we'd like to reward you with some treats. Here's five pounds, go walk down to the store and get yourself some snacks."

"But, Dad," Dudley whined, "the store's a fifteen minute walk from here."

"It'll be good exercise for you," Vernon replied. Seeing that Dudley wasn't looking too thrilled with the situation, Vernon continued, "But you have a good point. Let's make it ten pounds." He pulled another fiver from his wallet and handed it to Dudley, who practically flew out the door. "And take your time, Dudley. There's no rush to get back," Vernon called after him. As Petunia got up to close the door behind Dudley, Vernon said to Harry, "Sit down, boy. We've got rid of Dudley for at least forty minutes, so we can have a little chat without him listening in."

Uncle Vernon's tone concerned Harry. He looked rather uneasy, but he seemed angry, too, and a little bit flustered as well. Please, please, don't let this be 'the talk', Harry thought. However, as Harry pulled up a chair to the other side of the coffee table from the couch, Petunia came back with the letter and sat next to Vernon. Harry felt relieved, since he was pretty sure that his Aunt wouldn't be there if his Uncle were to talk to him about sex.

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. "This letter came for us today," he said. He nudged Petunia, who then slid the parchment across the coffee table. "Go on, read it. Then we'll discuss the, ummm, situation we're in."

"Situation?" Harry asked.

"Harry," said Aunt Petunia, "just shut your mouth and read the letter."

Harry slowly turned over the parchment, dreading what it might say. He saw, in vibrant blue ink, the narrow, loopy writing of Professor Dumbledore that he came to know from the note he had attached to Harry's Invisibility Cloak when he had given it to him during Harry's first Christmas at Hogwarts. The letter read:

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley,

I hope this letter finds you in good health. However, I do have a very serious matter to discuss with you concerning Harry. Throughout the course of last year, some events transpired which caused Harry great stress, mental and physical injury, and trauma from seeing one of his schoolmates murdered in cold blood before his very eyes. As I am fairly certain he has not shared the details of what transpired with you, as he was rather reluctant to do so even with me, I shall recount them here so that you have some idea of what may be going through Harry's mind this summer.

Harry skimmed the next few paragraphs, which recounted his unwilling participation in the Triwizard Tournament, his discovery that Mad-Eye Moody, the teacher whom he had trusted for nine months, turned out to be a manipulative imposter who caused Harry to be brought to Voldemort, and, and Harry felt tears start to well up in his eyes as he remembered that night, seeing Cedric die and the smoky echoes of his long dead parents helping him escape Lord Voldemort yet again. He started reading closely again with this paragraph:

As Lord Voldemort, whom Harry once defeated, now walks among us again, it is of vital importance that Harry remains protected. It is likely that killing Harry is now Voldemort's top priority. As I stated to you in the letter I left for you when I left Harry in your care, Harry will be safe as long as he is in your care. We are also trying to protect you and your family as best as we can, and so the magical protections around your house will be strengthened shortly. There is no need to change any of your routines, nor should this affect your sense of safety in your home and town. Many of the most powerful witches and wizards I know are keeping an eye on the area for suspicious magical behavior, and we will of course alert you if there is any danger or a need to leave your house.

I ask you to please make sure that Harry is comfortable and safe in your home over the holidays. Also, though I am sure you are aware that Harry is not permitted to use magic over the holidays, I would ask that you please relieve him of his wand so that he is not even tempted to do any magic. I realize that this violates Harry's rights as a wizard, which permit him to carry a wand at all times, but since Harry's wand is linked to Voldemort's, any magic done by the wand could unintentionally permit Voldemort to track Harry down.

Please monitor closely Harry's behavior over the holidays. If he starts showing evidence of survivor's guilt, depression, thoughts of suicide, or any other uncharacteristic or disturbing behavior, please contact me at once by holding this letter and saying my name. Harry's well being is my primary concern at this point, and, if he needs to talk to somebody about what happened, I will be able to make him an appointment with a trained psychiawitch or -wizard.

Finally, I have one more piece of news for you, which I would ask you to please pass along to Harry. The funeral for Cedric Diggory was held two weeks ago, but there will be a memorial service for him as well in a week's time. All Hogwarts students are invited to attend. If Harry does not wish to come, we will, of course, understand completely. However, if he would like to go to attain some sense of closure, please have him owl me at once, so that I can arrange for his transportation.

Thank you very much, and please contact me if anything odd or concerning happens, or you have any questions for me.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

P.S. You may show Harry this letter, if you desire, but I will ask you once again to not show him the other letter I wrote to you, as he is still not ready to hear everything I wrote there.

Harry looked up from the parchment. The room was silent. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia did not look pleased.

"See the trouble you've caused us, boy," Uncle Vernon barked at Harry. "We never would have agreed to take you in if we knew that this Voldemort character was going to come after you."

At first, Harry was positively angry with his uncle. But then, he realized that he was probably right. They didn't ask to be in this situation any more than he had. "Look, I'm sorry," he softly and hoarsely grumbled. "You're right. You've put yourselves in a great deal of danger because of me. I suppose I'm going to have to get used to that from now on, the fact that everyone who knows me is vulnerable for just knowing me."

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia looked at each other in shock. An apology was the last thing they were expecting.

Aunt Petunia spoke next, "I don't care how sorry you are, boy. This changes everything. We have half a mind to kick you out onto the streets to fend for yourself."

"I know that that was a lot of information for you both to handle at once," said Harry. "I knew most of that, and I'm reeling anyway. I think it's probably best if we talk about it later, after we've both had some time to think about it. Do you mind if I go to my room now? I need to think about some things."

"Oh, there's nothing to talk about, boy," said Uncle Vernon. "There WILL be some changes around here, starting with us locking up ALL your school things in the cupboard again. And that includes your ruddy owl, too."

Harry didn't like the sound of that. He knew he was going to have to give up his wand, but he liked having his spellbooks in his room with him, like last year. With all the homework he had to do, not to mention preparing for his O.W.L.'s , he needed to keep up with his reading. His cauldron, The Monster Book of Monsters, his Firebolt, and his Invisibility Cloak were already locked in the cupboard, and he couldn't stand losing his other books and supplies. Even with the threat of Sirius, his aunt and uncle had made him lock up the cauldron and the book as they were "too suspicious" (though Harry didn't really mind these as he didn't need any more reminders of Snape and Potions, and, as Hagrid hadn't assigned any homework for Care of Magical over the holidays, he didn't need that book, which tended to make a mess anyway). Harry had put his Firebolt down there himself, as he didn't want his aunt to accidentally use it to do any sweeping with it (not that she did any sweeping anyway, she just asked Harry to do it). As for the Invisibility Cloak, he had thought that it was a good idea to keep it out of his sight, so to speak, so that he wouldn't be tempted to play any tricks on Dudley with it.

Harry hoped the Sirius card would work one more time. "Well, you can't lock Hedwig up, because I need her to respond to Dumbledore, to tell him that I'm going to the memorial service. As for locking up the rest of my things, I don't think my godfather would like that . . ." Harry said.

Petunia gasped. "Don't push it, Vernon," she said painedly. "We already have one crazed murderer from his world trying to get to our house; we don't need two."

Uncle Vernon turned his angry shade of purple. "Fine, boy. You can keep everything else in your room, but hand over that . . . your . . . you know."

Harry smiled. "My wand, you mean?"

Uncle Vernon managed to go an even darker purple, "Don't get smart with me, boy. I don't even want to touch it or see it, so go get it and put it in the cupboard. Now! And by the way," he added, "Make sure you tell that headmaster of yours to tell his people not to be too obvious when they're setting up the protections. We don't want the neighbors to think anything odd is happening. And also, he'd better not try to use that fireplace again to take you to that service. Now this topic is closed for the rest of the summer, and you are not to talk about it again, especially to Dudley, understand, boy?"

"Perfectly, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied. He started up the stairs.

"Don't forget about your chores," Aunt Petunia called after him.

Harry went into his bedroom, the smallest in the house, though it seemed bigger this year. This was mostly due to the fact that Petunia had finally cleaned out most of Dudley's old junk to sell at a yard sale (though the main impetus of the sale was to catch up on the neighborhood gossip). But also, much to Harry's consternation, he realized that he hadn't grown very much last year. The new school robes he had needed to get at the beginning of his third year still fit almost perfectly. There's no point in complaining about it; it's not really under your control, he thought to in an attempt to console himself. But he still remembered how tall the other champions in the Tournament seemed the first time he met them in the anteroom off the Great Hall, and also how much Fleur's calling him a "little boy" stung. At this point, he realized that he was going to be thinking about what happened last year for most of the summer, whether he wanted to or not. It was just unavoidable.

He knew the tears were going to start coming pretty soon, as they were building up from reading the letter, and the only reason he hadn't started bawling right there in the living room was because of some of the anger he was feeling. I'd better write this letter to Dumbledore now, thought Harry, because I have a feeling that I'll be too distraught to do it in five minutes. He got out some parchment, ink, and a quill from his desk (he no longer felt he needed to hide everything under the loose floorboard of his room, though it did come in handy sometimes), and started to write.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia showed me your letter. I appreciate you writing it to them, as I don't think I could have told them everything that happened to me.

As for Cedric's memorial service, I think that I will go. I don't know if it will give me any closure, but it's worth a try. Please make the arrangements and respond with Hedwig. By the way, my uncle asked me to tell you not to try using Floo powder; if you want to know why, just ask Mr. Weasley.

My Aunt and Uncle were especially delighted to relieve me of my wand. It will be safely stowed, and I'm not even going to think about touching it until September 1^st.

I know you're only looking out for me, but I'm not as fragile as you think I am. I'm not going to go kill myself because of what happened. Do I feel guilty about Cedric's death? Of course I do. That guilt is going to be there for awhile. I'll get through it eventually, but I don't think talking about it any more is going to help. What's done is done, and now I have to live with it.

I'm sorry if that last paragraph made me seem angry or unappreciative, because I'm not. I really do appreciate all that you've done for me in keeping me safe. But I am almost fifteen now, and I know that this fight against Voldemort is far from over. If I am to have to face him again, and I probably will, I have to be strong. I'm not a little kid any more (well, at least not a kid; the little part is debatable), and you're going to have to tell me some things eventually. But, for now, I'll trust your judgement.

Anyway, I look forward to hearing from you soon. I will see you at the end of this week at the memorial service.

Yours sincerely,

Harry

P.S. Please send Hedwig back ASAP. I'd really like to write to Sirius, Ron, Hermione, etc.

Harry folded the parchment over and strapped it to Hedwig's leg. "You come back quickly, now," he told her. "I have lots of letters to send and you're the only way I have of doing so." Hedwig ruffled her feathers as a show of pride, but then gave a small hoot as she realized that she wasn't going to be sleeping any time soon. Harry, who had had Hedwig for four years now and could read her moods and hoots rather well, realized Hedwig's distress. "I know, Hedwig. It's the price we have to pay for living in the Muggle world, but at least we're safe here. Just bring Dumbledore's reply soon, OK?"

Hedwig gave a low hoot, almost like a purr, indicating that she understood Harry's feelings completely. Then she flew off, immediately ascending to a very high altitude, so as not to be seen during the day.

Harry sighed, then went back to his bed with lots to think about. The first thought was, Damn, I should have asked Dumbledore what happens at a wizarding memorial service. I suppose I should wear my dress robes. Oh well, hopefully he'll tell me in his reply. Next, he tried to think of what Dumbledore didn't want him to know about himself, but he quickly realized that that was an exercise in frustration and anger again. He then realized that he had lied to Dumbledore in his letter. He was angry with Dumbledore, for not trusting him yet. But he also knew that Dumbledore was very often right when Harry had been wrong. Last year was probably the first time he had seen Dumbledore be so utterly and totally incorrect and unaware, by not realizing that Crouch was impersonating Moody until it was almost too late. And, even though he told Dumbledore he wasn't fragile, that was a lie, too. How am I going to be able to go back to Hogwarts next year? he asked himself. Every time I see a Hufflepuff, I'll think of Cedric. Every time I go onto the Quidditch pitch, I'll think of Cedric. Every time I see Cho . . . Harry could take it no longer. He let his façade of anger and bravery crumble, and let himself cry. I will never be able to get closure, he thought through the sobs. Never.

Harry's sobs only stopped when he heard his Uncle Vernon yelling, "Boy, come finish cleaning this kitchen now!"

Harry wiped his face dry and picked up his wand, knowing that this was the last time he would see it this summer. It's for my own good, he thought, and went downstairs.

***

Even two days after Harry had read The Letter, because of it, the events were still foremost on his mind. He felt like they were defining his life. He couldn't escape from the trap they had created, the trap that imprisoned his mind to think only about those thoughts. It was almost as if Dementors were outside his room even now. He felt like he'd never be able to produce his Patronus, a silver stag, ever again.

The Dursleys had started avoiding Harry even more than usual. However, Harry knew it was a different reason than before. Usually, when they went out to dinner and left Harry behind, it was because they didn't want the neighbors to see them with Harry. This time, they were worried about being with someone whom dangerous people were trying to kill. They had wanted to leave him with Mrs. Figg again, so he couldn't cause any damage to their house, but she apparently had a swing dance lesson at the senior center that night. So, reluctantly, they left him alone at 4 Privet Drive. I guess they thought I'm in no fit state to blow up the house tonight, Harry thought. Though I'm not the one who's likely to blow up the house this time. He chided himself, then. What am I thinking? I'm safe here. Nothing's going to happen. Then, he turned his mind to much more important thoughts and issues. The first of which was: I wonder what's in the fridge for dinner.

Harry got up, put his glasses back on, and started towards the stairs. As he went out on the landing, he heard the lock of the front door click again. I suppose the Dursleys are home, he thought. I must have been wallowing in self-pity for longer than I thought, since I didn't think they left that long ago . . . Then, since the door to Dudley's bedroom was open, he chanced to see the time of the clock on Dudley's nightstand. It said 8:15.

That can't be right, Harry thought. They only left at 7:30. Harry turned around to his room to see what his clock said. It confirmed that it was 8:15.

Harry silently moved down the hallway so he could see the front door. Something is very wrong here, he realized. I didn't hear a car pull up; I don't hear keys jingling. This is very bad.

As the front door opened, Harry's eye caught on the silver gleam of the doorknob of 4 Privet Drive. But our door has a brass knob, the back of Harry's brain informed him.

Suddenly, Harry realized the silver glint wasn't coming from the doorknob.

It was coming from the hand on the doorknob.