A New Ghost

Jerking suddenly awake, the fourteen year old boy sat up, his T-shirt stuck to his chest from his nightmare-induced cold sweat. This was not the first time that he had experienced such a vivid nightmare. Indeed, Harry Potter had awoken from many dreams in the past four years that had produced a similar response. At least this time his scar didn't burn. Instead, his stomach ached. It ached as it had on that unfortunate day when Harry's actions had caused someone's life to be taken away.

Harry hadn't really known Cedric Diggory, and now that he was dead, Harry would never have the chance to. His thoughts drifted to Dumbledore's words regarding Cedric at the end of term feast:

"He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about...Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort... It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory..."

In Harry's mind, what had happened was the result of an accident and a blunder, both arising from his actions. As he lay back on the pillow, he closed his eyes and thought about the dream. He was on the Quidditch pitch surrounded by his teammates. Cedric was next to him. Suddenly, his teammates evaporated and were replaced by the hooded figures of Death Eaters. They closed in around Cedric as Harry watched. He wanted to move and help Cedric but his body seemed frozen. Then he heard a familiar voice yell Avada Kedavra and saw a flash of green light fly towards Cedric. The older boy's body crumpled and he fell, landing at Harry's feet.

He had done nothing to help Cedric, and for that, he would never be able to forgive himself. For now, he tried to put it out of his mind.

A chill went up Harry's back. Slowly he opened his eyes and, for a brief moment, the shadows of the dawn formed an image in the corner of Harry's room. It appeared as if someone was standing there, watching him. He quickly put on his glasses, but nothing was there.

Suddenly, he was startled by a noise. It was a tapping coming from the window. He glanced at Hedwig's empty cage. Harry had sent her to the Burrow with a letter for Ron. He pushed open the window so she could fly into the room. He removed a biscuit he kept on the dresser and Hedwig gratefully snapped it out of his hand, quietly settling into her cage. Harry unrolled the parchment and proceeded to read the letter from Ron:

Harry,

How is your summer starting out? Are the Muggles treating you better this year? Great news here! Bill has convinced mum and dad that I should spend several weeks with him in Egypt. He told them it would be good for my future. Since George and Fred started their joke shop from home, mum decided that me being away from their influence was a good idea. Hermione said I ought to take advantage of such a wonderful educational opportunity. Leave it to her to take the fun out of everything.

Ginny is acting rather strange lately. She's been getting owls from someone and she won't say from whom. She just takes the letter, turns all red, and runs into her room. Fred and George intercepted one, but mum made them give it back to her before they could identify the sender.

Do you know if Dumbledore is going to let you visit this summer? I wonder why he thinks you are safer with those Muggles than at the Burrow. I'd try and find out if I were you.

I'm not sure how long it will take to get an owl from Egypt, but I'll write you from there.

Ron

How lucky Ron was to spend time in Egypt with Bill, thought Harry. "I wish I had an older brother to take me away from here." he said aloud, to nobody in particular. He also wondered who could be sending Ginny owls that she didn't want anyone to know about. And when had Ron heard from Hermione? Harry had not heard from her yet, even though they had already been home a little more than a week.

According to the clock on his nightstand, it was 5:30a.m. Aunt Petunia would soon be twittering about the house and preparing breakfast for Uncle Vernon, who needed to leave for his job at Grunnings Drills. Dudley, who was snoring in the adjacent room, wouldn't be up for hours.

Harry typically prepared the breakfast for the family. This was no longer the case as he now had a job of sorts. This morning he was supposed to start working for Edward Rutherford of number seven Privet Drive, doing some odd jobs and errands. He was actually glad to have something to do other than wait on his nasty relatives all summer.

Harry had only been back from school for a few hours when Aunt Petunia had handed him a list of chores that needed to be completed. The first task had been to repaint the shutters.

Uncle Vernon was inspecting Harry's work when Mr. Rutherford, walking by with his dog, stopped to comment.

"Good Afternoon, Vernon. Nice job on the shutters," He glanced slightly at Harry and continued, "I saw your nephew working diligently on this project all day. How fortunate for you to have help."

Uncle Vernon gave Harry a sideways smirk. "The boy needs to keep busy. It helps him stay out of trouble, " he said.

"Quite true," replied the neighbor. With a twinkle in his eye he added, "I haven't seen your Dudley around much. Do you suppose you could spare one of them to help me, Vernon? I need some jobs done around the house that I cannot seem to get completed."

Uncle Vernon looked at Harry with trepidation. The prospect of not having his nephew under foot all day was an appealing one, but he did not want to do anything that would reveal Harry's "peculiarities." Not being the brightest bulb, he couldn't conjure up a reason to say no. Dudley doing manual labor was beyond consideration.

Harry couldn't believe his luck. Not only was he getting out of spending all summer with the Dursley's, he was going to have his own money. Maybe he could finally buy some clothes that actually fit.

Harry did not know much about Mr. Rutherford, except what he had heard from Aunt Petunia and her fellow gossip mongers.

"That eccentric old coot and his dog walk by here at least twice a day!" whined Aunt Petunia. "He wants everyone to think he's innocently walking that filthy, obnoxious hound of his. I know the truth. He is snooping on his neighbors."

Harry smiled to himself at the irony of his Aunt accusing Mr. Rutherford of snooping. If anyone was watching the happenings on Privet Drive, it was Aunt Petunia. She was also the first to pass on any information, verified or not, about people's lives.

He arrived at his new employer's home to find the old man watering his roses. He was tall and thin, and looked fit for his age, which Harry placed somewhere older than Uncle Vernon but younger than Dumbledore. He had a well-traveled, aristocratic manner; always polite but unemotional. His hair was mostly grey- a few browns scattered here and there- but still rather thick. It looked as if some muggle hair gel had been used to push it back from his temples. He had a long, straight nose and eyes that were deep brown that pierced through a person when he looked at them directly. Harry couldn't help but think there was something familiar about him.

"Mornin' Harry! Hope you don't mind spending some time away from your relatives this summer, but I really could use the help," he said with a sly smile that made Harry a little nervous.

"Not at all Mr. Rutherford. Where would you like me to begin?" Harry asked.

The old man thought for a moment and replied, "You could walk Maxwell. Beagles are full of energy and he needs lots of exercise. His leash is on the hook next to the kitchen door." Maxwell, the "obnoxious" dog, as Aunt Petunia had called him, sat near the door wagging his tail when he heard the word walk. He seemed perfectly friendly to Harry; although occasionally he had heard him growl at Dudley if he happened to be outside during the dog's daily walk. Somewhere, Harry had seen a painting depicting a hunt scene with a pack of dogs that resembled Maxwell. He was black and brown and a little bit of white around his belly and legs. He had big brown eyes and long floppy ears. Harry thought he was a fine looking dog.

Harry walked to the door at the side of the house. He had never been inside Mr. Rutherford's home before.

All the houses on Privet Drive had little to distinguish them from each other on the outside, so he assumed the inside would look very similar to the Dursley's. He quickly glanced around the kitchen. Although it was clean, it looked nothing like Aunt Petunia's. Almost everything was bright white. There were colorful tiles on the far wall, and a high ceiling with a window in the center that was allowing sunbeams through. There was a huge wooden rack with cookbooks and jars containing liquid and herbs. Shiny copper pans hung suspended over a large wooden worktable. A lingering scent of strawberries coming from an undisclosed location made the whole room feel warm and inviting, and also made Harry feel very hungry. Glancing next to the door the he remembered why he had come in, and pulled Maxwell's leash off its hook and went back outside.

"How far would you like me to walk him, Mr. Rutherford?" asked Harry as he fastened the clip to Maxwell's collar.

"An hour, twice a day," he replied as he watched the hose watering the flowerbed, "we will discuss the other duties you are to perform when you return."

It took Harry a good half a block to reach a comfortable pace with the feisty dog. Maxwell was much stronger that he looked, and kept yanking the chain as he tried to lurch ahead. They strolled along the shady street and came to a short wall. Maxwell suddenly stopped in his tracks and sniffed into the air toward a group of Peonies. "What is it boy, is something in there?" Harry asked.

A cool gust of wind ballooned Harry's shirt around him, making him shiver. Maxwell relaxed a bit and they moved along. Looking behind him several times, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that he was being followed.

As they walked along, Harry wondered about the people that lived in the neighborhood. He hadn't given them much thought before. He saw a young girl, being taught to ride a bicycle by her father. A couple of teenagers holding hands as they walked. A young women with long red hair, pushing a baby carriage. He stopped to allow Maxwell a break, and felt a strong pang in his stomach as she passed by. She must have been about the age of Harry's mother at the time of her death. That child would grow up knowing his parents. They were all going about their lives with no knowledge of Voldemort or the wizarding world.

But Harry did love being a wizard, despite everything that had happened. He loved everything from chocolate frogs and magic wands to fantastic beasts and invisibility cloaks. But most of all his friends meant more to Harry than anything else. He could no longer imagine life without Ron and his family, Hermione, Hagrid and Sirius. They were more than friends were, they were his family and Hogwarts was more of a home than his relatives' house ever had been. At least this summer the Dursley's wouldn't confine Harry. Perhaps this lack of confinement made him feel ready to write Dumbledore. He had some questions that he needed answers to, and should have asked well before now. By the time Harry was done pondering his life in the wizarding world he had returned to Mr. Rutherford's house. He had also forgotten to look behind to see if he was being followed.