A Reflection of Himself

Chapter Five

The heat of the summer continued, and the days passed just like they always had, with Harry oftentimes either hidden away in his bedroom or lying on his back in the gardens behind the house. He would spend hours upon hours in solitude and silence, but he much preferred that to being around the Dursleys. He only endured their unnerving presence during meals, but Harry would devour whatever disgusting, little amount of food that his aunt Petunia had placed in front of him and quickly retreat to his bedroom. Luckily, his uncle Vernon didn't prod him much, so Harry was able to exist with his temper carefully in check.

Before Harry knew it, July had nearly passed entirely. He awoke on the last day of the month and remembered that today was his sixteenth birthday, just another year older and perhaps another day closer to the impending doom of having to defeat Voldemort. The prophecy had clearly stated that a boy born on the 31st of July would be the one to defeat Voldemort once and for all, and only that said person could do it, no one else. Everyone thought for sure that Harry Potter had to be that boy. After all, he had been marked since the Halloween night after his first year upon this earth, and since then, it would seem that the fate of the whole wizarding world rested upon him, a mere teenage boy who seemingly thought he had no special powers.

Going to Dudley's old, rickety desk, Harry sifted through the papers. Most of them were old letters he had received from his friends over the past few years, but some summer homework was also in the piles of random papers. Finally, Harry had pushed aside all the clutter and beheld a photo album, the one Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts. Since then, Harry had added various pictures of his friends and himself to the back of it, highlighting both everyday and special moment times of their lives together.

Opening the book a few pages into itself, Harry's eyes gazed at the page with sadness. It was the picture that had been taken on his parents' wedding day so many years ago. They smiled and waved at him, and Harry weakly returned the smile, but he blinked back the onset of tears all the same. Standing next to his father was of course no one other than Sirius Black. He had been the best man and the best friend ever to James Potter. He, too, smiled at Harry and waved with joy. Sirius's young face was not the one Harry had grown used to in the short time he had known his godfather. The Sirius in the picture appeared innocent and untainted by the ways of the world, and he was a very handsome man with penetrating eyes and a gorgeous smile. His jet black hair was slightly ruffled, but it was on the short side and kept neater than Harry ever remembered seeing Sirius's shaggy, long hair. The Sirius Harry had known had still been a handsome man, but his face had become gaunt from his years in Azkaban, and it had seemed like he had never filled out to a healthy figure again since his escape. His eyes had still been penetrating, but they had oftentimes been sad, and looking into them would make you feel the unsettling emotions Sirius had kept bottled up inside.

Harry now turned the page and saw a few pictures of Ron, Hermione, and himself, but then he came across a picture that was fairly recent. Taken just last Christmas, Harry was seated on the floor with his godfather, and both of them were smiling with mirth that was appropriate for the season. Sirius had his right arm lovingly around Harry's shoulders, and in the other hand, he held a bottle of Odgen's Firewhiskey. Sirius gently squeezed Harry closer to him, and Harry laughed, playfully punching the older wizard in the ribs. Together, they laughed. Harry then recalled with mixed emotions how happy Sirius had been during the holidays last year. For once in his empty life, he was surrounded by people who he loved and who loved him. His own flesh and blood of a family had never been so. The Weasleys, Lupin, Hermione, and Harry were there at Grimmauld Place to share in the festivities, and Harry's heart leapt inside his chest, knowing that come this Christmas, these things wouldn't be so. What would this year at Hogwarts bring?

The young wizard pushed his glasses up on his smallish nose and closed the album. The day passed just like all the others, and the Dursleys never so much as begrudgingly wished him a happy birthday. A couple of owls paid him a visit with the usual gifts from Ron and Hermione and a couple of other friends, but Harry just placed them aside and gave them not a second thought. He wanted to see his friends again. He needed to see his friends again. Lupin had not visited him at all since the one time a couple of weeks ago, and besides a couple of letters, he had not heard from Ron or Hermione. Luckily, Harry would be going to the Burrow shortly to spend the rest of the summer there, and for the life of him, he didn't understand why Dumbledore would allow him to spend part of the summer there and not the whole summer. Even though being in the Dursleys' house protected him, as Dumbledore had informed him, Harry thought that even one day outside of the Dursleys' in the summer was a risk, so why not just force him to stay there all summer if he needed to be protected so desperately?

Thoughts of the O.W.L. results and classes for the upcoming school year now entered Harry's tired mind, and he welcomed them, believe it or not, for it was something to think about besides dwelling on his late godfather. Harry drifted to sleep and didn't remember even dreaming.

Another whole week passed this way, and then it came: a letter from Ron that asked Harry to come to visit the Burrow in three days. Harry smiled for the first time in what felt to him like forever and prepared his things. He kept a small stock of Floo Powder handy for emergency situations. Ever since Mr. Weasley had accidently destroyed the Dursleys' fireplace a couple of years ago while Flooing in, they had not bothered to close it off completely, lest another incident like that occur while Harry was still living under their roof. Harry informed his aunt and uncle at dinner that evening that he would be leaving in three days. Uncle Vernon merely grunted a response, and Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley, however, sneered, "Well, 'tis about time you got your scrawny arse outta here."

Harry ignored that uncalled for comment and ate the rest of his meal (week-old meatloaf) in silence. He retreated to his room, closed the door, and spent the next three days mostly asleep. Finally, the day had come for Harry to leave this accursed place and head for the Burrow, a household where he felt like another son to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, only lacking the trademart Weasley red hair. Harry grabbed his bags and Hedwig's cage, and in the early hours of the morning, he headed downstairs as quietly as possible, avoiding the step that creaked.

Once in the living room, Harry placed his belongings on the carpeted floor on either side of him and reached into his pockets for the Floo Powder. Taking just a pinch, for that was all that was necessary, Harry threw it into the fireplace and said clearly, "The Burrow." Green flames errupted from nowhere, and Harry hastily grabbed his things and jumped into the fireplace. He felt dizzy and out of sorts during the brief transition from here to there, but all too soon, Harry opened his eyes, and behind glasses dirtied with ash, he smiled as he gazed upon a kitchen table full of Weasleys and Hermione. He was now in a much better place.

The Burrow was the definition of homey through and through. There was clutter here and there spread throughout the whole house, and the floor was composed of well-worn, old wooden floorboards. Dishes were piled up on the kitchen counters, but an enchanted sink was in the process of cleaning them. The morning sunlight was shining in through a small window and lighting up the table where everyone was enjoying a delicious breakfast that had been prepared by Mrs. Molly Weasley. The aroma of sausages, bacon, and eggs filled the air, and as Harry took a step toward the group, welcoming voices yelling, "Hullo, Harry!" filled the cheery atmosphere.

Mrs. Weasley instantly stood up from her chair and waddled over to Harry. She was a lovable lady in her middle years, a bit on the rounded side, with hair pulled back in a messy bun, an apron ever draped over her patched clothes, and sparkling eyes that every blessed child's mother would have in a perfect world. She immediately began to fuss over Harry, saying, "Harry, dear, do place your things down and come over here to the table and have a seat, will you? Oh, you look so thin. What are they feeding you in that horrible place, or shall I say what aren't they feeding you? Come, come, you need to get something of substance in that skinny body of yours. I shan't have any boy of mine starvin' and going hungry."

Harry smiled at his second mother and replied, "'Course I'll join you all."

Taking a seat, Harry was inundated with plates piled high with food from all directions.

"Have a bit of this, Harry."

"Here, try this, Harry; it's the best."

"D'you care for a spot of tea, Harry?"

"I'll try a little of it all," Harry replied to the group. "And yes, tea would be great."

The twins, Fred and George, told Harry about all their latest inventions they had created for their joke shop in Hogsmeade, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Their over-active, humorous imaginations certainly hadn't gone on vacation over the summer months. If anything, they seemed even more enthusiastic about their venture in the joke shop business than ever (if it was even possible for them to be more enthusiastic). Ginny had explained how she had broken up with such-and-such a boy in June and now was dating someone else, and Harry couldn't help but to smile and shake his head at her. Ginny had certainly come out of her shell in the past year or so. Harry recalled how shy the girl had been the first time he had met her four years ago in the very same kitchen. She had grown up, no doubt about it. The older Weasley boys, Bill, Charlies, and Percy were not present, as they all had their own lives to live outside of the Burrow. Percy had still not spoken to his family, despite the fact that the Ministry had been forced to finally believe that Voldemort had indeed returned to power.

Mr. Weasley was the first to stand up. Turning to Harry, he spoke earnestly, "It was good to see you again, Harry. Must be off to work now, you know. Have a good day, everyone!"

The thin, balding man waved to the family and headed out the front door. Slowly, the meal came to an end, and Harry soon found himself up in Ron's room with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. The bedroom hadn't changed one bit since Harry had known Ron. Posters of international professional Quidditch teams still covered the walls, and the bed still appeared well-used and old. The ghoul in the attic above them thumped a few times, but Harry had grown accustomed to it. The ghoul was a part of the Burrow, after all, and everything about the Burrow was great to Harry.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "I'd wanted to talk to you the moment I saw you come out of the fireplace, but everyone was so excited that you'd arrived, I had to wait. How are you, anyway?"

Harry embraced his intelligent friend with the bushy hair and brown eyes with a growing feeling of comfort inside. Being here around his friends was so good for him after having spent his summer alone and depressed.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry replied. "Thank you."

As soon as Harry loosened himself from the embrace, Ron affectionately hit Harry on the back, a kind of hugging that males like to do. "Seriously, mate," he began, a grave expression on his face, "we were worried 'bout you."

"You seem happy," Ginny remarked. "How did your, er, family react to what happened?"

"I didn't tell them anything about that," Harry said, stressing the word "that." "It's not like they would have cared to listen, anyway, or offer any kind of support. I'm just glad to be outta there and here with you guys."

A look of concern crossed over Hermione's face, and she appeared hesitant to ask what she had wanted so badly to ask Harry since Sirius had passed away.

"Harry," she began slowly, "I don't mean to pry, but how are you dealing with everything since... well, you know... since that night?"

Ron and Ginny shifted uncomfortably. Ron remembered how upset Harry had been the first time they had seen him last summer, and he feared his friend might explode at them yet again if a touchy subject like losing Sirius was brought up. He felt that Harry shouldn't be afraid to talk about it with his friends, but he certainly wasn't one to push the matter. Hermione, however, usually managed to speak whatever was on her mind, even if she knew she was taking a risk.

Harry eyed them and sighed heavily. Looking down at his feet clad in Dudley's old shoes, Harry tried not to start crying all over again.

"How d'you think I'm dealing with it all?" he asked softly. "It hurt like nothing I've ever felt before. Even knowing how my parents died, I was too young to place emotions with it when it happened. Years after the fact, yeah, it hurt, and it made me angry that Voldemort killed them, but I knew Sirius, you know? He was... he was the closest thing I ever had to a father, and now he's gone as well. I kept wondering how many more people I love I would lose before this whole damned thing ends. I don't know if I could bear to lose anyone else..."

Harry's quiet, quivering voice trailed off into the humid air. No one had even gasped at the name "Voldemort" when Harry had been speaking, for they were too filled with woebegone feelings as Harry finished. No one spoke a solitary word, for they knew that words alone could not and would not heal Harry's wounded heart. Hermione gently reached out and touched Harry's arm, slowly coming closer, until she was clinging to him once again. Ginny shortly followed thereafter, and even though Ron wasn't one to give out hugs, he, too, joined in the group hug. They just sat there, locked into one large embrace for a long time. Finally, they pulled apart. Harry wiped a small tear away from the corner of his eye behind his glasses and said in the most sincere voice possible, "Thank you all so much."

Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley's loud voice echoed through the hallway outside the closed door, proclaiming, "Kids, your letters from Hogwarts with your books for next year have arrived! And so have your O.W.L. scores!"

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged nervous looks at the mention of the O.W.L.s, and they all darted down the stairs, anxious to find out how they had performed on the fifth year tests.

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the three of them practically pounced poor, unsuspecting Mrs. Weasley in their haste to grab the rolled parchments out of her hands. Ginny was less in a hurry, since all she had to read over was her list of books for the upcoming year, which was nothing new. Hermione was probably the most anxious, being the studious, intelligent one of the trio. She prompty ripped open the seal on the parchment and unrolled it, her eyes quickly reading over the O.W.L.s she had received and the marks on each one.

"I- I can't believe it," she gasped. "I've received the highest marks in all the O.W.L.s we took. I was so worried I'd get an E on at least one of them."

Ron rolled his eyes, remarking, "Like you needed to worry 'bout anything, Hermione. Looks like I haven't done too shabby, myself." He examined the paper more thoroughly. "I managed to pass them all, including Potions, believe it or not. Must've been 'cause Snape wasn't giving the test."

"That's very good, Ron," Hermione replied. She paused and then looked at Harry, who was regarding his own scores intently. Ron, too, turned to face Harry, awaiting the news of his performance.

"Well?" Ron finally asked when Harry remained silent.

Harry's eyes were glued to the paper in front of him, and his mouth hung open slightly. Hermione stepped closer to him and persisted, "Harry, what is it? Tell us, please. How did you do?"

"I- I passed them all, too," Harry finally managed, "but McGonagall told me when I met with her about the career advice that I would need an O in Potions to be accepted into the advanced levels, and to be an Auror, I need to take Potions my last two years at Hogwarts. Looks like my dreams are foiled... all thanks to lousy, ol' Snape. Like I'd ever get an O in Potions, anyway."

Harry's brow furrowed in disappointment and frustration. He had received high enough marks in all his other necessary subjects to take them during his sixth and seventh years, but Potions remained the limiting factor. He should have known that Snape would never let him do anything that would ever make him happy, or at least that was how he felt.

"Hey," Ron said, trying to sound encouraging, "at least you don't have to take Potions with the git. Isn't that something to look forward to? I won't be sittin' in any more Potions lectures for the rest of my time at Hogwarts."

"Hmph," Harry muttered. "As much as I would love to avoid that... man, I would have endured a couple more years of him to be an Auror. Hell, he's already proven himself right on account of my father and Sirius. Now he can glow with happiness over the fact that I won't become an Auror."

"Harry," Hermione began, "surely you don't believe that. I know you don't like him, but-"

"No, Hermione," Harry disagreed firmly, "I hate him. Do you understand what I'm saying? I hate Snape, nothing else. Not liking him was my first year at Hogwarts, but now, five years later, the torch has moved into the 'hating' category. He likes to see me suffer, all so he can get his jollies."

"Exactly," Ron quickly agreed.

Hermione sighed and turned away, saying softly, "You think no one understands your position, Harry, but you're wrong... Snape may understand it better than even Ron or I do. He's been face to face with Voldemort-"

"D'you have to say his bloody name?" chided Ron.

"Yes, Ron, yes, I do. Harry's not afraid of it, so why should I be? Anyway, my point is-"

"Enough, already!" Harry suddenly exploded, throwing his arms up in the air. "I don't want to talk about Snape!"

Harry began to approach the stairway to head upstairs, but Hermione tried to stop him, pleading, "Harry, wait-"

"No! Just leave me alone, Hermione... You, too, Ron... You don't understand a thing, so don't act like you do."

Harry stomped up the stairs and out of sight, slamming the door shut. The whole time, Ginny had watched in stunned silence as the argument blossomed and grew before her. She sighed, shook her head, and went to her own room, leaving Ron and Hermione to themselves.

"What is his problem?" Ron questioned angrily. "You had to go and start up, didn't you, Hermione?"

"Just stop it, Ron," she replied, sitting down in one of the chairs at the table. "He needs to come to his own understanding in his own terms. It doesn't matter what you or I think is best for him."

Ron glared at Hermione and released a sigh of defeat, sitting down next to her. "I hate how you're always right."

Hermione just wryly grinned.