Realizations

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Chapter 7 - Letters

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Thursday, July 6, 1995

Hermione Granger sat at the desk in her room, working on her Charm essay. She smiled as she thought of Harry and Ron, and their likely reactions to her current activity. Harry would probably raise an eyebrow at her, maybe even roll his eyes, before smiling and shaking his head in gentle exasperation. Ron, the more vocal of the two, would probably natter on nonstop about how this was the summer holidays, and she was "mental" for doing homework already.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in annoyance. Didn't those two know that it was better to get the work out of the way early, while the information was still fresh?

Deciding it was time for a break, the girl stood and stretched, arching her back, and raising her arms above her head. Next term at Hogwarts they would be taking their O.W.L.s -- Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Perhaps she should start looking over her old materials now.

Hermione frowned a little and twisted her mouth to one side. She wondered if she could convince Ron and Harry to do the same. Her best friends were not stupid, not at all, but both of them did tend to procrastinate so! She had lost track over the years of how many times she had sat up late with them in the Gryffindor Common Room while they rushed to finish one thing or another.

Assignments, she might add, that they would have had plenty of time to finish if they'd just started at a reasonable time. It really was amazing their marks were as good as they were.

Dismissing the matter for now, Hermione walked over to her window and looked out, admiring her mother's neat garden. She loved attending Hogwarts, and she was very glad that she was learning magic, but it felt absolutely glorious to be home for a while. Things felt relaxed and normal--she could almost forget the threat of You-Know-Who.

Smiling for no reason in particular, and feeling very lucky indeed, Hermione sighed contentedly. Her parents always showered her with love and attention during the summer. They went on lovely trips and adventures--her father was taking her on an outing tomorrow--and, on the whole, her parents had learned to take the whole magic issue in stride. Well, mostly, anyway.

They hadn't been very keen on her traveling to Bulgaria alone, the young witch reflected with a wry smile, but instead of laying down an ultimatum, they had offered a compromise. If she wanted to take Victor Krum up on his invitation to visit she could, but one or both of them would accompany her. Bulgaria could be their vacation destination this year if she so chose.

Hermione knew she needed to make a decision, but truly she found herself not particularly caring if she went anywhere this year. That was part of the reason she had already started her summer homework. For the first time in a while, maybe ever, she found herself desiring a little down time--especially after the stress and excitement of this past year. She had worked almost as hard as Harry had for the TriWizard Tournament.

Hermione shuddered delicately. If she was feeling stressed, she didn't even want to think about what Harry must be going through. She hoped Professor Dumbledore would let him go to the Burrow soon. Or even here to my home. He, more than anyone needed a little tender loving care--and he wasn't likely to get it from the Dursleys.

Crookshanks was rubbing against her ankles, purring, and wanting attention. Hermione obligingly scooped him up, and scratched his ears, wearing a pensive expression. She still remembered this first time she had seen Vernon Dursley. She, Harry, and Ron had just arrived at platform 9¾ after their first year at Hogwarts. He had barely spoken a civil word to Harry, and couldn't be bothered to meet his new friends, or their parents. He had been so horribly unpleasant, Hermione had been shocked.

Still, before this year Harry's uncle had at least been on time. Hermione had to assume Harry had made it home okay, as hadn't heard from him yet. Ron either for that matter. That's the only bad thing about the summer holidays, Hermione mused. Since I don't have an owl of my own, I have to wait for Ron or Harry to write first. Usually that wasn't a problem, but this summer, she found herself seeking reassurance. She glanced at her calendar, and shook her head impatiently. July 6. She hadn't even been home a full week yet.

The sun was sitting low in the sky, casting the long shadows of late afternoon over the yard. Hermione deposited Crookshanks on her bed, and flopped down beside him. It wasn't quite time for dinner, so she closed her eyes and just soaked in the familiar comfort of her childhood room.

Tap-tap-tap.

"Come in," the girl answered absently. No one entered, and the tapping repeated itself. Hermione opened a confused brown eye, and looked for the source of the knocking. A delighted smile spread over her face as she glanced at the window. "Hedwig!"

Hermione bounded over to the window, and let the snowy owl in. "Hello, girl," she grinned, stroking her brilliant white plumage. Hedwig, she was amused to see, was loaded down with correspondence. She had a letter tied to each leg, and one in her beak. She dropped the one in her beak into Hermione's hand, nipped her affectionately, then flew back out the window before the startled witch could even offer her some water.

Hermione watched as she disappeared in the distance, puzzled by her behavior. Harry knew she didn't have an owl, and usually instructed Hedwig to stay while she responded. Oh, well. Hermione shrugged, and eagerly tore open her letter. Maybe he said something inside.

6 July 1995

Dear Hermione,

How are you? I hope your summer is going well. Things here are okay. I thought I was going to spend the holidays dying of boredom, but guess what? I have a summer job. It's nothing fancy, mind, but it doesn't matter. Almost anything is better than being cooped up in Uncle Vernon's house.

So, what are your big plans for the summer? Are you going to be able to go on holiday with your parents? I reckon I'll be sticking pretty close...recent events and all. Whatever you do, have fun, but be careful!

Well, that's all my news. Hedwig has a couple more messages to deliver, so I asked her to stop by your place on her way back, if you want to write back.

Hope to hear from you soon.

Harry

P.S. I've finished my Transfiguration assignment, and my Charms essay. Surprise!

When Hermione read the post script of Harry's letter, her mouth dropped open in shock, before breaking into a happy smile. Well, he sounds okay, Hermione thought. Her eyes skipped over the lines again. Be careful indeed! Who do you think you're talking to, Mr. Accident-Waiting-To-Happen! Hermione giggled lightly, and laid the letter on her desk. Hedwig probably wouldn't be back for a few days. Unless Ron's owl, Pig, showed up, she had plenty of time to write a reply. In the meantime, she'd better get cracking on that Charms essay...it just wouldn't do for Harry to finish his summer homework before she did!

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Friday, July 7, 1995

Molly Weasley looked up from cooking breakfast, and smiled at the snowy owl who was tapping on her kitchen window. "Hedwig!" she greeted warmly, letting the owl in, and fetching some food and water. Hedwig hooted gratefully, and delicately sipped the water. "Ron!" Molly yelled up the stairs.

"I'm coming, Mum!" Ron's slightly irritated reply floated down the stairs. She had only just called them all down to breakfast a few minutes ago.

"Don't take that tone with me, young man," his mother replied, a hint of warning in her voice. "Hedwig is here. I thought you'd like to know."

Oh. Ron thought, abashed. "Sorry, Mum," he called while he searched through the clothes scattered around his room for a clean shirt. "Be right there."

By the time Ron made it downstairs, the table was full, and Hedwig had finished her refreshments. She hooted a greeting, and held out her left leg when the boy approached her. "Hey, Hedwig," Ron said, as he untied the letter. "How's life with the muggles?" The snowy owl blinked noncommentally while he opened his letter and began to read.

6 July 1995

Dear Ron,

Hi, mate! Hope you're enjoying the holiday. Tell your mum that the charms she put on Hedwig's cage and my trunk were absolutely brilliant! I'm quite sure I wouldn't have managed half as well without them.

I'm doing okay. I sort of had to get a summer job, so that's taken some getting used to. It's good though. I'm not stuck in Uncle Vernon's house all day, and to tell the truth, keeping busy is helping. I'm so desperate, I've even started my summer assignments. Pathetic, really.

Well, that's my news. Tell everyone hello for me, and write back soon!

Harry

"What did Harry say, son?" Arthur Weasley asked as Ron slid up to the table, and began to fill his plate. Ron obligingly read the short note aloud. When he was finished, his parents looked at each other in disbelief.

"He has a job?" Molly said, stunned. "Is that safe? I thought he wasn't supposed to leave his aunt and uncle's." Her expression darkened. "If he can work, why can't he come to the Burrow?"

The Weasley children looked at each other and shrugged.

"Molly, we can't trap Harry in that house all summer," Arthur said reasonably. "Besides, there's a world of difference between him leaving for a few hours to work, and his leaving the property entirely, and until the warding is completed on the Burrow..."

"Yes, I know," Molly sighed. "We have to protect the Burrow for our sakes as well as Harry's." She met her husband's gaze with determination. "So we'll carry on tonight, then?"

"Yes. As soon as I get off work." Arthur drained his tea, and gave his wife a peck on the cheek.

Ron watched as his father and Percy, his older brother, flooed to his job at the ministry. During the day, things were almost normal. The Burrow was as cheerfully chaotic as ever. Evenings were another story, though. In the evenings, his parents, and his three oldest brothers struggled to weave a complex web of magical protection around the Burrow. It was a maddening dichotomy. One that Ron found horribly frustrating. It was murder being an underage student. He wanted to help!

For perhaps the first time in his life, Ron understood the concept of being involved in something larger than he was. His safe, anonymous and relatively obscure life had been snatched away. He grimaced slightly when he thought of all the times he'd complained about, or felt overshadowed by his family. Right now they were the only thing he felt he could depend on. How on earth did Harry cope, living with those muggle relatives of his?

Hedwig had been resting on Errol's perch over in the corner. She flew around the kitchen, hooting happily, before flying out the window again. Ron smiled as he watched her until she was out of sight, then went off to find some parchment and a quill. He had a couple of letters to write.

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Sunday, July 9, 1995

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Order of Merlin First Class recipient, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, and International Confederation of Wizards member sat in his office, going through his owls. Piled on the desk in front of him, were letters from concerned parents, howlers from angry parents, regular correspondence, and reports from the Order members who were in the field.

Albus sighed, and reached for the distinctive red envelopes. Best to get those out of the way first. In all likelihood, they probably weren't going to contain any useful information, but one never knew. He'd certainly been surprised in the past.

Fawkes blinked awake, and glared balefully at the headmaster as frightened shouting filled the office. Almost all of the howlers were from parents. Dumbledore noted with wry amusement that most of them were more upset about their children being taught to call Voldemort by name than they were about the monster's return. He really hoped something could be done about that "You-Know-Who" nonsense. At least he hadn't gotten one from Molly Weasley. Yet. He had gotten a couple of impassioned letters, though. Persistent, that woman. Like a determined little terrier with a bone in her teeth.

To his surprise, the last howler was from the esteemed Minister of Magic. Albus allowed himself a small chuckle. If he had seven howlers on his desk, Fudge and the rest of the bureaucrats surely had their hands full. Perhaps I should send them some earplugs, Albus smirked as he ripped open the last howler. Immediately the unctions tones of the Minister of Magic rang out.

"ALBUS, YOU IDIOT!! I THOUGHT YOU KNEW BETTER THAN TO TELL UNCORROBORATED RUMORS, AND SPREAD PANIC! I'VE ALWAYS SUPPORTED YOU AND GIVEN YOU A FREE HAND IN THE RUNNING OF THAT SCHOOL, BUT I'M WARNING YOU--THERE ARE LIMITS! EVEN YOU CAN'T BE FOOLISH ENOUGH TO BLINDLY TAKE THE WORD OF A FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD BOY--I DON'T CARE WHO HE IS!"

Cornelius paused here, obviously getting his breath back, then he continued in a more threatening tone, "IF YOU PULL ANOTHER STUNT LIKE THIS I'LL BE FORCED TO TAKE THE MATTER UP WITH THE BOARD OF GOVERNORS! YOU'LL BE OUT OF THAT SCHOOL SO FAST YOU WON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED...!"

When Fudge began to repeat himself, Albus shook his head irritably and silenced the howler by sending it flying to the fireplace with a banishing charm. He'd hoped to have the full backing of the ministry. Fudge's hard-headedness was going to make things more difficult.

Albus pushed his half-moon glasses up on his head, and passed a weary hand over his eyes. Nothing was going the way it should. The construction of wards and protective spells around the Burrow was nowhere near finished. When he'd essentially promised Harry that he could travel to the Burrow later in the summer, he'd hoped that Cornelius would allow some Aurors to assist. Fudge had flatly refused, though, saying the his Aurors had more important things to do than to cater to the whims of a spoiled child. Arthur and Molly were doing what they could, usually in the evenings, struggling with the unfamiliar spells, and even going as far as to recruit their older sons to help. Albus himself was helping as much as his schedule allowed, but progress was frustratingly slow. Warding of this magnitude was usually done by an experienced team.

Dumbledore replaced his glasses, and reached for the rest of his mail. At times like this he found himself wishing dearly that none of this was necessary. The old magic he had been able to use when enclosing Privet Drive had made things far easier. That spell, and a few wards to alert Arabella of any witch or wizard in the area, was all that was necessary to ensure Harry's safety from magical attack. The blood-magic spell was difficult, but compared to the complicated web being woven around the Burrow, it was nothing. Albus wished they had the luxury of simply invoking that spell again, but as much as they loved him, the Weasleys were not Harry's blood relatives.

Still, the headmaster found himself in awe of their loyalty, dedication and persistence. It certainly would be easier to send Harry a note of apology, telling him that things weren't working out as planned, and that he couldn't come and stay after all. Albus grimaced, imagining the howler Molly would send if he suggested that.

On the bright side, this only had to be done once. Once the wards and protective magic were in place, Harry could travel to the Burrow anytime they cared to invite him. Obviously, the Weasleys weren't planning on abandoning the boy now that things were beginning to heat up, but there seemed to be more to it.

Ron, especially, was eager for the shielding to be completed, and Albus got the feeling it wasn't just because he and his siblings wanted Harry to come play backyard Quidditch. It was almost as if they thought Harry was somehow unsafe at his uncle's house.

That was nonsense, of course. The boy had the best magical protection available, and the reports on file at the Ministry always stated that he was being adequately cared for. Albus frowned a little. He had found it odd when Harry had come to him in his second year, and requested permission to stay at Hogwarts during the summer, but had dismissed it as a passing whim, probably the result of some now-forgotten row with his relatives. Besides, Harry was an intelligent lad. If things were not right at home, he would tell someone.

Or would he?

Dumbledore's frown deepened. Harry did have an alarming habit of trying to work things out himself. Proud, and fiercely independent, the boy seemed determined to prove himself, only asking for help when absolutely necessary. Albus smiled, and shook his head fondly. Even Harry's friends found this maddening at times.

In his many years as headmaster, Albus had become good at identifying different personality types. People who showed the traits Harry exhibited generally came from environments where their guardians had encouraged them to be creative independent thinkers, and shored up their confidence and feelings of self worth.

Generally. Unfortunately, that wasn't always the case. Sometimes, those same qualities showed up in children who had been belittled, or neglected. Staunch, persistent little souls, they somehow seemed to sense that they had worth, no matter what was said, and were determined to show the world that they had merit. Surely Harry didn't fall in the latter category...or did he? It would certainly explain his almost instinctive mistrust of authority figures.

Albus prided himself on his ability to put students at ease, and gain their trust, but getting the boy to open up had proven uncommonly difficult. Although, to be fair, Harry had come to see the headmaster this past year when he'd had a vision in Divination. It was possible he was finally earning the boy's trust.

Dumbledore steepled his fingers thoughtfully. Perhaps he should look further into the matter, and question the Weasleys. It was possible, however unlikely, that something had been missed.

A muffled ping caught his attention, and the top sheet of a stack of parchment marked "Mrs. A. Figg" began filling with writing. Arabella was reporting from the United States. Agents were sent into the field with a charmed piece of parchment, and a special quill. To report, they simply wrote what they wanted to say. The message was transferred from their parchment, and appeared on the corresponding piece in his office. It was one of Professor Flitwick's more ingenious inventions--faster than owls, and virtually untraceable. Albus read along as she wrote, and smiled a bit. Her mission was actually going fairly well, all things considered, but she had run into a few delays, and the parchment fairly crackled with her frustration.

The headmaster picked up Arabella's report and filed it with the others. Black and Lupin were doing well, as were Moody and Fletcher. With any luck, they would all be back in time for the next scheduled meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Currently the field agents were warning International Confederation of Wizards members about current events, and sniffing around for indications of dark activity abroad while they were at it.

Albus looked up sharply when a snowy owl flew in his open window. Ah, there's no rest for the weary, he thought, as he removed the letter she had tied to her leg. Well, speak of the devil, he grinned when he opened the letter and glanced at the signature. It was from Harry.

6 July 1995

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

I hope you're enjoying your holiday. Sorry to disturb you, but a couple of things have happened that I thought you might like to know.

The first thing is, I have a summer job. I know you wanted me to keep close to Privet Drive, but my relatives didn't exactly give me a choice. I don't mind, though. Staying busy helps keep my mind off...

Harry seemed to pause here, and tap his quill against the parchment, before deciding on ...things.

Harry had skipped down to begin a new paragraph, and had tapped on the parchment with his quill some more. Dumbledore could almost picture him, frowning, and worrying his lower lip between his teeth as he struggled to properly phrase what he wanted to say.

The job isn't really what I'm writing about, the letter finally continued, it's...well, sir, I think my link with Voldemort has...changed since the TriWizard Tournament. I think it's stronger.

Albus frowned worriedly. This didn't sound good, but at the same time he was overwhelmingly grateful that Harry had decided to volunteer the information now, instead of waiting until after the fact as he had done so often in the past. The whole tone of the letter had changed. Harry was clearly reluctant and tense, unsure about what reaction his news was going to elicit.

It started a couple of days before the end of term, Harry reported. I kept hearing voices. It was like listening to whispers, or a conversation that was too far away to hear properly. It doesn't happen all the time, and I didn't really notice it at first, because of all the babble at Hogwarts, on the Hogwarts Express, and in King's Cross. I thought I was just hearing people around me.

A couple of nights ago, I was up quite late. There was no one around but me--everyone else was sleeping. I heard the voices more clearly that time. Voldemort was angry because of some delay in the brewing of a memory potion. He wants to use it on Peter Pettigrew for some reason. I tried to hold on to the connection, but I lost it before he said why. I hope this information is of some use to you. Sorry it isn't more.

I have enclosed a letter for Professor Lupin and Snuffles. If it isn't too much trouble, could you make sure they get it? Thanks in advance.

Yours Sincerely,

Harry Potter

Albus re-read the next to last paragraph twice, utterly convinced the phenomenon was genuine. For the first time in days, his eyes twinkled merrily, and a smile graced his features as he considered this new information source. There was no way Harry could have known about Severus' memory potion, or how he had "unfortunately" run out of a key ingredient that had to be special ordered. Dumbledore frowned a bit when he remembered something. Harry hadn't mentioned his scar hurting, but the boy tended to be stubbornly closed-mouthed about such things. Perhaps he should ask.

Laying Harry's letter aside for the moment, Albus picked up the envelope addressed to Lupin and Black. He felt odd, opening their letter, but the charmed parchment was the most efficient way of sending correspondence. Besides, it would be a nice treat for the two Marauders. They had been looking unusually grim lately.

Fetching his wand, Dumbledore cast Flitwick's charm on the letter, and laid it on top of Sirius and Remus' stack of parchment. When he activated the charms on the paper, he watched as Harry's message was soaked into the parchment, and disappeared.

That done, the old wizard began to plan. With Harry all the way down in Surrey, owling would never do. It was too slow, too risky, and Hedwig was too recognizable. He would send Harry an agent's field pack. He wanted any information on Voldemort as soon as it was available. The first order of business was to reassure Harry, so that the boy wouldn't be afraid to report what he heard...or saw for that matter. Dumbledore frowned. Harry hadn't mentioned having any visions, but Voldemort had been fairly quiet since his resurrection. Perhaps he simply hadn't had any. Yet. Picking up his favorite quill, Albus reached for a clean sheet of parchment, and began to write.

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Ping! The attention signal went off on Remus and Sirius' charmed parchment. They were currently staking out a promising site for possible Death Eater activity. Remus had just started his shift, and Sirius was stretched out on the bed, already asleep.

Remus idly lowered his binoculars, and looked at the parchment, to determine if it was something worth waking Sirius over. His jaw nearly hit the floor, when he read Dumbledore's quick note of explanation:

Remus and Sirius,

Mr. Potter has contacted me with a request to forward this letter to you. Do not worry, nothing seems to be amiss.

Albus Dumbledore

Remus glanced over the letter, torn. On one hand, Harry's letter was rather innocuous. On the other hand, it was a letter from Harry, and Sirius would want to know immediately. Signing, he shook Sirius' shoulder. "Padfoot?"

"Mmm...?"

"Paddy, wake up!" Remus said, shaking harder. Some things never changed.

"G'way, Moony..."

"Okay, have it your way. You can read Harry's letter later."

"...'kay." Sirius rolled over.

Remus Lupin examined his fingernails, and counted backwards from ten. When he got to five, Sirius' ice-blue eyes popped open. "What?" he asked blearily. "Harry?"

"Harry. You remember, don't you? Nice kid, about so high," Remus held his hand up. "Black hair? Green eyes? Glasses?"

Sirius scowled irritably. "I know what he looks like, Moony. What about him?"

Remus held the parchment between his thumb and forefinger, and dangled it in front of Sirius' face. "He sent us a letter. Or more precisely he sent it to Dumbledore, and he sent it to us."

Sirius sat up immediately, and snatched the letter out of his friend's hand. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

"I did say so in the first place."

Sirius waved a dismissive hand at Remus, and returned his attention to Harry's letter.

6 July 1995

Dear Professor Lupin and Snuffles,

I don't know when this letter is going to get to you, but I thought I'd write anyway. Things are okay here. I've been working on my assignments, and have a summer job, so I'm keeping busy.

I hope things are going well for you...where ever you are, and what ever you're doing. I haven't heard from anyone yet, but it's only been five days since end of term.

This isn't much of a letter, but it's been very quiet so far, and I've told you all my news. Be careful, and I hope to see you, or hear from you soon.

Harry

Sirius smiled fondly as he read over Harry's letter. He glanced up at his friend. "Do you think he's okay Moony?"

Lupin shrugged. "Seems to be. It's kind of hard to tell with Harry though."

Sirius grimaced. "Tell me about it. Did I tell you what happened last summer, when his scar hurt?"

"I don't believe so, no."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "He sent me a letter. Said his scar hurt. I, of course, wrote back straightaway, and told him I was returning to Britain."

Remus nodded encouragingly.

"So as soon as he gets my letter, he writes back just as fast as he can, and tells me he must have imagined his scar hurting." Sirius shook his head in exasperation. "I ask you. He wouldn't have written the letter in the first place if it hadn't been bothering him." He sighed then, and looked as serious as Remus had ever seen him. "He's just so...so small !" Padfoot blurted. "He looks like a stiff wind would blow him away."

Remus smirked, suddenly. "Better not let Harry hear you carrying on like that. Did I ever tell you what happened at the beginning of his third year?"

Sirius considered the question, briefly. "You told me about meeting him on the Hogwarts Express, and his reaction to the Dementors, then you skipped ahead a bit, and told me about how he did in class, and how he learned to conjure a Patronus."

"Oh. Well I left one bit out, then," Remus said, his amber eyes dancing with mischief. "I sent an owl ahead, explaining about Harry's reaction to the Dementors." He shrugged slightly. "It was a little unnerving seeing him go down like that. Anyway, when we got to the school, Professor McGonagall called Harry, and his friend Hermione Granger to her office. I found out what happened later."

"Well?" Sirius prompted.

"Minerva had summoned Madam Pomphrey to her office, and she immediately started fussing over Harry. Even threatened to make him spend the night in the hospital wing."

Sirius' eyes widened in comprehending horror. "In front of Hermione?"

"Oh, quite. Then Madam Pomphrey did something even more unforgivable."

Sirius' eyes were round now. "What?"

Remus' lips were twitching now. "She said dementors are terrible things, and started carrying on about the effect they have on people who are already delicate."

Sirius winced in sympathetic embarrassment. "Ouch. Poor kid."

"Indeed." Remus chuckled a bit. "I heard that Harry got right indignant about the whole thing. Told Poppy he wasn't delicate." He sobered, and looked Padfoot in the eye. "He was right, you know. He's about as tough as they come. I learned that when I taught him to conjure his Patronus."

Sirius nodded absently, looking at the letter again with a sad half-smile on his face. "You're right, of course, Moony. I just don't remember Prongs ever being that small."

Remus rolled his eyes. "That's because he wasn't, you daft git. Harry obviously inherited Lily's bone structure." He paused a moment, then added pointedly, "He did have two parents, you know."

Sirius grinned sheepishly in reply. Remus was right, as usual. He was going to make some comment, but he was interrupted by a huge yawn.

"Go back to sleep, Padfoot. Sorry to wake you."

"No," Sirius replied, his voice already thick with sleep, "you did the right thing. I really should reply to that letter, though."

"It'll keep, Paddy. I'll start the letter, and you can add your part when you get up."

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