The Letters of Summer
More Letters
By kokopelli
Chapter 16 — More letters
Harry was exhausted when he came home to Privet Drive. This was not surprising. He’d spent the morning sparring and the afternoon learning how to Apparate, which had drained copious amounts of magical energy from his body.
The morning of the next day started with a cold, drizzling rain. If it hadn’t been for his alarm, he would have slept through breakfast, which would have started a delicious row. Vernon Dursley had let his wife know that while he was delighted with Harry’s tutoring schedule (it kept the boy away and out of sight three days a week), he was uneasy in the prospect that in some way, Harry might be enjoying his summer. Harry had overheard this conversation when he’d been visiting the loo in the middle of the night. Uncle Vernon was looking for a fight. Harry was resolved that he was not going to provide provocation for an incident this summer, large or small, so notwithstanding his enormous desire to silence the alarm and roll back over, he dutifully marched down the stairs to put breakfast in order.
Breakfast did not present any opportunity for a row, so Uncle Vernon left the house disgruntled. No good deed goes unpunished; Aunt Petunia rewarded his diligence with a lengthy list of chores next to his place at the breakfast table: laundry, cleaning the bathrooms, and mopping the kitchen floor and entryway.
"Well, no time like the present to work on the Scourgify charm," Harry said to himself as he bounded up the stairs to tackle that bathroom first. That charm was a bit tricky without a wand, but it paid off handsomely. Aunt Petunia seemed a little surprised when he was done with everything in under an hour; these chores normally took most of the morning to do correctly. She came by to inspect each area he’d scrubbed and looked for something to criticize, but found nothing. Harry reckoned if the Wizarding thing didn’t work out, he could always fall back on domestic service, although he really didn’t fancy wearing a tea towel.
A look out the window confirmed what his ears were already telling him — it was still raining. He silently cursed the rain as he pushed the door to his room open. At least there’s mail in the Passbox. He pulled open the Weasley door first, figuring that the Hogwarts door could wait. He smiled when he recognized Ginny’s neat hand, but then began to frown as he read the letter, uttering several choice curses under his breath when he’d finished.
Dear Harry,
We still need to talk — about us, I mean. I learned a few things yesterday, including the fact that I’m still a Parselmouth. Although the dragon dialect is a little different from what little Parseltongue I remember from my terrible first year, I understood almost every word of what you said to my Pyr’g. Speaking of Pyr’gs, it’s lovely — Charlie will flip when he sees it!
I slept last night, which for most people isn’t news, but for me was very good news. I knew that I was going to come totally unwrapped if I had to stay awake another night. I did have an odd dream this morning, odd, but nice. It was about dragons — I was a white dragon flying with a dark blue dragon.
Well, the good news from the Burrow is that Ron and I aren’t grounded any more. His scalp is still smooth as an egg, but hey, being able to go places and do things is a big improvement, even if you’re wearing a cap everyplace you go.
Thanks, Harry. I owe you, again. I think I’m beginning to see a pattern here. I don’t mind, just so long as you keep showing up when I need saving.
Mum says that Lupin and Dumbledore are dropping by for dinner and I’m supposed to be "presentable." Somehow I doubt that this is about adding the Scalping Hex to the D.A. syllabus. Little by little I’m getting a tiny taste of your life: discovering that people are having lengthy discussions about me without letting me know; presenting me with decisions that I’ve had no say in.
It stinks.
Well, ungrounded or no, I’ve got chores to do. More later.
Love from,
Ginny
Harry strained his recollection, trying to recall just what happened when he woke the Pyr’g.
~+~
It was mid-afternoon, but the coals in the barbecue grill were still smouldering. Mm’lau had suggested that once the Pyr’g woke up Ginny should command it to guard her, but that was rubbish, as she couldn’t speak Parseltongue. Harry would have to do that. He placed the Pyr’g gently onto the grate of the barbecue grill, taking care to not singe his fingers as he did so. The carved surface shimmered in the heat and expanded slightly, until the dragon opened its jaws, released its tail and stretched out, catlike, on the grate, pausing to shrug his wings as he stretched, first one, then the other. The miniature dragon screwed up his face and then opened his eyes.
"So, who are you?" he asked impudently, speaking in the cultured accent of Parseltongue Harry associated with the Snow Dragons.
"I’m Harry, Harry Potter," he replied.
The dragon blinked. "Never heard of you. You’re obviously not mine."
Harry nodded his head in Ginny’s direction. She was sitting at the patio table, the round one with the umbrella stuck through the middle of it. "You’re hers, you’re going to be guarding her."
"Surely you jest," the miniature dragon replied, burping out a tiny, marshmallow-sized ball of flame. "I am a Pyr’g, I serve the People. I do not guard mammals."
Harry had half a mind to slap the tiny dragon, but the calmer portion of his mind pointed out that the dragon in question was hot enough to melt cheese and was presently sitting atop live coals. He swallowed his irritation, silently counting to ten while he tried to think back to his discussions with Primus on the Plains of Meeting. "I am the Servant of the Light. You are of the Light. You are obliged to render aid to me."
The dragon stretched his wings again, folding them against his body as he twisted into a sitting position atop the grate. He closed his eyes briefly. Harry felt a familiar brush against his mind; it felt like Primus, only more faint and delicate. The small white dragon opened his eyes, which appeared as red jewels in the afternoon sun, measuring Harry’s appearance. "You speak the truth. What may I do to assist you?"
Harry motioned to Ginny with his left hand. "You are supposed to guard her."
The Pyr’g snorted toothpick sized flames from its delicate nostrils. "What is this pale spotted mammal to you, Servant of the Light?"
Harry paused, trying to put the words in some meaningful sequence. "Mm’lau, krulach of Primus, says that this girl is my krulach."
"And what do you say?"
"I say that I require assistance of the People and that she be guarded by the Pyr’g provided for the purpose."
"Very well, summon her. Ask her to extend her arm over these coals."
Harry turned to Ginny, making a conscious effort to speak to her in English rather than Parseltongue. "Ginny, come here please. Stick your hand over the grill. If you keep it about a foot over the grate it shouldn’t be too hot."
Ginny walked over to the grill, eyes riveted on the crouching white dragon. As if in a dream, she extended her left arm, palm up.
The dragon stretched, stood on its tiny feet and unfurled his wings. With a brief flap, he jumped up to Ginny’s extended wrist, alighting none too gently. Ginny’s sudden grimace indicated that the dragon’s feet seemed to have very sharp claws. Harry started, wondering if the Pyr’g would be hot enough to burn flesh.
"All right now, Ginny?" he asked.
"Nothing worse than Pig as far as the claws go. I expected him to be quite hot, but his feet are like little shards of ice," she said, flashing Harry a brief smile.
In a blink the dragon twisted around Ginny’s wrist twice, resizing himself slightly, placing his tail gently between his jaws. Closing his eyes, he went dormant again, changing in an instant from a living, miniature dragon to a carved ivory bracelet.
Ginny looked to Harry with glistening eyes. "He’s gorgeous, Harry. Is that all there is to it?"
"For now. He’ll stay put until we work out a more permanent solution," Harry replied.
~+~
Harry collapsed back onto the bed, covering his eyes with the arm that wasn’t holding the letter. He was silent for a while, and then he laughed silently for a bit. Calming himself, he shook his head, eyes still covered. Oh, by the way, Ginny, I think I fancy you and I’d like to get to know you better. You know those dragons that we both have, yours on your wrist and mine in my head? They think that you’re supposed to bear my children. Be a good girl now and shuck your top off so I can nip you on your back, yeah, right there between your shoulder blades. You can resist if you want, it’s a traditional part of the game.
Harry turned over on the bed, looked at the letter again and groaned.
"I’m toast," he said with a dispirited sigh.
~+~
Dear Harry,
Thanks for the tip on the memory charm. Once we got that reversed, I was able to undo Granger’s hex. That was some hex! I no longer have "SNEAK" written on my face seven days a week. I’d wanted to apologize to Luna, her being a Ravenclaw and all, but she was still in Sweden when I got out of St. Mungo’s with my memory restored. I ended up running into the Patil girls when I was coming out of St. Mungo’s, so I jumped in with both feet. The hex boils leave as fast as they come. Before I got my whole spiel out of my mouth about how I was a treacherous worm, my face was back to normal. If I’m not mistaken, I think my skin is a little bit nicer now, but as odd as it may sound, I’m having trouble remembering what my face used to look like before the hex. Since then, I’ve been on a bit of an apology tear. I’ve repeated my spiel with as many D.A. members as I can find. For some reason, I can’t find Granger or any of the Weasleys. I suspect it’s because they are under some sort of security, but I’m not holding my breath waiting for anyone to tell me. If you know how to get in touch with Granger, let her know that I want to talk to her.
I don’t expect to be welcome back to the D.A., but if you meet again this year, I’d like to talk to the whole group if I could. I was shocked, really, when Parvati looked me in the eye and said, "I forgive you." That was a wonderful, life-changing moment. Slightly less wonderful was the moment that followed when Padma told me that she too forgave me, but then went on in excruciating detail as to what she would do to me if I did it again. That was typical Ravenclaw. Gryffindors can be tough when they need to be, but Ravenclaws are brutal just to keep in practice — it’s the house sport. It’s a tough house, but I wouldn’t be in any other.
Thanks for writing back to me, Harry, it meant a lot to me.
Have a nice summer.
Marietta Edgecombe
Dear Ron,
I hate travelling by Floo; more than Portkeys, more than Thestrals, but still, I do envy you for having a Floo connection on your fireplace. I’m not complaining, really, I’m not. Having the Passbox has meant a lot to me this summer. All the same, as much as I like receiving and writing letters, I’d love to be able to pick up the telephone like the Muggles do, or just stick my head in the fireplace like the Wizards do and just chat with my mates whenever I’d like.
I learned to Apparate yesterday — that’s the good news. I’ll have a foreign license by the end of the summer, which will be good in the U.K., but for strategic purposes, I’ll be keeping this new skill under wraps. Bummer, so close and yet so far. It’s really different, but it sure beats Floo! There’s so much cool stuff that I’ve been learning this summer. I can’t wait until I can talk to you face-to-face.
McGonagall says that my Quidditch ban has been lifted, so you’ll have to put up with me again on the team this year. Hopefully I can avoid another post-match spat with my good friend Mr. Malfoy and not repeat my Quidditch ban this year. I’ve been thinking about the line-up - you should too. There’s not much of the old Wood team left. What’s here? Just you, me, Katie, Ginny, and maybe Kirke and Sloper. We either need to get some better Beaters, or drastically improve the ones we have. The playbook is pretty tired too, Angelina having essentially used Wood’s old book without any revision. Even though we did win the Cup with that old book, I don’t think the other teams are going to sit still and let us beat them with old plays.
Ginny says you are no longer grounded. Hurray! Everywhere I go this summer, I’ve got a security detail. I half expect to find them in the loo with me. With Moody, you never know. (Now there’s a scary thought!)
Save some Butterbeer for me — Coke just isn’t the same thing. More later. I gotta get back onto my bicycle, but the bloody rain is keeping me trapped in this frigging house.
Your friend,
HP
~+~
Hermione was finishing the breakfast dishes when the morning post came through the door slot. There was the usual assortment of bills, journals, advertisements, and one pale yellow envelope with five first class stamps crammed into the upper right corner. It was addressed to Miss Hermione Granger, in a familiar handwriting. Her hand shook gently as she slit the envelope open. She sat down at the breakfast table to read it, sipping the last of her tea. Moments later she sprayed a mouthful of tea on the table, erupting in a chorus of coughs and laughs. Thumping herself on the chest, she coughed one last time, composed herself and finished the letter.
Dear Hermione,
Lavender here, checking in on my roomie. I hope you’ve done something this summer other than just read, although, truth be told, I’ve done some reading this summer too. Mum wanted me to teach her how to do a Patronus charm. She was big time impressed when I could show her how to do it, even if mine is just a silvery cloud.
I had the Patils and Susan Bones over for lunch last Saturday. We talked about the usual: boys, shopping, clothes, and music, then classes (last year’s and next year’s) — that took all of twenty minutes. Then we spent the rest of the afternoon talking about Harry. Susan’s aunt is well connected at the Ministry, and she gave us the inside scoop on what happened when all of you were at the Ministry when V-mort invaded. Why didn’t you tell me, girl? I’m your roomie, people expect me to know things! But I digress.
We were talking about Harry. It doesn’t take a Ravenclaw to figure out that Harry has a big role coming in the next war. Padma thinks he’s the one who can defeat V-mort. Parvati and I swear that it’s Dumbledore, but I’ll also bet my makeup allowance that either way, Harry’s got a big part to play in the final act. We’re certain that Dumbledore is training him for that part, but we’re worried about how Harry’s going to hold up for the next two years. Last year was the pits for everyone around him, and it must have been entirely miserable for Harry. We discussed at great length the FACT that Harry needs — ta da — a girlfriend, if for no other reason than the fact that he can’t think about V-mort 24/7 without cracking up. Padma says that a good snog should cheer him up when he gets so grumpy, but then she doesn’t have to run into him in the dorm- she thinks it’s bad, but we know how bad it really is. He can be sooo miserable! It might take more than a good snog.
Having reached this conclusion, we then all agreed that you needed to be brought into this project. Why? Because a) you know Harry better than any of us (no, I do not now, nor did I ever believe the Rita Skeeter articles — they’re rubbish, right?) and b) because we need your logical, methodical mind. We need to winnow the field of candidates. We agreed first and foremost that it has to be a girl that Harry finds attractive, but we don’t know what does it for him. Ok, he did like Cho Chang, so we know that drop-dead pretty, smart and athletic work, but on the other hand, we also know that relationship went down in flames, so maybe that’s not the right combination for winning Harry’s heart. It’s flipping obvious that membership in the D.A. (or being eligible for the D.A. if it meets next year) is a must too — Death Eaters or wannabes need not apply. Finally, we figure it’s pretty much limited to girls in the class of 1998 and 1999 — which leaves this year’s crop of seventh year girls out (sorry, Cho, you had your chance.). Before we filled out the list of girls that met these criteria, we decided that your help was necessary to make sure we weren’t missing something. So, let me know what you think — it’s an important project, and it’s the least that we can do for our side in the war.
Changing the subject, how’s your favourite Weasley? No, I don’t mean Ginny. Susan says he’s a nice dancer, although he let her know that those dances were a "just friends" type of encounter, and that he’d really prefer dancing with a certain Gryffindor prefect.
Well, ta-ta for now. I hope to see you before the end of the summer. I am looking forward to your response to our deep thinking on this get-Harry-a-girl project.
Kisses,
Lavender Brown
"Mum? Can I call Ginny on the Floo?"
"Certainly, dear," Monica replied absently from her study.
"Wait’ll she reads this," Hermione said with a smirk on her face. "What would we do without our good friends, the Glamour Girls of Gryffindor?"
~+~
The rain continued unabated. Harry paced the floor in his room looking out the window when he came near to it. No change. He slipped down the stairs. Aunt Petunia was reading some thick woman’s magazine. "Aunt Petunia, I need to call one of my minders."
"Fine, Harry, just keep it brief," she replied, not taking her eyes from the magazine for an instant.
He dialled the number.
"Hello, Harry," Moey answered, her voice a flat monotone. "Wait a minute, surely you’re not thinking of going out in this weather," she said, her voice picking up emotion the longer she talked.
Harry chuckled. "Even I am not crazy enough to go riding in this weather. I do need a favour though."
"Go ahead."
"Who’s doing security for my party?" He asked, hoping that he wasn’t trespassing in asking the question.
"What party?"
Harry snorted. "Ha-ha, very funny. My birthday party, woman."
"Mind your manners, squirt. Last I checked, that was Tonks’ job."
"Do you know if there’s a list of guests who are expected to be there?"
"I’m sure that there is."
"Can I get a copy of that list?" he asked, trying to keep the pique out of his voice.
"Why, worried that your old girlfriend is going to show up and start fighting with your new girlfriend?"
"Yeah, I should have such problems," Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. Why does everyone think it’s open season on making jokes about my love life? "I’m thinking of having gifts for my guests, and I want to be prepared," he explained in an even tone.
"Sounds nice, can I come?"
"That’s up to Shacklebolt."
"Fine — can you set me up with a date with Ron’s brother Bill?"
"Is that what you want for your present?"
"Yeah," she replied with the faintest hint of a giggle.
"Sorry, Moey, no can do — Bill already has a steady girlfriend from what I hear. How about the next Weasley in line: Charlie? Same wicked sense of humour, nice collection of burns on his arms from working with dragons in Romania?"
"Now you’re talking, Harry. What else can I do for you?"
"I need to nip into Diagon Alley this afternoon. Can you give me a lift?"
"I think not, but I can see if Tonks is available — she might be able to borrow her boyfriend’s car."
Harry didn’t say anything in response to the word boyfriend, but he smiled broadly. "That would be great."
"Fifteen minutes, usual place." The line went dead. Moey was never much for niceties on the phone.
Gathering up a rain slicker, Harry called out to his Aunt. "I’m going out for a walk — I’ll be back before dinner."
Aunt Petunia never answered. Harry adjusted his cap and walked out the door.
~+~
"Ginny, get down here. I want to see what you look like before our guests arrive!" Molly called up the stairwell.
"Geez Louise, mum! I’m not an infant, can’t you trust me to wash my face and comb my hair out by myself?" Ginny barked from the loo.
"It’s not you I’m worried about, Little One, it’s your brothers Fred and George . . ."
"Oh, good point."
~+~
Dumbledore wiped his mouth with his napkin, crossing his knife and fork on his plate. "Excellent dinner, Molly. It’s a pity that Arthur couldn’t join us for such an excellent meal."
Molly looked at the family clock, clearly visible from the dining table. Arthur’s hand read "At Work — Still!" She sighed. "Thank you, Albus. He’s been working such wretched hours. I thought I’d live a quiet life when my husband chose such a mundane office in the Ministry, but it appears that I was wrong," she said with a crooked smile.
"I’m afraid it can’t be helped, Molly," Lupin said, speaking for the first time since the meal began. "The Aurors are working terrible hours with all the raids and counterstrikes — Arthur’s office has been providing technical assistance."
Ginny smiled, thinking to herself, "and just how do you know so much about the hours the Aurors are pulling these days, eh, Uncle Moony?"
Molly stood, standing behind her chair, shooting a glance at Ron and then Ginny. They rose and wordlessly cleared the table while Molly put a kettle on for after-dinner tea. Within moments the table was cleared, a simple tea service was set, and the dinner dishes began doing themselves in the sudsy water-filled sink. This was Ron’s cue to leave. The twins had volunteered to drop by after dinner to test out the new wards in the family Quidditch pitch, letting Ron work on his Keeper skills now that he was no longer grounded. Ginny suspected that this altruism on the part of the twins might have something to do with getting Ron out of the house while the oldest and youngest Weasley women had a nice after dinner chat with the head of the Order of the Phoenix and the Order’s security chief, but as Hermione was fond of saying, "knowing that it’s so and being able to prove it are two different things."
Molly stuck her head into the pantry and pulled out two small glass vials that she put down next to Lupin’s mug. Lupin looked at the vials, then at Molly, raising an eyebrow.
"You know very well what they are for, Remus John. You need all the help you can get with the waxing moon," Molly said tartly.
Lupin poured half a mug of tea and then carefully decanted two drops from the red vial and one drop from the yellow vial into his tea, closing his eyes and sniffing with satisfaction the flavoured steam that billowed up from his mug. He cradled the mug in his hands for a moment before swallowing the mug in one long draw. The tea seemed scalding hot, but if it was, Lupin didn’t let on. The yellow tint that had shaded his complexion faded and a bit of colour returned to his cheeks. He refilled his mug with tea, filling the mug this time, adding two lumps of sugar. Ginny wondered if he had taken ill suddenly, as he’d looked much better on Sunday when she’d seen him at Granger’s house, but then, he’d been with Harry for the weekend. She suspected that being with Harry had a restoring effect on him; it certainly had one on her.
"Thank you, Molly," Lupin began with a surprisingly raspy voice, "you are too kind to me."
"Nonsense, you’re almost family, Remus. Now, what is this all about that it couldn’t wait until Arthur came home?"
Lupin swallowed, looked at Dumbledore, then at Ginny, then at Molly. He reached into his robes for his wand, casting a series of charms on the room. Ginny felt her ears pop with the change in air pressure. That must be some Imperturbable charm, she thought, impressed. He pulled a long draw from his mug and then solemnly intoned, "Molly, we’ve got a security problem."
"Fine," Molly bristled, "but what’s that got to do with Ginny?"
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I’m afraid, Molly, that Ginny is the security problem."
Ginny felt her eyes begin to prickle. I will not cry in front of all these people, I will not. She knew what was coming. Without needing to be prompted, she pulled her right hand from under the table where it had been resting on her lap and placed it in front of her mother, palm up. Lupin traced the tip of his wand over her palm in a complex pattern. Her hand grew warm and inexplicably began to itch. The itching subsided and then she noticed a pale green glow across her palm and the inside of her fingers: almost all of it was aglow except for the ugly gash mark that was normally invisible.
"And what is this supposed to signify, Remus?" Molly asked sceptically.
"That’s a dark mark, Molly," Lupin said quietly.
"My daughter," Molly said, gripping the table with a white knuckled hand, "IS NO DEATH EATER!"
"No one said she was, Molly," Dumbledore answered quietly. "There are a variety of marks left by evil, all of which are properly called dark marks. The scar on Harry’s forehead is a prime example. This mark has nothing at all to do with Death Eaters, except for the fact that like Harry, she got this mark from Tom Riddle."
Molly said nothing, bringing her fist to her mouth.
Lupin touched Ginny’s palm lightly with his wand, ending the Revealing Charm. "Voldemort has been looking for Ginny. He’s been sending Dream Hounds out to find her. That’s why she hasn’t been sleeping well of late. The dark mark reveals a weakness in her natural defences. Molly, she’s particularly vulnerable to being possessed again by Voldemort. Much more vulnerable than Harry is, even in his weakest moments."
"But she slept fine last night, I let her sleep through breakfast," Molly protested.
"That’s because of this, Mum," Ginny said, holding up her other hand, jangling her ivory bracelet.
"What’s that, young lady, and where did you get it?" Molly inquired, a bit of steel creeping into her voice.
"It’s a Pyr’g, Harry got it for me, and I got it Sunday when I went to the Grangers' in the afternoon," Ginny explained, wishing all the while that the earth would open up and swallow her. Molly stared at her as if she’d just announced that she was living in sin with unwashed minstrels.
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Molly, a bit of background is in order. I engaged a tutor for Harry this summer to assist him with Occlumency. I engaged Abelard," he said, looking at the bottom of his coffee cup with great interest.
Molly was silent for a long time. "Abelard’s dead. He died in the first war," she said at last, eyes unfocused, voice flat.
Lupin placed his hand lightly on Molly’s arm. "Actually, Molly, that’s what he wanted people to think. I’ve been in contact with him, off and on, mostly off, since the end of the first war. He is alive and well."
Dumbledore continued, looking between Lupin and Molly. "Ginny’s bracelet is a bit of solid magic from the Snow Dragons. Harry went to visit them this summer on a field trip with Abelard. They gave this to him, saying that he would have need of it in the near future. It’s keeping the Dream Hounds away from Ginny right now."
Molly abruptly stood up and walked to the pantry, bringing out a dusty bottle of brandy. She plunked the bottle onto the table and summoned three small glasses from the kitchen, one at a time.
"Start at the beginning, Albus. Leave nothing out," she said as her shaking hands pulled the stopper from the brandy.
Dumbledore waited until his glass was full, and then took the smallest of sips. Clearing his throat again, he said, "There are three people who know the details of this story in full. What is spoken at this table tonight shall not be repeated, is that understood?"
Everyone at the table nodded.
Dumbledore began his explanation, talking as he drank his way through a stout glass of brandy and two mugs of tea.
~+~
Dear Diary,
Lupin and Dumbledore came to dinner tonight. I didn’t cry at dinner, and I didn’t start speaking in tongues or show signs of possession, but I did have to explain to Mum that her only daughter has a dark mark left over from first year, and oh, by the way, Voldemort’s trying to possess me again, and yeah, I’m wearing a bit of solid magic that Harry got for me from these intelligent dragons that are keeping the Dream Hounds away for the moment. I think that having the earth open up and swallow me would have been less painful, but I’m not quite sure.
Mum knew that I hadn’t been sleeping, but she didn’t know why. Now that she knows why, she’s keeping an eye on me like I’m going to have fits or something. Why can’t I just be normal?
Lupin looked much worse for wear tonight than he did on Sunday. I talked to Mum about it — it’s the Wolfsbane. It keeps him from the rages when he transforms, but the stuff is toxic as hell. Apparently he’s on a rotation schedule where he does Wolfsbane for three months and then takes a month off. The time off is enough to allow his body to recuperate from the effects of the Potion. Mum spotted the jaundiced look in his face when he showed up for dinner; his liver functions are pretty low. She brought out some Sunseed Oil and Essence of Tarcick — two drops of one and a drop of the other. Alone they don’t do much, but together they brought a good measure of relief to Professor Lupin. It was amazing, really. He’s such a good man, and he loves Harry so much. I’m so proud that Mum knew what to do to bring him some comfort. Third-hand through Hermione I’m told that he’s getting some comfort of the physical sort from my favourite Auror. I’m glad for that, too. It’s hard to figure out who’s lost more in the wars, Harry or Remus. They seem to be good for each other though, so I’m glad he’s Harry’s guardian.
Watching Mum treat Remus crystallized something in me. I want to do what she did tonight — maybe after Hogwarts, maybe after the war is over, maybe sooner, maybe later, but I want to be able to comfort the suffering and bring healing. I think I’ve got the grades — whether or not I could stand those putrid lime green robes at St. Mungo’s is another question entirely. Given my colouring, I’d look like a garish lollypop, but that’s not something that I need to deal with tonight, and it’s such a petty issue, one truly worthy of Lavender Brown.
Speaking of Lavender — Hermione sent me the most wretched letter! The Glamour Girls of Gryffindor have determined that Harry needs a girlfriend. HAH! Where were they when Harry was coming unwrapped after Sirius died in the ambush at the Ministry of Magic? Okay, I admit it, my chain has been officially yanked, and hard.
Hermione, bless her soul, points out that according to the selection criteria, I’m actually a good contender. Here’s my take:
· I’m short (Harry’s way shorter than Ron, thank goodness - I can’t see Harry going out with a girl who towers over him.)
· I’m athletic (hey, I beat Cho to the Snitch, didn’t I?)
· I’m smart (ok, I’m not on academic probation, but I’m doing better in Potions than Harry is!)
· Harry thinks I’m attractive (God knows why, but I’m not questioning that point, really I’m not.)
· I’m in the right year group,
· I’m in the D.A., and
· I can cast a corporeal Patronus.
By Lavender’s list, I should be a finalist for sure. HAH!
Well, dear diary, I need to get to bed. Mum says that we’re going out tomorrow morning and I need to be "presentable." What’s with this? You’d think that I was going to a dog show as her prize Crup, they way she worries about whether or not I’m "presentable."
I wonder if I’m going to dream about the dragons again tonight. I’d really like to know what happens between Au’lh and Mm’lng.
For a dragon, he’s really quite attractive. Those eyes are something else. Like someone else I know.
Well, diary, that’s all for tonight.
GMW
~+~
Number Four Privet Drive was quiet and dark. The only light visible from the outside came from the small bedroom on the second floor, the one facing away from the street, through the window that was visited from time to time by Postal Owls and once by a flying Ford Anglia. Inside the room, Harry put the finishing touches on letters that he sealed and stuffed into the Hogwarts door of the Passbox. The door clicked shut and let out a muffled slurp. He stood, stretched, wiped his glasses, and stripped down to his shorts, thankful that the day was over. He extinguished the light, turned back the covers and stretched out, his hands behind his head. Before he could finish his relaxation exercises, he was asleep.
Dear Professor McGonagall,
Miss Tonks suggested that I enlist your assistance in one of my summer projects. Enclosed you will find a list of books that I’m interested in finding. I looked at Flourish and Blots, but they weren't in stock. Normally a student would ask the Potions professor for these titles, but for obvious reasons, I’m not going to bother your colleague with this request. If you can find these titles before my birthday, I’d be much obliged. They can be charged to my Gringotts account. You’ll find the account number listed after the titles.
Thanks in advance for your help.
HP
P.S. — I don’t have an address for Miss Chang — can you forward this note to her? Thanks.
Dear Cho,
I was glad to get your note, and felt horrible when I got your second note, realizing that I hadn’t replied to the first. I have no excuse — I’m a lousy correspondent. Yes, I’d love to chat on the Express, and if that doesn’t work out, as soon as possible thereafter.
I’ve not worked out all the details, but Professor Dumbledore has asked if I’d keep the D.A. going next year. I don’t know that we’ll need it. Hopefully we’ll have a non-wretched DADA instructor. Hope springs eternal, I guess.
I’m glad to hear that things are working out with Michael. He’s a decent enough fellow. He certainly has good taste in women!
A friend pried into what happened with our torrid romance last year, expecting no doubt to hear some sordid story of how we had a falling out. I replied that things just didn’t work out and we stopped seeing each other. They seemed surprised, but that’s my story and I’m sticking with it. Rest assured that there’s nothing that I say about you to others that I wouldn’t say to your face. I still like you, respect you and hope that we can remain friends, even after you leave Hogwarts. I don’t have so many friends that I can afford to toss any good ones away.
Years from now when we’re both old and you’re famous, you can say that you dated that famous nutter, Harry Potter, and I can say that I kissed the prettiest girl in Ravenclaw.
Have a great rest of the summer,
HP
+++++++++++++
Copyright © 2004 - J. Cornell — all rights reserved.
See the Prologue for disclaimer language.
I’d write a pithy author’s note here, but KC thinks that I talk too much, so I’ll let him tell you what Dumbledore explained to Molly and Ginny after dinner at the Burrow. Many thanks to Full Pensieve for his pre-Beta edits and pithy comments; you make this a much more pleasant experience, Mike.
Kokopelli20878@yahoo.com - write me, I write back (most of the time.)