The Letters of Summer
Motoring with Moony
By kokopelli
Chapter 14 — Motoring With Moony
Sunlight streamed into the bedroom, spilling over the edge of the bed, seeping along the floor to the door. The door was sufficiently ajar for Crookshanks to come and go as he pleased. He pushed the door open, jumped onto the table holding the Passbox, rubbing against the door with the lit knob, then crouched into his Sphinx position, apparently contemplating his options. After a moment he rose, arched, stretched, and jumped onto his mistress' bed. She was usually a back or side sleeper, but this morning she was lying prone with a sheet wrapped around her head.
The tabby looked coolly at the mound of sheets and blankets, carefully walking up the length of his companion until he was squarely on her back. "May-ow!" he said at a moderate volume. She didn't stir. Flexing his claws slightly, he began to dig, pawing the sheets until he'd pulled the offending sheet down from her head, exposing an ear. "May-OW!" he said, using a slightly louder tone. Still no response.
If cats could shrug, he would have. He licked her ear, using the raspiest part of his tongue; Hermione began to stir. She would have batted him away except for the fact that she was pinned beneath him and her hands were under her shoulders.
~+~
"Crookshanks, so help me, if you bite me I'm going to make you regret it."
Crookshanks mirred loudly, jumping to the Passbox table. His mistress rolled over, pulling the tangled sheets away. "I was having a lovely dream, cat. Surely you're not hungry?"
"May-yowl!" he replied.
That was when she saw the lit knob on the Passbox. "Clever cat," she cooed, skritching him under the chin as she pulled the box open. It was a letter from Ginny. Only good news came from the Burrow, so she was in no hurry to open the envelope.
She padded down the stairs to the kitchen. It was dark and empty — I must be the first one up this morning. She quietly walked back up the stairs far enough to peek at Mum and Dad's door. It was closed. Mum and Dad's door was always open in the mornings, except for the times that it was closed. On those mornings, breakfast was often late and Mum would show up wearing her nightgown inside out or misbuttoned. Hermione smiled. The calendar showed that neither parent was due in surgery this morning, so she decided to brew some coffee. When her parents finally made their way downstairs, hopefully in a cheerful mood, it would be ready.
When Mum and Dad ate breakfast together, the coffee was half regular, half decaffeinated. She tossed the old grounds into the rubbish bin and rinsed the permanent filter in the sink. Loading the filter with level scoops and a generous splash of cinnamon, she filled the reservoir with water and switched the machine on. Although she didn't particularly like coffee, it was a key ingredient in how the kitchen was supposed to smell on the weekend. Whatever flaws she might have as a teenaged, Muggle-born witch, she was observant and quite willing to accommodate the preferences of those she loved.
Having discharged that duty, she went looking for the paper, which had fallen through the slot in the front door onto the interior doormat. She looked briefly at the mail flap. Is that a security risk? she thought, frowning. Maybe she'd ask Tonks the next time she saw her, or maybe she'd jot off a note to Dumbledore; after all, she had a pipeline straight to his desk.
She opened the refrigerator door. Nothing inside said ‘eat me’, so she put on water for tea and sliced bread for toast. There was less than half a loaf left, so she wrote herself a note, a Muggle note on a post-it pad with a ballpoint pen, to toss a new batch of dough into the bread machine before she tackled her Saturday morning chores.
She opened the note from Ginny while waiting for her toast. Ginny must have written it quickly; it was far messier than her normal neat hand, random t's were uncrossed, and several i's were undotted.
Dear Hermione,
I'm worried. I had an odd dream again, one that I haven't shared with you before. You know I've been writing in a diary since first year. Unlike yours, my diary doesn't talk back and merely records my thoughts. This is volume four — I start a new one every school year. For obvious reasons, volume one is missing — it's somewhere with Lucius Malfoy, but I doubt that it can be read, between the nasty holes and the Basilisk poison. Volumes two through four are sealed with a blood seal. Mum taught me that charm the summer after first year, when she gave me a normal diary and encouraged me to keep writing. When I go off to school, she gives me her diary from when she herself was in the corresponding year. Her diary is blood sealed too, but she added Dad to the blood seal, so any of the Weasley children could open and read what's inside. Needless to say, the boys don't know about the diaries. I'll never tell them, that's for sure! I write in my diary whenever I feel like it, but always before bed.
Several nights ago, I dreamed of writing in my diary, which is a bit like dreaming of brushing your teeth. In the dream, the diary looked like mine, but when I opened it up and started writing in it, Tom started writing back. Talk about a shock! Tom asked me to start writing about what happened that day, the sort of things I'd written in my real diary a few hours before that dream. When I had that first dream, I was really, really tempted to answer Tom.
Ron confided to me once that he missed Scabbers. In some twisted way, I miss Tom too. He was a great correspondent, pulling all sorts of information out of me during my first year at school. As much hell as he put me through, causing me to doubt my sanity, he thrilled me during that year with the attention he lavished on me. I carried the diary with me everywhere. When I finished writing in it, I kissed the diary before I closed it (is that sick or what?) and slept with it under my pillow.
I know now that Tom is a monster, but by Merlin, he was good looking, and oh, those eyes. His eyes were like smouldering coals (not unlike someone else near and dear to our hearts). I thought that Tom was totally devoted to me. I was so stupid. I never did answer Tom's questions in that first dream. I woke up instead. I jumped to my desk and whipped out my real diary, writing Tom's name again and again, calling to him. To this day I don’t know whether or not I wanted him to answer. There was no answer, of course. If he had answered, I would have woken Mum up to burn the diary.
I had that dream again tonight. The temptation to answer Tom's questions was strong, surprisingly strong. In my dream I tossed the pen to the ground several times, only to pick it up again.
I’m worried, Hermione. Is this just the overactive imagination of a housebound girl, or is Tom trying to tap into my mind just like he tapped into Harry's mind last summer? Just thinking about that dream makes me want to puke.
I lost my innocence in my first year. I can never say "I’m sorry" enough to the people I almost killed, including you. I'm still a virgin, at least physically, but Tom was the one who first took my innocence. When people thought that Tom was possessing Harry, everyone shunned him. For the first time in my life I’m glad that Mum keeps me in the dark about the affairs of the Order — I don’t know anything of use to Tom. I know that I’m not going to talk to Mum about this, and Dad would just give birth to dragons. What do I do, Hermione? Who do I tell? I don't know where to turn.
Write soon!
Ginny
P.S. Don't call me by Floo about this. The Burrow always has eavesdropping ears — Extendable and otherwise.
Well, so much for not getting bad news from the Burrow, Hermione thought.
Hermione had always prided herself on her emotional control, but right now she didn’t have a lot to be proud of — she’d just gone from room temperature to a fast boil without any time in between. She was furious at Voldemort simply for existing. She'd known since she was little that genuine evil was alive and well outside of the realm of fairy tales. Ever since her first year at school, she'd understood that Harry was a lightning rod for calamity. She knew after fourth year that Voldemort was back — she believed Harry. Now she understood the randomness of evil, how it could unpredictably strike a girl who wanted nothing more out of life than to play Quidditch, do reasonably well in school, enjoy her few friends, and be loved by the boy who had been ignoring her for the past four years. Hermione was angry. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, but there wasn't a bloody lot that she could do about it just then. Part of her wanted to be a little girl and crawl into Mummy's bed and hope that things would get better, but given the current activity in that room, that was definitely not a good idea.
The toaster popped. She reached for the pot of butter and absent-mindedly spread butter on her toast. The teakettle began to whistle, so she filled the teapot and let it steep the required time, nibbling on her toast. For all the enjoyment she got out of it, she might as well have been eating the morning newspaper, which remained on the corner of the breakfast table, unread.
It came to her as she sipped the first cup of tea. Harry would know how to read this dream, having had a year of dreams fuelled by Voldemort. She grabbed the note pad next to the phone and scrawled a quick note, Muggle style.
Write Harry. If you haven't the brass to do that,
let me send today's letter to him. After Harry,
I’d tell Professor Lupin or Dumbledore.
Love from Hermione
Walking on tiptoe up the stairs, past the still-closed door to her parents' bedroom and into her own, Hermione pulled down the Passbox door to the Burrow and popped the note into the chamber. The door clicked shut and there was the briefest of slurps as the note went to its destination. She felt accomplished for the morning, although she'd been up and about for less than twenty minutes. Maybe with a proper breakfast she could start revising the Plan.
Harry's birthday was coming soon, and she had to get a move on if all the pieces were to come together.
~+~
Harry heard voices as he woke up. He looked at his watch in panic, hoping that he'd not overslept. It was a Saturday, so the Dursleys were expecting breakfast an hour later than on weekdays. To his utter surprise, when he walked into the kitchen minutes later, the voices were laughing politely and carrying on like old acquaintances. Aunt Petunia was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping tea with Remus Lupin. Harry gawked at this scene briefly, having the presence of mind to shut his mouth before either of them noticed his breach of composure.
"Good morning, Harry. What would you like for breakfast?" Aunt Petunia asked, as if this were how every morning started at the Dursley household.
"Uh, eggs on toast and tea, please," Harry answered.
"And for you, Remus?"
"The same, Petunia, if that would not be a bother."
"It's no more bother to crack six eggs than four, Remus," Aunt Petunia answered gaily.
Harry felt his jaw go slack. He quickly pulled it shut, but as he put on his game face he asked himself, rhetorically, "Who are you , and what did you do with my real Aunt?"
~+~
Harry?
Yes, Mm’lau?
The man sitting at your table?
Remus Lupin.
You know that he is a Dark Creature?
Yes, Mm’lau, I’ve known for years.
Does he pose a threat to you?
No, he is my guardian.
What is a guardian?
My Mum and Dad are dead. My godfather died a month ago. The headmaster of my school had Remus appointed to watch over me because my Mum, Dad, and godfather can’t do it.
Your headmaster knew that he was a dark changeling?
Yes, he’s known that he is a werewolf.
He is your friend?
Yes, Mm’lau, he is my friend.
I will watch him, Harry.
Thank you, Mm’lau.
"Where did you just go, Harry?" Lupin asked quietly while Aunt Petunia went to mind the teapot.
Harry’s mind was elsewhere. He knew that he’d been spoken to, but hadn’t the foggiest what had been said. "I’m sorry, Uncle Moony, what did you say?"
Lupin picked up his fork, smiling genially at Harry. "You just faded away as you ate your toast. I wondered where you went."
"I was having a chat inside my head. We’ll talk about it later. I promise."
Harry watched as Lupin pushed the last bit of egg onto his fork with a corner of toast, popping the toast into his mouth after eating the egg. "You’d better," he said, crossing his knife and fork on his plate.
Aunt Petunia brought tea to the table, pouring Remus’ cup first. "If I recall, you take sugar but no cream."
Lupin laughed. "That’s quite a recollection - it’s been what, seventeen years?"
"Seventeen years this August 14th, Remus."
"What’s that?" Harry asked.
"I met your aunt at your Mum’s wedding," Remus explained. "Each of the groomsmen were paired to one of the bridesmaids - I had the pleasure of escorting your aunt down the aisle, and danced with her at the reception."
Harry wasn’t sure just how much pleasure that had brought his guardian, but didn’t feel up to making a point of it. "Whom did Sirius dance with?" Harry asked.
Remus winced closing his eyes briefly, opening them again to look at Harry. "No one you ever got a chance to meet. She died a month after the wedding. Your parents were married in perilous times, Harry."
"Where are you taking my nephew today, Remus?" Aunt Petunia asked pleasantly. Harry thought that she was hoping to change the subject.
Lupin was swirling the last of his tea in his cup, pausing to think before replying. "We have a number of errands today in the City, and then I thought that Harry might like to catch a concert and a nice dinner - I’ll bring him back after lunch on Sunday."
Aunt Petunia spoke with a light airy voice. Was she flirting with Lupin? "Sounds like fun. How are you getting into the City?"
Remus grinned. "I’m the proud owner of a new car, Petunia."
"You’re having me on," Aunt Petunia said.
"Actually, Aunt Petunia, one of my minders owns a car too," Harry volunteered.
"I’m afraid my frugality is legendary." Putting down the teacup he looked up, glancing at Harry and then Aunt Petunia. "Harry’s godfather left me a considerable sum of money, with the condition that I had to spend a certain amount of it on myself within thirty days. A further condition was that I couldn’t use any of that money to buy books. I got a nice haircut, some new clothes, a few tools, but if I was going to meet Sirius’ spending target, I had to spend it on something big, so I bought an automobile."
"Did you spend enough?" Aunt Petunia asked with a slightest of giggles. She was flirting with him.
"Actually, I got a good deal on the car, but yes, I spent enough not to jeopardize the remainder of the bequest. Under the terms of the will, if I failed to meet that particular condition, the money would revert to a trust controlled by Bellatrix Lestrange."
"Who’s that?" Petunia asked.
"The woman who murdered Sirius," Harry answered darkly, effectively ending the conversation.
~+~
Nothing more was said at breakfast. Harry wondered briefly where Uncle Vernon and Dudley were - they hadn’t appeared at all this morning, but he figured in the end that on that front, no news was indeed good news. He cleared the table, putting the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and washing out the frying pan by hand. Taking a peek at the weather forecast in the morning paper, he ran upstairs, brushed his teeth quickly, grabbed his light jacket, and leaped down the stairs. Uncle Moony had said that he needn’t bring any clothes, as they’d be shopping. Not having to pack anything other than his toothbrush was convenient. Aunt Petunia was nowhere to be seen, so he called out "Goodbye Aunt Petunia," nodded to Remus and walked out the door.
Remus’ car was at the kerb, a funny humpbacked convertible coloured in a shade between off-white and silvery grey. "What do you call this colour, Uncle Moony?"
Lupin answered with a slightly embarrassed smile, "Full Moon."
"Ha!"
An expression of relief passed Lupin’s face, although Harry wasn’t clear what that was about. "My thoughts exactly. When Tonks found out the name of the colour, she insisted that it was a divine sign. Help me with the top, will you Harry?"
With a minimum of fuss, they brought the top down on the car, tucking it safely into the space behind the rear seats. Harry popped into the passenger seat, joined shortly afterwards by Lupin as he folded himself behind the steering wheel. Fishing around in his pockets, he produced a key that he inserted into the transmission hump sitting between them, cranking the car’s engine to life.
~+~
"So, Uncle Moony," Harry said without preamble. "Are you a werewolf in love?"
Lupin coloured briefly as he checked his mirrors prior to pulling into traffic. "I wouldn’t say that yet."
Harry pressed on, ignoring the discomfort his guarding was emanating. "But you have feelings for her." There was no need to specify the her in question.
Lupin was silent for a good long while. Either he was hoping that Harry would drop the topic, or he was very carefully choosing his words. "That I do. She’s a wonderful woman, and for some reason known only to Providence she’s interested in me. I keep waiting for her to tell me that it’s all a big prank and that she’s really going to put me down as a dangerous creature."
"That must dampen your ardour at the end of a date," Harry said with a smirk.
"I try not to think about it," Lupin said dryly.
~+~
Motoring with Moony was, simply put, a blast. He was a considerate driver as he puttered out of the estate, rolling to a stop gently and checking both ways before proceeding. Once he was out of the city, onto more deserted country roads, he ramped up the speed, banking into turns, upshifting and downshifting as if he had no brakes at all.
"Uncle Moony?" Harry said, shouting above the wind noise.
"Harry."
"Where did you learn to drive?"
A wistful look passed over Lupin’s face. "Alberta."
"Who?"
"Not a who, Harry, a where. Alberta is one of the western provinces in Canada."
"What were you doing in Canada?"
Lupin was silent. Harry wasn’t sure whether he was thinking of a reply, or gauging whether he had sufficient speed to pass a slow sedan before the road curved again. "After your Mum and Dad died, I travelled abroad for a number of years. Some of that time I spent in Canada and the United States, doing odd jobs, trying to manage the pain."
"What sort of jobs?"
Lupin smiled, checking the rear view mirror briefly. "I was a dishwasher, a short order cook, a librarian, but mostly, I was a bounty hunter."
Harry’s face lit up. "A bounty hunter? Cool!"
"My tastes are simple. Other than paying for lodging and Wolfsbane Potion, I don’t need a terrible amount of money to live. I still have every Sickle I earned from my year at Hogwarts. I’ve been living on what I earned during my travelling years." Lupin looked oddly satisfied to Harry.
"Did Dumbledore know about those jobs?"
"Yes, he did. It’s not on my resume, though."
"What’s on your resume for those years?"
"Research."
Harry laughed. After a few seconds, Lupin joined in. It wasn’t particularly funny, but the laughing was contagious.
~+~
Dear Hermione,
I’ll give some thought to writing Harry. Please don’t send my note on to him. That letter was for your eyes, not his!
Ginny
~+~
Dear Hermione,
I’ve just sent off a letter to Ron, getting the shock of my life, but more on that later. I’m at the place we stayed last summer. WOW! What a change! The portrait is gone, the tapestry is gone, and Kreacher is gone too. This place is almost bearable now. You’ll be glad to know that the House-Elf Liberation Front has spread to this part of London — Dobby and Winky have been doing the restoration work, for pay, now that school is out of session. Remus won’t say how things came to be so changed, but he does smile a bit when I ask him about it, so I’m sure that there’s a good story there.
I’ve been away all day, so if you sent me anything after breakfast, I’ve not received it yet. I’ll be back home Sunday afternoon. I’ve spent the day with "Uncle Moony." The first time I called him that I felt like I was eight years old, but it’s growing on me. We’ve spent the day motoring around (Moony has a car!) shopping, visiting Sirius’ solicitor, etc. For all intents and purposes, what Sirius owned was split between Lupin and Potter. Uncle Moony has what’s known as a ‘life estate’ in the house — it’s his as long as he’s alive. I had to sign a small raft of paperwork at the solicitor’s office — it took quite a while. One of the things that we discovered was that Sirius had a network of dead drops for both Muggle and Magical mail. How he got mail from the drops is a mystery — either he had someone outside the house that we don’t know about, or Kreacher did the pick-up and drop-off. We’ve been cleaning these up and closing them out, paying bills, collecting stuff that Sirius had on order as of the time he died. He bought you a very nice birthday present. I’ll make sure that you get it some time this summer. Sirius had an excellent racing broom on order that came in just last week. I’ve only seen one other broom like it, but it’s a nice one. Uncle Moony already has a broom, I’m still fond of my Firebolt, and Ron doesn’t need one, so I’m thinking that I should give it to Ginny before the Quidditch season starts again.
Uncle Moony finally has room for all of his books, so you may want to spend some time this summer culling the duplicates between the old family library and the Lupin library. Some of the titles are really creepy and probably belong in the restricted section (how many books on blood poisons does one library need?) but I’m sure you’d find something of interest.
You’ll be pleased to know that I’m not a total Philistine, as I can now say that I’ve been to a University music recital. As you know, the Uni campus is not too far from where we stayed last summer. Apparently there is a music conservatory attached to the Uni (I gather it’s something like one of our houses at Hogwarts, but I’m not entirely clear on how the Uni is organized.) and the music students are required to give performances as part of their studies. The main composer was Bartok.
The recitals are free, so I went there after dinner with Tonks and Uncle Moony. Ah yes, they are an item now. I don’t know if this was a last minute thing and Tonks just came along for the ride, or if I’m acting as chaperone (in which case, I’m about as good a chaperone as Ron is a prefect). They’re pretty low key, but I noticed a lot when they didn’t know that I was watching, including a very active game of footsie under the table at dinner that almost caused Moony to choke on his wine . After dinner and the recital, we went for a walk, came back home, chatted for a while and I turned in. I went looking for the Passbox after I finished Ron’s letter, not thinking that I’d need either Lupin or Tonks to work the doors. I found the Passbox, and then went looking for one or the other of them. I heard music coming from the library — that should have tipped me off — they were dancing. It was a waltz, I think. When the music ended, they stood in silence for long while. Social dolt that I am, I didn’t even think that they could be kissing.
Evidently Moony is much better than I am at kissing. No surprise there. Tonks wasn’t crying. Her hair did change colour for a while — throbbing between blue and red — my guess is that must have been one good kiss. I’m sure that I’m jealous, not that I want to kiss Moony any time soon.
I tried to leave the library quietly, but Moony snagged me before I could shut the door. My face was red. Moony’s ears were red. Tonks went from red hair to blue, but otherwise looked like she’d been doing nothing at all out of the ordinary. Tonks posted Ron’s letter for me, and then I made a tactical retreat. They seem to fit together, and both seem to be happy. Moony denies that it’s serious, but I have my own opinions.
I think I’m going to wait for morning before I post this note. I don’t want to intrude upon them — they don’t get a lot of time together between Tonks' irregular shifts as an Auror, and Lupin’s assignments with the Order. We’ll be going back to St. Simon’s tomorrow, and then Uncle Moony says we have a surprise for lunch.
Evidently I’m going to be visiting the Burrow for my birthday. It will be good to see you. I miss you, you know. No one’s been saying anything at all about my need to start studying for the N.E.W.T.s.
I’ll write more when I’m back at Azkaban South.
Your friend,
Harry
~+~
Harry blinked as he stepped out into the morning sun. "I have never heard anyone like Father Martin," Harry observed. "When he gives the homily, it sounds like he wrote it just for me."
"Oh?" Remus said.
"Yeah, I’ve got a lot of issues with forgiveness. He’s given me a lot to think about today."
Remus followed him into the sunlight, donning a fedora and sunglasses. The walk from St. Simons to Grimmauld Place wasn’t long at all. After fetching a baseball cap from his room, Harry hauled the bags from yesterday’s shopping and placed them into the boot of Uncle Moony’s car.
Harry opened the door on his side of the car, looking across at his guardian. "So, Uncle Moony, where are we going?"
Lupin smiled. "We’re going to the Grangers’ for dinner."
"Brilliant! Will Tonks be joining us?"
A wistful look passed across his face as he folded into the car. "Probably not — she’s the desk officer today back at her duty section."
"Does Hermione know that we’re coming?"
"Monica and Albert know, but it’s a surprise for Hermione — she was told that company was coming for dinner, but not who was coming."
~+~
The drive to the Grangers' was as pleasant as an urban drive can be on a sunny Sunday morning. As they motored along, Harry noted with some amusement that a pale blue Volkswagen Beetle was discreetly following them. The Beetle was at a sufficient distance that he couldn’t read the license plate in the rear view mirror, but he was fairly certain that the driver was wearing an eye-patch.
Several daydreams later, they were in the estate where the Grangers lived and pulling into the driveway leading to a nice two-story brick house, impressive but not pretentious. The front lawn had a low brick wall surrounding it, while a higher wall surrounded the garden in the back of the house. Harry noticed that Lupin’s nostrils flared as he stepped out of the convertible. "Lunch is being grilled in the garden," he said with a smile.
Harry blinked as he stepped out the car, and then closed his eyes again. When his eyes were closed he saw the active and passive wards surrounding the house. "Uncle Moony?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"The wards are up. Are you sure that they know that we’re coming?"
"For now that’s normal, Harry," Lupin answered, a curious expression on his face.
Harry felt a ripple of magic as he walked toward the house and through the first ward. He dispatched Threads and Batty to do their perimeter duty, more as a matter of practice than caution. Harry closed his eyes as Mm’lau’s aura flickered into consciousness.
Trouble, Harry?
Just being cautious. We’re going to meet some people; they are all friends of mine."
Is this the perch of your nestling?
Uh, yeah. My nestling, Hermione, lives here with her Mum and Dad.
You must touch them, Harry. I need to read them.
I think I can arrange that, Mm’lau.
Thank you, Harry.
The dark blue sheet of light crumpled in on itself and winked out of sight in Harry’s mind’s eye. Harry opened his eyes and continued walking up the steps. These conversations took some getting used to. Lupin was by the front door, tracing a pattern on the door with the handle of his wand. The shaft of his wand was discreetly tucked into his shirtsleeve. Harry heard a faint click as Lupin finished tracing the pattern. Lupin pushed the door open. Turning to Harry, he had a sheepish grin on his face. "Monica wants me to just come on in rather than knocking. I’m over here enough that I can do it, but it still feels odd to walk in, unannounced."
Harry filed away for another time the question that sprang to mind as to why Lupin was such a frequent guest at the Grangers' this summer. Probably tutoring for Hermione, Harry thought. Remus walked over to Monica, who was talking on the cordless phone. She gave him a one armed hug and mouthed to Harry "she’s in the kitchen" while hooking her thumb in that general direction. Harry walked into the kitchen, thankful that he’d chosen new shoes with crepe soles — he was silent as he walked on the tile floor.
A familiar backside was facing towards him. Hermione appeared to be chopping something while standing by the kitchen sink. She was dressed in a mid-length yellow print dress, her hair being lightly restrained by a matching yellow ribbon. A radio next to the sink was quietly playing classical music that Harry didn’t recognize. He placed his hands lightly on her waist, causing a brief flinch, but Hermione relaxed as he brought his cheek against her left cheek. "Have I told you that I missed you?"
"Only in this morning’s post, Harry," she replied. Harry couldn’t see her face, but he knew that she was smiling.
"Oi! Potter!" Lupin called loudly from the entryway. "No groping pretty girls in the kitchen."
Harry smirked, thinking up a response. He quickly tossed her knife into the sink and spun her around so that she was facing him. Grasping her right hand in his left hand, he returned his right hand to her waist and began dancing in a box pattern to a three/four beat. "She’s pretty, she’s a girl, she’s in the kitchen, but I wasn’t groping her. As you can plainly see, we’re dancing." Harry was concentrating, hard, on doing this right. Under his breath he was counting and hoping that he didn’t step on her feet. Dancing with Ginny at the wake had improved his skills, but he was in no danger of winning any dance contests anytime soon.
They continued waltzing in the kitchen, moving closer to the entryway. The music stopped, ending their impromptu waltz. Hermione twisted around so that her back was against Harry’s chest, taking care to move his hands back to her waist. Batting her eyelashes at her former professor, Hermione said, "Uncle Moony, everyone knows that the proper place to grope pretty girls is in the Library." Hermione raised one eyebrow, but otherwise maintained a straight face until Lupin’s blush spread from his ears to his face, at which time all three broke out into paroxysms of laughter.
Monica chose this moment to end the phone call and join them. "What’s all this, Hermione?" she inquired.
"Nothing Mum, you would have had to have been there," she answered.
"Or read about it in the morning post," Lupin muttered, looking extremely uncomfortable. Looking to Monica, he asked, "Will dinner be in the garden? Can I take the plates out?"
Monica, realizing that she wasn’t about to get an explanation, replied, "Yes, and yes, thank you." Holding her hand out to Harry, she said "Harry, so good to see you again."
Harry moved lightly away from his friend and shook Monica’s hand. "Uncle Moony kept it a surprise until we were on the way here. Your home is lovely — it’s much as I imagined it," Harry said, breaking eye contact with Monica long enough to sweep a glance from the kitchen through the entryway and into the living room where he saw a brass canister of Floo powder resting on the fireplace mantle.
Hermione smirked at this comment, returning to her chopping by the sink.
~+~
Lunch (which the Grangers called dinner) was slightly chaotic but very satisfying. Albert and Monica sat at opposite ends of the table with Harry and Hermione on opposite sides of the table. Lupin was seated next to Harry, serving as a buffer between Harry and Monica. Albert was attempting to hold down a conversation with Remus while Monica was drilling Harry for Hermione stories. Much to Hermione’s mortification, Harry was recounting very detailed, if slightly sanitized, versions of the Troll story, the puzzles at the end of their first year, the second task from the Triwizard Tournament and an amusing account of the Bubotuber pus letters Hermione received, along with a number of Howlers.
"So, Harry," Monica drawled, "did you ever consider Hermione as girlfriend material?"
"Mum!" Hermione protested.
"Yes, I did," Harry replied, stuffing a forkful of salad into his mouth while watching Hermione’s eyes flash. Harry chewed and swallowed, then picked up his tumbler of ice water. "I had a terrible crush on another girl at the time — terrible in that I couldn’t think straight, but I couldn’t get out of my shyness and do anything about it either."
"So, what happened with that crush?" Monica asked.
"Well, last year I blundered into asking her out on a date."
"And?"
"And it was terrible." Harry considered leaving it there, but Monica’s eyes were boring holes into him. "We ran out of things to talk about and she threw a jealous fit when I told her that I was going to go talk to Hermione after our date." Harry moved the tumbler of ice water to his forehead, brushing against it as he relived the humiliation of that afternoon at Hogsmeade.
"And?"
What is with this woman? Why can’t she give it a rest? "And it got me to thinking about how I felt about Hermione." Harry didn’t notice that the other conversation at the end of the table had come to a screeching halt, as he was concentrating on watching Monica’s reactions. "She’s very pretty. She’s the smartest witch that I know. She’s always believed in me, she’s never lied to me, she’s always been there for me, whether I’m acting decent or not. It’s like I wrote in my letter, Mrs. Granger: I’ve never had a sister, but I don’t think that I could ever love any sister more than I love Hermione."
Monica looked mildly displeased. "So why isn’t she on your list?"
"MUM!" Hermione shrieked.
"I never said she wasn’t on my list, Mrs. Granger. She’s there all right, just not at the top of the list." Harry took a long swallow of ice water, watching the identical expressions of surprise on the faces of Miss Granger and Mrs. Granger.
"Who else is on this list, Harry?" Remus asked, his conversation with Albert abandoned for the moment.
Harry smiled. "I’m afraid that’s sensitive information on a need-to-know basis, Uncle Moony," he replied, draining the last of his water. Looking at his tumbler, Harry stood, smiled again and said, "I’m going into the kitchen. Anyone else for something more to drink?"
~+~
The conversation after lunch took a more conventional and less confessional tone. Harry began to clear the table, more out of habit than anything else, carrying dishes to the sink. Hermione followed after him with the uneaten food, putting leftovers into zipper bags and hard plastic containers.
"So, Harry," Hermione said, "where am I on the list?"
"On the first page, rest assured of that. Eloise Midgen is somewhere on page two."
"That’s comforting. Where’s Parvati?"
"Same place as Padma — she didn’t make the list." Turning to look into her eyes, Harry continued, "Lavender didn’t make it either."
"Well, that’s comforting," Hermione drawled.
"There is no list, Hermione — I was just yanking your Mum’s chain because she was pulling mine. I don’t have time for a girlfriend."
Hermione snorted. When Harry turned to engage her eyes, she looked away. Harry reached out and lightly touched her jaw with his fingertips, pulling her chin up until her eyes were locked into his. His thumb brushed across the apple of her cheek. He spoke slowly and deliberately. "You are the best and truest friend I’ve ever had — I wouldn’t want to muck up our friendship just because I can’t figure out the boy-girl thing."
Hermione pressed her lips together briefly before speaking. "‘The boy-girl thing?’"
Harry snorted and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "That’s what Cho called it. She wrote me this summer, saying she was sorry that the boy-girl thing didn’t work out between us."
"Are you sorry?"
"Nah, relieved is a better way to describe how I feel about Cho as an ex-girlfriend."
"Have you thought of dating other girls?"
"Are we back on that list?"
"Answer my question, Harry."
Harry squirmed as he leaned against the kitchen counter. He knew that he was not going to get out of this any more than he was able to resist her mother’s interrogation. "Yes, I have." Holding his hand up, he continued. "Yes, I’ve thought of you that way, and yes, I crossed your name off the list for the simple reason that I don’t want to put our friendship at risk."
Hermione face lit up as when answering a particularly stumping problem. "So, there is a list."
Harry's reply was a restrained whisper. "Yes, there is a bloody freaking list. It’s got three names on it and you bloody well know the other two — one can see Thestrals and the other can’t." Harry turned to the sink to wash his hands. "Can we change the subject? I’m used to your mother baiting me, I’m not used to you doing it."
Hermione whispered too, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I’m sorry, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "It’s all right," he said, reaching for the hand towel hanging from the handle of the refrigerator door.
"I need to talk to you about Ginny, Harry."
"What about her?" Harry bristled.
"She’s having bad dreams."
Harry snorted. "Welcome to my nightmare — if I had a Galleon for every bad dream I’ve had since Cedric died, I could buy new Firebolts for the Gryffindor team."
"She thinks that Voldemort is trying to get into her mind again. I asked her to write you, but you’ve been away all weekend."
Harry froze, standing still in the kitchen, hands balled into fists, eyes closed, pondering the situation, weighing the alternatives. Opening his eyes he visibly relaxed. "Is your Floo connection working?"
"Yes."
"Could you call the Burrow and ask if she could pop over for a bit? Don’t let on that I’m here."
"I’ll ask Mum, but yeah, I think I could do that."
Hermione walked back into the garden, returning momentarily with a canary-eating smile on her face. She threw a pinch of Floo powder into the fireplace and moments later had her head in the fireplace, talking in turn to Molly and Ginny. Harry looked on from the kitchen, and then turned away, not wanting to get caught looking at Hermione’s shapely caboose. Hermione pulled her head out of the fire and turned back to Harry. "She’s coming."
Harry walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Eying the dimensions of the room around the fireplace, he positioned himself against the wall.
The Grangers’ fireplace belched a great green fireball. Ginny skidded from the fireball and across the flagstone floor. She trailed fine soot behind her. Her face froze into a mask of shock at the sight of Harry. He wordlessly bent down and pulled her first to her feet and then into a hug. Her hands were cold and she shivered as he held her. It felt wonderful to hold her, he hoped that she was getting as much comfort from this as he was. Hermione walked back into the garden, waving off the curious glances of the adults who peered past her. She shut the door.
Harry said gently, "Ginny, we need to talk."
~+~
Ginny’s voice was muffled, which was not too surprising, as she had her face pressed into Harry’s chest. "I didn’t want you to see me like this, Harry. I swear I’m losing my mind. I haven’t slept more than an hour since Thursday night. He’s looking for me, Harry, Tom’s trying to get into my head again!"
Her tears soaked into Harry’s shirt. He spied a box of tissues and Summoned it, snatching it from the air with his left hand. Pulling a wad from the box, he peeled Ginny away long enough to dab her face. The soggy tissues he Banished to the rubbish bin in the kitchen. If she noticed the wandless magic, she didn’t let on. Harry walked to the couch and pulled Ginny down with him. He cleared his throat, hoping that his voice wouldn’t crack. "Hermione told me a bit about what’s going on."
Ginny made a brief face. It wasn’t pretty. "She is so dead, calling me over here when I’m like this and not telling me that you were here."
Harry smirked. "Would you have come if you knew I was here?"
"No," she answered peevishly.
"That’s why I told her not to let on that I was here. Blame me, not her. Lupin’s here too."
Ginny pulled away slightly, settling into the couch. "Oooh, thanks for being noble, Harry, but she’s doubly dead. I will figure something out; something -- humiliating."
Harry smiled broadly. "Like a singing Valentine’s Day card?"
Ginny made a fist and punched Harry’s thigh, hard. Speaking through clenched teeth she said, "I - didn’t - send — that — card. I’ll have you know that the only thing that stopped me from killing myself in front of you that day was the fact that I left my penknife back in my room."
"Well, if you didn’t send the card, who did?"
All business now, she said, "I think it was the twins, but I still haven’t got enough proof to prank them for it."
"Let’s take care of your situation first. We can always prank the twins later."
Ginny eyed him coolly, trying to read Harry’s expression. Raising one eyebrow she replied, "It’s a deal, but it’s my prank, so I call the shots."
Harry sighed. "As much as I’m looking forward to that, I need to change the subject. I want to help you, Ginny."
Ginny’s voice was small. "What can you do to help?"
"You’d be surprised. I’ve learned a lot this summer."
Ginny leaned further back against the couch, pouting her lower lip so she could blow hair out of her face. "What do I need to do?"
"Right now? Just sit back — I’m going to examine your mind. I’ll need to touch you."
Ginny looked down at her shoulder where Harry’s hand still rested. "A bit late for that," she said wearily, "not that I mind."
Harry took stock of just where he was in relation to where Ginny was and gingerly withdrew the hand, pulling it in to join his other hand in rubbing his face. "What I meant to say is that you may feel my presence as I touch your mind. You might hear me speaking in Parseltongue to a bit of magic I’ve got riding around inside of me. You may even see a dragon."
Ginny snorted. "A dragon? What are you doing with a dragon, Harry?"
"I’ve got one guarding my mind."
Ginny raised one eyebrow. "How did that happen?"
"It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later."
"All right then."
"I will need to touch your, uh, skin. Your hand will do." If Ginny was disappointed in this choice, she didn’t let on. "If you’d feel more comfortable, I can call in Hermione or Lupin while we do this."
Ginny squirmed on the couch. "No, that’s fine. I trust you, Harry."
Harry moved into his seat until his back was firmly pressing against the back of the couch. He placed his hand so that his right hand covered Ginny’s left hand loosely. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. To Ginny it appeared that he stopped breathing, but after a while she could see a slight rise and fall in his chest, and she could see his eyes flicker underneath closed lids.
~+~
Harry wasn’t certain just where he went inside of himself when he went looking for Mm’lau. It helped if he closed his eyes. Looking with his mind’s eye, he was in a featureless, pearl grey fog. Wherever he was, the living room at the Grangers' house was elsewhere. He called out to her.
"Mm’lau?"
"Yes Harry?" she responded. At first, all he could see was a vaguely dragon shaped sheet of blue coloured light. The light wrinkled and compressed itself into a vaguely human form. With effort a dark blue-skinned, blue-haired version of Molly Weasley stood before him in the pearl grey fog.
"Why are you looking like that?"
"I thought you might be more comfortable talking to one of your own kind."
"I appreciate it, but Molly Weasley doesn’t have a tail."
Mm’lau pulled her skirts back with her hand while looking over her shoulder at the lovely dragon tail wagging gently behind her. "Pity that, she’d look much better with one. Okay, how’s this?" With a wrinkled expression that reminded him of Tonks, the Mollyized version of Mm’lau shimmered and became a dark blue-skinned version of Jasmine, except that Jasmine never wore a tank top quite that small, or shorts that were quite that short -- or tight for that matter.
Harry tried hard not to laugh. "Jasmine doesn’t have wings either."
"I don’t know what you see in a girl that doesn’t have wings, Harry. Your memories say that you think she’s quite beautiful."
"She is, she’s gorgeous, and that’s part of the problem."
"How can you be so stricken by a female that doesn’t have wings?"
"We’ll just chalk it up to human weakness, Mm’lau. Why don’t you go back to being the lovely dragon that I know and we can get down to work"?
Mm’lau shimmered again and was her normal self, albeit a third of her normal size, but then size was a variable when Snow dragons were concerned. "I need your help. A friend of mine is being attacked."
"Right now?"
"No, not right now, it’s been happening over the past few days. I want to look for signs that she’s been possessed by darkness."
"I can do that, Harry. What is the nature of the attack?"
"An evil wizard, one of my kind, is attempting to take over her mind."
Mm’lau stood still before him, bringing her tail around to touch Harry’s scar.
"The one who gave you this?"
"Yeah."
"Are we talking about the woman you’re touching right now?"
Harry startled. He’d forgotten that he was sitting on the couch with Ginny. "The very same."
A translucent curtain appeared in the pearl grey fog that surrounded them. Peering through the curtain, Harry could see the Grangers' living room, with Ginny sitting primly on the couch, and himself sitting stock still beside her. Mm’lau resized herself again, until she was approximately the size of an adult human, turned and passed through the curtain. Harry followed; it was like passing into a Pensieve memory. Ginny was glancing about, looking at the doorway leading into the garden, then back to Harry. The Harry seated on the couch was the picture of concentration; eyebrows mashed together, eyes closed. If he was breathing, the Harry standing with Mm’lau couldn’t see it.
Mm’lau shot out a demure flame, less than a foot long, the dragon equivalent of throat clearing. "You are outside your body for the moment, Harry. Take care not to touch the Harry on the couch — it will cause you to return to your body whether you are ready or not. Anything else in the room may be touched, however. They can’t see us or hear us, but I believe that they can sense us." Mm’lau circled the couch, peered out the window to the garden and returned to the couch. Her tail was beating up and down in a slow rhythm, barely avoiding slapping the tip on the floor. "This is not your friend. Your friends are in the garden. This is your Krulach."
Harry clenched his jaw. He was tired of women needling him, especially one that lived inside his head. "She’s not my Krulach, Mm’lau."
"It is not my place to argue with you, Harry, however mistaken you may be. Come here," she said, beckoning with her tail. Placing her hands on the couch, she hauled herself into a standing position, leaning heavily on her tail. "Open your hands like this, Harry, and place them in the air over her head. Good, now, move them in the air over her body — we are going to read her, looking for dark signs. Stop at the shoulder. Good, now move down to her waist — don’t be bashful, Harry. Scan down her arm, the one that you’re not holding — ah, right hand. We’ll go back to that. Scan the right leg, now the left. Touch her right hand, Harry. See the mark?"
Harry looked at Ginny’s palm. As he lightly touched her palm, an angry red blotch appeared, pulsing like his own scar did when it was hurting.
"That’s a Dark Mark, Harry. It’s old, however, maybe three years or more from the looks of it. She was touched by evil in the past, but she’s healed over. Now smell her."
Harry’s voice wavered. "Smell her?"
"Smell her, Harry. You are out of your body, but I am not really here, I’m just a very intelligent bit of your magic. I’d smell her myself, but Mm’lau’s nose is thousands of miles from here. I’m good, but not that good." A ripple started at Mm’lau’s tail, working up to her shoulders, causing her head to wag a bit. Harry supposed that this must be a dragon chuckle. The Harry on the couch stirred briefly, taking a deep breath and exhaling through his nose. The Harry next to Mm’lau leaned forward, sniffing the top of Ginny’s head, moving to her neck. Harry smiled briefly before working down one arm and then to her lap.
"Now what?"
"What did she smell like?"
Harry was stumped. "She, uh, smelled like a girl."
"Elaborate."
"Her head smells like shampoo; her hands smell like kitchen soap, her lap doesn’t smell like much of anything at all."
Mm’lau snorted a plume of fire half her present length. "It is a marvel that the Creator chose to endow your kind with magic, given the fact that you barely use what he’s given you already. Yes, her hair smells of shampoo, but her head also smells of sweat and salt from tears, and underneath those smells is the sour smell of fear. Her hands smell of soap, but they also smell of eggs and garlic and ginger and cheese. Her hands and head had masking smells, but you should have smelled it on her lap — the smell is unmistakable."
"What smell is that?"
"The smell of Nuri." The distain in her voice was unmistakable.
"What’s that?" he asked cautiously.
"The Nuri are creatures of the mind, but not true spirits. They prey on humans with wounded minds. They find the weak and drive them mad, feeding off of the pain and confusion. Your kind calls them Dream Hounds, for they prefer to feed while their prey is asleep. They are most often found at battle fields and in hospitals."
"Have they hurt her?" Harry asked, a note of alarm in his voice.
"No, her mind is sound; she has repelled their attacks. As her mind is sound, I must assume that they were drawn to her by the scent of the dark mark. Unlike some magical creatures, the Nuri have an excellent sense of smell."
"Is she in any danger?"
"She has resisted thus far, but she cannot hold out forever. She must sleep and if she sleeps, she will dream. If she dreams, the Nuri will return."
Harry looked at Ginny resolutely. "How do we drive them away?"
Mm’lau’s nostrils flared. She gave him a steely glare.
"They will not come while you are with her."
"Why?"
"The Nuri would smell me. My kind has hunted theirs for ages."
"You hunt them?"
Mm’lau shivered with mirth. "Oh, yes, Harry. The Nuri are small, but they are quite tasty."
Harry began to pace around the couch. "I don’t think her Mum would be too keen on the notion of my sleeping with her daughter," Harry said, hoping that his body on the couch wouldn’t blush, or something worse.
"Why not? She is your Krulach. You are of age; mark her, mount her and be done with it. It is the dragon way."
"It doesn’t work that way with my kind, Mm’lau."
Mm’lau was obviously biting her tongue, holding back on what she thought of human customs. She sighed, sending out another plume of flame. "You are of The People; you would not have a dragon’s Pyr’g otherwise."
"A what?"
"A Pyr’g." Mm’lau opened her jaw wide and breathed a slow fireball. In the middle of the fireball was an image of the lapis lazuli dragon jewel that Harry had pulled from the ashes in Abelard’s garden. The fireball popped like a bubble, disappearing from sight. "What you call an echo, we call a Pyr’g, it acts like a Glossat."
"I’m sorry, Mm’lau, but I don’t know these words — Pyr’g and Glossat."
Mm’lau shifted into a more relaxed stance, two hands on the back of the couch. She began in a lecturing tone, one he’d heard hundreds of times from Hermione. "A Glossat is a tutor who trains the young. We use Pyr’g with our eggs, our children. As they approach maturity, we will plant one in the egg’s mind. It guards them and teaches them how to use magic that they have not yet mastered. Once the, uh, child, has learned as much as it can from the Pyr’g, the Pyr’g is absorbed back into the mind of the child."
Staring boldly at Harry, she said, slowly and distinctly, "You have a Pyr’g of The People, therefore you are of the People. The fact that you have no tail and no wings and can scarcely use the magic that the Creator gave you is beside the point." Mm'lau resized herself again, shrinking to a length roughly the size of Crookshanks, climbing up the couch and sitting on the back of the couch. The miniature dragon belched out a miniature flame.
"If you will not protect your Krulach properly, there is an alternative. "
"I’m all ears."
"Mm’lau, the real Mm’lau, gave you a Pyr’g."
"Yes, but I haven’t got a Pensieve and I don’t think Ginny is strong enough to install the Pyr’g today."
"The Pyr’g will work just as well outside your . . . friend as within, if you would waken it from its slumber."
"What do you mean?"
"How am I different from the jewel in your pocket?"
"You’re alive and you’re in my head. The Pyr’g in my pocket is - dormant?"
Mm’lau snorted, sending a hot blast of flame towards Harry. "I am no more alive than this couch. I am a bit of magic, just as the Pyr’g in your pocket. What did you feel when you brought me into your body?"
"Heat, I felt like I was burning from all the heat the magic produced. The heat woke the Pyr’g!"
"There is hope for you, Harry. You may not be able to smell, but at least you can think."
Harry bent over to plant a kiss on Mm’lau, leaving a rather surprised looking dragon on the back of Grangers’ couch. He then glanced at Ginny before he touched his Doppelganger on the couch, disappearing in a wink.
~+~
Harry opened his eyes, took a deep breath and squeezed Ginny’s hand before releasing it. "How long was I gone?"
"Just a few minutes."
"Funny, seemed way longer than that. Did you feel anything odd?"
Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Well, I could feel a bit of something on my mind, was that you?" Harry nodded. "Then I could feel something close to me, and I felt some flashes of warmth."
"That was me too, but the warmth was the dragon — we had a rather lengthy conversation, she likes to use flame as an exclamation point."
"She?"
"Yeah, the guardian of my mind is a lady dragon, kinda like your Mum, except your Mum doesn’t breathe fire."
"Oh, I’m not so sure about that, Harry, you’ve seen her Howlers . . ."
"Yeah, I have. Maybe she’s more like your Mum than I thought at first." Harry reached to scratch the back of his head, trying to put together the words he needed. "It’s not Voldemort that’s trying to get into your head, at least, not directly."
Ginny paled a bit. "What is it then?"
"Dream Hounds — Voldemort is using them to track you down. You have a Dark Mark on you; it’s on the palm of your right hand."
Ginny’s eyes went wide. "I’ve g-got a D-dark Mark?"
"Not that type of Dark Mark. Relax, you’re in good company. I’ve got one too," Harry said, pushing back the hair on his forehead, exposing his scar. "There’s a way to protect you from the Dream Hounds, but I’d like to talk to Professor Lupin about it before I do anything. I wish that I could protect you and preserve your privacy, but I think we’re beyond wishes right now." Harry stood up, looking out towards the garden.
Ginny squirmed and sighed. "Why are you being so cautious? This isn’t the ‘get the Snitch or die trying’ Harry that I’m used to."
Now it was Harry’s turn to sigh. "The last time I rushed blindly into something, my godfather got killed."
He swallowed hard and tried to blink away the tears that he felt rushing to his eyes. Ginny looked at him curiously and then sprang for him, wrapping her arms around him. This shocked Harry, more than if she had hauled off and slapped him. At first he just stood there, then he put his arms around her and basked in her warmth.
Holding her was brilliant. Ginny stirred and then pushed away from him, leaving both hands on his chest, looking him in the eyes. Harry had no idea what she was seeing in his face, but she could stay there looking at him like that for as long as she liked.
"Let me nip upstairs and at least make myself presentable."
"All right then."
~+~
Hours later, Harry sat at the desk in his room at Number Four Privet Drive. After a few false starts, he’d finally started the letter that he’d been thinking about all weekend. Dumbledore — how his emotions fluctuated when he thought of him. He knew on one level that Dumbledore really cared for him, but on another he still burned with rage over the deceptions, the manipulations and the mistakes they both had made. Thinking back to today’s homily, Harry resolved that he had to be more open with Dumbledore if he ever expected their relationship to get better. He censored himself several times when he wanted to write snarky things, knowing that being petulant wouldn’t get him where he wanted.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
Although I call Number Four Privet Drive "Azkaban South," this has been the best summer here since I started school. I suppose that you need an update on life in my end of the Wizarding world. Abelard is brilliant, scary, but brilliant. He reminds me a lot of you. I’ll apologize in advance, I’m very tired now, so if this letter is not a model of clarity, there’s a reason for it.
I’ve been working hard at keeping busy. Biking with the Aurors has been good and the tutoring has been brilliant. If the opportunity presents itself, you should consider hiring Abelard’s assistant as a Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor. She’s very clever, a great dueller, a good, patient teacher, and easy on the eyes, which is probably more important to me than it is to you. Keeping busy has kept the depression at bay. My nightmares this summer have been infrequent, and of the normal, non-Voldemort variety.
I’ve been writing my friends and trying my hardest to not pull into myself and wallow in sadness. Looking back at my behaviour last year, I’ve concluded that I was an insufferable brat, but you knew that already.
Abelard has fashioned a very good mental defence. He says that there’s not much more I can learn in Occlumency. If you wish, we can arrange a demonstration with Professor Snape. I’m sure it would be most enlightening.
Thus far, I’ve not had any encounters with Voldemort. I’m not complaining, mind you, but after having him crawl through my head almost every night for a year, it’s a little odd to have so much quiet. No enticing dreams, no stabs of pain, no seeing the world through the eyes of a snake. I could get used to this, actually. That’s the good news.
The bad news is that Voldemort is looking for Ginny Weasley. She’s been having dreams about writing Tom in the diary again. I met with her today after lunch at the Grangers’ house. (Remind me to tell you some time what a pain Hermione’s mum can be when she’s needling me.) With some technical assistance from the Snow Dragon that lives in my head, I checked Ginny out thoroughly for evidence of Dark Marks or recent possession. There is a mark left on Ginny’s mind from her first year. Although Ginny hasn’t been possessed recently, there was evidence that her dreams are being caused by what the Snow Dragons call Nuris, which Wizards call Dream Hounds. As you probably already know, Dream Hounds work on a mental level, seeking out particular targets. Voldemort is using them to try to locate Ginny. If Tom were ever to find her again, she’d be an easy mark for his control. I told her that she was liable to be repossessed. She didn’t get the joke, and after I explained it, she still didn’t think it was funny.
When I met the Snow Dragons, they gave me a bit of solid magic to take back with me, saying that I would need it in the future, and that I’d know when that was. Right now, Ginny is wearing that bit of magic as a bracelet on her wrist - it’s keeping the Dream Hounds at bay. She should be able to sleep, which she hasn’t done for several days. I would have preferred to do a permanent installation like the one I’m currently enjoying, but a) I need a Pensieve for that, b) I’d need her parents’ permission and c) she needs to be rested, as the installation is a very exhausting procedure.
I’m told that I’m visiting the Burrow for my birthday. I don’t know if this is out of line or not, but you’re welcome to attend - no present required. I’ve been thinking a lot about my friends, and I consider you one of them.
This brings me to my last topic, which concerns another of your students. I think that I’m developing feelings for a girl that go beyond friendship. I wanted your opinion, not as my friend or headmaster, but as head of the Order, as to whether or not you felt that it was wise for me to act on these feelings.
I want to do more than just survive - I want to live life as fully as I can, not an easy task, given the fact that all of the paths of my life lead to a narrow bridge where only Tom or I can pass. One of us must die.
I don’t know what love is. Dad loved Mum - it made him act like a fool at times, but in the end, he died to give Mum time to run away from Voldemort. Mum loved me, and it got her killed too. I love my friends, at least I think what I feel for them is love. I don’t know for sure. This time, however, I’m inclined to let Voldemort do the dying.
Well, on this happy note, I guess I’ll sign off. Anytime I start waxing philosophical, it’s a sure sign that I’m way too tired to make any sense. I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. Tomorrow is a tutoring day, so I’ll be gone for most of the day, but I’ll be back after dinner. I didn’t get a bicycle ride in this weekend, but I more than made up for it in excitement.
I am ever your friend,
HP
+++++++++++++++++
Copyright  2004 - J. Cornell — all rights reserved.
The disclaimer from the prologue applies here too.
Author’s Note: No dragons were toasted in the writing of this chapter. Nuris are borrowed from the late James Schmitz’s book The Witches of Karres, a Science Fiction classic from 1966. As is the case with everything I borrow, his use of the Nuri is different than mine, but I owe him big time in many ways. As to the mating of dragons: a male dragon marks his mate, usually by inflicting a ceremonial bite mark, on the back between the wings. Once marked in this fashion, neither dragon is free to pursue bonding with another, they are pledged to one another. This marking may be separated from consummation of this pledge by as little as a week or by as long as a period of several years, depending upon the circumstances of the particular dragons. For those of you who always want to know the last little detail, Harry woke the dragon by placing it on the coals of the Grangers’ barbecue grill, he then sweet-talked it onto Ginny’s wrist. Harry had quite the conversation with Moony on the drive back to the Dursleys’ house. Ginny had quite the conversation with Hermione after Harry left. Ginny got to bed late, but slept soundly for the first time in days. Harry slept like a rock.