The Letters of Summer
Ride and remember
By kokopelli
Chapter 4 - Ride & Remember
In a perfect world, on a day like today, Harry would be riding his Firebolt; but summer with the Dursleys’ was, in all respects, less than perfect. Harry rode his second-hand bicycle that morning, through the streets surrounding Privet Drive, through the suburbs, into the country. Out in the country, there were fewer intersections, no pedestrians, and no cars to speak of. Harry honed his new skill, and emptied his mind of everything but the ride. He didn’t have a destination in mind, just escape for another hour from Little Whinging, the Dursleys and the isolation he’d suffered last summer. Harry wasn’t sure how long he’d been riding; his watch was in his pocket, and pulling it from that pocket was just more trouble than it was worth. Judging by the height of the sun in the sky, he reckoned he’d been on the road for about an hour and a half. He was coming into a town he’d never heard of, passing by what he assumed was the comprehensive school, coasting into a small public park. The park had shade, a set of tennis courts, and a drinking fountain. After drinking his fill and rinsing out his water bottle, Harry sat in the shade and watched two girls play tennis. One of the girls had a passing resemblance to Cho Chang, his crush of the past two years. Harry sat in the shade, sipping water, paying brief attention to the tennis game before becoming lost in his thoughts. By the time he looked up again, the game was over, the girls were gone and his water bottle was empty. He’d been rehearsing in his mind what had gone wrong with Cho, concluding that there was a great distance between infatuation and friendship.
"Harry, old man, that ship was never meant to sail," he said to himself. He picked up his bicycle, refilled his water bottle, and turned around for the return trip. The sun was higher now, his face was glistening with sweat, but as he was making his own breeze, he was quite comfortable as he pedaled back to Little Whinging. On the return trip he began to plan the remainder of his day. Having finished his O.W.L.s, there was very little holiday homework; the teachers (and students) were uncertain which classes they would be taking in the fall, as many classes required high O.W.L. scores as a prerequisite. As much as he never wanted to see Snape again, Harry was hoping for a high pass on his Potions exam, allowing him to take the advanced class. The only motivation for this punishment was the knowledge that a high score on the Potions N.E.W.T. was required for acceptance into Auror training. Harry smiled as he remembered Professor McGonagall’s solemn pledge to tutor him every night to qualify him for that program. Harry wasn’t sure whether this indicated that the Head of his House really believed he belonged in the program, or that she merely wanted to spite Dolores Umbridge, the now disgraced and sacked Ministry employee who had tormented him that year. He’d take the help either way, but he doubted very much that he’d have to take her up on the offer. Harry’s feelings about Auror training were mixed: in a world without Voldemort, Harry would never consider the job. In a world with Voldemort, Harry wanted to become as dangerous as possible. On the distant day that Voldemort was eliminated, should Harry survive, he figured that he could always quit the Auror service and return to something more suited to his temperament, like Quidditch, teaching, or perhaps breeding Hippogriffs.
Waiting for him upstairs were several texts he’d taken from the Room of Requirement when it last had held a D.A. meeting: More Jinxes for the Jinxed, Advanced Shieldwork and Combat Cures and Countercurses (a field book for Magical First Aid). Harry hoped that the knobs on his Passbox would be lit, but if there were not, he had plenty of work to occupy him until evening. In addition to the self study D.A. homework and his letters, he always had Ron’s chess kit.
When Ron had last been in the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts after the ill fated rescue mission at the Ministry of Magic, he’d been visited by Fred and George who had given him a prototype of an item they’d been tinkering with: a self-playing wizarding chess set. The black pieces had been charmed to play a very spirited game in response to the moves made by the white pieces. Ron had played it for hours in the Hospital, but once out of Madam Pomfrey’s care, he’d put the Wizard Wheeze set away, claiming that it was not as satisfying as playing a live person. The night they packed to leave Hogwarts, Ron pulled the Wizard Wheeze set from his trunk, placing it on top of Harry’s folded robes.
"You need it more than me, mate, as I can always play with someone at the Burrow," he’d said.
That night Ron had challenged Harry to one last game in the Common Room. Harry had a brilliant opening game and a strong mid-game. For about an hour he was convinced that for once he’d beat Ron at chess. Then the game turned to worms for Harry as Ron’s pieces obliterated Harry’s. By the time "check" had been called, Harry was down to one pawn, his Queenside bishop and his King. Ron looked through the Common Room as they put the pieces away, checking to see if anyone were listening to their conversation.
"You know what your problem is, don’t you Harry?" Ron asked.
"Aside from the fact that I keep playing you?" Harry replied.
"Yeah, aside from that. You’re brilliant at tactics, when you have to respond to things on the fly. That’s why you’re such a natural Seeker, and why you are so bloody good at combat and wizard dueling. Your problem, Harry, is strategy: you fall to pieces when you have to think beyond the next five moves to the end of the game." Ron whispered the last sentence.
"Ron, most people can’t see beyond three moves." Harry said.
"Yeah, that’s why I beat most people." Ron replied with a smug look. He continued. "You need to see the end of the game and figure out how you get there, rather than just responding to the other bloke’s move."
Ron finished this bit of advice by nicking Harry’s last chocolate frog and going to bed. Ron had never ever mentioned this chat, but Harry had pondered it time and again. "See the end of the game and figure out how you get there." It was easy to apply this to some areas of his life — snatch the Snitch and the game was over, so long as the team wasn’t down by more than 150 points, you’ve won the game, but win, lose or draw, the game was over. School, work, girls, the rest of the things in his life were harder to see things through to the end because all roads led to Voldemort.
Harry pedaled in silence all the way back to Privet Drive, looking up from time to time to check the traffic in front, behind and from side to side. Aside from a blue helmeted bicycle rider way behind him, there was nothing to see. It had been a brilliant day for a refreshing ride. When Harry returned to the top floor of Privet Drive, he found Pig bouncing around his room like a manic Snitch. Ron’s note, attached to Pig, acknowledged the existence of the Passbox, so Harry sent his brief reply by Passbox, rather than bothering Hedwig, who was hunting for food. Pig was sent on his way after an Owl treat was pressed upon him.
~+~
The next day was much like the day before: breakfast and chores, followed by an even longer bicycle ride. Harry’s goal, apart from spending as much time away from the Dursleys’ as was humanly possible, was to build up his endurance to the point where he could visit Ron or Hermione as a day trip. He’d plotted out the bus routes to Hermione’s house, but it was Ron that he was keener to see, so as the buses did not pass anywhere near Otterey St. Catchpole, he was working out the details of the bicycle route. As was his practice, he checked again, traffic in front, in back and from side to side. In his mirror, he saw a lady, perhaps Tonks’ age, pedaling behind him, wearing a blue shirt that matched the colour of her helmet. He’d seen the same blue helmet the day before on his return trip. Was he being followed?
Harry changed directions a few times, checking his mirror. After a while, he saw the same blue bicycle helmet in the distance. He was being followed. Harry reviewed in his mind the local geography, as he was still within the limits of Little Whinging, which he knew quite well. Next he checked to see that his wand was still securely inside his shirt, changing directions a few more times. He stopped his bicycle in a safe place after a brief sprint. The lane ran into what was for all intents and purposes a dead end. Harry stashed his bicycle behind a large rubbish bin and waited. If he truly were being followed, he’d know soon.
He heard her before he saw her. First the clicking of her derailleur followed by labored breathing. She burst around the corner, looking to see which way Harry had gone, but there was no boy on a bicycle, just a fuming black haired boy on foot, holding his wand outstretched. The woman slammed on her brakes, skidding in a circle to a stop. Harry eyed her coolly. She slowly took her hands from the handlebars, holding her palms out to Harry. She dismounted her bicycle, letting it clatter to the ground, keeping her hands out at all times. She touched the buckle to her helmet, tossing it softly on the ground, removing the wrap around sunglasses, revealing a pretty young woman in her late twenties, wearing a dark blue eye patch that matched her shirt and helmet in colour. The face was faintly familiar.
"I work for the Ministry." She said, as if this was a complete explanation.
"Yeah, so did that Umbridge woman who tried to kill me last summer," Harry replied. There was a wobble in his voice as he tried to keep it under control. His mind was tingling, trying to recall where he’d seen her before. How many one-eyed witches had he met in the last five years? At last, the connection was made.
"You work with Kingsley Shacklebolt?" He asked
"Right in one. I’m an Auror. If you use that wand, you know that you’ll be getting another letter from Malfalda Hopkirk."
"Yeah, but I have to be alive to receive the letter, don’t you know. Constant vigilance and all that," Harry panted as his hand shook, holding his wand.
"Harry, I’ve got a pocket in the back of my shirt where I’ve got my wand. I’m going to turn around, keeping my hands where you can see them. You’re going to take my wand, then I’m going to turn around again, and you’re going to stop pointing your wand at me, ok?"
The woman clasped her hands over her head and then slowly turned around. A pocket had been sewed into her shirt that ran between her shoulder blades. Harry pinched the wand handle with one outstretched arm, keeping his wand pointed at her middle. As Harry pulled the wand free from its pocket, he saw the woman exhale and relax. She must have been holding her breath.
"I’m going to turn around now, Harry."
"All right then."
"This is the part where you stop pointing your wand at my navel, Harry."
Harry nodded at the woman, slowly pointing his wand to the sky. Keeping eye contact, he spoke.
"What’s your name?"
"You can call me Moey," she answered.
"Why were you following me?"
"It’s my job, I’m part of your security detail."
"The Order does my security, Tonks told me that."
"Yeah, well they did, until the middle of this week when I got detailed to work with the Order on this job."
"Why’s that?" Harry asked.
"Because I’m Muggle-born, Harry, I’m the only trained Auror who knows how to ride a bicycle." Moey began to giggle, Harry broke into a smile. Moey continued.
"Dumbledore’s the only member of the Order who knows how to ride a bicycle, and he’s not exactly a suitable candidate for being part of a protective surveillance team."
"Is that what this is, protective surveillance?"
"Harry, I told them that this was a bad idea, but in the end I was outvoted and I had to follow orders."
"How can I get someone to vouch for you? You must understand that I have a very low view of Fudge’s ministry right now." Harry said, trying to keep the bristle out of his voice.
"Yeah, I can see that. Tonks, she can vouch for me."
"She’s not here."
"Yeah, but I can call her — or maybe you can call her." Moey was silent for a moment, closing her eye, concentrating. She then continued. "Ok Harry, here’s the drill. I’m going to turn around again. You’re going to lift up my shirt and pull my mobile phone off of my belt, then you’re going to call Tonks."
"Lift up your shirt?" Harry asked with some alarm in his voice.
"Just enough to get my phone out, Harry. You’re not going to see anything you haven’t seen before. No tattoos or exotic birthmarks on my middle. Think of it as your first Auror field exercise, frisking female subjects at wand point." She flashed Harry a smile and flexed her arms a little while turning her back to him. When she did so, the hem of her shirt popped up over her waistband, exposing a bit of midriff.
"Ok now, Harry?" Moey asked.
Harry didn’t answer, but he did bring his wand down again so that it was pointed at Moey’s spine. As Harry reached out towards the hem of Moey’s shirt, she began to slowly sway her hips.
"Stop that!" Harry commanded.
"Yes, sir," Moey replied. "I love it when a man takes charge."
Harry silently pinched the hem of Moey’s shirt with one hand while keeping a firm grip on his wand. He gave it a series of delicate tugs until it was north of her waistband, exposing a thin, black leather belt and a slender blue cell phone. Harry plucked the phone from her belt and tugged the shirt south again.
"Turn around, Moey."
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"Don’t even think about it, woman."
"Dial 07287-674-777, then press the middle button below the screen," she said, repressing a giggle.
"I’ve got a better plan, you dial, I’ll watch carefully." Harry said, extending the phone to Moey.
Moey unclasped her hands and slowly took the phone from Harry, who stepped back two steps. Moey thumbed the "on" button and punched in the number she knew by heart. Harry heard a click, two rings, and the unmistakable sound of Tonk’s voice saying "Hey Moey."
"Tonks, I need you to talk to one of your friends," Moey said, handing the phone back to Harry.
"Hello, Tonks." Harry said flatly, trying to split his attention between listening carefully to the phone to see if this was really Tonks, and watching Moey for sudden moves. Moey, reading Harry’s unease, returned her hands to the clasped over her head position.
"Harry, how nice to hear from you."
"Yeah, Tonks, it’s corking to hear you too. Tell me something that only you know about me." Harry hissed.
"Okey dokey, Harry. Let’s see . . . . the last time we talked, you asked me to put some more clothes on, and I asked you to pay attention. That do, Harry?"
"That’ll do, Tonks. Now, tell me something about Moey."
"She’s about my size, don’t laugh, my real size, just a bit older than I am, she’s got just one eye, pretty dark hair down to her shoulders."
"That fairly describes the woman I’m holding captive right now — now give me a question that only Moey can answer."
"All right, ask her where she broke up with her last boyfriend."
"Moey, where were you when you broke up with your last boyfriend?"
"At the paintball parlour."
"She says the paintball parlour."
"That’s Moey, all right."
"Can I trust her, Tonks?"
"With your life, Harry. Now, can I ask what this is all about?"
"Maybe later, Tonks. Thanks, I gotta go."
Harry thumbed the phone off and handed it back to Moey. Next he pulled her wand from his waistband and proffered it to her, handle first.
"I’m really sorry, Moey, I’m really sorry. But these days I expect the worst when I find out I’m being followed by people I don’t know."
"That’s quite all right, Harry, I’d be disappointed if you acted differently. So, other than the last five minutes when you were wondering which of us was going to die, have you had a nice ride this morning? Moey asked, putting on her best Stewardess smile.
Harry stared at her for a while, and then began to laugh — a suppressed hissing laugh at first, followed by throaty guffaws. He wiped a tear from his eye.
"Just ducky, Moey. I love to go from daydream riding to ambushing unknown Death Eaters — it does so much to keep me on my toes. So why are you following me?"
"I told you already — I’m on your security detail when you’re on two wheels. So, where were you heading this morning?
"Not a clue. I was heading south, seeing where the roads end up."
"Well, I checked out the maps this morning. If we take that road over there for about half a mile, there’s a nice road that follows the river for miles and miles. Care to see it?" Moey asked.
"It’s a plan — lead on, Lady Auror." Harry replied. Harry mused that either Moey was incredibly good at hiding her feelings, or she really didn’t mind being held at wand point by frightened schoolboys. Moey tucked her phone and wand away in their respective places, put her helmet back on and mounted her bicycle. Harry retrieved his bicycle and after a nod of helmets, they began to ride. At first, Moey was pedaling like mad, hunched over in the bent down position, until they reached the river road. Once they reached the river road, she shifted positions, sitting straight, coasting. Harry pulled alongside, coasting as well.
"You ride well." Harry said.
"You ride amazingly well for someone who’s been riding less than a week." Moey replied.
"I’m sorry about how we met." Harry said with a hangdog expression.
"Well, I’ve always wanted to meet you, Harry, especially after Tonks told me about you, but I never imagined that we’d meet under quite these circumstances. If you say that you’re sorry one more time, though, I think I’ll put away my restraint and hurt you."
"Oohh, witches with wicked streaks, I like that." Harry exaggerated, wiggling his eyebrows in what he imagined was a leering manner.
"Stop it, Harry — it’s bad enough that I do it, you shouldn’t start." Moey chided.
"Yes Ma’am."
"Howdja spot me?" Moey asked.
"Helmet — it’s a very pretty blue. I didn’t think anything about it yesterday, but when I saw it today, I figured out that I was being followed."
"Damnation. It’s always the little things. I’ll have to write this up in the logbook — ‘change helmet colour every hour when trailing the boy who lived.’ Oh boy, am I gonna take heat on this back at the squad room. Tell me, Harry, whydja ask me to dial Tonks on my phone?"
"I read a story once about how some spies used a mobile phone that blew up on command." Harry replied.
"Yeah, I know that one — the Mossad special service mobile phone. We don’t do that in the Auror service, but I will mention it to the boys in the toyshop. There’s just a handful of us Aurors who use mobile phones anyway, but you can bet your wand that criminals aren’t shy about using Muggle technology when it suits their purpose."
"Is there a place around here where we can get lunch?" Harry asked, hoping to change the subject.
"About two more miles, there’s a cross-road that takes us to the village of Hopper, nice little place for sandwiches there. My treat, ok?"
"I’ll pay you back after this weekend — I’ve got to get some money changed at Gringotts, I’m almost out of Muggle money."
"Don’t you have a Gringotts ATM card yet?"
"What’s that?"
"Works just like a Muggle ATM card, you can use it at Muggle Auto Teller Machines — the money is Muggle, but the transactions all hit your Gringotts account at the daily exchange rate in sickles, knuts and galleons."
"That would be right useful."
"I love mine. Gringotts rolled it out at the beginning of this year."
"Well, that would explain it, I was boning up for the O.W.L.s then, I didn’t follow much of what was happening outside of school," Harry replied.
They pedaled into the village and stopped in front of a pub. Moey must have been there before, as the barmaid with curly dark hair greeted her by name and asked if she wanted ‘the usual.’ Minutes later they walked out of the pub with a large bag of crisps, two sandwiches, two bottles of water and some apples. They got back on their bicycles, and pedaled back to the river. After Harry had secured their bicycles against a small tree, Moey walked a short distance away, pulling her wand to cast some spells in a number of directions.
"So, what were those spells?" Harry asked.
"A right nasty combination of spells that will ruin the day of anyone who tries sneaking up on us during lunch. A mild Confundus jinx will make most Muggles forget where they were going and return to where they started. Witches and wizards who come any closer break a Gossamer ward which in turn triggers an alarm and sets off a nasty Fire Rain, then the fun stuff begins." Moey smiled again, but this smile hinted of steel and blood, rather than fun and games.
"So I’m not the only paranoid person out riding today?" Harry quipped.
"Not on a long shot, Harry. Moody trained most of the Aurors who are in the field today, and he made damn sure to weed out the impulsive ones. The ones who stayed on the job tried to plan ahead when they can," Moey answered. "I’m tired, hungry and thirsty. If you don’t give me half of what you’re holding, I’m not going to guarantee my ongoing good behavior."
"Oh, so this has been good behavior?"
"Stuff it, boy, give me that sandwich."
Harry tossed a sandwich, water bottle and apple to Moey. He next opened the bag of crisps and set it on the ground between them. Moey was leaning up against a moderate sized willow tree, Harry against a smaller one. They ate in relative silence, although Moey gave little gasps of pleasure as she downed her sandwich — evidently Jenny, the barmaid, had spread the pungent mustard unevenly, so that some bites were more piquant than others. Moey then attacked the bag of chips, crunching down one after another. She tossed the bag at Harry, saying, "keep these away from me" and went to work on her apple. When the apple was history, she cracked open her water bottle and chugged it down in four long guzzles. She stood up, brushing the crumbs from her lap, surveyed the area, and settled down next to her bicycle, using her helmet as a pillow.
"I’m going to take my power nap, Harry — just for ten minutes. Don’t wake me unless something really weird happens — the wards, traps and alarms should hold us for now." Moey said, before adjusting her patch, closing her eye and lying still.
Fifteen minutes later, Moey stirred.
"That was quick, I thought you’d be out longer," said Harry, who had been watching the clouds and the river.
"Only when I’m not on the job. Merlin knows I want more sleep, but I don’t have the metabolism of a War Witch, so I just grab the power nap when I can."
"Does it help?"
"I’ll ask you that question in fifteen years, smart guy. Of course it helps."
"Moey, I think I need to get back."
"Your girlfriend due to drop in this afternoon?"
"Very funny, I don’t have a girlfriend, Moey. Just some letters and homework before dinner."
Moey collapsed the spells she’d cast beside the river, put on her helmet and they began to ride again. Pulling along side Harry, she began to coast again.
"You going out again after dinner?" She asked.
"Not tonight, why?"
"Trying to plan my schedule, dear boy. Until next week, I’m the only qualified Auror who knows how to ride a bicycle. Next week the current batch of apprentices qualifies, and when they do, I’ll have six qualified Aurors who can be part of your detail. Mind you, I’m not complaining — this got me away from my desk, and it’s been truly lovely to be riding again," Moey said, looking up to scan the road.
"I didn’t ask to be followed, Moey."
"I understand Harry. You’ll be sixteen next month — you should be hanging with your friends and chasing girls, not suffering with protective surveillance."
"So, ambushing Lady Aurors doesn’t count towards chasing girls."
Moey looked at him fiercely with her one eye. It reminded Harry of the look that Hedwig gave him, only not as warm.
"Only if you have very odd tastes, Harry, and I’m sure that you can come up with more reliable ways to meet girls your own age."
"Enough banter, Moey, let’s get back to Little Whinging."
The trip back was much more leisurely than the trip out. The mild tail wind that they had had traveling south was now a head wind when they were traveling north.
"So, Harry, what was your plan when you ambushed me in Little Whinging?"
"Well, if you were a Death Eater, or had tried to attack me, I was prepared to stun you and tie you up. If things got really hairy, I figure the Reductor curse should be able to do a lot of damage to flesh and blood."
"What if I had just been a friendly, one-eyed Muggle lady out for a bicycle ride on a lovely summer day?"
"Well then, I’d be very embarrassed, but I figure it’s better to be embarrassed than dead or captured."
"But you didn’t have a plan for dealing with friendlies."
"C’mon, Moey, this was as strategic as I could get on short notice. Did I frighten you?"
"I narrowly avoided wetting my pants. The look in your eyes told me that you thought I was dangerous. You had your wand out, mine was in my pocket. I didn’t want to give you any reason to do something we’d both regret."
"Helluva way to meet, eh?"
"Yeah, call home, ‘Hey Mum, guess what, I met Harry Potter today and he blew my arm off when he thought I was attacking him.’ Only problem with that is that my parents are both Muggles and have no idea who you are, so it’d be even harder to explain how the man I was supposed to be protecting blew me away."
"Your parents know what you do?"
"They think that I’m a police inspector and that I capture bad guys."
"Not too far off."
"Nah, except that too many times when I catch them, they don’t cooperate and they come back in bags rather than in handcuffs. Merlin’s beard, I hate those Death Eaters."
They rode in silence the rest of the way to Little Whinging. Before reaching Privet Drive, Moey stopped.
"Harry, this isn’t strictly authorized, but here’s my card. When you head out, call me at this number and I’ll meet you, rather than tailing you. If you don’t call, I’ll still follow you, conducting surveillance, but it’ll be easier if you make the phone call."
"Thanks, Moey — I’ll ride again in the morning if it doesn’t rain. If it rains buckets, like it’s supposed to, all bets are off."
"It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Potter. Now, get going before your corpulent cousin spots me and I have to revert to my normal, violent way of doing business," she said, flashing her bright smile, the one that contrasted with the particularly iron look in her remaining eye.
Harry went up the driveway to Number Four Privet Drive, stowed his bicycle, washed up and did his pre-dinner chores. The day, apart from slight stretches of fight or flight terror, had been a good one. After finishing his chores, he saw that two of the knobs were lit on the Passbox: Granger and Weasley. He dreaded what might be in the Granger letter, so he opened the Weasley letter first. This letter also smelled of nutmeg and ginger, but the handwriting was quite different. He’d seen this hand before on Christmas and Easter packages; he’d gotten a letter from Molly Weasley.
My Dearest Harry,
The holiday is blazing by. Arthur and I decided to stay at the Burrow and only visit the other place as needed. Thus far that has worked out to be one day a week. The chickens are laying nicely, we have a wonderful crop of melons that will be ready within days and our pumpkin crop will surpass all records if we can just get a decent amount of rain. Ginny and Ron seem to be happier this summer, although both of them are moody at times, as if they were each missing a special someone. I’m doing my best to keep my nose out of that area of their lives, as they are not of the age where they appreciate supervision.
Fred and George are dong well with the shop, although I wish that they would wear decent robes instead of those outlandish dragon hide costumes, but of all the problems a mother could have, this is very minor. They are happy, they are supporting themselves, and most of all, they are not subject to the whims of the Minister of Magic, who seems to be catching up at last to things you warned him about over a year ago. I used to think that running a joke shop was neither a suitable or promising future for my sons, but I was wrong. Once again, Harry, I am in debt to you for you believed in them, and in their dreams, when I did not. Shortly after they opened the shop, I concluded that you were their mysterious investor. I knew that Gringotts would never invest in a business that Goblins couldn’t understand, which left you as the only source for the hundreds of Galleons that they sunk into that shop. Am I right in assuming that you donated the entire Triwizard purse to their business?
You’ve befriended Ron, saved my daughter from a horrible death when you barely knew her, rescued Ron from endless mischief (yes, I know you were the one who got him into some of that mischief, but . . .) and now you’ve made my twins realize their dream. So, Harry, what are you going to do to turn Percy around? I’m joking on that point, Harry. I’m not sure that anyone can get through to him. I just pray that he realizes that when he comes home again, he will be loved and welcome. At least he still has Penelope, who doesn’t have any split loyalties.
According to Bill, there’s no limit to what I can put through this Passbox, so tomorrow I’ll be baking biscuits — would you prefer hermits or chocolate chip biscuits?
I meant what I said when I told Sirius that you were one of my children. The others were born at home, but you were born in my heart.
Your long distance Mum,
Molly Weasley
The note from Granger’s house was from Hermione. It was a short note that read as follows:
Dear Harry,
I don’t know what you wrote Mum, but she had tears in her eyes as she finished the letter. She called me in to her study and held me on her lap (she hasn’t done that since I was 10). She hugged me, and told me that she was very proud of me, and then quoted one of her favorite proverbs "the only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." After that we cried a lot. Don’t worry if you don’t understand that last bit — you would have had to be there. After that, we went for a drive (yup, I’m driving now) that ended up at a coffee shop, where we split a huge serving of chocolate brownie with ice cream and fudge sauce. All things in moderation, I guess. Along with the latte, I was so wired from the chocolate that my hands were shaking. Mum drove home!
Mum says that you are special. I knew that. She says that you love me like a brother, and want to protect me. I’d always figured that, but it was nice to hear it, even if it was coming second hand from Mum. Maybe someday you can tell me what was in your letter, but for now I’m just glad you wrote it.
I’m off for now — I’ll write more soon.
Love from
Hermione
Harry looked up from the desk, blinking a tear from his own eye. The Dursleys could be beastly at dinner tonight, and he wouldn’t worry. It had been a very, very good day.
++++++++++++++++++
Copyright © 2003 J Cornell, all rights reserved.
Author’s note: yep, standard disclaimer from Prologue still applies.