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The Letters of Summer
Ringing Harry
By kokopelli
The Letters of Summer
In from the lake
(Prologue)
And yet sitting here on the edge of the lake, with the terrible weight of grief dragging at him, with the loss of Sirius so raw and fresh inside, he could not muster any great sense of fear. It was sunny and the grounds around him were full of laughing people, and even though he felt as distant from them as though he belonged to a different race, it was still very hard to believe as he sat there that his life must include, or end in, murder . . .
He sat there for a long time, gazing out at the water, trying not to think about his godfather or to remember that it was directly across from here, on the opposite bank, that Sirius had collapsed trying to fend of a hundred dementors . . . .
The sun had fallen before he realized that he was cold. He got up and returned to the castle, wiping his face on his sleeve as he went.
Order of the Phoenix, p. 856 (American Edition)
Harry had no idea where he was going. He wanted to get away from the lake; it held too many memories that he didn’t want to visit just then. He was too late for dinner, but not yet ready for bed. He was walking the halls of Hogwarts, getting in from the cold now that the sun had fallen, but not yet ready to sneak to the kitchens or go back to the common room. A door opened in the hallway, a familiar voice called to him and a small hand grabbed his wrist.
"Harry, get in here."
Harry slipped into the room without thinking, shutting the door behind him. That was a bit of a mistake — the room was blacker than his mood. He couldn’t see his companion, but his ears had already identified the harsh whisper as coming from Ginny Weasley.
"Harry, I’m going to ask you a question, and you are going to answer me, and you are going to tell me the truth, and you are not going to answer me ‘fine.’ Okay?" Ginny’s voice was still low, but it was filled with the "I’m not gonna take any guff from you" tone that Molly Weasley used so often.
Harry’s eyes had finally adjusted to the light, dimmer than twilight in the room, and were barely able to make out the form of Ginny Weasley leaning against a desk; her wand was pointed at Harry’s middle. Harry sat on another desk near the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest and looking down at the floor. Harry knew that the wand pointing at him meant business, although Ginny’s hexes were more often embarrassing than painful.
"Okay then, what’s your question?"
"How are you dealing with Sirius being — gone?" Ginny’s voice had softened, and Harry could sense her concern.
"I’m . . ." Harry started to say, "I’m fine," but stopped himself. "She deserves an answer," he thought to himself. "We’ve faced death together, first Tom and then Bellatrix." Harry drew in a deep breath, exhaled and then breathed in again, normally. "It’s . . . contained . . . I’ve got everything boxed up right now, Ginny. Dumbledore and I had. . . . words the night Sirius . . .. left us. I was horrible to him, but I think he’s still the same as he always was with me. Sometime soon I’m going to open those boxes up, and I imagine that I’ll get totally unwrapped for a while, and then I’ll go back to living again. I have to, I suppose."
"I wish you weren’t going back to the Dursleys."
"Me too," Harry answered as he thought about the hell he’d endured last summer at the Dursleys.
"Harry, you have friends, you have people who love you. Don’t shut us out again."
There was a long silence. Ginny wondered if Harry was getting ready to explode, or if she’d managed to make him retreat behind whatever door he shut on his world. In the dim light she saw him look up, locking his glistening green eyes onto hers.
"Keep reminding me, Ginny," Harry said, with a voice that sounded like he was exhausted.
Ginny exhaled. Only then did she realize that she’d been holding her breath, waiting for some reaction.
There was another long silence, but this one was companionable. Ginny started several times as if to speak, but cut herself off. She looked down at her hands, noticed that she still had her wand pointed at Harry, and put it away, into her sleeve. Harry broke the silence first.
"Ginny, you’ve been a good friend to me this year — thanks for putting up with me. I had no idea that this year would be so hard."
"I’ve always been your friend, Harry."
Harry looked down again. Ginny couldn’t tell if he was deep in thought, or just falling asleep.
"What happened to the crush?"
Ginny inhaled sharply, but as far as Harry could tell in the twilight, she wasn’t blushing. She answered in a low, flat voice.
"Last year, after the tournament, I decided that I wasn’t going to wait for you to notice me any longer and I was going to get on with my life."
"I noticed you, Ginny. Long before Ron figured out that Hermione was a girl, I noticed you. I was just . . . preoccupied." Harry hoped that the heat that he felt creeping up his neck didn’t mean that he was blushing like a Weasley.
"You never noticed me, you fancied Cho."
"Yeah, well, I was stupid, too. Your dad was right, though, you don’t go for looks alone. Cho’s a nice girl, she really is, but Cho wanted something that I couldn’t give her. Every time something started to click between us she’d be going on again about Cedric. I guess I couldn’t get the dead man away from the table long enough. She needs someone who won’t always remind her of how her first boyfriend died."
There was another long silence. Ginny began to fidget.
"Harry, if I write to you this summer, will you write back?"
"I don’t know how much writing I’ll be doing — owl post isn’t secure. If the Ministry can intercept it, and I reckon that the Death Eaters can too."
"You let me worry about that, Harry. You missed dinner — would you like a sandwich?"
"Yeah, sure."
Ginny pulled a thick sandwich from her satchel, wrapped in paper.
Harry unwrapped the sandwich enough to take a bite — roast beef with sharp cheddar and pungent mustard that bit his tongue. After swallowing the first mouthful, Harry smiled.
"Thanks, Ginny. Now, how are we going to get back to the Common Room without getting the usual tongues wagging?"
"Well, Harry, we can do the easy thing, and leave this room in separate directions, or just before we reach the common room, I can set off one of the last of my Dungbombs — I’m sure that Fred and George will stock me up again when I get home."
"Ginny, you are truly a Weasley, and you are all right." A smile crept on to Harry’s face, and his eyes were alive with light for the first time that day.
"Let’s go then."
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Copyright Ó 2003 J Cornell — all rights reserved.
Author’s note: Many thanks to my wonderful Beta, the ever-persistent Lissa. I listened to everything you said. I did most of what you suggested. What results is my fault, not yours. Thanks also to Werrf for brit-picking. Again, the errors are mine, not his. Thanks to the legion of pre- and post-Betas for your thoughtful comments, you have made this much better than I could.
Disclaimer: This is my story — stuff you don’t recognize is my own work. The stuff you do recognize from the Hogwarts world is the property of J.K. Rowling and her licensees. This is a non-profit writing exercise under the fair use doctrine.
Ringing Harry — Chapter 1
Petunia Dursley was chewing on her lip, reviewing her list of things to do, now that summer holiday had begun and she had a house with two boys again. Harry had been more silent than usual this year, even more withdrawn this holiday than last summer. He would do his chores, both the regular standing chores and those she’d leave on a list by his plate before breakfast, and then retreat to his room, where he would most often sit on his bed, staring a hole in the blank wall.
The telephone rang, breaking her train of thought.
"Hallo."
"Hello, Mrs. Dursley, this is Hermione Granger, daughter of Dr. and Dr. Granger at Leeds Medical School. I go to school with Harry."
"Oh." Petunia said, remembering with horror the scene at King’s Crossing, just two days past. "Oh, well, I’ll get him on the phone."
"Actually, Mrs. Dursley, I wanted to talk to you."
"All right then." Petunia began to squirm in her chair.
"Some of Harry’s friends that you met at the train station last week need to visit Harry. Is tomorrow afternoon at 2:00 a good time for your family?"
"I’m sure that we’ll be out of the house, but Harry will be here. Can you please be discreet?"
Hermione laughed.
"I seriously doubt that any of your neighbors will notice a thing."
"All right then, is there anything else?"
"Can I talk to Harry if he’s not busy?"
"He’s staring at the wall up in his room. I’ll bring him the phone."
Petunia Dursley picked up the cordless phone and carried it upstairs. Harry’s door was ajar — she nudged it with her foot and it silently swung open. Harry was draped across his bed, staring at the ceiling.
"The phone, Harry. It’s for you." Petunia said sharply. Petunia held the phone out like it was some smelly item that Harry was responsible for bringing into the house. Harry snapped out of whatever reverie he was in and sat up, stretching out his hand to deftly lift the handset from his aunt’s grip.
"Thank you, Aunt Petunia."
Petunia turned and wordlessly left the room, returning to the kitchen to brood. Harry looked at the phone for a moment and then put it up to his ear.
"Hallo?"
"Hello, Harry, this is Hermione."
"Hermione?"
"As in Granger. Harry, how many Hermiones do you know? I’ve known you for five years now, surely you recognize my voice."
"I’m sorry, Hermione, I just wasn’t expecting a call from you, I never get calls from anyone. I’m sorry."
"Harry James Potter, stop that!"
"Stop what?"
"Apologizing for everything."
Harry started to say, "I’m sorry" but stopped himself and said "All right then."
"Harry, someone from the Order will be visiting you tomorrow, bringing you some important stuff and some letters. I phoned to let your Aunt know that they were coming — I think you are to be left home, alone tomorrow afternoon, about 2:00."
"Oh, okay. Will I be seeing you?"
"I don’t know yet — do you want to see me, Harry?"
"I’m not sure I want to see anyone, Hermione, but if I did, I’d certainly want to see you."
"Thank you, Harry, that’s quite a compliment, I think."
"Yeah, right."
There was an awkward silence, Harry could hear the sound of a lawnmower in the background from wherever Hermione was calling from.
"Are you with Ron at -- Padfoot’s old house?"
"No, he’s at home, and so am I. I’m going to be spending lots of time at home this summer, as my Mum and Dad seem to think that I haven’t spent enough quality time with them this past year. I don’t mind it, but I do hope that we can all get together before the end of the summer."
"Yeah, me too, that’d be nice." Harry’s voice was flat, distracted and dim.
"Harry, you won’t always feel this way. Don’t shut us out."
"Stop looking inside my head, Miss Granger. Have you been talking to Ginny?" Harry answered peevishly.
"As a matter of fact, she just left before I called. Why do you ask?"
"She said pretty much the same thing before we left school."
"Well, we haven’t been talking about you, at least not like that. But you would do well to listen to her, since you never listen to me."
"Hermione, I always listen to you. I just don’t always do what you say, even though you are mostly right."
"Mostly right?"
"All right, right so often that mankind’s memory runs not to the contrary. Happy now?"
Hermione snorted. Harry imagined that she recognized the quotation, which had come to him in a flash. Some Muggle historian she’d read to him in the library during one of their study sessions.
"How are you, Harry?" Hermione’s voice had dropped the tone she used when bantering with the boys, and now swung into the concerned voice she used when hectoring them about their homework.
"I’m hollow inside. If a Dementor were to stroll into my bedroom, other than the darkness and the drop in temperature, I’m not sure that I’d notice. Is that open enough for you Madam Granger?"
"It’s a start, Harry. I’ll write to you tomorrow, after your visit."
"I’ll write back."
"Goodbye, Harry, take care of yourself."
"Thanks, Hermione. You too."
Harry looked down at the handset, trying to figure out how to hang up a cordless phone. The button marked "off" seemed likely and after pushing it with his thumb, the phone went silent. He walked downstairs and wordlessly put the phone back into its cradle, next to the corded phone. The fog that had bound him all day seemed to have lifted with the call.
"Harry." Petunia snapped.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"
"Mrs. Figg needs her lawn mowed."
"I’ll go do it now."
Harry walked out back door of the house without looking at Petunia, coming back shortly before dinnertime. Petunia looked up from the stove, but never turned to face Harry.
"Wash your hands, set the table, take a shower — I’ll call you for dinner." Petunia’s voice slid from being harsh, like she’d caught Harry in some infraction, to being almost pleasant.
"Thanks, Aunt Petunia." Harry decided that he’d not question whatever was changing his Aunt’s behavior. Being polite didn’t cost him anything, and seemed to defuse a lot of the tension that ran in the Dursley house, although it was easy to overdo it, which got him the accusation in turn that he was being "smart."
Dinner was uneventful. After clearing the table, Harry loaded the dishwasher and excused himself to his room, where he stayed until morning.
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Copyright Ó 2003 John Cornell all rights reserved