Chapter Text
Harry gasped awake, but he was unable to sit up as the room was spinning and he felt as though someone had taken a dagger to his forehead while he slept. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think the lichtenberg scar that stretched above his left eyebrow had been freshly carved that night rather than approaching the 13th anniversary of its nascency.
He laid flat on his back in bed, catching his breath. He felt as though he’d just run a marathon, though of course he’d only been sleeping— or having a nightmare, to be more specific. He tried to recall the details: an old man, a snake, a mysterious figure, a rasping voice, and Peter Pettigrew.
The last character wasn’t surprising. Harry often found himself roused from nightmares surrounding the man who’d betrayed his parents, leading to their deaths. Though in those he had always been as he was before receiving the Dementor’s Kiss. In this nightmare, he’d been that empty husk of a person without a soul, standing vacant-eyed in the corner of the room.
Harry’s mind spun even as his surroundings began to still. He had not felt anything in this section of his forehead since receiving the scar as a baby, with the exception of two instances: when he’d been near Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who’d marked him in the first place.
But Voldemort couldn’t be anywhere near him now. Harry was perfectly safe in his room at Woodruff Cottage, where he lived with his godfathers. Remus and Sirius had taken great pains to protect the little house on the outskirts of Hogsmeade Village with just about every protection spell known to the Wizarding World and then some. Even if Voldemort had a corporeal body (which Harry knew for a fact that he didn’t), he likely wouldn’t even be able to see the cottage.
The last time Voldemort had had any sort of form was nearly two years ago, when he possessed Ginny Weasley through use of an old school diary.
Harry briefly considered writing to her about the nightmare. They’d been exchanging letters back and forth all summer, though they mostly talked about quidditch and her older brothers. Most recently, she informed him that Ron was rather annoyed at her for naming his new pet owl Pigwidgeon, a fact which Harry found endlessly funny, though he didn’t dare mention so to his best friend (who’d also complained about his sister’s choice of names in his most recent letter to Harry).
Harry tried to imagine replying to Ginny’s spirited tales of the small gray owl with a haunting description of his dream and reopening old wounds by bringing up what had happened in the Chamber of Secrets. No, he wouldn’t do that to her. The summer had been too pleasant to be ruined like that.
It had, in fact, been the best summer of Harry’s life. Harry was used to spending summers with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who had a nasty habit of locking him in his room and forgetting to feed him for days at a time. But now that his godfathers had gotten custody of him, Harry had the life he’d always wished for.
Remus and Sirius were endlessly caring for Harry, and their home was constantly filled with love and laughter. They went on adventures often, if even just to the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch to practice flying on Harry’s new broom. And there was never a dull moment with them, even if there were plenty of quiet ones.
Harry wouldn’t tell either of them about his scar, either. They worried about him enough already, and they had too much on their plates as it was. Remus was a werewolf, and though Sirius helped him tremendously as both a healer and a dog animagus, he was still sick, and that still took its toll.
For a few days every month, Harry had gone to stay with the Weasleys at the Burrow. Even though Remus wasn’t dangerous on the night of the full moon, so long as he took his potion (which Sirius always made sure he did), he was still very ill right before and right after the transformation, and Harry wanted to be one less thing for his godfathers to worry about at that time.
Plus, his stays at the Burrow have been one of the many things that had made this summer quite spectacular. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had been the first adults to show Harry any affection at all, and even though he wasn’t a neglected orphan anymore, they still doted on him. And while Ron was his best friend, he considered all of the Weasley children to be his friends (with the exception of Percy, who was too pompous for Harry’s taste, and Bill and Charlie, whom Harry had never met). And what fourteen year old wouldn’t want to spend three straight days with four of their closest friends?
His third visit to the Burrow would begin at five o’clock today, in fact, and this one was shaping up to be the best one yet. In part because Remus and Sirius would be joining him in the first half, but mostly because they would all be attending the final match of 422nd Quidditch World Cup.
Ireland was set to play Bulgaria, and none of the magazines could decide who was favorite to win. Harry presumed he was going to cheer for Ireland, of course, but he didn’t really have a favorite himself. He’d only recently begun paying attention to the International teams, and that was only because Ginny kept bringing them up in her letters.
He did discover the Greek Gryphons International Team in his research, however, and they were his new obsession, even if they were out of the running for the cup. He’d found out only a few months ago that his dad had been Greek, and he was desperate to learn more about the culture that had been robbed from him. Remus and Sirius were even helping him learn the language along with Hebrew, since he found out he was Jewish as well.
Harry used the Gryphons team poster, which hung on the wall opposite his bed, as a visual anchor in order to sit up. The pain had mostly subsided now, but he could still feel the sting of it, and the dream had left him with the feeling of just having taken a cold shower.
Usually, he would wake up to Remus and Sirius in the kitchen. They made breakfast together every morning, always with some 70’s record playing in the background. If Harry went quietly enough, he’d sometimes catch them dancing. Those were the days when he started to understand why everyone talked about love so often.
This morning, however, was quiet, which was how Harry realized the time. It was just coming on six o’clock, and the sun was still barely visible over the horizon. He had another hour still until his godfathers were awake.
There was a letter waiting for him on his desk next to Hedwig’s cage, which she’d climbed back into and fallen asleep.
Despite seeing quite a lot of each other this summer, he and Ginny had not ceased in their letter writing as he and Ron had. He received at least two letters from her a week and vice versa, and he had a feeling Hedwig considered herself just as much Ginny’s as she was his at this point.
Ron still had no idea that the two were exchanging letters. Apparently he didn’t go into his sister’s room often enough (or at all) to notice that a familiar snowy owl had taken up residence there. Harry wasn’t purposefully keeping it a secret or anything, it just hadn’t come up, and it seemed like a weird thing to go out of his way to disclose.
Sighing and pushing the thought away because it made his stomach flip, Harry got out of bed and went to retrieve the letter. The address on the outside made him as delighted as it always did.
Harry Potter
Woodruff Cottage
Hogsmeade Village, Scotland
“Number 4, Privet Drive” continued to hold such a bad taste in Harry’s mouth that he was always glad for the reminder that he didn’t live there anymore. He tore open the envelope and extracted Ginny’s letter. She’d written in green ink this time. She had every color of ink that they sold, in fact, and Harry was still trying to figure out if her choices were random or not.
Dear Harry,
I can’t believe the World Cup is less than three days away now (two for you)!
Bill and Charlie arrived just yesterday and Hermione got here today. The house is already so full and there’s still three more people coming! Mum is understandably off her rocker. Though Fred and George certainly aren’t helping matters. She’s still peeved about their O.W.L.’s, of course, and she found all the orders they had put in for their joke shop. She threw them in the fire.
She has this idea that if she yells at them enough, they’ll give up and get Ministry jobs like Percy. But the twins are nothing if not relentless. I’m on their side, personally. Percy is even more of a ponce than usual as of late. Everyone is having to share their room except for him because he claims he “needs the space for work.” He’s on about “thick-bottomed cauldrons” now. And I genuinely don’t think he gets what is so funny about that. The joke has sort of worn off because of it.
He keeps going on about some “secret project” with the International Affairs office as well that’ll start soon after the Cup. He obviously wants us to ask him what it is, so we’ve all agreed to ignore him every time he brings it up. I can’t help but be a bit curious, though. You haven’t heard anything around Hogsmeade, have you? Probably not. I’m sure it’s just as boring as thick-bottomed cauldrons.
Did you see that article about the Gryphons in Chaser International? They just finished recruits and they got a new seeker. She was captain of her team at Athenia. I am endlessly jealous of countries with multiple state schools. It would be so much more exciting if we had a school team rather than house teams, don’t you think? And I already know what you’re going to say, and I disagree. You would definitely beat out Cedric Diggory for seeker. He only won that match last year because of the dementors.
Speaking of which, Dad said Cedric will be taking the same port key as us to the game. I hope it isn’t awkward. Do you know him well? Hermione and I were talking about it, and we realized that all we know is that every other girl at school is in love with him. Fred and George said half the orders mum burned were from girls who wanted love potions to dose him with. Ron said that wasn’t true, but I think he’s just jealous. He used to think he’d be quidditch captain one day, but then you spoiled that.
And don’t start again. Fourth year isn’t too young to be captain, and Angelina already said she didn’t want the responsibility of following Wood. You’re definitely going to get it. And then you can put me on as reserve!! There’s finally an open position this year!! (I personally think I’d be a decent keeper too, but I recognize that I’m rather small for the role, so I won’t pressure you.)
And yes, I am currently taking advantage of the fact that I know you won’t be able to reply to this. It’s the end of the summer now, too. The last letter is mine. I think that means I won.
See you soon!
—Ginny
Harry took that last sentence as a challenge, and immediately grabbed his quill and parchment. If Hedwig was too tired to fly again this morning, he would run into the village and send a minute owl. He was still scribbling away when his door opened and Remus poked his head in.
He paused when he realized his godson wasn’t still asleep, though his brow unfurrowed when he saw what he was doing. “You’re writing to Ginny?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question.
Him and Sirius were the only other ones who knew the two had been writing all summer. Harry hadn’t really wanted to tell them either, but he couldn’t think of an excuse quick enough when Remus asked to borrow Hedwig and she hadn’t been there.
“You’ll see her in a few hours,” he said.
Harry didn’t look up from his desk. “Yes, but she bet I wouldn’t write back. Took advantage of the assumption, in fact.”
“Ah.” It was clear he didn’t really understand. “Poor Hedwig.”
“I’ll go to the post office if she’s mad about it.”
Sirius peeked over Remus’s shoulder then. “Who's mad about what now?”
“Hedwig. Harry’s writing to Ginny again.”
“Oooooh,” Sirius sang, and Harry pointedly ignored his tone. “Well at least give the poor thing some bacon before you send her ahead.”
Harry nodded to the dead rat currently sitting on his open windowsill which he had as of yet neglected to throw back outside. “She already ate.”
Sirius, who quite despised rats (and for good reason), cooed at the sleeping bird. “Good girl, Hedwig!”
In her sleep, she preened, feathers puffing out proudly.
Remus rolled his eyes. “Breakfast will be ready when you’re done,” he said, and he took Sirius with him as he exited. For which Harry was grateful, as there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Sirius had planned on teasing him some more. Which he didn’t understand. No one ever bat an eye when he wrote to Hermione.
Hedwig had apparently gotten back long enough ago that she didn’t seem annoyed at all to leave again, especially after Harry gave her some bacon and promised it would be her last delivery for another while. He waited until she was well out of sight before tossing the dead rat into the back garden.
His godfathers nagged him about cleaning his room the entire way through breakfast. They didn’t normally care, but since Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were coming to stay with them after the full (to avoid the long train journey), they were apparently convinced that Harry would soon be friendless if they saw the usual state of his room. Harry was willing to admit that he didn’t want the girls to see his pants on the floor, anyway, so he went about picking the space up.
He was packed and ready to go at one o’clock, so with four hours to kill, he went into town to grab some sweets from Honeydukes, as per Ron’s only request upon giving Harry one of his dad’s extra tickets to the game. Harry didn’t mention that his godfathers would have bought him one if Arthur hadn’t been able to get the free ones from work; he would gladly buy Ron the largest packs of Chocoballs and Sugar Quills.
He also grabbed some of Honeydukes Best Chocolate, since he saw Remus wincing that morning, and the werewolf still claimed that it was the best medicine.
And since the Pink Coconut Ice was right there, and he happened to know it was Ginny’s favorite, he picked that up too.
Mrs. Flume knew Harry well by now, and she greeted him warmly as he approached the counter. “Coconut Ice?” she asked as she rang up his items in the old antique register. “Since when do you like these?”
“I like them,” Harry said, not wanting to offend the confectioneer by admitting that he didn’t much fancy coconut. “But those are for a friend.”
“A friend?” she asked curiously. “Dear me, how intriguing.”
Mrs. Flume was an incurable gossip, a fact which Harry knew from many overheard conversations at the Three Broomsticks. He didn’t judge her for it. He was an incurable eavesdrop, himself. But anyway, he knew better than to tell her they were for a girl. She would take it the completely wrong way, and the whole village would have him with a girlfriend before the end of the day.
“Ron Weasley,” Harry sort of half-lied, and Mrs. Flume’s face dropped in disappointment. “He gave me one of his extra tickets for the World Cup. This is my payment.” He gestured at large to his purchase as she was bagging it.
“Ah, yes, the World Cup,” she said with a slight air of annoyance. “That’s all anyone’s been talking about all summer.”
Harry also knew from all his eavesdropping that Mrs. Flume fancied quidditch just about as much as he fancied coconut. “It’ll all be over soon,” he assured her, taking the bag. “See you later, Mrs. Flume!”
“Sooner than you should, I expect!” she sang as he exited, and Harry laughed. Despite making her living selling candy to children, she was still wont to warn them all of the dangers of too much sugar.
He got back to the house in time to find his godfathers in the front garden, struggling to fold the tent. Harry watched them for a few moments before asking, “Can’t you just use magic?”
Sirius groaned while Remus huffed. “We would,” Remus began in that tone that Harry knew meant someone had done something wrong, “if Sirius hadn’t shoved it into the closet out of the bag. The folding charm’s worn off.”
Sirius rubbed at his forehead. “Darling, the tent is several decades old at this point, it would have worn off regardless of how I stored it.”
“That’s not what it said on the tag—”
“Would you shut it about the bloody tag, already?”
Remus dropped his end of the tent and crossed his arms. “We should just buy a new one, if we’re going to have to do this every time.”
Sirius threw his hands up. “I said that an hour ago!”
So Harry was tasked with wrestling the tent into the bins while Remus and Sirius apparated to London.
He started to get nervous, however, when an hour passed and they still hadn’t returned, and then another, and then another… He finally decided to use the mirror and see if he couldn’t get a hold of them.
“Hello? Sirius?” he called, feeling as silly as he always did whenever he had to use this thing. It was probably how Ron had felt the one time he tried to use a muggle telephone.
There was some rustling and then the other mirror was being pulled from Sirius’s pocket. He held it below his chin, and he and Remus were clearly in a crowd. “Every bloody wizard supply store in Great Britain!” he cried by way of greeting. “Every last one of them! Out of tents!”
“So where are you?” Harry asked incredulously.
“Ireland!” he shouted, and then dodged someone’s elbow. “Oi! You bloody wanker!”
“Wouldn’t Ireland be worse for tents?”
“Dublin was! We’re in Belfast now!” he explained. “They’re rioting here! But they’ve got tents!”
“Are you mad?!” Harry knew no two people more English than Sirius and Remus.
Sirius laughed in answer, but was cut off as Remus suddenly grabbed the mirror. “Harry, we’ll be home in a minute!” he yelled over the noise of someone calling him a “fecking brit!” and then he was gone.
It was actually ten minutes, which was just enough time for Harry to begin to mourn his godfathers and plan how he was going to explain to the Dursleys why he had to move back in. He was making funeral arrangements when the deceased in question came through the door.
Remus looked rather like he was going to kill Sirius himself, while Sirius was grinning madly, holding the new tent like a trophy. “We got it!” he announced.
“Barely!” Remus huffed, adjusting his tweed jacket, which was in quite a state. “I understand their anger, but I’m not in the British Army!”
Sirius poked Remus’s mustache. “You could understand their confusion, though.”
Remus batted his hand away and then turned to Harry. “Are you ready to leave?”
Harry nodded quickly. He already had his smaller trunk, his broom, and Hedwig’s cage stacked together at the hearth. And he went ahead and grabbed his godfathers’ trunks from their room as well, seeing as they were already quite late and he didn’t want to be very late.
Remus went into the floo still frazzled, but when Harry stepped out after him into the Weasley’s sitting room, he looked as though he had had a pleasant and completely uneventful evening as he greeted their hosts, and he looked at Sirius with nothing short of love and warm regards.
Ginny came around the corner with Hedwig on her shoulder, and Harry beamed cheekily at her as she kept her eyes narrowed and was clearly fighting a smile.
“I won,” he mouthed silently from across the room, and she shook her head as she laughed.
“You’re here!” Ron shouted as he came barreling down the stairs, forcing Harry to stop grinning at Ginny. “Finally! Did you go to Honeydukes?”
Hermione rolled her eyes as she came down at a much more leisurely pace behind him. Harry caught her eye and smirked as he sighed and produced the sweets bag.
“Thank Merlin,” Ron said as he grabbed the bag. “None of the sweets around here are safe anymore. Have I told you about Fred and George’s new ‘business’?”
“Uh…” Harry couldn’t remember if he had or not, only that Ginny had mentioned it in several letters now.
“He was only here a few weeks ago, stupid,” Ginny said, stepping forward as she saved him. “Of course he remembers.”
Harry was pretty sure he and Ginny were the only ones other than Fred and George who knew about Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes a few weeks ago, but he went along with it as Ron said, “Oh yeah. Well, the ton-tongue toffees nearly choked me, so this is a life saver, anyway.” He looked back into the bag and frowned before pulling out a pink jar. “Coconut Ice?” he asked. “I didn’t ask for that, did I?”
“That’s for Ginny,” he said automatically before he could think better of it. He froze while Ron stared at him incredulously.
“You got me sweets?” Ginny asked, tilting her head.
Harry could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks. “Yeah, I mean, no, uh… Mrs. Flume offered them to me for free, actually, and I knew you liked them— I mean, I was pretty sure you mentioned it or something. Also it was your birthday last week. Which is why I said you could have them. You don’t have to take them, if you don’t, it’s not a big deal or anything. Like I said.”
Ginny was smirking as she took them. “Okay, thank you.”
Hermione cleared her throat loudly. “Harry, have you met Bill and Charlie yet?”
She effortlessly swept them into the other conversation happening in the room by introducing him to the eldest Weasley brothers, the treasure hunter and the dragon tamer, respectively. Harry tried to pay attention to what they were saying, but he kept getting distracted by the way Hermione was looking at him. It was like she could see all his insides or something.
The four of them went to take Harry’s things upstairs when Mrs. Weasley started getting onto Fred and George again about their joke shop.
“It’s more than just the trick sweets,” Ron spoke quietly as they climbed the stairs, going slowly as they had to get all the way to the fourth floor, and they didn’t want to run out of breath. “Fake wands and potions as well. Loads of stuff, she found in their room. It was brilliant! I never knew they’d been inventing all that.”
“We’ve been hearing explosions out of their room for ages,” Ginny added, “but we never thought they were actually making things… We thought they just liked the noise.”
Harry laughed but Hermione didn’t. “That stuff is dangerous!” she said. “And most of it they’re asking people to eat! Your mum is right to throw it out. They could get in serious trouble selling stuff without the proper permits!”
“Now you sound like Percy,” Ron said as they reached the second landing. He dropped his voice to a whisper and held his finger to his lips as they passed Percy’s door.
They stayed quiet until they got into Ron’s attic bedroom, which was now wall-to-wall double beds to one side. He, Harry, Fred, George, Hermione, and Ginny would all be sleeping in there, since Sirius and Remus had the twin’s room, and Bill and Charlie had Ginny’s.
Hedwig had followed them up, and she now sat on top of the wardrobe with her eyes closed as Pigwidgeon flew in circles around her, twittering madly.
“Shut up, Pig,” Ron groaned, and the little gray owl did not cease its noise, though he did trade flying for hopping up and down. Ron glared at him. “You’re gonna make her hate you just like Errol and Hermes do.”
Behind him, Harry shared a look with Ginny and had to look away before he started laughing. Ron didn’t know that Hedwig had already spent quite a lot of time with Pigwideon over the summer, and she’d adopted somewhat of an older sister role over him. Annoyed, definitely, but she begrudgingly cared for him as well.
He caught Hermione looking between them, and he hurried to change the subject. “So where’s Crookshanks?” he asked.
“Chasing gnomes in the garden, I expect,” she said affectionately. “He’s never seen them before.”
“I wonder if he’ll recognize Sirius,” Harry mused. Crookshanks was half kneazle, as many witch and wizards’ cats were, including Filch’s cat, Mrs. Norris, who could see through Harry’s invisibility cloak. That was why Crookshanks had hated Ron’s old rat, Scabbers, last year. He knew the rat was actually a man and a murderer.
Crookshanks had also befriended Sirius’s animal form, Padfoot, last year, but Harry didn’t think he had ever met Sirius as himself.
“I believe it works the other way around as well,” Hermione said. “He’s rather smart.”
Over her shoulder, Ron rolled his eyes and Harry pressed his lips together to keep from snorting.
“We should go help Mum with dinner before she has another breakdown,” Ginny said, somewhat reluctantly, and they all agreed.
Somehow, Sirius and Remus had managed to mitigate the tension between Mrs. Weasley and the twins. Mr. Weasley muttered the words “miracle workers” to Harry as he came down the stairs, gesturing to the kitchen, where the two men had somehow persuaded Fred and George to help their mother with the cooking. All five of them were wearing frilly patterned aprons.
The rest of them got to work setting up the tables and chairs outside, though Harry found it a bit unfair when he was carrying a stack of thirteen heavy stoneware plates while Charlie and Bill simply levitated the glasses and Mr. Weasley made tablecloths and candles appear from thin air.
Hermione had the forks, Ginny had the knives, and Ron had spoons. They walked around the table behind Harry, with Hermione in the back to straighten their work. By the time they finished all thirteen place settings, Mrs.Weasley’s fantastic cooking had appeared in the tables’ centers, filling the air with an aroma even more delectable than that of the Hogwarts feasts.
Harry didn’t participate in much conversation after that, as he was too busy stuffing himself. He found that his appetite had increased greatly over the last few months, and he wasn’t sure if that were due to puberty, or finally being free from the Dursleys. Without the worry of when (or if) his next meal would be, hunger didn’t seem like the dangerous burden it used to be. But then again, he was a teenage boy, and he wasn’t any more ravenous nowadays than Ron was.
After dinner, while everyone was helping clear away the tables and wash dishes, Hermione suddenly grabbed Harry by the ear and yanked him into the pantry.
“Ow! Hermione!” he protested as she shut the door behind them.
Hermione crossed her arms and dropped her voice to a whisper, though she still somehow managed to sound authoritative without vibrating her vocal chords. “I know you and Ginny have been writing each other all summer,” she said.
Harry felt his stomach drop as his heart leapt into his throat. “Oh. She told you?”
“She didn’t want to. I found the letters in her drawer when I was looking for something else.”
“Oh.” Harry didn’t know what else to say. She was definitely mad about something, but he couldn’t figure out what for.
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s all you have to say?”
“Uh, what do you want me to say? She’s my friend. Friends write to each other.”
She gave him a bored look. “Harry, I’m your friend. Ron’s your friend. Your best friends, in fact. Do you have any desire to write to us three times a week?”
“Well… no.” Harry shuffled his feet. Was that why he was keeping it a secret from Ron? “You think Ron would be jealous? Ginny and I just have a lot more to talk about, is all.”
Hermione looked up to the ceiling and muttered something that sounded like a prayer or a curse. “Are you actually this dim?”
“What?” he replied dumbly.
She sighed and shook her head. “Never mind. You’ll have to work it out for yourself. Just be careful.”
Harry couldn’t imagine what he needed to be careful for, but he didn’t want to tell Hermione that, so he just nodded and was grateful when his silence allowed him out of the pantry.
Hermione wasn’t all that great at cryptic warnings, however, because Harry still fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow only two hours later.