Chapter Text
It started, for Harry, with two words he wasn’t really expecting to hear as he sat on a park bench in Surrey. His summer so far had been, in a word, awful – but the one bright side had been that even though his friends were seemingly ditching and ignoring him, everyone was ignoring him. Including the Dursley's.
And then, on a park bench one afternoon, Harry hears someone behind him mutter under their breath.
“Ah, shit.”
He turned around and saw a tall, older woman with salt-and-pepper hair that was mostly jet-black with streaks of grey and white here and there. She looks...mostly ordinary. She’s wearing jeans and a blouse, with a leather jacket and a heavy pair of boots. Something about her seems a bit familiar but – he can’t quite put a finger on it.
“Hey kid,” the woman says, striding up to him and sitting down heavily on the bench next to him. “Portkey accident. Wasn’t supposed to be here. You’re Harry Potter though yeah?”
Harry is immediately suspicious and his palm hovers close to his wand, but something in his gut tells him that this woman won’t hurt him – she’s carrying herself too easily around him, she’s too comfortable.
Maybe that’s just his loneliness talking, though.
And even though he grimaces lightly and his fists squeeze a little at being recognized, again, this woman doesn’t seem like a simpering fan – it’s not like he can really blame someone for recognizing him.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
“Nice t’meet ya. Name’s Willow. Friends call me Will. You look absolutely fuckin’ miserable, kid, wanna talk about why the hell you’re moping around in a muggle area?”
The woman – Willow – seems so...casual. She’s got her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, her right ankle is resting on her left knee and she’s leaning back into the bench and staring up at the slightly cloudy sky with a...surprisingly relaxed expression on her face for someone who had an accident with a portkey and ended up somewhere other than their intended destination.
“Didn’t you have a portkey accident? Shouldn’t you be...going?” Harry asked, frowning.
“Yeah. Prob’ly. Leaky Cauldron ain’t too far from here yeah? Can apparate that distance no issue. But I’ve already missed my destination and my intended appointments most likely so I figure there’s no harm in sitting down and chatting, ‘specially cus you look like you need it. No offence.”
Harry raised a questioning eyebrow at her and she shrugged.
“You look like shit, kid,” she said flatly. “I know I’m just a stranger – and if you want me to fuck off I will – but you look like you could use someone to unload on right about now, if you wanna.”
“...I’m in a muggle area because this is where my relatives live,” Harry muttered.
“Right. And you live with muggles as the most famous wizard in Britain because…?” Willow snorted.
Harry shrugged.
Willow eyed him for a few moments before shrugging back at him and they fell into a companionable silence together. After about ten minutes of it, Willow cricked her neck and looked at Harry.
“Wanna go to Diagon Alley with me? You look bored as hell.”
Harry wants to. Merlin does he want to. But...he probably shouldn’t. All his things are back at Number 4, and what if Dumbledore or Mr. Weasley come to pick him up and he’s gone? So, somewhat reluctantly, he shakes his head – and Willow clicks her tongue.
“Alright. No big. If you want though we can just pop over there for a mo’ – and I can break the Trace on your wand. Call it a favour – for chilling out with me for a bit. Not every day you get to sit with the second most famous magical teenager in Europe.”
“...second most?” Harry asked, chuckling a little despite himself as her ‘offer’ sends a lightning bolt of surprise up his spine.
“Viktor Krum, dude.”
“Touché,” Harry said, shaking his head in...exasperation? Yeah, he’ll go with that. Frankly – this entire encounter has been off the charts strange, but he’s Harry Potter. He should really just expect things like this to happen to him by now. “You...can really break the Trace? Won’t you or I get in trouble for it?”
“If I get caught? Hell yeah I’ll get in trouble. If you get caught? You’re the one with no Trace on your wand, squirt, if you’re dumb enough to get caught after that – that’s your problem,” Willow laughed. She had a nice laugh actually – deeper than Harry expected. He hasn’t been around a lot of older women before now and he’s used to Professor McGonagall and Sprout, and Mrs. Weasley. They don’t exactly have high-pitched teenage-girl voices, but Willow’s voice has a deep, rumbling timbre for a woman that’s...nice.
Having the Trace removed would be nice...especially now that Voldemort was back. Harry got a sour look on his face as he imagined having to deal with the Ministry being idiots about potential underage magic if he ever gets attacked by Death Eaters in a muggle place.
“Yeah. Sure. Why not,” Harry said. Maybe it was his isolation talking – maybe it was his brain being incredibly off-kilter still from the after-effects of the graveyard. But whatever it was he was feeling reckless.
Willow hopped up and stretched before offering her arm.
“Grab on, squirt.”
“Do you really have to call me that?” Harry sighed.
“Sorry, Boltface.”
“No, no – squirt is fine.”
Willow grinned at him in a way that told him he wasn’t to take her at all seriously – and he found that he wasn’t even offended, not really. It wasn’t like Malfoy calling him Scarhead, something intended to hurt his feelings – Willow had a playful, sardonic, ‘devil-may-care’ aura about her that was kind of infectious, actually.
He grabbed onto her arm and she vanished – and Harry knew what apparition was supposed to be like, it was supposed to be really uncomfortable with a loud crack . But Willow’s apparition – well, it wasn’t smooth but aside from feeling a little dizzy he was alright. And instead of a crack there was a soft snap, like a light snap of the fingers.
They arrived in an alley outside the Leaky and Willow body-blocked Harry from view of the main street as she looked him up and down.
“Let’s make sure you don’t get mobbed, yeah?” she muttered, holding one palm towards his face, hovering a few inches from it before snapping her fingers on her other hand several times in succession.
Harry could feel the magic wash over him – and his jaw dropped.
That was wandless. And silent.
Then she snapped her fingers and conjured a mirror silently and wandlessly, holding it in front of his face.
Harry barely even registered his new appearance as he stammered.
“You – that – wandless? And silent? Conjuration and – and glamours?”
Willow smirked at him.
“Kid I haven’t needed a wand for the easy shit since I was seventeen,” Willow said with a light scoff. “Now – what d’you think? Approve?”
Harry’s hair wasn’t black anymore – it was a rich, deep auburn colour, and it wasn’t so much of a mess. It was cut nicely and actually looked properly styled for once – going back to around the middle of his neck. His face was a little rounder, a little softer – he still had his same eyes though, but now with a light dusting of freckles across his cheekbones.
“Yeah,” Harry said quietly, focusing on his – blank – forehead.
“It’ll last about four hours unless I get rid of it – and you can get rid of it by saying ‘Coco for Cocoa Puffs’.”
Harry just stared at her for a moment after that and she smirked. Then she looped her arm around his and dragged him into the Leaky.
“Come nephew, we have business.”
He found himself dragged into the thick of Diagon Alley – and then being pulled in a hang-turn straight into Knockturn. His whole back stiffened up but Willow kept a tight grip on him, murmuring under her breath.
“Kiddo, trust me, if I wanted to hurt or kill you – coulda done it in like, a thousand different ways by now where they’d never find the body. You’re fine.”
For some reason he believed her – but he didn’t relax entirely. Even if Willow didn’t plan on hurting him, he still didn’t like the idea of being in Knockturn. Willow ducked through a few side roads before knocking on an old, slightly rotting-looking wooden door, which creaked open after a moment.
“Sup fucker. ‘Winter whispers to autumn that she loves her,’” Willow said, saying the last part under her breath.
“’And autumn returns – I know,’” came the reply. Willow grinned and dragged Harry through the door.
“I don’t recognize you,” came a gruff, raspy voice from a very old and stout man glaring at the two of them. “How did you know the passphrase? Who gave it to you?”
“Buddy – this really isn’t my first rodeo. And I have money. Do you want my money or do you want to eject a lotta hot air? Cus I don’t have all day,” Willow said, letting go of Harry and crossing her arms, glaring at the stout man.
“Bah. Kids these days – no respect,” he grumbled. “What do you want?”
Willow pulled a sack out of one of her pockets – which should not have fit in there, so that leather jacket was clearly more than meets the eye – and tossed it on the ground in front of the man’s feet.
“Big brother’s watching my friend here a little too closely. What say we even the scales a bit?” Willow said.
The man picked up the sack and pulled out his wand, muttering an incantation and watching as a small number appeared in mist – and it was at least three digits long.
“This is not my full rate for that service,” the man grumbled.
“Ain’t. My. First. Rodeo. Make me say it again and I punt you like a small child,” Willow snapped. “You gonna clear his wand or not, pal?”
The man grumbled and groused under his breath as he approached Harry, who looked warily at him as the stout man held his hand out, palm-up.
“Wand, boy.”
Harry looked to Willow, who nodded with a small, encouraging smile. Harry handed his wand to the man – who proceeded to pull a vial of some potion out of his pocket and dump it all over the wand, slathering it in with his hands. The wand hissed and seemed to be smoking a little bit, and Harry was about to start shouting when he realized that physically the wand was...fine.
After a moment the man cast a few charms at Harry’s wand with his own, and nodded to himself.
“Clean. The Ministry’s Trace no longer recognizes this wand. Congratulations on becoming an of-age wizard, boy.”
The wand was roughly shoved back against Harry’s chest and he stumbled back a few steps after taking it – and Willow tossed the man another, smaller sack before grabbing Harry’s arm and marching him out of the store, all the way back to the apparition point, and disappearing with another soft snap.
They were in the park again – this time in the cover of some trees – and Willow patted Harry on the shoulder. With a snap of her fingers he felt magic wash over him again – and he could see his messy fringe once again out of the corner of his eyes, black like it had been before. She must’ve dispelled the glamours.
“Nice meeting you squirt. Oh – friendly word of advice – what’s the date?”
“August first,” Harry said, frowning.
“Oh. Nice. Alright. Do me a huge favour – a favour for a favour, yeah? I did just clean your wand – which you can go ahead and test by the way. Or – here.”
The woman flicked her own wand into her hand – something pale and knobby – and muttered under her breath, casting a series of Colour-Changing Charms on a leaf until dispelling it. Harry flinched as he waited for the consequences – he wasn’t really certain if the Trace had been broken but….
A few minutes later, no owl.
He really hoped there wasn’t actually going to be one – and it didn’t just go to his home or anything.
“So – wasn’t lying. May I make a small request of you?” she asked, looking straight at his face.
Harry noticed that her eyes never went to his scar. He found himself quite appreciative of that actually – she was probably the only person in recent memory who, upon meeting him for the first time and finding out who he was, didn’t look at his scar at all.
But – most people only recognized him after looking at the scar. Or he’d have to say his name – then they’d look at the scar and recognize him.
“How’d you recognize me anyway? You haven’t looked at my scar once – most people need to do that,” Harry blurted out, ignoring her question at the moment.
Willow blinked at him and her gaze ever so slightly softened.
“You look like James,” she said simply with a shrug. “Wasn’t hard.”
“...You knew my father?” he asked quietly. His heart started hammering in his chest – none of his parents friends had ever mentioned this woman before, so how would she know his dad? But the way she said it was so...real. She must have.
“In a roundabout way yeah,” she mumbled.
“...most people follow that up with – “
“That you have your Mum’s eyes, yeah,” Willow said with a shrug. “Not in the habit of playing Captain Obvious. Even if your eyes are probably your favourite part of yourself.”
That shook Harry a little. He’d never told anyone that – that was a thought he always kept to himself. Everyone around him seemed so happy that he looked just like his father – well, except Snape, but Snape could go kiss a hippogriff for all Harry cared – that he felt like if he mentioned that he actually preferred the comparisons to his mother he would...insult his dad’s memory or something.
“It’s not hard to figure out,” Willow said, continuing to prove she was either reading Harry’s mind or uncannily good at reading people. Or maybe Harry had been so thrown off by today that he was just an open book at the moment. “Looking like James has to come with a lot of pressure – man was a bit of a force of nature, left a hefty legacy in his wake. Can’t be easy for you.”
“It’s not,” Harry said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he even realizes what’s happening.
Willow just nods.
“Just – just remember, squirt, that you ain’t James Potter. Ain’t Lily, neither. You’re Harry. Piss on anyone who tries to put you in a box ‘cause of who you looked like. Make your own person – your own way. It’s a lesson I learned way too late in my own life,” she grumbled. “Alright. Emotional moment is over. May I ask a bloody favour.”
“Oh – uh – yeah, sorry.”
“Stay home tomorrow,” Willow said with a very, very deadly serious look.
Harry frowned and wanted to ask why but – well, he’d gotten a good enough impression of Willow at this point that he knew it’d probably be fruitless. If she was going to explain why, she already would’ve.
“Can you cast a muggle notice-me-not?” Willow asked abruptly.
“Uh. No,” Harry said, blinking.
“Right – here let me…”
For the next fifteen to twenty minutes, Willow showed him how to do exactly that. Incantation, wand movement, with a small lecture of the theory so he didn’t accidentally cover the entire neighbourhood with one.
“Just focus on like – a bubble in your bedroom that you want to expand outwards until it infuses your walls a little bit,” Willow said, gesticulating with her hands to visualize her point. “It won’t make the muggles forget you exist or that you’re probably in there – but any time they get close to your door they’ll come up with a reason that it’s not worth bothering you. Yeah?”
“Okay,” Harry said with a small grin. This would make summers so much easier.
“Just – seriously, please stay home tomorrow okay?” Willow said quietly.
Harry couldn’t help it anymore.
“Why?” he asked.
“Call it a gut feeling,” Willow replied easily and immediately – confirming his suspicions that yep, she wasn’t going to elaborate if she didn’t want to.
Harry stared at her face for another few moments trying to puzzle her out – but eventually he just slowly nodded. It was just one day, would that really be so bad? And with the new muggle notice-me-not charm ward Willow had taught him, his relatives wouldn’t even bother him.
“And if you need a bit more incentive – here,” Willow said, handing him a small, shrunken box form her pockets. “It’s got a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, some chocolate chip biscuits, about a half-dozen water bottles that are charmed to slowly refill from the nearest source of clean water, bag of beef jerky, and a few other little odds and ends. Food enough to last you more than a few days – so plenty to get you through tomorrow without leaving your room at all if you like.”
Harry accepted the box gratefully.
“Why do you have this?” he asked curiously.
“I like being prepared,” Willow said with a shrug. “Built up the habit over a year or so in my teenage years, never went away really. I carry a few of those sorts of boxes on me now – food and a way to replenish clean water without having to use my own magic. Dead useful they are, you never know when you end up in a situation where you could really use an impromptu picnic at the very least.”
Harry laughed at that and found himself...not wanting to say goodbye to this strange woman who had just spun into his life like a tornado and completely upended it. He nodded slowly.
“Will I see you again?” he blurted out.
Willow smirked and raised an eyebrow.
“Sorry squirt, you’re way too young for me. But you might see me ‘round, yeah. Y’see the portkey was supposed to take me to a uh – job offer of sorts – and it was pretty time sensitive. Definitely ain’t getting it now. So...after leaving you all nice and sorted out I’ve got my own sorting out to do. Haven’t been in Britain for a while honestly, so I’m a bit stranded. Got some cash in my pockets but past that? Fuck knows what I’m gonna do next. Say – Hogwarts is still having all that trouble with the Defence post yeah?”
Harry snorted and nodded, ignoring her first comment.
“Right. Maybe I’ll pop over, have a chat with the Headmaster. I am qualified for the post – although my most common complaint from bosses is that I’ve got serious issues with authority and a bit of an attitude problem, hopefully that doesn’t put him off too badly.”
“If he can stand to hire Snape I think you’ll be fine,” Harry grumbled.
Willow snorted.
“Right. Well – guess I’m off to Hogsmeade then to see a man about a post. See you ‘round, squirt. Don’t die – I find I rather like you, you’re a good sort. Oh and by the way – you’ve got babysitters. They like to hide under invisibility cloaks. Don’t worry – they didn’t notice you were gone. Left a nice and convincing illusion behind of you takin’ a nap on that park bench, and I’ve learned how to make sure the only people who notice me are the ones I want to. Do me a favour – go and sit on that park bench all slumped over like, and I’ll cancel the illusion before I leave and then you go right home.”
“Babysitters!?” Harry blurted out.
“Yeah. Don’t think they wanna hurt you,” Willow said, frowning. “Didn’t get that vibe anyway. Well? You gonna go take a quick snooze, kiddo?”
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“...I guess so. Um, thanks, by the way. This has been the absolute strangest hour of my life I think and that’s – that’s really saying something, but I really appreciate it. Not just breaking the Trace – this box is a godsend honestly. The water bottles alone will be really nice.”
“Yeah?” Willow said, smiling an actual smile for the first time. “I’m glad, man. Now fuck off – I really gotta go.”
Harry nodded and smiled back.
“Bye, Willow.”
“Oi. I told you – friends call me Will,” she said with a wink.
Harry blushed lightly and nodded.
“Bye Will,” he mumbled, walking over to the bench he was sitting at before.
“Bye Harry. Be seeing ya,” Willow whispered as he walked away.
He did as he was told and slumped in a position that implied he was napping – and a few seconds later he felt magic washing over him before he heard another soft snap.
Harry waited a few minutes just in case – then he got up and stretched, yawned, tried to make it look like he’d just woken up from a nap – and then he walked home.
For the rest of the day, he kept replaying the interaction with Willow in his mind – and realized what felt so familiar about her when he was lying in bed that night trying to sleep. Her eyes were the same colour green that his were.
It was probably a coincidence – that shade of green couldn’t be that uncommon. But...still.
He felt the oddest sense of kinship with the older woman – and really, really hoped she got that Defence post.
~~~
The notice-me-not went off without a hitch. He was able to spend all of the next day in his room and wasn’t bothered by his relatives once. He got a slightly perverse pleasure when he peered out the window and saw Petunia in the garden for once – she must’ve come up to try and tell him to do his chores and gotten turned around by the wards.
That alone was good enough proof that they worked – and it made Harry slightly giddy. He knew he’d have to take them down if people showed up to fetch him, but thankfully Willow had shown him how to do that, too.
He dug into the food from the box Willow had given him – it wasn’t anything fancy, discounting the charmed water bottles – all of which were metal with screw-on tops, which was nice. But it was food and it was filling and more than Harry would usually expect to have at Privet Drive.
For whatever reason he could tell that Dudley had spent all day at home as well – not that he cared, none of his relatives could get into his room, but it was rare for Dudley to be home all day now. He preferred spending time with his friends.
Harry guessed he was just playing video games all day.
It was three days later, though, that things went to shit.
~~~
Surprisingly, things didn’t go to shit for Harry – which was a dead shock. Instead, an owl arrived that Harry didn’t recognize, carrying a copy of the Daily Prophet and a letter. He opened the letter first.
~
Dear Harry,
Please, please write back as soon as you can and tell me you’re alright. I got this Prophet two days ago and I nearly passed out from panicking – I convinced Mr. Weasley to take me to Diagon Alley immediately to buy my own owl just so I could write you as soon as possible to make sure you were okay.
The front page of it will explain exactly why I’m worried.
The owl is named Guinevere by the way – I know you’d not be happy if you had to refer to my owl by some generic address.
Please be okay. I feel like the headlines would have been worse if you got hurt – but I’m scared, and worried, and even though everyone is saying you’re probably fine I can’t shake the fist that seems to have a vice grip on my stomach since I read the news.
Mr. Weasley also told me to tell you he’s coming to get you on August 6th at one in the afternoon – so be packed up and ready. That is, if you’re alive, and you better be or I’m going to have words with you.
All my love,
Hermione
~
It was the most emotion and detail Hermione had put in a letter all summer, which on the one hand gave Harry a slightly sour feeling in his stomach, but on the other hand made him feel a bit...warm at the confirmation that his best friend really, really did care about him still.
It was enough to make Harry reconsider being so angry at her – if she was really this worried and scared, there was probably a reason she’d been so strange up to now. Whether or not it was a good reason was still up for debate – but Harry knew Hermione well enough to know that sometimes she followed instructions and rules that she really shouldn’t, and that if she had been ordered to not write him overly much or give him too many details, she probably felt horrendously guilty about it already.
He wouldn’t have done the same in that position – if that was what was happening – but Hermione still had a bit of authority-worship running deep in her bones despite mellowing out a bit over the course of fourth year, so...he understood.
Harry wasn’t happy about it but if that was the case – he understood.
When he looked at the front page of the Prophet his eyes bugged out and his jaw dropped.
~~~
MINISTRY LOSING CONTROL OF DEMENTORS??
THIRTY MUGGLES KISSED IN SURREY BY ROGUE DEMENTORS
WIZENGAMOT DEMANDS ANSWERS FROM DMLE AND FUDGE
------
On the evening of August 2nd, only twelve hours before the publishing of this edition, Obliviators were called in en-masse to Surrey – a primarily muggle area near London. When they arrived at the scene it was absolute chaos as they discovered two rogue dementors had arrived in the muggle neighbourhood and by the time of their arrival had already kissed 23 unfortunate muggles.
None of the Obliviators on-hand could cast a corporeal Patronus – so they had to call for backup from the DMLE, and by the time those who could cast the extremely advanced Charm arrived, seven more muggles had been kissed.
The dementors are well-known to be under the strict and direct control of the Ministry of Magic – the only people able to control them are high-ranking members of the DMLE and certain posts within the Minister’s office itself. There are only two reasons for such an event to happen.
Either the Ministry is losing control of the Dementors at Azkaban – or, more insidiously, this was a deliberate terror attack against muggles.
It’s a well-known fact that You-Know-Who had the dementors at his side during the war and used them against magical and muggle alike multiple times – could this be the work of escaped mass-murderer Sirius Black, betrayer of the Potters and right-hand-man of You-Know-Who himself? Is this the explanation for his escape?
Did he somehow gather allies among the dementors themselves to his side? It would certainly explain how he managed to break into Hogwarts multiple times despite over a hundred dementors being stationed at the school in the 1993-1994 academic year.
Or perhaps does he have contacts – high up contacts in the Ministry who are traitors to our country?
We at the Prophet DEMAND the Ministry of Magic to clean house – if Black can send dementors all the way to a muggle neighbourhood, he won’t stop there. You-Know-Who didn’t so why should he? It’s only a matter of time before those rogue dementors turn their sights on the magical population and subject our innocent citizens to the Kiss.
For more on the history of You-Know-Who’s involvement with the Dementors, turn to page 7
For an interview with Rufus Scrimgeour, Head Auror of the DMLE, turn to page 9
-------
~~~
“Shit,” Harry mumbled. “….shit.”
August 2nd.
That’s why Willow told him to stay home. She knew. She must have known.
Why didn’t she stop the attack if she knew? Did she not know – only suspect? Was she involved? If she was involved, why save his life? Why keep him out of it but not save thirty innocent lives?
Harry really, really hoped there was a reasonable explanation for this – he had a really good first impression of Willow and...okay, okay sure any witch who knew her way around Knockturn Alley that well probably wasn’t all sunshine and roses but thirty innocent people?
He stared at the headline and the article for a few more moments before shaking his head and getting out a quill and parchment to write a reply to Hermione. He also shared some of his beef jerky with Guinevere – a very lovely tawny owl who was currently perched up next to Hedwig without a care in the world.
“You like her, Hed?” Harry chuckled. He could have sworn his owl glared at him a little bit – and then Hedwig ruffled her feathers as Guinevere shuffled a little closer to her.
Harry chuckled.
~~~
Dear Hermione,
I am alive and well – and what the bloody hell is going on!? What happened? Does anyone know anything? Does Dumbledore know anything?
Thankfully I was home all day when the attack happened. I didn’t notice a thing – they never came near my relatives house.
I’ll be waiting for Mr. Weasley – and I’m guessing you’re with him at the Burrow so I’ll see you soon? I’ve missed you. And I will warn you right now – I’m a bit cross with you for your frankly shite letters up to now, I expect that level of vagueness from Ron but not you. We’ll be having a talk about that so you can explain what the hell is going on.
Alive, well, breathing, and looking forward to seeing you,
Harry
~~~
He had debated mentioning Willow – but that would open up a whole host of questions, and he knew Hermione wouldn’t approve in the slightest of having his Trace removed, nor would she let him go un-scolded for essentially letting himself get kidnapped by a strange woman.
She’d also probably go blabbing right to Dumbledore – or worse, Mrs. Weasley. So Harry decided to keep it to himself. Willow seemed to want him to be safe and alive – so he could trust her that much, at least.
If he ever saw her again he’d get some answers, though.
He fed Guinevere a few more pieces of jerky – and Hedwig, so she didn’t get jealous – and sent her off with his response, sighing heavily to himself before beginning to pack up.
“Wonder if Hermione would appreciate one of these bottles,” Harry mumbled. “I’ll give her one eventually. Right now would just invite too many questions.”
He decided to leave four of the six bottles at home – they refilled rather slowly, which explained why there were six of them, but he’d like to have one at Hogwarts and one spare, to maybe give Hermione eventually if he could come up with a good enough excuse as to why he had them.
Did Hogsmeade have a secondhand store of some sort? A thrift shop?
He’d check. Knicknacks like this probably found their way into random secondhand shops all the time.
Harry spent the rest of the day after packing up doing some reading and getting through his summer homework – he hadn’t actually left the house much at all since Willow taught him the ward for his room. It was nice being able to just exist peacefully in a space where he could have all his magical things out and not worry.
He practised magic, revelling in not having to worry about the Trace any longer, and caught up on any fourth-year reading he missed due to the tournament, and did all of his summer work. And it was...enjoyable.
It was such a strange sensation that when Harry realized it was happening he blinked and slumped back in his chair, pushing a hand through his hair and frowning. With the peace and quiet, nobody to nag him about how studying was a waste of time or chiding him for freakishness or distracting him with other such things...he felt eleven years old again, wide-eyed and awed at everything to do with magic.
What happened to that little boy?
What happened to him, the little boy who wanted to learn anything and everything he could about magic?
Harry was shocked when he felt a slight stinging sensation in the corner of his eyes and he realized a few warm tears had wet his eyes, and he blinked them away, rubbing his face and taking a deep breath.
At first he hadn’t had any issue reading and doing his best in classes and trying to study, even if it was hard – there were no more Dursley's! He didn’t have to purposefully get worse marks than Dudley anymore, because Merlin knew Vernon and Petunia didn’t give a single toss about his Hogwarts grades.
So why’d he regress so hard? When did it happen?
Harry would’ve liked to blame it all on Ron and his slacker attitude but – Harry could’ve said no. Ron was still friends with Hermione and she irritated the absolute shite out of him with how much she nagged him to study and do his homework. Harry would never be as fanatical as Hermione about his studies – Ron might be a little put out with him sometimes but they’d still be friends, and knowing Ron he’d forget all about being annoyed with Harry over studying more as soon as Harry sat down with him and let Ron thrash him at chess for an hour.
No – Ron might have influenced him and introduced a bit of peer pressure, but this was Harry’s own fault. He’d gotten so used to purposefully getting low marks that when he hit a wall with his work and started to struggle he got disillusioned and demotivated, and he just fell back into old habits because it was easier.
Harry sneered at himself.
Right. Because easier would kill Voldemort. Easier probably let Pettigrew get away. Easier got Cedric killed.
Merlin, what would his parents think? Sure Vernon and Petunia couldn’t give a damn – but if he was bringing home A’s and the occasional EE in things like Transfiguration, Charms, basically everything except Defence?
His father from what he knew was a prodigy with Transfiguration and was no slouch in his other classes – he made Head Boy for Merlin’s sake. And his mother was, by all accounts, her generation’s Hermione – that is to say, absolutely brilliant in everything she so much as touched.
He remembered Willow’s words to him the other day – that he wasn’t his parents, he wasn’t James or Lily Potter, he was Harry.
But she also said that I have to decide for myself who Harry is.
Did he want Harry Potter to be a school slacker, someone who coasted by with easy classes and minimal grades, wasting away his free periods with chess that he wasn’t even good at and Quidditch debates that, while fun, never really did anything productive for him?
Harry remembered how rewarding it was to finally get the Summoning Charm in fourth year – and if he removed the ‘oh god oh god I have to face a dragon’ aspect from the whole thing, spending all that time working on the Charm with Hermione was…
Fun.
Doing his summer work, reading this material in a relaxed environment, practising and learning new things was...fun. Just as it had been when he was eleven and new to the world.
He knew he’d still need to relax plenty – he really wasn’t Hermione – but he tried to imagine justifying what he was doing to his parents and all he could think about was how...disappointed they would’ve been.
If James Potter could be a Quidditch player and the ringleader of the most notorious prankster group to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts while also getting good enough grades to be Head Boy – well, Harry might not want to be Head Boy but he certainly wasn’t going to keep going as he was now.
Easier could go right ahead and fuck itself.
Harry penned another letter – this time to Professor McGonagall.
~~~
Professor McGonagall,
I’d like to start this letter with an apology.
I’ve just now come to a very uncomfortable conclusion about myself in that I’ve probably let a lot of people down over the past few years with how poorly I’ve treated my studies. I know you expect better from me and I’ve probably let you down, I’ve probably let the Headmaster down, and I can only imagine how disappointed my parents would be to have seen my marks over the past few years.
I could come up with a dozen excuses but at the end of the day – I was the one who chose to slack and take the easy way out, I chose to sign up for easy, non-committal electives and I put about a third of the effort into my homework and classwork as I should.
Frankly I feel rather ashamed of myself.
So – I’m sorry. I feel as though I’ve disrespected your position as a Professor – and you are truly a brilliant Professor. I love your class even though I find it quite difficult at times and the theory is extremely dry and hard to understand, but you’re a delight to be taught by and by treating my work so negligently I’ve disrespected your station, the time you give us as students, and you.
Please extend similar apologies to all my other Professors – except Snape.
I’ll probably do it in person, but I can’t write everyone right now and I’d like them to know that this year I’ll be knuckling down and taking things far more seriously.
In that vein I’d also like to address you as my Head of House and not just my Transfiguration Professor – I would like to drop Divination and pick up Ancient Runes. I’ll do some self-study in the remaining weeks of summer but I have no illusions that I’ll be good enough to get into the fifth-year class – place me into the third-year one if you have to.
It might be a tad embarrassing, but I don’t care. Hermione is always going on about how interesting and useful Runes are – and honestly I’m also quite tired of having my death predicted in gruesome ways multiple times a week.
It gets very fraying on the nerves.
If I can’t take Runes at least let me switch into Muggle Studies – I’m fairly certain I could test into that fifth-year class with zero issue, and at this point I really just want to get out of Divination, which is a complete and utter waste of time.
Once again – I apologize for being a terrible student up to now. I know I wasn’t failing the class and might not have been the worst student academically, but I think somehow what I was doing is worse. If I was trying my best and still getting T’s every grade, at least I’d know I put everything I had into it.
I hope you’re doing well, and thank you for considering my requests – I hope to prove to you that this letter isn’t just a flight of fancy or a brief flare of motivation that’ll vanish within a month.
Sincerely,
Harry Potter
~~~
Writing it all out somehow made him feel better and worse at the same time. Putting it into words on parchment made it all the more real – and hit him that much harder as to just how stupid he’d been.
Even if Voldemort wasn’t out to get him, even if his Hogwarts years had been normal, that was no excuse. He wanted to do something with his life – wanted to be someone who earned things on their own merits and not just be the Boy-Who-Lived forever.
Maybe Snape was right. Maybe he was a bit arrogant.
...Okay, maybe there was no need to go that far. Harry chalked that line of thought up to temporary insanity and shook his head out before blowing the ink dry and closing up the letter, handing it to Hedwig and petting her a little.
“Straight to Professor McGonagall, Hedwig. You can wait for a response but she might not be able to right away – and Mr. Weasley will be coming to get me tomorrow anyway, so you can just stay with her until she either writes a reply or sends you away. If she sends you away before Mr. Weasley picks me up – just go find Hermione or Ron and stay with them, okay?”
Hedwig barked at him and bobbed her head up and down before nipping gently at his fingers and taking flight out through the open window.
With his heart simultaneously lighter and heavier than it had been in a long time, Harry put himself back into his reading – reviewing entire years worth of subjects, the ones with books that were actually worth it anyway.
He stuck mostly to Transfiguration and Charms – Charms was an incredibly broad subject that probably made up the vast majority of what most average witches and wizards used in their lives, and now that he thought about it with a bit more of a critical eye Transfiguration seemed like it could be dead useful in a fight.
Harry imagined being able to transfigure giant hands made of stone coming out of the ground and grabbing his opponents, or – since curses like the Killing Curse seemed to have seriously destructive impacts when they missed – transfiguring rubble into things like spears and knives to banish at his foes.
Speaking of the Killing Curse causing destruction, he realized that was a real way to block it. The Unforgivable Curses could all go through magical shields – but not physical ones. When he had this little epiphany he redoubled his efforts to review all his Transfiguration up to now – the subject had suddenly become more important than ever.
The idea of being able to conjure or transfigure things in the path of the Unforgivables was too tempting and useful to pass up – especially considering two of them were favourites of Moldy and his Death Munchers.
He read well into the night and only went to sleep when he realized it was two in the morning and Mr. Weasley was picking him up tomorrow – so he set an alarm, packed everything up, and went to sleep easier than he had in a while. Something about his decisions today had lifted a bit of weight off his shoulders – and all the reading and practising with his magic that he’d done had left him tired enough that he fell asleep fifteen minutes after his head hit the pillow.
~~~
Harry took the wards and magic in his room down an hour before Mr. Weasley was due to arrive, and made his way downstairs with his packed trunk. Vernon was at work and Dudley was out and about, so it was just Petunia in the kitchen.
“Aunt Petunia,” Harry said quietly, getting her attention.
“What,” she snapped.
“I’ll be leaving for the rest of summer today. Someone will be picking me up in about an hour,” he said, setting his trunk down just out of sight of the front door.
Petunia paused in her work in the kitchen before giving a sharp nod.
“Fine. I was going to have you do some weeding today but there’s no time.”
Harry sat down in a chair with a book, not particularly caring if Petunia started ranting about freakishness today. He was leaving in an hour, Vernon and Dudley weren’t home, and Petunia didn’t really scare him anymore.
It was...strange, actually. The next hour had him simply sitting and reading, and Petunia puttering about the kitchen doing...whatever it is she was doing. But about twenty-five minutes into his wait, Harry noticed she had paused and was peering at him.
He made eye contact with her and kept his features neutral – not wanting to goad her into anything. By the pinch of her brow and purse of her lips he guessed she’d spotted the book and knew what it was and was either debating whether or not she should shout at him or if it was worth it since he was leaving in half an hour.
But then she shocked him by asking him...a question.
“Which one’s that for then? What subject?” she asked – her voice was harsh and cutting, but underlying it was a small glint of genuine curiosity.
Harry blinked in shock a few times and almost pinched himself to see if he was dreaming – and his mouth answered the question automatically.
“Transfiguration,” he stated simply.
Petunia nodded after a moment.
“That’s the one about turning one thing into another thing isn’t it?” she muttered. “Lily hated that one. Used to pull her hair out about it.”
This is not real, Harry thought to himself.
But he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth – he’d never heard his Aunt mention her sister without insulting her somehow so he’d seize the opportunity it presented to him.
“Really?” he asked, trying to keep his voice soft so as not to accidentally rile her up. “I always...heard that she was brilliant with everything.”
Petunia snorted derisively.
“You would. Everyone loved Lily, she could do no wrong,” Petunia muttered darkly. “But she was a human being – she wasn’t special. Always raving and ranting about that subject, said the theory was the most dry and impossible thing she’d ever had to read and she was infuriated that actually doing it didn’t come easy to her. Hah! Always enjoyed that. Perfect Lily having to struggle with something for once.”
Her words and her tone were harsh, but there was something different about Petunia today.
And it hit him dead in the heart how apparently his Mum had the exact same opinion about the theory of the subject that he did.
“She was right,” Harry chuckled to himself. “The theory is awful.”
Petunia looked at him then, a slight frown on her lips and something foreign in her eyes. She went back to the kitchen sink and resumed washing dishes, aggressively. Harry looked back to his book, thinking the conversation was over, but after a few minutes...
“...you remind me of her sometimes, you know,” she muttered, and it was so quiet that for a moment Harry was positive he’d misheard her. “You might look like that scruffy, arrogant toerag that she married – but you act more like her. Certainly inherited her temper.”
Harry couldn’t help it – he smiled.
“No one’s ever really said that to me before,” he said quietly. “Pretty much everyone I meet only really knew my dad – apparently all of Mum’s magical friends died in the war, and…”
And you’ve never said anything about her except to insult her and imply she was a prostitute, was the part Harry didn’t say – but by the smallest flinch he almost thought he imagined, Petunia heard it anyway.
“Vernon...doesn’t like it when I talk about her,” Petunia said haltingly after a few minutes. “Don’t get me wrong – I hate what she was. I hate what you are. It’s unnatural it is, it’s wrong. But – she was still my sister. So – next summer, on Vernon’s work days when Dudders is out and you’re doing the garden...I can tell you some of the nicer things about her that don’t involve this – this freakishness. If you want.”
Things were too weird now.
This conversation was bordering on civil and it was making Harry distinctly uncomfortable. He wanted to jump on it – wanted to say yes immediately, wanted to beg for her to tell him something now – but he didn’t do that.
Instead he just said one word.
“Why?” he asked quietly.
Petunia paused in her dishwashing. She set them down and rinsed her hands, drying them slowly and deliberately – drawing out the silence.
“Seventeen is when you lot come of age,” Petunia said – her voice level and quiet. “You’ve got two summers left here before you leave. And since you always leave a week or so after your birthday, that’s about eight weeks left that we’ll have to be stuck with you until we can wash our hands of you for good.”
Harry wanted to interject – but he could tell she wasn’t done, and he really, really wanted to know where this was going.
“I’ve never been under any illusions that the way we treated you as a boy were...correct,” Petunia said, her eyes staying resolutely forward and looking out the window that was directly above the kitchen sink. “When you first arrived I was already struggling. Dudley was anything but an easy baby to care for and you were just more stress on top of that. It wasn’t about the money. I went from one screaming, crying infant that wouldn’t let me sleep and demanded every last scrap of my attention so that I couldn’t relax to two.”
“Vernon hated you from the start. Hates all that freak nonsense even more than I do. And I suppose...that made it easy. Easy to take all the stress of raising two infants, one of which I did not want and was not asked my opinion on raising...out on you. I’m not proud of it, but it is what it is and I won’t apologize for any of it – because it’s already done and you’ll be leaving after two more summers and if either of us have our way we’ll never set eyes on each other again.”
She paused for a moment and took a small breath.
“But it’s not right that you don’t know a thing about her. It’s not right that nobody in that freak society gave enough of a damn about her to tell you anything. I’ll not tell you a single thing about her freakishness or any more about that – but I’ll tell you about my sister. Before your lot stole her from me. Because my sister deserves to be remembered by more than just me.”
Harry didn’t know what to say to that – and, probably, there wasn’t anything to say.
So he just said ‘okay’ in a quiet, firm tone, and Petunia nodded before going back to the dishes. Harry went back to his book. And Petunia talked a bit more. It was a simple story – completely, utterly average actually.
Petunia was the one who taught Lily how to ride a bicycle.
Lily’s first bike was cherry-red and had pink ribbons on the handles, and a little license plate mounted on it with her name. She used training wheels for all of two weeks before she decided that if Petunia could ride without them, so could she.
It took her another three months after that to stop falling down and scraping her knee all the time, but she never put the training wheels back on and was soon riding faster and far more recklessly than Petunia ever did.
That little story told Harry a lot about his Mum.
That she was stubborn. Determined. Headstrong.
That she kept getting up after falling down.
And that she admired and looked up to her sister – because Lily only got rid of her training wheels so quickly to be like Petunia.
When Petunia was done speaking it was five minutes until Mr. Weasley was due to arrive, so Harry closed his book and put it away in his trunk. He then turned to his Aunt, who had come out of the kitchen and was standing a few feet away from him, staring pensively at him.
“...Thank you,” Harry said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.
Petunia nodded and as she made to leave the room Harry spoke again – he wasn’t sure what possessed him to say this when every bone in his body told him it was a bad idea but…
“I don’t think she would’ve wanted to leave you forever,” he said quietly under his breath. Petunia froze up stock-still, her face twisted up into an unrecognizable emotion. “She...Mum died when she was only twenty one or so. She was young and in the middle of a war. But it sounds like she really loved you – and I know for a fact that she didn’t change all that much, and that type of person wouldn’t have left you behind if she had a choice.”
“...what?” Petunia hissed, her voice slightly strangled in her throat.
“...When Voldemort attacked my parents, he tried to kill me,” Harry said. “I have...a memory. The only memory I have of Mum. It’s her voice, begging for my life. Begging to spare me. Begging him to kill her instead, and he tells her to step aside...and she refuses. She died for me, sacrificed her life for me because she loved me so much. And when Voldemort tried to kill me...her sacrifice invoked old, ancient magic to protect me. His curse ricocheted off my forehead and struck him instead. I lived because my Mum loved me more than anything – and anyone who loves that much wouldn’t leave her sister behind for good.”
Petunia was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling. Harry could see sweat beading on her skin, and her eyes looked wide and wild as she slowly turned to look at him.
“You...remember that?” she whispered.
Harry nodded jerkily.
“The first time I heard her voice was when I had a nightmare about it at thirteen. Something dragged the memory out of my subconscious...hasn’t left me since,” Harry muttered, not really wanting to explain dementors right now.
“Nobody ever said,” Petunia croaked. “Nobody ever told me how she died. Just that she was attacked.”
“...I’m sorry,” Harry said. “That’s...that was wrong of them. Someone should’ve told you.”
Petunia’s breath rattled in her chest.
Then there was a knock at the door and Petunia jumped – she shot one last, strange look at Harry before disappearing into another room, and Harry went to the door with his trunk and opened it up. He was greeted by the sight of Arthur Weasley and a woman with offensively pink hair who grinned toothily at him.
“Wotcher, Harry! Someone call a taxi service?” she asked, winking at him.
“Hello Harry,” Mr. Weasley greeted him pleasantly. “All ready to go?”
“All set,” Harry said with a nod, hefting his trunk. “How are we…?”
“Apparating,” Mr. Weasley said with an apologetic smile. “Have you been side-along before?”
Yes was the truth, but Harry shook his head no.
“It’ll be rough as balls your first time,” the pink-haired woman warned. “Oh – yeah – I’m Tonks by the way. Just Tonks. Call me anything else and you’ll wake up with a few body parts rearranged.”
Harry’s eyes widened slightly and he nodded slowly.
“Right...well it’s nice to meet you, Just Tonks,” he said, holding his hand out. “I’m Just Harry.”
Tonks cackled and shook his hand.
“I like you. Alright – let’s ship out. Time’s a-wastin’ and I think Hermione will have a stroke if we keep her waiting much longer.”
Harry smiled at the thought of Hermione as the two adults led him down the walk to a tucked-away corner of the neighbourhood, hidden behind a few trees. Mr. Weasley offered Harry his arm and told him to grab on, and then he turned on his heel with a crack.
This time Harry understood what they meant by apparition being uncomfortable as he arrived nearly doubled over and heaving a little bit.
“I did warn you,” Tonks said apologetically after appearing next to him with a crack. “Now – buck up and read this. Not out loud, mind you.”
She held a slip of paper in front of him that Harry quickly scanned.
‘ The headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix can be found at Number 12, Grimmauld Place.’
The handwriting was spidery and loopy, and Harry was pretty sure he recognized it. Then he looked up and saw that they were in a neighbourhood with numbered houses – and there was an 11 and a 13, but no 12.
But that was only true for another few seconds as right before his eyes, another house practically grew in between them – Number 12.
“Whoa,” Harry murmured.
“Good? Great,” Tonks said, pulling out a lighter and setting the parchment on fire, dropping it onto the road and letting it burn out completely before grinding the ashes with her heel. “Now let’s go. Fair warning – house is nasty as shite and there’s a stupid leg near the front door that I always trip over. I’m gonna hold onto you and let you go first and maybe you’ll be my good luck charm and help me avoid the sodding thing.”
Tonks looped her arm with Harry’s and gave him another toothy grin, this time prettily fluttering her eyelashes before giving him a wink. Harry felt his cheeks heat up mightily and Tonks snickered, leading him by the arm up the front walk to the door – with Mr. Weasley in front of them. He opened the door and entered first, with Tonks stopping the door from swinging shut and carefully angling them so Harry was just a little in front of her.
The interior of the house was dark. Very dark.
But Tonks carefully led him through the foyer – halfway through she hissed ‘Yes! Eat that you stupid leg!’ under her breath – and eventually they emerged into a sitting room that was much more well-lit, and full of faces Harry recognized.
He saw the rest of the Weasley’s first – Fred and George were there, with Ron sitting next to Professor Lupin and Ginny sitting next to Hermione. And – lounging in an armchair – was a man Harry hadn’t seen in months, and his grin threatened to split his face as he saw him.
“Sirius,” Harry breathed, pulling away from Tonks and entering the room properly. Sirius looked up at the sound of his name and jumped out of the chair as Harry practically ran across the room, hitting Sirius’s chest with a light thud as he threw his arms around his godfather.
“Heya Pup,” Sirius chuckled, hugging him back. “Long time no see. Welcome to Grimmauld Place, home of the Black family for generations and my own personal stinking hell-hole.”
Harry laughed and squeezed Sirius tighter for a moment before separating, looking around the room.
“Doesn’t look so bad so far,” Harry said with a wry smile. “But then again – I think anything’d be better than the Dursley’s.”
Sirius wrinkled his nose at that.
“Yeah that’s fair.”
Harry barely got a few steps back from Sirius before he was tackled himself – by a culprit with bushy brown hair that tickled his nose and arms that were threatening to crack his ribs into pieces. But he didn’t overly care about that at the moment – he threw his arms around Hermione and closed his eyes, letting the warmth of her hug seep into him a little even as his eyes watered from the lack of oxygen and slight pain in his torso.
“Bloody hell Hermione let him breathe a little,” came the chuckling voice of his other best friend, and Hermione immediately released him and sprang back a little, looking at Harry with slightly guilty eyes. Ron came up and clapped Harry on the shoulder a few times, grinning. “Alright, Harry?”
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Hermione blurted out. “I got your letter and it was such a relief…”
Ah. That was why she looked guilty – he did mention he was a bit cross with her. He smiled at her to show her that it wasn’t that bad and when she looked a little confused he just mouthed ‘later’ at her – and she nodded in response.
“I’m alive,” Harry chuckled, turning to Ron. “Muggles weren’t so bad this time around actually. Mostly left me alone, for once.”
“That’s good,” Ron said with a nod.
Harry was greeted by the rest – Fred and George slapped him on the back and gave him a noogie, and Ginny just lightly punched his arm with a small half-smile.
“It’s good to see you Harry,” she said quietly. “I was worried about you too, after that article in the Prophet.”
“Yeah – what the hell happened with that anyway?” Harry asked, looking around at the inhabitants of the room. Hermione was sitting back down on the couch now and patted the empty seat next to her, so Harry sat down as the other faces turned towards him.
“We don’t really know yet,” Professor Lupin said apologetically. “Dumbledore’s been working overtime at the Ministry. Everyone is in a bit of a panic that the dementors are going rogue – nobody knows if it’s You-Know-Who or someone in the Ministry with an agenda, but since the dementors got so close to you we’re leaning towards the former.”
A chill ran down Harry’s spine at that. He hadn’t actually considered that he might have been the direct target of the attack – which made him all the more confused and grateful about Willow, who had warned him away from it.
He wondered what was going on with her and if she got the Defence post at Hogwarts – if she even looked into it at all.
“I’m just glad you’re safe, Pup,” Sirius sighed, shaking his head. “Bit annoyed that they’re trying to pin this on me but – eh. What else is new.”
“Fudge is still denying that You-Know-Who is back,” Tonks interjected. “But with the rogue dementor attack he can’t sweep everything under the rug anymore – currently the party line is that Sirius Black is trying to pick up where You-Know-Who left off, now that the danger can’t just be ignored anymore. He’s still an idiot but people smarter than him are starting to overrule him now – it’s not great but…”
“Better than before,” Harry sighed with a regretful nod. “Those poor folks that got Kissed though…”
“It’s awful,” Hermione said vehemently. “Nobody seems to care that people practically died – they’re just fussing about the Statute of Secrecy and fretting about what’ll happen if they go after magical people next.”
Harry grimaced and nodded his agreement.
“Alright,” he sighed. “Well – clearly something has been going on here with the weird magic on the building and all you lot being here, but I’m really starved so will someone fill me in after I eat something? Hermione?”
Hermione smiled and nodded.
“Happy to. Mrs. Weasley’s in the kitchen, she’ll be really happy to see you.”
“Happy to have another pair of hands more like,” Ron grumbled.
Harry looked at him quizzically and the twins answered his unspoken question.
“She’s been having us clean,” Fred started.
“Constantly! With no magic!” George continued.
“It’s inhumane!”
“A violation of our rights, it is!”
“Works us with no remorse!”
“Get out while you can mate.”
“She’ll get her claws in you next!”
Harry laughed and stood up, shaking his head slightly.
“I missed you two idiots,” he chuckled. “Alright, let’s go say hi to your Mum and then I’ll get all caught up.”
Soon he was being herded to the kitchen with Sirius in front of him chattering away, Hermione on one side and Ron on the other. Harry felt a bit nervous – on the one hand he was excited to tell Hermione about the changes he wanted to make, and on the other he was dreading Ron’s response to it all (and perhaps slightly dreading Hermione’s too – her overenthusiasm towards school might blow its top with excitement and that would definitely be a bit much) but mostly he was happy.
He might not be in Hogwarts yet – the only place that ever really felt like home – but he was finally back with the closest thing he had to family, and that warmed his chest and relaxed his muscles.
Harry started to get the feeling that, despite Voldemort being back and the tragedy of the attack that just happened, this might actually be a halfway-decent year. Voldemort was going to probably stay underground as much as he could after the dementor attack failed to kill him or otherwise inconvenience him so he probably didn’t have any urgent need to interfere with Hogwarts this year until he was ready to emerge publicly, the Ministry was at least acknowledging some kind of threat existed out there, and the thought of really immersing himself in magic again was exciting all its own.
‘Not to get my hopes up,’ he mused to himself, well aware that a truly quiet year at Hogwarts was about as likely as Trelawney making sense, ‘but I’ve a cautiously optimistic hope for this year. Maybe it’ll be the closest thing I’ll get to normal.’
With a light scoff he shook his head and smiled lightly.
Yeah.
A normal year for Harry Potter.
When kneazles fly, maybe.