By Way of Quills and Parchment

By Way of Quills and Parchment

It all started with a mistake.

Vernon Dursley’s face was an alarming shade of puce as he glared at Harry, who glared back, chest heaving.

“You’ve done nothing for me that I should be grateful for,” he said, his tone low and even and somehow more expressive of years of pent-up anger than a shout would have been. “Nothing.”

“Why, you—you miserable, ungrateful thing!” Vernon spluttered, swinging one beefy fist.

Stars exploded in Harry’s head and he staggered back, fighting a wave of dizziness.

“Up! Now!” Vernon roared.

Harry went, still seething with resentment.

Grateful! Grateful for what?! Years of being bullied, underfed, ignored, forced to work, stuffed into a closet under the stairs? Not bloody likely!!

He threw himself onto his bed hearing the several bolts and locks being fastened but was too upset to lie down. He got up, pacing furiously, trying to calm his angry thoughts.

After Moody’s unmistakable warning at King’s Cross, the Dursleys had chosen to ignore his existence for the most part, which was just fine with him.

Until this morning when his uncle had started grumbling to Aunt Petunia at the breakfast table about no-good failures who left their brats to be taken care of by other people and said brats who showed no gratitude for the roof over their heads.

He had had enough. His parents had been murdered trying to protect him and he was not going to listen to more of this. He had stood up furiously, knocking his chair over, before yelling, “Shut up! Just shut up, will you?!”

He had known he was asking for trouble but at the moment he was too angry to care, felt a perverse satisfaction in seeing his uncle’s face redden in fury.

His head was still pounding from Uncle Vernon’s fist and for a moment he amused himself imagining Moody, Tonks and Professor Lupin coming to make good on their promise. The horrified looks on the Dursleys’ faces… He smiled grimly, without much humor, even as he knew he wouldn’t tell them. He wasn’t going to turn to them to solve all his problems; he wasn’t a little boy anymore.

He detested being at the Dursleys. For a moment he thought wildly of packing all his stuff and using the Knight Bus to get to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, but only for a moment. He wasn’t angry enough to be reckless, wasn’t reckless enough to be stupid, wasn’t stupid enough to think that the Dursleys were worse than Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Besides, he didn’t really want to go to Grimmauld Place. Not when Sirius wouldn’t be there. Not with that lying traitor, Kreacher, there. No, he’d much rather stay here as long as he could.

The thought of Sirius calmed his anger against his uncle as nothing else could, calmed him as it saddened him.

He flung himself into his chair, stopping his pacing, glancing at the sheets of parchment and his quill on the desk before picking up his quill and pulling a sheet of parchment in front of him.

He’d never kept a diary but right now he needed some relief to his restlessness and this seemed the best option.

I hate the Dursleys, he began, slashing the words across the parchment forcefully. I hate them. But I don’t want to go back to the Order’s Headquarters either. I have nowhere to go so I stay here. But I won’t stand for any more of Uncle Vernon’s insults to Mum and Dad. I won’t! So they weren’t perfect. They weren’t failures either. They weren’t! They defied Voldemort 3 times, Dumbledore said. And I’m not ungrateful; the Dursleys have never given me any reason to be grateful so why should I be?

Harry stopped writing for a moment, suddenly realizing writing out his thoughts helped somehow. He put his quill to the parchment and began again.

I wish I could see Sirius again, talk to him again. But I can’t. And it’s my fault and I can’t stand that thought…

Harry wrote steadily for a good hour, writing out his grief, his guilt, the feelings that he’d been suppressing and never told to anyone else, including Ron and Hermione. He wrote and in his writing, found more peace than he’d known in the past few weeks since Sirius had fallen through the veil in the Department of Mysteries.

He wrote until he heard the bolts on his door thrown back again when he hastily folded the parchment up and tossed it onto his desk, standing up to meet his Aunt’s eyes.

“Weed the garden,” was all she said, abruptly and coldly.

His anger spent now, he only said, “Yes, Aunt Petunia” dully before following her out of his little room.

Hermione’s owl came the next morning.

Hurriedly, Harry opened the letter, scanning it quickly.

Dear Harry,

How are you? I hope your aunt and uncle are treating you decently.

I’m still at home, helping my parents out in their office. I’ve been reading up more about Defense Against the Dark Arts and Harry, you really taught the DA well. This one book talks all about how some of the simplest, most basic hexes and curses can be the most effective.

I haven’t heard much from the others; I expect they’re trying to work with the Ministry, although I don’t think they’ll get along too well. Fudge is really panicking about the whole situation. Nothing very interesting or important has been reported in the Daily Prophet, Harry, so don’t worry too much about that.

I do hope you’re doing well, Harry. I’ve been worrying about you.

Love from,

Hermione

He couldn’t help a small smile at the letter. Hermione hadn’t said much, since there was still the danger of intercepted owls but as usual, she had tried to tell him as much as she could without being specific enough to be a threat. He knew she meant the Order by “others”, knew the “Ministry” must mean the Aurors. Typical of Hermione to understand the underlying tensions between the two organizations.

Obviously, too, Hermione was concerned about him and his state of mind. Her compliment about the DA, he knew, while perfectly sincere, were more to try to raise his spirits than not.

Quickly, Harry sat down and answered her letter.

Dear Hermione,

I’m as well as can be expected. The Dursleys are mostly too frightened of our odd-looking chauffeur, his pink-haired friend and the neighborhood wolf to do much. [Harry grinned to himself at this description of Moody, Tonks and Lupin, knowing Hermione would understand and appreciate it.]

About the DA, thanks. Can I borrow the book once you’re done? Give me something to do, besides chores.

Take care.

Harry

Just then, Dudley began pounding on his door yelling for breakfast and he only had time to fold his reply before he had to hurry down to make breakfast for the already sulking Dudley.

It wasn’t until after dinner that day that he finally was able to go up to his room where Hedwig was waiting.

He grabbed the folded piece of parchment, wrote Hermione on the outside and tied it to Hedwig’s leg.

“This is for Hermione, ok, girl?” She hooted softly, giving his finger a friendly nip before taking off.

Harry was staring out his window, looking at the night sky or what little he could see of it, when Hedwig returned.

To his surprise, Hermione had replied and her response was two parchments long.

He frowned curiously. While Hermione did write more often than anyone else, she tended to keep her letters to once every two weeks or so. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d responded so quickly and at such length.

Dear Harry,

I won’t ask if you’re ok. I can tell that you’re not. Do you want me to tell the others about your aunt and uncle? I’m sure they’ll want to know. Your aunt and uncle sound like Mrs. Black to me. Are they?

About Sirius, I wish I knew what to say. It wasn’t your fault, Harry, really it wasn’t. You said that Dumbledore told you it wasn’t. Believe Dumbledore, Harry. It wasn’t your fault. And Harry, Sirius wouldn’t want you to feel guilty like this over him. He chose to leave his house, chose to go with the others. And I think that if he could have, he would have chosen to go the way he did, trying to save you. I’m sorry I can’t say anything more, really. I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you. I wish I could help somehow…

Harry put down Hermione’s letter. She’d gone mental or something. He tried to remember what he’d written to her. Nothing that bad about the Dursleys, nothing about Sirius, he didn’t think. Had he?

He’d told no one how he felt exactly about Sirius dying, only written it…

He snatched the folded parchment on his desk up, knowing what it would be before he saw it. And then he groaned, closing his eyes and grimacing.

Idiot! He had accidentally sent Hermione his diary entry instead of the actual response he’d written, since they’d both been on his desk and he hadn’t bothered to check before he sent it.

So now Hermione knew all about how he felt about living at the Dursleys, about Sirius’s death. Knew what no one else besides himself knew.

For a moment he was angry, embarrassed. He hadn’t wanted anyone to know! It was his business, his private life. No one else needed to know. No one.

But then he started to think. Was it really so terrible that she knew? He knew she wouldn’t tell anyone, including Ron or the Order members, unless he told her she could. She was his best friend, probably the one person he would have chosen to tell if he had thought about it. He trusted her. He respected her opinion more than he would admit.

He started reading her letter again, suddenly wondering what else she had to say.

That was how it started.

Harry wrote a reply, telling her he didn’t want the Order to know about the Dursleys, assuring her he could stand to live with them for as long as he needed to, that they’d gone back to ignoring him for the most part. He also explained what Dumbledore had told him about the reason he needed to stay at the Dursleys during the summer, knowing that that one reason would probably weigh more with Hermione than any other.

He knew Hermione would do more to keep him safe than she would for any other reason. She had made the desperate attempt to free them from Umbridge’s clutches to keep Umbridge from using the Cruciatus on him. She had taken time out of her studying, which was a bigger sacrifice to her than to anyone else, to help him with the Summoning Charm… Trying to figure out how he was going to survive the 2^nd Task… Researching hexes and jinxes for him to use in the Third Task… She had gone against what must have been just about every instinct in her body and broken more school rules than he could count to make the Polyjuice Potion because she knew he was being ostracized and was worried about it.

He realized that Hermione had done more for his sake than anyone else had ever done. Sirius had done everything he could do to help Harry in the past two years, risking capture and a Dementor’s Kiss, it was true, but Sirius hadn’t been able to help as much as he would have liked because of the risk of being captured again.

It was Hermione, had always been Hermione, who had given her all for his sake, never hesitating. He remembered again the intensity of the relief he’d felt when Neville had assured him that Hermione was still breathing. Now he knew just why he had been so relieved. It wasn’t just that she was his best friend. It wasn’t just that it was because of him she’d been there in the Department of Mysteries in the first place. It was that he knew he couldn’t have gone on without her. He needed her.

He wrote to her about everything. About the Dursleys and how they’d treated him his entire life. About watching Dudley be showered with praise and gifts for nothing while he was never given anything. I always thought that if my parents were alive, I could have had those things too. I could have been the one receiving gifts. But they weren’t alive and so I couldn’t. About his nightmares of Cedric, of the Department of Mysteries, of Sirius falling through the veil. He told her about the nightmares he had where he was the one that spoke the curse that had caused Sirius’s death.

I know you told me it’s not my fault, Hermione. And I believe you. But I can’t help thinking that if it hadn’t been for my own stupidity in believing that the vision I had was true, he would never have had to come try to rescue us. I should have known. I should have listened to you, Hermione. I should have practiced Occlumency more, like you told me to.

She responded promptly. The Dursleys scowled at the frequency of her owls but, for once, refrained from comment, having no desire to see Moody or Tonks show up on their doorstep.

Oh, Harry, don’t think like that. You couldn’t have known and you had no reason not to believe Kreacher. Professor Snape was wrong to stop your lessons, even if you had seen his Pensieve.

He told her of what he’d seen in Snape’s Pensieve, his disillusionment with his father.

It was the last time I talked to Sirius and he said that my dad was a good guy. I want to believe him. But I don’t think I would have liked my dad much if I had known him. I wish I knew why my mum married my dad. She hated him in 5^th year. I wish I knew what happened to make her marry him. But she looks so happy in their wedding picture, I know she must have changed her mind about him. I just wish I knew why.

The one thing he didn’t write to her about was the Prophecy. He couldn’t bring himself to write out the words of the Prophecy that was his destiny and his doom. He wanted to tell her. There were moments when he nearly did, but always what stopped him was knowing how upset it would make Hermione, and that if and when he did tell her, he wanted to tell her in person.

It was quite possibly one of the happiest summers, in a bittersweet way, Hermione could remember.

She loved to read Harry’s letters. Now that his defenses had been breached because of that mistaken letter (she had known quite well that it was a mistake, albeit a lucky one for her), he wrote to her the sort of letters she’d always wished he would write. Always before his letters were short to the point of terseness; it was just Harry’s way. Only now that his mistake had made obsolete the barrier he had always kept between them, his thoughts came spilling out.

Nor was it all sadness and trouble in his letters, either.

A letter came for Dudley today from his school doctor saying that his weight is now a serious health risk. Aunt Petunia threw a fit, was babbling about big bones and her ickle Duddykins being a healthy growing boy, while Uncle Vernon grumbled about doctors who enjoyed believing that the entire world, besides themselves, was dying. I’ve decided maybe Dudley isn’t exactly fat; he’s just a whale that was accidentally picked up and adopted by my aunt and uncle… [Hermione laughed to herself. She could just see Harry’s grin, his eyes sparkling with humor, as he wrote.]

My aunt and uncle have given in. They’re putting Dudley on a fruit diet. They seem to have conveniently forgotten that Dudley’s idea of a fruit meal is eating two whole watermelons or something.

And one day, O.W.L. results arrived.

Harry opened the official-looking letter nervously. He didn’t really want to know how he’d done, whether he had made good enough marks to become an Auror or not.

Harry James Potter

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms E

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology E

History of Magic P

Potions O [Harry blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. He hadn’t read it wrong. He had somehow managed to pull off an O in Potions.]

Transfiguration O

He wasn’t surprised to receive a letter from Hermione that very night.

Did you get your O.W.L. results today too, Harry? How did you do? I got an E in Astronomy and in History of Magic, too, but O’s in everything else. My parents are so pleased; we’re going out to dinner tonight to celebrate and they said they’ll take me to Diagon Alley tomorrow.

Congratulations, Hermione! I knew you would get O’s in just about everything. I don’t know how I did it, but I actually got an O in Potions. Snape is probably going to explode when he hears. I’m not thrilled about having to take more classes with that git (Sorry, Hermione, but he is!) but at least I’ve made good enough marks to become an Auror later. That is, if I keep my marks up. I got an E in Care of Magical Creatures; I have to owl Hagrid. He’ll be pleased. I got an E in Charms; at least I know I can do a perfect Summoning Charm, thanks to you, Hermione. An E in Herbology (I know about the Devil’s Snare at least), and an O in Transfiguration, that I can hardly believe.

That’s great, Harry! I knew you could do well in Potions and Transfiguration. You really are better than you think. And you’ll make a great Auror, Harry. I’m so glad you made it. And now with Umbridge gone, we should have a better DADA professor, I hope, which will make things easier. Although I’ve been wondering if maybe we should try to keep on going with the DA just in case? It turned out to be so useful and I think Dumbledore approves. We’ll have to see who the next DADA professor is.

Dear Harry,

We’ll be coming to pick you up this Saturday from your aunt and uncle’s house, at 9 pm. Be ready. We’ve already arranged for your aunt, uncle and cousin to be out of the house that evening. See you then.

Remus Lupin

Dear Harry,

I’ll be joining Ron and Ginny and the other Weasleys at Headquarters this Saturday. Professor Lupin said that you’ll be coming that night, too. I can’t wait to see you, Harry!

Harry’s last letter to Hermione was possibly the shortest he’d ever sent her that summer or any other summer.

Dear Hermione.

Thanks for everything. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Can’t wait.

Harry

Hermione smiled as she read the short note. It would be good to see Harry again, talk to him in person this time. Letters had been good but they just weren’t the same.

It was pretty much the same as last year, only this time he’d been expecting them. The same group had come, with the exception of Sturgis Podmore who’d been replaced by Bill Weasley, who had grinned and waved at Harry. Moody had made them detour even more than last year and Harry had never been so glad to get off a broom in his life when they landed in Grimmauld Place.

Grimmauld Place looked no better than it had the last time he’d seen it. He looked away from the fallen leaves on the sidewalk, remembering that Padfoot had romped through leaves when he’d come outside.

Harry fought the desperate hope that, just like last year, Sirius would be there, waiting to greet him, having come back through the Veil somehow...

The door opened and they all filed in.

“They’re waiting upstairs-” Lupin began when he was interrupted by a feminine cry of “Harry! You’re here!” and the next thing Harry knew Hermione had run down the stairs and thrown herself at him, nearly knocking him back into Kingsley who stood behind him.

Harry saw Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley and Moody go into the kitchen, Lupin with a quick, amused smile at him.

Hermione drew back and they grinned at each other for a moment before Hermione blushed and looked away, looking suddenly uncomfortable for the first time in his memory.

“I- it’s good to see you, Harry.”

“Yeah. It’s good to see you too.”

Hermione turned away, looking pleased, before taking his hand to bring him with her. “Ron’s upstairs. He and Ginny are playing chess.” Hermione suddenly looked mischievous as she added, “He’s actually losing to her now which is why he didn’t come down to say hi himself.”

Harry laughed then smiled at her. “I missed you,” he said suddenly, without consciously thinking about it.

Hermione blushed again. “I missed you too, Harry.”

And then she was dragging him into the bedroom he and Ron shared and he grinned hello to Ron and Ginny, who looked up from what looked to be an intense game to wave and smile. And he realized he was home, now that he was with Hermione again.