Author's Note: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. I'm truly flattered to see that you all think so highly of my work and I hope that I will be able to live up to your expectations as this story goes on. Well, on with the next chapter!
CHAPTER THREE
O.W.L.S AND INVITATIONS
Harry didn't get any food for the next two days in which he spent all of his time locked up in his room. The third day, Aunt Petunia walked in to discuss certain things with Harry.
"Vernon and I have come to the conclusion that if you promise not to make any more trouble, we will let you out of your room. But, you are not allowed out of this house and you are not allowed to talk unless spoken to. Understood?"
He frowned. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."
"Good. You can come out at noon. Oh, and one last thing-stay away from Dudley," she said coldly.
"Certainly," he muttered as she closed his door. Great, he thought to himself. I can spend time with a wicked hag that I have to call 'aunt'.
He would rather continue his punishment.
But then again, the Dursleys knew he hated Aunt Marge, so maybe it was their way of torturing him. The more he thought about it, the more he figured it was most likely the case.
A tapping at his window diverted his attention and he looked up to see a brown barn owl outside.
What's this about? he wondered.
He opened his window and let the owl inside. It flew in and landed on top of his desk chair, an envelope clutched in its beak. He quickly removed it and the owl spread its wings and took off once again.
Harry quickly closed the window and then looked down at the letter, his eyes widening when he saw it was from the Ministry of Magic. His O.W.L. results had arrived.
He gulped and set the letter down, not wanting to look at it. The only scores he felt confident in were his Defense Against the Dark Arts scores; otherwise, it was a toss up.
What if he didn't have enough O.W.L.s to become an Auror? His chosen career path would be over before it had even begun. What would he do then? The only other thing he was really good at was Quidditch. Maybe he'd become a professional Quidditch player. He doubted that they needed to have high O.W.L. scores. All they needed was talent, and Harry had quite a bit of talent when it came to being the Seeker on his House team.
But what if he did have enough to become an Auror? Then he'd have to prepare for his N.E.W.T. level classes, and what if he failed those?
Stop it, he chided himself. You're beginning to sound like Hermione. Just open the stupid thing.
He picked up the envelope carefully, like it was the most fragile thing in the world. Opening it, he slipped the parchment inside out and, closing his eyes, opened it.
Please let me have enough. Please let me have enough, he prayed and opened his eyes.
The scores were set up in boxes, telling him which classes he had taken the tests in and what he received in both his written and practical examinations. Then there was a column of boxes for the O.W.L.s he had gotten out of each test.
He quickly looked down at the "Total" box and felt his eyes go wide. He sat down on his bed in shock.
"Bloody hell," he muttered and a grin spread across his face.
In the "Total" box was a large number ten.
"I got ten," he breathed. "Ten."
He knew that was good. His score was one below Ron's older brother Charlie, who was prefect during his days at Hogwarts. He couldn't believe his good fortune.
"Ten," he repeated and then jerked his head up to the sound of more scratching at his window. Another owl, an eagle owl this time, was waiting for him.
"If Uncle Vernon sees this I'm a dead man," Harry muttered to himself as he opened the window and let the owl inside.
The owl soared around his room and dropped another envelope on his desk, this time with emerald ink, then flew back out the window.
Harry closed his window again and studied the envelope on his desk. He knew whom it was from, or rather, where it was from, but why would Hogwarts be sending him a letter?
Shrugging, he picked up the envelope and opened it, taking out a short note and reading it.
Dear Mr. Potter,
Congratulations on getting enough O.W.L.s to become an Auror. I knew you had it in you somewhere.
Sincerely,
Prof. M. McGonagall
Harry smiled. While Professor McGonagall was by no means his favorite teacher (although she had been this past year due to her dealings with Professor Umbridge), the support she had shown him made him feel better about himself. He just couldn't believe that he had done it; he had gotten enough O.W.L.s to go on and try to become an Auror.
He didn't even realize the time when he heard the clock downstairs strike twelve noon. It was quickly followed up by his uncle yelling, "Potter, get down here!"
Harry put the letter down and walked out of his room with a little bounce to his step. It was the happiest he had felt in a long time, but it was instantly shattered by the sound of Aunt Marge's voice asking, "What's got you in a good mood?"
"Food," Harry lied.
Uncle Vernon, who was sitting next to Aunt Marge in the living room, laughed. "You're not getting anything yet, boy. Come over here now. I want to talk to you."
Harry entered the living room soundlessly and stood before Uncle Vernon. "Yes, sir?" he asked.
"Before you can eat anything, Potter, you're going to work off the damage you did. I first want you to clean up the backyard," he said gruffly.
"Poor Ripper's had the runs," Aunt Marge sneered.
"And after that," Vernon continued, "I want you to cut the hedge outside. It's starting to look dreadful. And while you're out there, you can weed the flowerbed for your Aunt Petunia. And after that, you can mow the lawn. When you are done with all of that, then you may eat."
"Yes, sir," came Harry's automatic response. "May I at least get a glass of water first, sir?"
"Hell no you can't get a glass of water!" Marge scowled. "Get to work, boy!"
Thinking of his O.W.L. scores and the little food he might receive after all of this, he bowed his head slightly and headed for the backyard.
Ripper was out there, squatting and making a new pile of mess for Harry to clean up. Harry sighed and got himself a bag and a shovel. When Ripper noticed him, he ran over to him, barking loudly.
Harry scowled. "Shut up you dumb dog," he muttered and began to clean up. Ripper continued to bark and started to bear his teeth. "One of these days, Dog, I'm going to chase you up a tree. See how you like that," he growled as he shoveled up more dog feces.
Ripper followed him all around the yard, barking, growling, and showing Harry his sharp teeth. Harry continued to clean up the yard, wishing with each passing minute that he could just kick the dog and walk away.
When Harry finished, he set down the shovel and headed to the garbage to throw the bag away. Just as he lifted the lid, he saw it, out of the corner of his eye-Ripper squatting again.
"You damn dog," Harry spat as he grabbed the shovel again.
Ripper growled as Harry walked over to clean up Ripper's latest mess. And as Harry finished, Ripper finally struck, biting Harry in the leg.
"Owww!" he yelled, dropping to one knee. He checked the wound quickly and grit his teeth in anger when he found blood. Ripper started to growl again.
And suddenly, the dog pounced, but Harry was too quick. Ripper landed on the ground with a thump and a yelp.
Not even a second had passed when Harry heard the back door open and Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Aunt Marge come out.
"What the devil-" Uncle Vernon started but was cut off by Aunt Marge's cry of anguish.
"Ripper!" she moaned. She ran over and crouched by her beloved dog. "What happened? What…" And then she saw Harry. "You!"
"He attacked me," Harry said, trying not to let the anger seep into his voice.
"What have you done to my Ripper?" Marge demanded.
"Nothing. This time he missed me, that's all," Harry replied.
"Missed you? What do you mean, he missed you?" Uncle Vernon interrogated.
Harry showed Vernon his bloody leg. "He didn't get me the second time around."
Aunt Marge was hovering over her dog. "Did he hurt you, my dear? Where did the little bastard hurt you?"
"Get back to your room now," Vernon ordered. "And you can forget about that food."
"He doesn't have rabies or anything, does he? I may need a tetanus shot," Harry said, the last sentence coming out sarcastically as he got back up on his feet. "But then again, you wouldn't care if I died, now would you?"
"I'm not taking you to a bloody hospital, if that's what you're asking," Vernon snapped back. "I'm sure you deserved it. But make sure you clean yourself up. I wouldn't want blood all over my house."
"Yeah, that's a shame, because I have eight pints just waiting to decorate your walls," he snapped back as he headed in the house. Petunia followed him.
"Sit down," she ordered as she moved about the cupboards, taking out gauze and a nasty looking can of spray.
Harry sat down on one of the kitchen chairs as she took one out and sat down in front of him. She picked up his leg and hoisted up his pant leg to where the wound was. Then she shook the can, aimed, and sprayed.
Tears formed in his eyes as he squinted them shut, trying to block out the stinging pain the spray caused. He opened them once he felt Aunt Petunia start to wrap his leg.
"Tell me, Potter, why do you get yourself into so much trouble?" she asked as she wrapped his leg in a rough manner.
He winced in pain. "I don't go getting myself into trouble," he replied. "Trouble usually finds me."
"That's for sure," Petunia muttered and finished wrapping his leg. "There, now go to your room."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said and got up. But before he went through the doorway, he turned back and studied his aunt for a moment. "Thanks," he said suddenly.
Petunia looked up, startled by the politeness. "You're welcome," she replied and stared at the doorway, long after Harry was gone.
*****
Harry lay on his bed later on that afternoon, thinking about his friends, Hogwarts, Voldemort, but mostly about Sirius.
He looked over at the broken two-way mirror that lay on his desk, wondering if he should just chuck it. Sirius more than likely had the other, so the mirror was useless to Harry. Yet for some odd reason, he held on to it.
There was a tap at his door and then it opened, revealing Aunt Petunia. She was holding a plate of what appeared to be a ham sandwich. Harry sat up and eyed her in bewilderment.
She walked in and set the plate down on his desk, brought out his chair, and sat. "There," she said none too gently, "so you can tell that freak group of yours that we do feed you."
So that was the reason behind her bandaging up his leg and now bringing him up some food.
"Thank you," he said, taking the plate off of the desk and then taking a bite out of his sandwich.
"You know, Potter, sometimes I don't understand you. Why are you being so polite all of a sudden?" she asked waspishly.
He chewed and swallowed before answering. "Although you won't believe it, I really am a polite person. And I'm usually nicer too."
She scowled. "You're right, I don't believe you."
He shrugged. "You'd just have to ask my friends. They know."
"What? That you're some charming gentleman?" she shot back.
"That if I'm given respect, I'll return it," he corrected. "But that doesn't happen here a lot, so I am the way I am."
"You want respect?" she nearly shrieked. "How do you expect any of us to respect you when you're a-you're a-"
"Wizard," he finished for her. She scowled again, but said nothing.
"I'm still surprised I came out the way I did," he continued. "That is, the good side of me. I shouldn't have been a very kind person at all, what with growing up in a house where no one has ever showed me love or even compassion. I suppose that all changed once I became eleven, and met good people, like the Weasleys. They're far too good for me."
Her nostrils flared in disgust, so Harry figured it was about time to end their little conversation. "Is there another reason why you came in here, Aunt Petunia?"
She looked rather hesitant. Finally, she asked him, "Those people who died in Bristol-you know who killed them, don't you?"
He looked down in sorrow. With a heavy sigh, he nodded his head. "It was the followers of Lord Voldemort, better known as Death Eaters."
She turned her head away, but Harry did catch a glimpse of what was that? Bitterness?
"Isn't that Lord What's-His-Name the one who wants to kill you?" she asked him.
"Yes," he replied.
She got up then and placed the seat back underneath the desk. As she took a look around, her eyes narrowed. "Clean up this mess," she ordered and then left the room, leaving Harry stunned.
What an odd conversation that had been.
*****
The next day found Harry finishing his Transfiguration homework and cleaning up his room so Aunt Petunia wouldn't yell at him again if she came back in. He was in a better mood that usual, however, because Aunt Marge would be leaving the next morning.
Just as he finished straightening his room, Hedwig flew in through the open window and landed on her cage. When Harry walked over to her, she stuck out her leg to reveal a letter.
"So that's why you came back," he said and untied the letter from her leg. "Did Ron decide to send me a letter?"
He sat down and opened the letter, but the letter wasn't from Ron, it was from Hermione.
"Ron sent you to go pick up Hermione's letter, huh?" Harry said as he began to read.
Dear Harry,
How are you? How are you feeling? Ron told me that your Aunt Marge is visiting. I do hope everything's all right. Please don't try to blow her up again.
Did you get your O.W.L. results yet? I got them yesterday and you'll never believe it. I got twelve O.W.L.s! Can you believe it? I didn't expect that many, but I'm excited that I did. Mum and Dad are so pleased.
The Weasleys have invited me over and I should be going next week. You should be expecting a letter from Ron soon about the subject.
Stay safe and I can't wait to hear from you.
Love from
Hermione
Harry smiled. Hermione was going to the Weasleys and Ron was going to write him a letter inviting him too. Excellent, he'd get away from the Dursleys.
He looked down at Hermione's letter again. He was proud of her for getting twelve O.W.L.s. She studied very hard and had to endure more tests than either Harry or Ron because of the classes she took. She deserved it.
He looked back up at Hedwig. "You can't stay very long," he told her. "Aunt Marge is still here. I'll write a letter for you to take back to Hermione, then go to Ron's again, okay?"
Hedwig hooted softly. Harry quickly grabbed a piece of parchment and his quill pen and began to write his response.
Dear Hermione,
Congratulations! Twelve O.W.L.s-wow! You beat me, I got ten. I imagine we'll be in a lot of N.E.W.T. classes together, huh?
I haven't received a letter from Ron yet, but there's still plenty of time. I want to leave here so bad. I'm currently on punishment for my aunt's dog biting me. But don't worry, it looks to be healing nicely.
Hope to see you soon.
Harry
"Here you go," he said to Hedwig as he finished up. "Take this to Hermione, then return to Ron."
Hedwig was flying away just as the door opened and Aunt Petunia walked in with some food for him. She scanned the room, sniffed, then left.
Harry sat down with his plate and looked over his homework. He had completed his History of Magic essay, his Herbology essay, his Astronomy charts, his Charms essay, and just this morning completed his Transfiguration essay. That left one thing: his Potions essay.
The fact that Harry only had one more assignment left was a shocker itself. Harry usually never had more that three of his assignments done before his birthday, which was coming up soon-just a week from that upcoming Tuesday.
He grabbed his Potions book and started through it, preparing for his essay on healing potions. By the time the sun started to set he was halfway through it. He decided to stop there and wait for the next day to finish it. He put all of his stuff away and then laid down on his bed.
His stomach rumbled. Aunt Petunia hadn't been back since earlier and he was beginning to get hungry again. He'd endure. After all, if he could go two days without food, then surely he could go a couple of more hours.
He didn't budge until he heard a twittering enter his room through his open window. He jumped up and saw what was making the noise-a small gray owl.
He frowned. "Pig, come here."
Pigwidgeon, Ron's owl, fluttered around Harry's room until Harry jumped up and snatched him right out of the air. Pigwidgeon then stuck out his leg for Harry to get his letter.
"Thank you, now be quiet," Harry ordered as he tore open the letter from Ron.
Dear Harry,
Sorry to hear about your aunt visiting. How's it going? Hedwig's been fine here with Errol and Pig. Hope you don't mind that Hermione's going to borrow her. We figured you wouldn't, seeing as you won't need Hedwig for the week.
Anyway, want to come and spend the rest of the holiday at my house? Mum and Dad agreed and Hermione will be coming too. Mum and Dad are trying to get things squared away even as I write this letter, but it might take some time. I doubt you'll need the Muggles' permission, but you may want to tell them. Don't know why, but Mum said to tell you that. If everything's okay then we will pick you up on your birthday, but I'll send another letter along anyway to let you know if you can come.
Be prepared to practice Quidditch. Can't wait for you to come. I'll write you back as fast as I can.
Ron
Pigwidgeon was still hooting when Harry finished. "Jeez, stop already," Harry commanded as he took out a piece of parchment and his quill. He dipped it in ink and started to write back to Ron.
Dear Ron,
Life sucks here. The first day Aunt Marge came she started throwing insults at me when I hadn't even said anything to her. Then my cousin tried to get me into trouble. I got two days for that. Then, when I'm freed, that woman's dog bites me. He tried to do it again, but I moved and he got hurt. So now I'm in trouble for that. My leg looks terrible, but don't tell that to your parents or Hermione. I wrote back to Hermione telling her that it was healing fine, which it is, but it's ugly.
I'd love to come to your house, why do you even ask? I'm assuming arrangements must be made before I can come. I hope everything's fast. I need to get out of here, now! And don't worry, I doubt the Dursleys will even care when I leave.
I take it things are going well over there. I'm not really asking because you can tell me all about what's up when you pick me up.
See you soon.
Harry
"There, go, take this to Ron," he said, folding his letter up and tying it around Pigwidgeon's leg. Pigwidgeon started to fly around and circled in his room. "Come on, get going," Harry urged, "before I get in trouble."
He forced the tiny owl out his window and watched him fly off. The sun was completely down now.
He sighed. Once arrangements were made with Professor Dumbledore, or, at least that's who he was guessing the Weasleys needed permission from, he'd be able to rejoin the wizarding world again.
He yawned, pulled off his shirt, and laid down on his bed. Soon, he was fast asleep.