A/N: Ah, we finally move away from Harry slightly, and you guys start getting some answers! I tell ya, you're gonna love these next few ones (those of you that are still reading the fic, bye the way). I imagine I lost quite a few people by now. I mean, the first chapter has about 2000 hits, the next one has 400 . . . hehehehe. Well, I won't keep you guys waiting any longer, even in the disclaimer.
Disclaimer: I'm makin' this short. Nothings mine, get over it. Now on with the show!
Letters for Harry
The soft afternoon sunlight drifted in through the open window of the room of Hermione Granger, who was at the moment curled up in her chair, reading through her favorite book, Hogwarts: A History. Or, at least she was trying to. Invariably, her mind drifted back to her dilemma with . . . . him. It had been over a week since she had sent the Howler, and yet she had heard nor received anything in return. Now, several of her strongest instincts were fighting for control within her. She was incredibly furious with Harry for his response, or rather lack thereof, and she was refusing to allow herself to forgive him. She had had to dig deep to find the courage to put what she did in that letter, and he goes and responds by telling her, in not so many words, to piss off! The nerve of that boy!
In opposition to her anger and fury was the equally strong desire to protect Harry and make sure he was all right. Something about the entire situation didn't sit well with her, but she couldn't figure out what. Perhaps he hadn't read any of the letters? What if he was in trouble, what if somehow Voldemort had found a way to get to Harry? Or was it just Harry withdrawing into a self-imposed prison? What if . . . Harry hated her?
Suddenly, Hermione was shaken from her reverie by a gentile knocking on her door. "Hermione, dear, you have a visitor in the kitchen. Says he's a professor from your school, or something."
"Okay, mum, I'll be right down." Wondering who would be visiting her and what she had done to warrant a visit, Hermione made her way downstairs. Surely it wasn't about her injury; she had finished her treatment days ago, and was feeling perfectly healthy. As she rounded the corner into the kitchen, the sight that met her stopped her dead in her tracks.
"Hello, Miss Granger. Good to see you again. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
Sitting before Hermione was none other than her Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, yet it was a Dumbledore the likes she had never seen before. Normally clad in long flowing robes of various bright and vibrant colors, Dumbledore had instead donned a plain brown Muggle sports jacket with matching brown trousers and shoes. Under the jacket could be seen a black shirt with a sharp red tie. On his head was perched a similar brown bowler with a gold stripe running the circumference. Leaning against the table was a well-polished cane.
"P-P-Professor Dumbledore! Um, what, I - no, thank you. Um, Professor, sir, what are you doing here?"
"Please, do sit down. I'm sorry to drop in and surprise you like this, but I was `in the neighborhood,' so to speak, and I have a small favor to ask." With that he motioned to the table, where a letter was sitting. "This is a letter from Gringotts, addressed to Harry." At the mention of Harry's name, a scowl appeared on Hermione's face. Noticing this, Dumbledore stopped and asked, "Is something wrong, Miss Granger?"
"What? Oh, no, nothing, sir. Please continue." Hermione shook herself mentally and forced herself to remain neutral.
"As I was saying, this is a letter for Harry from Gringotts bank. I would like for you to deliver it to Harry. I would deliver it myself, but I am terribly busy at the moment, and I do not entirely feel that my presence is welcome." As he said this, Dumbledore got a sad look in his eyes, which quickly passed.
"But, sir, if you don't mind me asking, why not just send Harry the letter by owl post? Why should I have to be involved in this?" Right now, her anger was in full control and in no way did she feel like seeing Harry.
"Well, you see, it has been tried already. Three times to be exact. However, none of the letters have reached our young Harry's hands."
"Oh, so you mean he refuses to open it? Humph, well good -" Hermione began, but was cut short by Dumbledore.
"No, Miss Granger. I'm afraid that is not the case. Harry's hands literally have not once touched them. As for the letters themselves, they would appear to have been destroyed in some form or another. Normally, I would look into it myself, or on the least send a member of the Order. Unfortunately, we are extremely stretched to our limits as it is, what with Voldemort's recent waves of attacks, and the matter, put simply, is that we do not have the available resources. In fact, for the past week and a half, we have not even had enough people to maintain the guard over Harry's house. I haven't been to check on the wards in quite some time, and I really must do so soon."
"But - What - How?" Hermione was taken a little aback by this bit of information. Harry hadn't received his letters? Could that mean he had never even read hers? Was he in trouble? There was no one to watch him . . . something bad could have happened. She could feel her anger quickly ebbing away and a sense of dread for Harry rising to replace it. Hermione suddenly had a lot of questions to ask, and settled on starting with, "How can you be sure he has never touched the letters, Professor?"
"Simple. On matters such as these," Dumbledore said while indicating the letter, "Gringotts puts a charm on the envelope. When the intended recipient touches the envelope, the goblin that cast the charm feels a pulse of magic, which serves as the signal. This way they can make sure such urgent and important business is completed."
"Sir, if you don't mind me asking, what business does Gringotts have with Harry?" Hermione asked slowly, already knowing the answer.
"The reading of the will of Sirius Black. This is another reason I am asking if you would deliver this letter to Harry: to be there for him and support him emotionally. He is going through a very difficult time right now and needs all the friends he can." At the Headmaster's words, Hermione felt a small pang of guilt. "So, Miss Granger, do I have your cooperation in this? I know it is a lot to ask of you, but rest assured I believe you are quite up to the task. Oh, and you needn't worry about your parents, I have already asked them and they agreed."
Hermione was in great conflict. She was still furious, terribly furious with Harry, but a great part of her (one that was growing, still) was worried about him. `No, I refuse! I couldn't possibly face him! Nor do I want to!'
`That's not entirely true, now, you know . . .'
`I know, I know. But, he's hurt me so badly! I won't do it! There's absolutely nothing in the world that will make me go!'
*****
An hour later, Hermione was sitting on the Knight Bus, or rather, picking herself up off the floor of the Knight Bus. `Curse me for being so weak! Why am I doing this! Aren't I supposed to be furious with Harry?'
`Yes, but you know you can't stay mad at him for long.'
`That's only for the normal stuff! This time it's serious, this is something major!'
`That's exactly why you need to see him! You need to talk things out. What if it's all just one big misunderstanding.'
`Yeah, right, and I'm the Minister of Magic! No, this is bound to be Harry doing his stupid withdrawal thingy again. What is wrong with that boy? Sometimes I can't stand him!'
`But you love him anyway.'
Hermione sighed to herself. `Yeah, you're right, I do love him.'
`Now that that's settled, let's enjoy the beautiful scenery and the ambiance of the ride!'
A retching sound was heard below as the bus jumped with another loud bang, and Hermione once more had to pick herself up off the floor. `Oh, do shut up!'
*****
BANG! "Okay, `ere we are, Privet Drive. `At'll be `leven sickles, then. Thanks for ridin' the Knight Bus." Hermione paid Stan as she stepped of, her right hand wrapped around her wand in her pocket, her left hand clutching the letter.
`What'll I say to him? Oh, he must hate me! But it is his fault . . . I think.' Hermione took a deep breath to calm herself. `Regardless of what was and will be said, I have a job to do. So, let's get it done.'
As Hermione wandered down Privet Drive, she took note of how, well, normal everything looked. All the houses were similar, most of the lawns were beginning to brown a little from the heat, and every house looked deserted. Well, almost every house. There at the far end she could see a man out working in the garden. Soon, she had covered most of the street and had only a few houses left. Deciding to save time, Hermione walked over to the man working to ask for help. As she drew nearer, she realized he was actually much younger than she first thought, possibly only a year or two older than herself. He was extremely filthy-looking, and his hair was matted down and greasy. He also had a look about him of one who had recently lost a lot of weight fairly quickly She noticed he seemed to favor his right hand, and that his left wrist seemed a little swollen and red.
Gathering up her courage, Hermione approached the man (teenager?) and asked, "Excuse me, but can you tell me which house is Number Four?" Without even looking up or stopping his work, the stranger pointed to the house he was working in front of. "Is anyone home at the moment? Or is it just you?" He merely shook his head no, again not stopping or otherwise acknowledging the fact that she was there asking him questions.
"Okay, well, I need to deliver this letter to Harry Potter. Do you know if he'll be back soon?" This time, she noticed, he stiffened and halted in his work.
"Harry Potter . . . there is no Harry Potter here. There is no one here. Just it . . ." He spoke in a monotone voice, almost as if he wasn't a person at all, more like a machine that talked.
"It? What's `it'?" asked Hermione. The strange being made no signs of response. "Well, what about yourself? What's your name? Where do you live? Is this your job?" Really, Hermione wasn't that interested; she was just looking for something to do to pass the time until Harry returned. Instead of answering her, the stranger simply stood up and started walking toward the back yard. "Hey! I'm just trying to be polite, no need to treat me like that!"
Hermione thought she heard him say, "It's sorry, very sorry," but it came out in a low monotone rumble, so she wasn't sure. Hermione followed the young man, while taking a good look around the yard. It had been well kept like the front, as the grass was still very green and the garden looked superb. A loud sound distracted her observations, and she turned to find that her new `acquaintance' had attempted to lift several shovels, rakes, and other various instruments at once, but had overdone it and had fallen down. Quickly, she sprinted over and began to help him up.
"Here, let me help you . . ." Hermione began, pulling on his arms, but fell silent as she finally saw his face. Her breath caught in her throat as she stared into his eyes, his very green eyes. "H-H-Harry . . . ?"
A/N: AAHHHH! Evil cliffy!!! I know, I know, please don't kill me. If you do, you won't get to read what happens next! Wait a minute, strike that, you probably think I kill Hermione or something. Well, I don't! So please, just let me crawl into my panic room and barricade myself in in peace. Please? Tell me what you think!
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