A/N: One final "background" chapter... Harry will be rejoining the land of the living next chapter, so things should start picking up a bit. All this reflection and self-analysis isn't always the easiest read (it isn't any easier to write), but it has been necessary however. Got to deal with "Angry Harry" somehow. If you're reading this, you've obviously hung on this far, so I thank you. Second, if there really is a Kwik-E-Freez anywhere, sorry for using your name, or, you're welcome for the free advertising, whichever you prefer. I just made it up... it reminded me of the Kwik-E-Mart from "The Simpsons."
Chapter 3. A Pack of Thank Yous.
As Hedwig winged her way to Hermione's house with the first of his replies, Harry set out to write responses to all of the other letters he had received. All of his friends knew perfectly well how he had taken his isolation the previous summer; they had obviously gone to great lengths to make sure they kept in contact with him this time.
Harry remembered back to the previous year how all of the letters from Hermione and Ron had been extremely short, essentially doing little more than telling him that they couldn't talk about much. This year however, it seemed they all had free reign to say as much as they wanted. All of the letters were of course devoid of anything that might be damaging to the Order if they happened to be intercepted. Other than that though, they were surprisingly in depth.
Dumbledore must've had some role in that, Harry thought to himself.
Now that Voldemort's return was common knowledge, the threat of attacks by him or his Death Eaters had only increased. As such, the likelihood of letters to and from Privet Drive being intercepted was greater than ever. That said, Harry was surprised that his friends and their families had been allowed to write so much to him. Perhaps it was Dumbledore's way of attempting to make amends for "an old man's mistakes," as he called them.
Harry knew what he wanted to say to all of his friends. He just didn't know how to say it. As bad as it seemed, it was a vast improvement over two days earlier. If it wasn't for Hermione's second letter, Harry probably wouldn't have even bothered thinking about what to write in reply in the first place. He'd have just written "Thanks for the letter. I'm fine," to all of them, the same he had been writing for the inquiries from Order members about his treatment by the Dursleys. Now that his anger at himself had left him, he actually wanted to say certain things.
He went over to his dresser drawer and retrieved the letters that his friends and their families had sent him. Each of his replies started out the same as his entire first letter to Hermione, "Thank you." Looking back, Harry was quite proud of the way he attempted to "deal" with Hermione's second letter. He had gone through her all of her scenarios one by one, trying to disprove them. This of course had resulted in what he suspected Hermione had intended he do all along: prove to himself that Sirius's death was not his fault, that he was not to blame.
Harry hoped that a similar approach to his would help get the ink flowing on his other replies. Ron was the first to send him a letter, so his reply was first. He knew that Ron was not one for mushy, emotional talk, so Harry kept his letter simple. Harry thanked him both for accompanying him to the DOM that night as well as for sending his letter. He said that it was "really cool" how well Ron fought that night, and that in regards to the D.A., "See, Hermione does know what she's talking about sometimes."
The most emotional he got was telling Ron that he was proud to have him as a best friend; he hoped Ron wouldn't gag too much over that. Harry spent the rest of the letter talking about Quidditch. That was something the two of them could share freely and openly without any awkward moments, on either side. Right now, Harry felt that the most important thing to do was to talk to his friends. It didn't matter what it was about... anything would do. All that mattered was that he have some connection-any connection-to those he cared about.
After he was finished with Ron's letter, Harry wrote a reply to Arthur and Molly Weasley. Harry thanked them also for their letter. He told them the same things he told Ron: that he was impressed with the bravery Ron showed that night, and that he was proud to call Ron his best friend. He tried to explain to them that he felt they could never understand how truly relieved and happy he was that Ron was not permanently injured that night. Harry went on to say that he knew Ron was a little jealous of his pile of gold in Gringott's as well as all the attention he received from the rest of the world.
Trying to see clearly through watery eyes, Harry wrote that he understood why Ron did this, and that he did not blame him for it. Harry knew the feeling too. He was jealous of the Weasley family and the attention Ron received from them. He told Arthur and Molly that he would trade a thousand Galleons for a family dinner like the Weasley's anytime. He also asked that they not tell Ron that, unless he really, really wanted to know what was in his letter. Harry said that he was afraid Ron would give him a hard time for being so "girly" in his letter (but he ended the sentence by drawing a small smile to let them know he was joking).
Next, Harry wrote Ginny's letter. He thanked her for the diversion she helped create the previous year so he could check to see if Sirius was still at Grimmauld Place. It was also important, he felt, to let her know how grateful he was for telling him that he wasn't being possessed by Voldemort when he witnessed the attack on her father. He explained that he was so worried that he was being possessed that if she hadn't said that, he probably would have run away to try to keep them safe.
Remembering something else, and with a smile on his face, Harry also told her that he wished he could've been there when she hexed Draco Malfoy in Professor Umbridge's office that night. He would have loved to see the effect of her Bat-Bogey Hex on the ferret boy in person. He also asked that if he ever got out of line, she at least give him fair warning to shape up before she would do something like that to him.
When it came time to write letters to Neville and his grandmother, Harry decided to write one to both of them. Harry started with the same praise and thanks he had written already written three times in the last hour. No matter how many times he wrote the same thing to each of his friends and their families, he felt each time was no less meaningful.
Harry then suggested to Neville that an official account of what exactly happened that night might be useful someday. There was already a brief description in the Sunday Prophet of what had happened that night, however it had been given from the unique point of view of the less-than-reliable Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, of course. Harry asked Neville if he would be willing to write down everything that had happened that fateful night, from the he joined the others in Professor Umbridge's office to the moment Dumbledore arrived in the Death Chamber. Sirius's death and Bellatrix's use of the Cruciatus Curse on Neville still fresh on Harry's mind, he assured Neville that if there were any parts Neville wasn't sure how to write, that he could skip them for now, and they'd work on it together later.
Harry had to think a while about what he could possibly say to Luna and her father. He had spent so little time around her that he wasn't really sure he knew her well enough to know exactly what to say. Finally, after rereading her and her father's letters one more time, he decided to just ink his quill, start with "Dear Luna and Mr. Lovegood," and see where it took him. Once he had finally finished it, it was the shortest of all the letters he had written thus far, save Hermione's of course.
In the end, he simply told her and her father exactly what he wanted to say. She seemed so open and straightforward that he hoped it would suffice. In retrospect, it seemed obvious to simply say what he wanted to say. However, he had been so worried about how to say it that it never really occurred to him to just do it; it just sort of happened as he wrote.
Remembering her seeming fascination with Ronald the previous school year, Harry was tempted to say something to the fact that he "and Ronald" were looking forward to seeing her again, just to give Ronald a hard time. He eventually decided against it in the off chance that there was something more to it than met the eye (not unlike Luna herself). Harry brought the letter to a close by wishing the two of them luck on their expedition to Sweden to look for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.
With most of his replies finished, Harry stopped for a few moments to rest his hand, trying to relieve some of the tension. He sent Hedwig off to Hermione's in the early evening; it was now just after sunset. He had spent the last two hours writing a total of five letters. His hand aching, Harry was glad that he had decided to combine several of his replies into one. He hadn't done this to get out of writing the letters; it simply seemed to make more sense to him to combine those. As Harry sat there rereading his letters making sure they said everything he wanted them to, a cool, refreshing breeze blew in through the window.
This summer, like the last several before, had been very hot. Several days earlier, Harry had overheard the weather forecast on the seven o'clock news. The local weatherman relayed a report from the Meteorological Office saying that the jet stream was expected to shift south bringing with it pockets of cool marine air. This, combined with the already warm muggy weather they were already experiencing, was likely to create afternoon and evening storms over the next several days. While Harry didn't understand what most of that meant, the word "cool" had certainly caught his attention, as well as the rest of heat-fatigued residents of Little Whinging.
Harry set down his quill and looked out the window. The sight before him was breathtaking: a beautiful summer sunset. The sky itself was a pale blue; a broken layer of clouds was rolling in from the north. The clouds nearest him were a deep blue-purple color, which gradually shifted to gray-purple as the clouds approached the horizon. What made the sight truly stunning was the light of the setting sun reflecting off the bottom of the clouds. It started out a deep maroon closest to him, lightening to an almost glowing magenta the further away the clouds were, finally ending in a vibrant orange. This, combined with the distortion of the heat still rising from the paved roads created a shimmering effect that made it appear as though the clouds were alive with fire.
Taking in several deep refreshing breaths of the cool air, Harry again turned his attention to his letters. He had answered all of them, except for two. Two letters remained: Hermione's first letter, as well as that of her parents. Harry leaned back in his chair at his desk. Rolling his head around several times to work out the kinks (along with several satisfying pops), Harry then stared up at the ceiling, running his hands through his untidy raven hair, massaging his weary scalp. He felt drained mentally. It was as though saying everything that he wanted to say had taken everything he had out of him.
He wanted to finish writing his replies tonight so they could all go out tomorrow. Picking up his quill again, Harry sat there for a moment, trying to decide which to write first. Seeing as how he could not decide, he pulled out two new sheets of parchment and started both. He hoped that something would stir in his mind, giving him some direction on how to proceed with their letters. As hard as he tried, he could not get past "Dear Hermione," and "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Granger." (Harry was embarrassed to admit to himself that he still did not know Hermione's parents' first names)
Harry sat there for several minutes, inked quill in hand, staring blankly at the two sheets of parchment. He knew what he wanted to say, but did not know where to begin.
Didn't we just go through this with Luna's letter? the annoying voice in Harry's mind taunted him. Just write something! After that Pulitzer Prize-winning composition you sent her a couple hours ago, she'll be impressed if it's a full sentence!
Harry's more reasonable side (which, not surprising, all too frequently spoke in Hermione's voice) asked back defensively, Who said anything about trying to impress her?
I'm just being sarcastic, he replied. Geez, don't get so defensive! You know, that letter that was two entire words long...
Well, her voice retorted, still defensive, what else need you have said? It said everything that needed to be said right then and there. We both know that THAT isn't something you can discuss in a letter. IF you're going to talk to someone about something like that, you have to do it in person. Besides-
"Anyway..." Harry spoke aloud to stop the internal debate. He looked down at his quill that he had been holding midair over the sheets of parchment. "We've been sitting here so long that the ink has dried on the quill. It's ruined. Now I'll have to cut a new nib."
Slightly annoyed, he set down the quill and again looked out the window. The sky was now a light orange and all the clouds were similarly hued, from a shade of orange not unlike the Weasleys' hair to bright yellows. "Let's pick this up tomorrow, shall we?" Harry proposed. A small part of him wondered if he should be worried about talking to himself.
Well, at least the Dursleys aren't here to hear you, his reasonable side replied to Harry-proper.
"Yeah, that's true, I suppose," he replied with a small chuckle. The Dursleys had gone out about an hour ago to take Dudley to the local Kwik-E-Freez for an ice cream sundae. Uncle Vernon had reasoned that, what with the heat and all, Dudley deserved a nice cool treat. And besides, in his uncle's opinion (and Aunt Petunia's), one ice cream sundae with whipped topping, chocolate fudge, and chocolate chunks would not hurt the diet Dudley was still on. Harry had smirked when he heard his uncle say this to his aunt.
Sure, Harry thought to himself. ONE won't hurt his diet, but when he's eating one everyday for the last two weeks...
Harry tidied up his desk, putting away the spare sheets of parchment and his now ink-clogged quill. He tucked his letters and replies safely away back into his dresser drawer, just in case a strong gust of wind came blowing in during the night. After a quick trip to the bathroom, Harry turned out the light and crawled into bed. Getting comfortable, Harry stretched out in his bed.
As he lay there, he finally realized how completely exhausted he was, both mentally and physically. He hadn't had a solid, uninterrupted night's sleep in at least the last week. In fact, he was quite certain that in the approximately three weeks since he had returned, he could count on one hand the number of times he slept straight through the night. But still, even that was of little relief. Even if his nightly dreams didn't wake him up, he still felt unrested and unrefreshed the following morning.
As Harry stared up at the ceiling, he tried to picture what his friends were doing right at that very moment. Though he was already in bed, it was still early by a normal teenager-on-holiday's standards. He imagined Ron was home at the Burrow, making every effort to bury his books under a pile of anything, so he'd have some excuse for not starting his homework until about August 25.
Ginny... well, he really didn't know what Ginny might be doing. Ever since second year when he learned of her crush on him, he had secretly taken great strides to not know too much about what she was doing (but not be obvious about it), lest his innocent knowledge of her routine be misinterpreted by her as a sign of returned feelings that she so desperately wanted.
Since it now seemed she had finally moved on, Harry decided he should try to not be so oblivious to her. Maybe she was out playing Quidditch, or maybe she was helping Fred and George in their new shop. Harry smiled slightly as he imagined Neville in his grandmother's house, meticulously caring for his prized Mimbulus mimbletonia, meanwhile forgetting to reminder her that he still needed a new wand. Luna, he imagined, was probably humming "Weasley Is Our King" as she packed for her expedition to Sweden.
Hermione was the easiest for Harry picture of them all. He was quite sure he knew what she would be doing right now. Well, almost. Unsure of how long it would take for Hedwig to reach Hermione's house (since even he didn't know where she lived), he expected that she was doing one of three things. If Hedwig had already arrived, she was most likely writing a lengthy reply to the reply he had sent her. If Hedwig hadn't yet arrived, he expected that she was either curled up on some couch somewhere reading Hogwarts, A History yet again, or was sitting at a desk like he was only ten minutes earlier, doing her homework, scribbling away in her tiny but neat handwriting.
Even though they had just finished their O.W.L.s, they all still had homework assigned. Regardless of what N.E.W.T. level classes students chose to take, everyone would still be taking Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms in one form or another. Imagining stacks of texts and long rolls of parchment piled around her desk, Harry finally fell asleep.
When he awoke the next morning, he felt better than he could remember feeling in months. He slept the whole way through the night without waking up once. What's more, he didn't have any nightmares at all. In fact, he couldn't remember having any dreams at all. Hermione had once told him about dreams, about REM sleep, so he knew that it was highly unlikely that he didn't actually have any dreams that night. Considering how he felt that morning, he assumed that whatever he did dream about must've been something pleasant.
After making everyone's breakfast that morning, Harry went outside and started his chores. It felt good to be outside again. He'd spent so much time hidden away in his room the last several weeks that it felt great to be out in the sunshine again. It was a glorious morning. The evening storm had done much to improve life in Little Whinging. While there had been no rain (something about it evaporating before it reached the ground), the winds had scoured out all of stuffy, humid air that had been hovering over the city for weeks, suffocating all comfort and enjoyment.
In fact, as Harry looked up and down Privet Drive, he could see almost all of his neighbors out working in their yards, taking advantage of the downright pleasant conditions, while they lasted. His attention returning from the end of the street, Harry's eye caught on something lurking beneath the car in the drive of number three across the street. It was Mr. Tibbles, one of the many cats owned by his batty neighbor who lived on the adjoining Wisteria Walk, Mrs. Figg.
Harry's mind snagged on something. Hang on. She's a Squib. Now that I think about it, the way her cats act, it reminds me a lot of Crookshanks. I wonder if they're actually Kneazles. Looking around to make sure no one was looking directly at him at that moment, Harry nodded to Mr. Tibbles in hello. He could have sworn the cat nodded back. Yep, probably a Kneazle.
About an hour into the front yard, mowing the small lawn, pulling weeds (it had been so hot lately that the weeds were rather limp and didn't fight back too hard against being removed), and pruning the roses, Harry was almost finished. There were only two rose bushes left. His head down looking at the Sweet Dream in front of him, Harry suddenly noticed a small shadow move across the rose bush in front of him. He looked up to see a pair of white wings fly into his room; Hedwig had returned from Hermione's.
Harry's angle of view, combined with the fact that Hedwig's tail feathers were fanned out to help slow her down prevented him from seeing whether or not she had a letter. Since he only had two roses remaining, Harry decided to finish them, giving her a chance to eat and drink before he went back inside and pestered her to see if Hermione had replied to him.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry was finished with the front yard. He gathered all the tools up and took them around to the back yard. He knew he would have to do that soon, preferably today before the sultry air returned. He went inside the house to take a very short break.
"Front yard done, boy?" Vernon asked gruffly over his Sunday paper; he had not moved one inch from the kitchen table all morning.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry replied conciliatorily. Fearing a run-in with "that brute of a man with the blue eye," Vernon and Petunia had been quite lenient when it came to Harry's chores. Well, lenient by their standards. They still expected the same level of perfection as always. However, as long as the desired results were achieved, they didn't hover over him too much, fussing about how he should have weeded before pruning, or that he was getting the garden trowel dirty. Harry wasn't sure whether this was because they were afraid of Moody and his eye dropping by, or if they were just trying to avoid him. Either way, life with the Dursleys had been slightly more bearable since returning from King's Cross.
"Hmpph. Well, don't forget the back yard needs attention too," Vernon replied without even looking up from his paper.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon. I've already taken the tools around back. I just need to give Hedwig some fresh water and food to keep her quiet, and then I'll start on the back yard." Harry had found that he could justify the attention he gave Hedwig to his relatives simply by putting in it terms of keeping her quiet.
A non-committal grunt was all Harry got in reply. After clearing away Vernon and Petunia's empty tea cups, Harry went upstairs to check on Hedwig. He hadn't really been expecting anything in reply, but Harry's heart leapt up into his throat the instant he saw a piece of parchment tied to her leg.
Nearly tripping over the dirty clothes strewn about the floor, Harry practically ran over to Hedwig to retrieve the letter. In the time Harry was outside finishing the roses, Hedwig had fed and watered herself; she was now waiting patiently for him to untie his letter. Letter in hand, Harry started stroking his beloved familiar.
"Thanks girl," he told her; she nibbled at his fingers in affection.
A strange swooping sensation of anxiousness started growing in Harry's stomach as he looked at the letter in his hands. He was not sure why. Perhaps it was because of what he feared he might find in the letter. While he would be eternally grateful to her for helping break him out of his stupor, he felt he was not quite ready to start talking about it as if it were the latest Transfiguration assignment. It had been, after all, only one day. Putting his fears and doubts aside, he trusted (and hoped) that Hermione would once again know how he was feeling. With a brave face, Harry opened Hermione's letter.
Dear Harry,
You don't know happy I was to see Hedwig come flying into my room last night. I must admit she quite startled me. I wasn't expecting to see her so soon.
"Or at all?" Harry said aloud to himself, feeling slightly guilty while still smiling at the same time.
As I held your letter in my hands, I could see that there wasn't much ink bleed through on the parchment. I knew it was a very short letter. I was deathly afraid of what you might say in so few words, considering how I pretty much sprung that last letter on you. I hope you can forgive me if I made you angry. All I will say in my defense was that I felt it was important to say certain things. I do hope you understand.
When I finally opened your letter, I could not hold back the tears. And before you start thinking I'm turning into Cho over here, just know that they were tears of joy. I do not think you could have written ANYTHING that would have made me happier than what you did. Well, actually I can, but that's a different subject. Anyway, those two little words made all the debating and agonizing over writing that letter worthwhile. I know they were only two words, but somehow I knew that those two words said more than a foot long scroll saying everything else except that.
Just so you know, no one else knows that I wrote that letter to you. I dare say that I know you would've been most upset if you felt we were talking about you like that behind your back. I won't mention it to Ron or anyone else. If you want to tell them how I bullied you into acceptance, I won't try to stop you.
Harry was quite sure Hermione was trying not to laugh as she wrote that.
I also wanted to tell you that something wonderful has happened. Professor Dumbledore came to visit us-
"'Us?' Who's 'us'?" Harry wondered aloud mid-sentence.
-this morning. He told us that the situation has changed, and different plans were being arranged. I can't tell you here, for obvious reasons. But I promise you this: the only reason I agreed to not tell you despite the Headmaster's concerns was because he promised to inform you himself. I didn't want you to think this was going to be a repeat of last summer. All I can say is that preparations are being made. Please, do try and keep yourself out of trouble. I know that's asking a lot of you, but I'd really hate for any of this to fall through. Please, keep your head down with that pitiful excuse of a family of yours, and try to avoid any more encounters with dementors.
Again, Harry pictured Hermione sitting at her desk chuckling.
I'd suggest that you wait until at least tomorrow before sending Hedwig out again. Give her a rest and an owl treat. She deserves it after delivering your most important letter. Believe me, it was important. Expect to hear from the Headmaster soon. If he hasn't contacted you by tomorrow, please let me know. I'll "remind" him of our little agreement.
I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to talk... about how you think you did on your O.W.L.s (I'm so excited to get mine, aren't you?), about what N.E.W.T. classes you're going to take, even about Quidditch (hey... don't laugh, I go to all your games don't I? and I HAVE read Quidditch Through the Ages), or anything else... you'll know where to find me. I said it once, and I'll say it again, I'm here if you need me. Please, don't push us away if you need us.
Love, as always, from,
Hermione
Harry set the letter down. He was quite sure he knew what she meant when she wrote "or anything else..." although he didn't feel too worried about it. She expected him to talk about Sirius at some point. However, as he saw it, she seemed to make it clear that he was free to do it on his own terms and when he felt he was ready. Harry was again impressed by Hermione's ability to know what he was feeling.
He thought that he would want to talk about it with someone sometime; he just didn't know when. All he did know was that time was not now, at least not immediately. By encouraging him to talk, but not pressuring him into it, he found it rather reassuring to know that when he decided he was ready, there would be at least one person waiting. He was also comforted by the fact that he was quite sure it was someone he knew would not judge him harshly for whatever he might have said, no matter how stupid or silly.
Harry went over to his dresser drawer and put her letter away with the rest. Hermione's letters had somehow become separated from the rest. Oh yeah, because I wrote replies to everyone else's letters last night, and not hers. Looking out the window, he saw that there was not a cloud in the sky; it was nearly noon and would be hot again soon. Hopefully, another storm would roll through tonight, bringing a refreshing cool evening breeze to his home away from home. Knowing there was more work to be done in the back yard, Harry gave Hedwig another pat on the head, and then went out back to start on the remaining yard work.
By the time Harry had finished, it was late afternoon. While the morning had been cool and pleasant, the afternoon had become hot, sticky, and miserable. The Dursleys had gone out to the local shopping center to do a little post-birthday shopping for Dudley. Evidently, he decided he didn't like some of his birthday presents... several weeks after receiving them. He especially didn't like the ones he broke. This suited Harry just fine. He'd finally be able to take a decent shower for once without one of the Dursleys flushing the downstairs toilet to remind him his two minutes of water were up.
Feeling more invigorated that he had in quite a while, Harry looked out the bathroom window. There were clouds on the horizon. Another storm was hopefully on its way. Returning to his room, Harry was so surprised by what he found waiting on his bed that he dropped the towel he had wrapped around himself. Fawkes, Dumbledore's pet phoenix, was perched on his headboard. He had a small envelope tied to his leg.
After pulling out some clothes and properly covering himself, Harry walked over to the magnificent red and gold animal.
"Hello, Fawkes," Harry greeted him.
Fawkes replied with a few chirps that, not for the first time, filled Harry with a reassuring strength. He stuck out his leg to allow Harry to remove the letter. As soon as Harry had the letter, Fawkes flapped his wings several times to get airborne, and then disappeared in a flash of fire.
Dear Harry,
First, I must tell you to not set this letter down until you have finished reading it and understand everything in it.
I do hope Fawkes finds you in better spirits than this same time last year. I trust that your friends have written you. I hope you have taken to heart what they had to say.
There are many preparations still to be made, so my time is short and I'll get straight to the point. Your situation has changed somewhat very recently, yesterday morning to be exact. I feel that it is in your best interests that certain changes be made to reflect and promote this change.
You have spent enough time at your aunt's house this summer to ensure that your mother's protections remain intact. Without getting into it too much, you have suffered a loss. We all have, but you most of all. With your physical protections reestablished, it is my belief that other things must be taken into consideration as well.
I'm sure you will not argue with the assessment that your remaining at your aunt's house is the surest and most convenient way to guarantee your safety. That said, I do not believe that is what is best for you. I feel, therefore, that it is not necessary for you to remain there any longer than necessary.
Tomorrow, you will leave number four, Privet Drive for the rest of the summer. Please have all of your belongings packed and ready to go by noon tomorrow. Please make sure Hedwig is ready to travel as well. Unfortunately she cannot be allowed to fly to her destination if this is all to work. I do not think you need me to explain how much has been involved to make sure this transfer is handled safely. All you really need to know is that timing is critical. Please be ready promptly at noon.
I have heard from reliable sources how well your reception was received by the Dursleys. You may assure them that your departure will be done in the most "normal" and Muggle way we could arrange. It is my hope that this assurance will lessen any objections they may have to your removal, thought I doubt there is much risk of that.
Harry was sure Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling as he wrote that.
I trust you will find your reception committee satisfactory.
Once you have arrived at your destination, you may send Hedwig out to communicate with your other friends as necessary. She need only be carried by you through the door for everything to work.
If there is anything you feel you wish to talk about, please make yourself available to your friends. I know firsthand that they want to be there for you. Whilst you are there, if there is anything you wish to discuss with me specifically, you may of course send Hedwig. She will find me wherever I am.
As long as everybody remains on time, I am quite certain that security shall be maintained. Do not worry about this communication. Fawkes is a somewhat more secure method of delivery than standard Owl Post (no offense intended to Hedwig, of course). Once you have finished reading this and understand everything contained within, you may set it down. Once it is no longer needed, this letter will self-destruct.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster.
Harry could not believe it. He was leaving for the rest of the summer. He looked at the letter again. 'Other friends,' what does that mean? Harry wondered to himself. Probably going to Grimmauld Place. Ron and his family are probably there already. Harry reread the letter one more time just to be sure he got everything. Once he was sure he no longer needed the letter, he set it down on his desk. It immediately burst into a huge fireball. Harry was so surprised by what had happened that the flame had died before he even had a chance to react. He looked at where the letter was only seconds before. There was not a trace of anything: no ashes, no burn marks, not even a warming of the wooden desktop.
That little adventure over, Harry quickly started packing. It did not take long, as he really hadn't unpacked much after arriving several weeks ago. He just really never got around to it. Within half an hour, he was ready to go. The only bad thing was that he was not leaving until tomorrow. Deciding that a little unexpected surprise could not hurt, Harry decided to go downstairs and give the kitchen a quick cleaning, just to make sure everything shined. If they were already in a good mood, learning that they could be rid of him almost a month and a half early might make them even happier.
About an hour later, the Dursleys returned with Dudley's second round of presents. Having left his bedroom door open, Harry heard a surprised reaction from down in the kitchen.
"Well, I do say that this IS a pleasant change. The boy is earning his keep without having to be yelled at. See Petunia, I told you I was finally getting through to the boy!" Vernon exclaimed with triumph.
Harry smiled to himself. If only Vernon knew he was leaving tomorrow, he'd probably be dancing around the kitchen, an impressive accomplishment for a human his size. But in the end, Harry didn't really care what Vernon said or thought. All that mattered was that in less than twenty-four hours, he would be somewhere else. He assumed he would be returning to Grimmauld Place, but he didn't know for sure. I don't care. Anywhere's better than here, Harry thought to himself quite happily.
A/N: If you're curious to see what Harry was looking at out his window, this might give you some idea. This picture and this one too are two that I took a couple years ago when I was playing around with a digital camera. I thought it was pretty.
