Harry Potter and the Pewter Owl by the mystery tramp
Summary: *** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated in over 2 years ***
*** The author has been reminded via the e-mail address on file that this story is listed as incomplete and has not been updated in over 2 years ***
After the events of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, a mysterious object comes into Harry's possession. Where did it come from, and what is its purpose? Are there more like it? Why is Harry seeing fireflies? And what does it all have to do with Ginny?
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Alternate Universe, Pre-OotP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2008.06.01
Updated: 2008.07.15
Harry Potter and the Pewter Owl by the mystery tramp
Chapter 1: Fireflies at Twilight
Author's Notes: and the
PEWTER OWL
an alternate fifth year
by the mystery tramp
Chapter One
Fireflies at Twilight
It was July the Twenty-Ninth – a beautiful summer’s day in Little Whinging, with a sky so flawlessly blue that even Petunia Dursley approved. There was not a single smudgy cloud to desecrate the perfection (and to cause Mrs. Dursley to wish in futility that her featherduster was more effective with clouds). In fact, the day looked so very pristine that it appeared almost false – the smiles in a feuding family’s portrait – a living room tidied up for company.
In the smallest bedroom of number four, Privet Drive, Harry Potter lay flat on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had been in this position since waking up that morning – and, indeed, since going to bed the night before. In fact, Harry had spent the vast majority of his summer in this sloth-like fashion, ever since he had returned to Privet Drive from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, at the end of June.
He had scarcely spoken to his aunt or uncle since he’d arrived – which, incidentally, did not go unappreciated. Harry’s silence, however, resulted not from a long-buried longing to please the Dursleys, but from the events of the night of the Third Task – the night Lord Voldemort returned – the night Cedric Diggory was killed before Harry’s eyes.
We’ll take it at the same time... we both got here... let’s just take it together...
The events would replay themselves so often in Harry's mind that Harry almost felt like Dudley's CD player, which (despite its owners extensive and expensive disc collection) tended to scream a single rap song at the top of its speakers over and over, all day long. It would have driven Harry mad, if he hadn't already had plenty to be driven mad about, thank-you-very-much.
"Yo yo yo," shouted the stereo from the next room. "I'm gonna flip you like a coin, I'm gonna bounce you with a BOING!"
Harry grabbed a pillow from behind him and held it around his head. He could still hear the song, but it was somewhat muffled:
"I'm a muffle muffle POET, when you gonna muffle KNOW IT?"
Harry kept the pillow over his face for as long as he could stand – but it was a hot, muggy July day, so he could not stand it very long.
He threw the pillow to the side, and it landed rather heavily upon the bedroom floor. Harry wanted to yell at Dudley, but he couldn't muster up the energy. He'd been sort of limp and lifeless for weeks, and the hot weather was not helping. The only thing that could provoke an enthusiastic response from him these days was an owl at his window, bearing a letter from one of his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, or from his godfather, Sirius Black. Normally he'd also receive hastily scribbled notes from Hagrid as well, but this summer he was on top-secret business for Professor Dumbledore.
His last letter from Ron was still lying on top of his bedside table, and Harry stretched out now to take it, to read it again, but it was just out of reach. He sighed, and let his arm fall to the bed once again. It didn't matter, anyway – he'd read the letter a thousand times, already – he knew it by heart.
Dear Harry –
Dad says we can come get you on the 30th, so you'll be able to have a proper party for once this year. Mum's gonna be making the biggest cake of her life, which is saying something. Hermione's coming too, in a couple days. You're gonna have a load of presents. Fred and George said that they were getting you something special, so you'd best watch out, though. I'm not sure how we'll be coming to get you. Dad says it's best to keep it a secret anyway. So be on the lookout, I guess.
Hope the Dursleys aren't being too awful,
– Ron
P.S.: Ginny says hi.
P.P.S.: Actually she said "Who are you writing to?" and I said you, and she got all red in the face and ears and I was going to make a joke about that in the P.S. but she saw me write "Ginny" and made me write "says hi" instead of "is still pathetically in love with you." Dunno why... crap she's coming back, gotta go.
The last few words were even more hastily scribbled and verging-upon-unreadable than the rest of Ron's handwriting, and they always made Harry chuckle.
One more day... thought Harry. Just one more day.
There was a harsh knock on his door.
"Potter!" It was his Uncle Vernon.
"Yes?" Harry said, his voice somewhat crackly from lack of use.
"Open the door, Potter."
Harry sighed, and for the first time all day, stood up from his bed. His back was sort of achy, but nothing too notable – he'd endured much worse, after all. Once you'd felt the Cruciatus Curse, everything else seemed a bit pathetic, so you'd almost want to say, Nice try, backache, but no cigar. An image popped into his head of a person's back attempting to smoke a cigar. He shook his head, and opened his bedroom door.
"Yes?"
Vernon's face appeared not angry, but suspicious (which was his second favorite expression). He peered at Harry through extra-beady eyes, sized him up, and finally spoke:
"So you're alive, then, boy?"
Harry blinked.
"Er, yes – I'm alive."
Vernon nodded, and spoke briskly, almost businesslike: "Petunia told me to check on you. You've been... suspiciously absent lately, she said. I haven't noticed myself, of course, I've got more important things to worry about when I'm home, but –" and here he poked his head in through the doorway to survey Harry's bedroom "– your aunt was worried you might been ruining the rug, decaying all over the place and such."
Harry didn't respond to this, and Vernon looked him over once again, and smiled his very Dursley smile.
"Why so glum, hmm?"
Harry stepped back and swung the door shut – not quite a slam, not wanting to provoke Vernon's temper, but still somewhat forceful.
Instead of going back to his bed, Harry began to collect some of his things together – his letters, mostly, for he hadn't really made much of a mess over the few weeks he'd been home – and put them into his trunk. He picked his pillow up off the floor and threw it back on the bed, and he took the chair from his desk and put it under the window. He felt like looking outside.
The afternoon went by slowly, slowly, slowly like an old cat, lazing about on a sun-warmed porch, moves from one spot to another to stay in the sunshine. Harry wanted nothing more than for the day to pass, so that tomorrow could come and he would be at the Burrow with the Weasleys – but time did not want to appease him. Even as it became evening, the sky stayed bright, for it was still the height of summer.
Privet Drive was as exciting as it ever was, that day – every once in awhile, a sprinkler down the road would turn on and start to spin, shooting water out in a circle for a while before falling back into idleness once more. Still, Harry watched the sky, as it rebelliously stayed blue even after eight o'clock – eight-fifteen – half-nine.
He wondered how the Weasleys would be coming to get him tomorrow. Surely they wouldn't attempt the Floo Network again? Not after last year's incident, which would have left Dudley's tongue several feet longer than any tongue was supposed to be, if Mr. Weasley hadn't been able to return it to normal.
Perhaps they would use a Portkey this year.
...let's just take it together...
Harry's train of thought had turned back onto its most familiar and rickety old track – the night of the Third Task. It clanked along past all the usual stops – the graveyard – Cedric – Voldemort – fireflies –
Fireflies?
Harry blinked, and realized that the fireflies were not in his thoughts at all, but just outside his window. They were glowing brightly against the twilight – Harry supposed the sun had finally set without his realizing it, when he was lost in his thoughts.
The fireflies were dancing. Harry couldn't help thinking how beautiful they looked. Before he knew what he was doing, he had stood, and was throwing his window open to let them inside – but as soon as he opened it, they were gone, as suddenly as they had come.
Harry wondered where they had come from. He had never seen fireflies on Privet Drive before.
Sleep came easily when Harry finally went back to his bed – and for once, he did not dream of a tall figure emerging from a bubbling cauldron – or of the life disappearing from a young man's eyes. Instead, he dreamt of fireflies, dancing in the air – just dancing a strange, beautiful dance that was as calming as anything Harry had ever seen, ever felt. It was the best dream Harry had had in ages, but when he woke in the morning, he could scarcely remember it at all.
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