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SIYE Time:11:10 on 29th March 2024
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Summer Story
By Arnel

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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems
Characters:None
Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 392
Summary: Summer at the Dursleys’ is typical for Harry Potter who hopes his stay with his relatives will only last two weeks at most. In this sequel to You’re Still You and New Year, New Hope Harry learns that his role as “savior” of the Wizarding world is more complicated than he thought and that he needs his friends and mentors more than he ever imagined.
Hitcount: Story Total: 135229; Chapter Total: 4198





Author's Notes:
Thanks to all who reviewed my last chapter. I look forward to hearing from as many of you as possible.




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“Mr Potter, how nice to see you again!” exclaimed the Potter Memorial guard as Harry let himself and the others in. “What brings you to Godric’s Hollow?”

Harry smiled. “I wanted to see the house and gardens again, Mr Campbell,” he said. He stepped aside so the guard could see Ginny and the others. “I’d like you to meet my friends Ginny and Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you young people,” said Mr Campbell, genially. He looked at the house over his shoulder. “Well, go right ahead. Let me know if you want to go inside. I’ll be right here.”

“Thank you, sir,” Harry said politely, making Ginny and Hermione smile. It always astonished Ginny that Harry had learned such amazing manners when he was raised in such a rude household.

As Harry led them towards the back of the house, Ginny tried to absorb the beauty of the memorial. As depressing as the house was with the gaping hole in its roof, the snow-covered gardens surrounding it more than made up for it.

“Harry, why isn’t there any snow on the roof?” Hermione asked, shading her eyes against the noonday sun. “All the other houses on the lane are nearly buried in it.”

“I think it’s a preservation spell,” Harry replied, stopping to gaze at the hole. “Dumbledore told me that since the village doesn’t want the house to deteriorate, so they’ve put anti-weather and pest-control spells in place to keep the elements and unwanted ‘residents’ out.”

“Makes sense,” Ron agreed, peering at the house.

“Yeah, it does. Unfortunately, the Memorial Foundation didn’t begin to preserve the house until May of 1982, so my room was open to the elements for six months,” Harry said distractedly. “I hope it’s not too...” He trailed off, letting his thought hang unfinished.

He’s going up there today, Ginny thought, exchanging looks with Hermione who nodded grimly.

Ron shifted, digging little ruts in the snow with the toe of his boot. He looked about as if he was trying to find something to fill the awkward silence. Finally, he said, “You told me there’s a Quidditch pitch somewhere on the property?”

Harry startled with a small “oh!” “Yeah, it’s out back,” he said, a slow grin lighting up his face. “It’s this way.” He led them through the formal garden and the surrounding woods to a meadow bordered by trees.

“Where are the goals?” Ron asked, a bewildered expression creasing his forehead.

Harry sighed. “My dad never got the chance to finish it,” he said, sounding forlorn.

“Well, no matter what, I think it’s beautiful here,” Ginny said, making the other three chuckle. She ran out into the meadow, flopped down on her back and began waving her arms and legs in and out in the snow. “And it’s the perfect place for making snow angels!” she giggled. Her three companions laughed at her antics and joined her. It wasn’t long before an entire parade of snow angles stretched across the paddock.

They stayed in the meadow a while longer, then the couples wandered, hand in hand, back towards the house. As they neared it, Harry’s hand tensed in Ginny’s. She looked up at him, one eyebrow raised questioningly.

“I’m going to ask Mr Campbell to let me into the house. Do you want to come inside with me?” he asked.

Ginny answered, “I wouldn’t miss this opportunity for the world, Harry, and I don’t think my brother or Hermione would either.”

Harry relaxed a little. He murmured, “Be right back,” as he let go of her hand and jogged over to the gatehouse. A moment later, he stuck his head out the door and pointed towards the front door, indicating that Ginny, Ron and Hermione should meet him there.

“I’m glad you want to see your childhood home, Mr Potter,” said Mr Campbell as he reversed the security spells on the door. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll lock up when you leave.”

“I appreciate that, sir,” Harry said. He turned the knob and stepped inside, Ginny, Ron and Hermione right behind him.

The layout of the ground floor was similar to that of Gwenyn, except the foyer was in the middle of the house. An archway to the right led into a spacious sitting room that looked towards the gate and the cobbled lane beyond it.

Harry walked slowly into the room, the others following at a distance. When he reached the hearth rug, he sat down and gazed around the room for several long moments.

Ron poked Ginny in the side. “What’s he doing?” he asked in a stage whisper.

“Let’s see what he does,” she responded, rubbing the sore place his elbow had created.

Harry grinned up at them. “I remember this room,” he said. “I remember sitting here playing with my toys.” He pointed to a wingback chair to his left. “Mum would sometimes sit there when Dad, Sirius and Uncle Mooney played with me. I think they were trying to keep me away from the hearth.”

“I would think your mum would have been down there on the floor with you,” Hermione commented.

Harry thought a moment. “I don’t ever recall her being down on the floor with us when Dad and Sirius and I played. And Dumbledore’s memories showed me that we played quite roughly down here... maybe that’s why Mum just supervised.”

Hermione smiled. “I can imagine your mum watching from her chair, because my Aunt Jill never engaged in what she called ‘boy stuff’ that her sons did when I was growing up,” she said.

“You could very well be right,” Harry said vaguely and seemed to slip back into his memories for a few moments.

Finally, he stood up and wandered over to an open area between the rug and another furniture grouping that included a sofa, a low table and several chairs. Again, he sat down, but this time he crawled round the table and then back and forth in the open space, too. He grinned up at Ron who had continued to regard him curiously.

“I think this is where I played with my toys and learned to fly, Ron,” he said. “There’s a picture in that album Hagrid gave me after first year that shows me hovering on a tiny broomstick in front of this table.”

“You mean a broom like the ones we saw the children flying on at the Quidditch World Cup that time?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, one of those, only smaller,” Harry said. He held his hands about two feet apart, as if measuring something. “Maybe... this long...” He looked about him again, then said, “I can’t believe I remember so much.”

Hermione looked at him curiously. “That seems strange to me, too. How are you seeing these things in your head, Harry?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, are they your memories or do they look as if they’re coming from someone else’s recollections? You know, like the images you see in the Pensieve memories you’ve told us about,” she said thoughtfully.

Harry frowned, looking thoughtful. “You know, the more I think about it, the more I may be seeing the memories Dumbledore gave me,” he said slowly.

“That was a nice gift, then,” Ron said. Hermione looked over at him, beaming at his comment.

“That is a nice way to think about it,” Harry said, struggling to stand up. Ron extended his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Come on, let’s take a look at the rest of the rooms down here.” He led them out of the sitting room and back into the foyer. They made quick work of the other rooms, pausing long enough in James’ study for Harry to crawl under his father’s desk, making Ginny and Hermione giggle.

They returned to the foyer after that and Harry stopped in front of the stairs, a strange look on his face that Ginny recognized from the library at Gwynen. As he started up the steps on his own, she held up a hand to stop Hermione and Ron from following him.

“Let’s go up, Ginny,” said Hermione, ignoring Ginny’s warning.

“Hermione, NO!” Ginny hissed at her friend. “Let him have a few minutes alone.”

“Why?” asked Ron.

Ginny scowled at her brother. “Harry needs some time to himself up there,” she hissed. “He needs to see his room alone.”

“How do you know?” Ron challenged.

“Did you see his expression? It was similar to the one on his face as he entered Dumbledore’s library at the other house,” she replied.

Hermione caught on quickly. “Ron, I think Harry planned it this way. He knew there were some things he didn’t face the last time he was here that he needs to see now. He brought us along for moral support, right Ginny?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“But why won’t you let me go upstairs?” Ron whined. “I want to see Harry’s room, too, you know.”

Ginny glared at her brother again. “Harry needs to grieve, Ron.”

“Well, if he’s so overwrought, then why shouldn’t we be up there with him?” he shot back.

“I think Harry needs to cry, Ron,” Hermione said softly, putting a hand on his arm. Ron’s eyebrows shot into his fringe. “You know Harry won’t cry in front of anyone but Ginny and... I think he needs to cry... for his parents...” Her eyes widened as an idea occurred to her, “... for himself.”

The three of them stood looking at each other as the impact of Hermione’s words washed over them. It had never occurred to Ginny that Harry needed to grieve for himself, for his own losses, and had never done so; she had always assumed that at one time or another he had found the time to get over the sorrow inflicted upon him by the murder of his parents. As they stood there, a muffled sniff reached them from the first floor. They looked at the ceiling and Ron gave Ginny a little push towards the stairs.

“Go on up, Ginny,” he said. “We’ll join you in a bit.”

Ginny smiled at her brother. “Thanks.”

Harry was leaning against the door jam of a child’s bedroom, his back to the stairwell. His hands were jammed deep in his pockets and Ginny could tell he was weeping because his shoulders shook with his ragged breathing. She stopped at the top of the stairs and just watched as he wiped his eyes with his sleeve and then ventured further into the room. Ginny followed at a respectful distance, stopping just inside the door, knowing that Harry was completely lost in what he was seeing for the first time in sixteen years.

The room was probably the largest of the three smaller bedrooms, if she compared it to the rooms she had seen at Gwenyn. It had once been a handsome room, the perfect place for a little boy to grow up. The mildewed walls had once been a bright, robin’s egg blue. Someone, most likely Lily, Ginny thought, had painted billowy clouds and Golden Snitches on them. She wondered if the Snitches had flitted magically amongst the clouds like her own butterflies. She hoped they had.

Harry was now walking around touching everything; the collapsed cot in the far corner under the gaping hole caused by the caved-in roof, the bureau and what might have been a changing stand next to it. From where she stood, Ginny could see clean spots where his fingers had disturbed the dust. She glanced to her left and smiled at the cosy scene; a white-painted rocking chair stood in the corner closest to the door on an old rag rug. I wonder if Harry remembers being rocked to sleep in that chair, she mused as she turned to look at the rest of the room. In the far corner, under the window at the opposite end of the room, was a bookshelf crammed with books and beside it sat an overflowing toy chest. Again, Ginny wondered if Harry remembered playing up here.

Eventually, Harry stopped in the middle of the room and turned in a slow circle. He startled when he realized Ginny was watching him.

“You OK?” she asked tentatively.

Harry sighed. “Yeah, I think I am,” he murmured, sounding a bit nasal. “It’s weird getting to see it after all this time.”

“Do you... do you remember this room like you did the sitting room?” she asked.

Harry turned and wandered towards the toy chest. He studied the toys and finally picked up a stuffed dragon. He held it up for her to see as he said, “I think Sirius gave this to me. I think he called it ‘Puff’.”

Ginny giggled and walked over to him, gazing at the toy. “He looks like a ‘Puff,’” she said, studying its faded green body and wings when Harry handed it to her. “The one Charlie gave me years ago kind of looked like this, only it was blue and its face was sort of smashed-looking, like Crookshanks’.” She smiled softly at the memory. “Charlie told me to call it ‘Fang’, but I called it ‘Sweety’ because he thought it was supposed to be a Swedish Short-Snout.” She handed back the toy and Harry took it, running a sentimental hand over it before putting it back. “This one might be a Welsh Green,” he said absently.

Ginny wandered over to the bookshelf and extracted a book. On the cover were some pigs dressed in funny clothing. The title of the book, The Three Little Pigs, wasn’t a children’s book she was familiar with. She carefully set the book on the floor and pulled out another one. This one was entitled Nursery Rhymes for the Very Young. She paged through it, smiling at the fun the poems that poked at Muggle royalty. Harry walked over to see what she was doing and together they read a few of the rhymes before Ginny put the book back.

“I didn’t recognize any of those,” she admitted. “Do you think your mum wanted to expose you to the literature of both the Muggle and wizarding worlds?”

Harry shrugged as he pulled a book from the lower shelf. He chuckled as he read the title and showed it to Ginny: The Three Little Dragons. She picked up the pig book. They skimmed both stories which turned out to be very similar.

“I think that answers that question,” she said as they returned the books to their places. She looked at her watch, thinking that Ron and Hermione should be coming up soon. She glanced at Harry who was still choosing books. “Almost done?”

Harry shoved the book he was looking at back in the book case. “Yeah, I think I am,” he said, his voice once more growing a bit shaky.

As she turned to walk back to the door, Ginny gasped. “Harry,” she said, pointing to an object leaning against the door frame behind the door, “is that... is that the broom you were talking about downstairs?”

Harry walked over and picked up the miniature broom. “Yeah, I think it is,” he said, his eyes wide with the discovery.

“It’s so tiny!” Ginny exclaimed. “How did you stay on it?”

Harry gave her a lopsided grin. “Sirius stuck me to it with a temporary Sticking Charm.”

“Oh, that’s priceless,” she giggled. “A very Sirius thing to do.”

“Yeah, it is.” Harry walked back to where she stood and slipped his hand in hers. “Thanks for coming up,” he said as Ron and Hermione joined them.

As she entered, Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “So this is where it all began...”

“Cool room, ickle broom,” Ron commented, spying the broom in Harry’s hand.

Harry chuckled. “Ginny just said the same thing,” he said.

“Can I hold it?” Ron asked, extending his hand. “I want to see what model it is.”

Hermione came to stand on Ginny’s other side. “Leave it to Ron to want to know everything about Harry’s first broom,” she whispered.

Ginny stifled a giggle. “You know my brother pretty well,” she whispered back.

“That I do,” Hermione agreed as Ron handed the broom back to Harry.

“It looks like a FlyTime 200, Harry,” he said. “A very good first broom, that. Nice and stable, didn’t go over five miles an hour or get higher than four feet off the floor. The Cleansweep Company manufactured it for about five years, I think. Mum and Dad bought us a couple of them a long time ago, but I don’t remember what happened to them.”

Ginny cleared her throat and said, “Fred and George crashed both brooms playing ‘chicken’ one afternoon when I was five. They weren’t supposed to be on them.”

Harry shook his head, clearly amazed at the amount of knowledge Ron could cram into his head when it came to brooms and Quidditch. “My mum would have confiscated it if she didn’t think it was safe,” he said, peering closely at the scuff marks on the handle. “I apparently rode several times a day, according to Professor Dumbledore.” He put the broom back in its place and stood staring at it before returning to Ginny’s side.

The four of them lingered a few minutes longer and then left, closing the door on Harry’s former life behind them. At Harry’s insistence they poked their noses into the other bedrooms and the rather modern bathroom. The master bedroom at the back of the house had been stripped clean of anything personal; nail holes in the walls showed where family portraits or paintings might have hung. The mirror over Lily’s dressing table was cracked as was the mirror over the fireplace. The two other bedrooms were just as bare, although the larger of the two looked as if it could have been a child’s bedroom.

Eventually, Harry led them back down to the foyer and then out to the gatehouse where he let Ginny, Ron and Hermione pass through the gate before him.

Mr Campbell came out of the gatehouse as Harry closed the gate. “Happy Christmas, Mr Potter,” he said. “It was good to see you again. I promise not to tell anyone you were here.”

Harry smiled at him. “Thanks, I appreciate that,” he said extending his hand. “Hey, remember to pick up the bonus I told you about on your way home tonight.”

Mr Campbell shook Harry’s hand, clasping it firmly between both of his. “I will, and thank you.”

“No, thank you, Mr Campbell,” Harry said, looking embarrassed. “If it wasn’t for you and the other gatekeepers I wouldn’t have the Memorial to come back to. It meant a lot to finally go inside it.”

“Our pleasure, Mr Potter, our pleasure,” said Mr Campbell warmly. He shook hands with Ron, Hermione and finally Ginny before magically locking the gate and returning to the warmth of the gatehouse.

Harry blew out a breath the floated away over their heads. He looked physically drained by the emotional roller coaster he’d been on. “Wow, what a day,” he remarked, taking Ginny’s hand.

“We got a lot accomplished,” Hermione said.

“Gwenyn’s far nicer than Grimmauld Place,” Ron commented.

“No screaming portraits,” Ginny chimed in.

“Come on. Let’s go home,” Harry said tiredly, and he led the way back to Gwenyn where they Disapparated from the back stoop.





A/N: Every author needs at least one pair of sharp eyes to do the editing/beta work and I’m lucky enough to be working with two absolutely super pre-betas. Thanks to GhostWriter and Jedi34 for their valuable insights, suggestions and nitpicking that helped me get this chapter ready to send to Aggiebelle. You have no idea how much I appreciate the work you do for me. And Aggiebell, thank you for your comments which spur me on to finish this fic so we can move on to the next one I have in mind.


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