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SIYE Time:8:52 on 29th March 2024
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Summer of the Serpent
By SSHENRY

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Category: Pre-OotP
Characters:Harry/Ginny, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Albus Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood
Genres: Angst, Humor, Drama
Warnings: Sexual Situations, Extreme Language, Dark Fiction
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 111
Summary: WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF SS POTTER! - - - Ginny Weasley survived the Chamber of Secrets, but will she survive the summer suprises and discovery that follows? This is the first in a series. Other works from the world of SS POTTER include LIFE IS BUT A DREAM, TOWARDS TOMORROW and TODAY THE TEMPEST. This story is a dark, fiction and is a prequel to Towards Tomorrow (also being posted on this site)
Hitcount: Story Total: 85727; Chapter Total: 11955







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CHAPTER FIVE

Mind Games

 

 

August 7th

 

 

It’s all over the papers — Muggle and Wizard — Sirius Black, the man who killed thirteen people with one curse all those years ago has escaped from Azkaban. The most notorious criminal of our time just walked out of his cell and is roaming the countryside. How the hell he got by the guards is anybody’s guess.

 

Very dark creatures called Dmentors guard Azkaban — the Wizarding prison up in the North Sea.

 

I’ve never seen a Dmentor. I don’t want to see a Dementor. But I know what they do. They leech all the happiness out of you, in the process making you relive all the worst and most painful memories of your life and, if they get the chance, they’ll suck out your soul.

 

Yuck.

 

Dad had to go to Azkaban once on Ministry business. He came home all shaky weak and sick. It took him days to recover. I can’t imagine what it must be like to be there for days, or weeks, or years!

 

Sometimes I have to wonder if Tom didn’t use a spell that mimicked the Dementor’s kiss when he tried to use my soul  - my energy  - to give himself life.

 

I say mimicked, because I still have my soul, obviously. It may be slightly tarnished now  - but I’m still me. He didn’t win. He won’t win. I won’t let him.

 

For some reason I find myself fascinated by this Sirius Black person. I know he is supposed to have been a cold-blooded killer, but when I look at his picture (and his picture is everywhere!) I just don’t see the evil it would take to do something like that. Like dad and Bill, I detect a dark vein of it running deep beneath the surface, but it doesn’t touch his heart.

 

His face in the Daily Prophet photo is haggard, sallow and unkempt. I get the impression of incredible sadness  - despair even  - and guilt, but it’s not guilt about anything he’s done. Instead it’s guilt for what he didn’t do.

 

Does that make any sort of sense? I hope so, because I can’t explain it any better than that.

 

Dad and mum seem especially upset over this breakout. I think it has something to do with Harry, but I can’t be certain.

 

Dad was all for cutting the trip a week short and heading back in case we’re needed, but mum says that we planned on staying until the 15th and until the 15th we’re going to stay. As usual, what mum wants, she tends to get.

 

~*~

 

Ginny grinned as she read back over her entry and then frowned as the double vision began to blur the page in front of her eyes. Not again! She groaned and braced herself, wondering who it would be this time; the big beefy man? Pig boy? The large, obnoxiously loud woman? Or maybe the other woman, the quiet one with the horsey face and the beautiful hands?

 

Ginny stared at the page, watching in trepidation as the form began to coalesce; Dark, untidy hair, emerald green eyes — her breath caught in her chest — it was Harry!

 

He seemed to be leaning forward — looking her right in the eye. His gaze was intense — intoxicating. How could I have ever thought that I was over him? screamed a part of her brain.

 

She blinked. His mouth was moving. He was talking. She focused on his lips — that

incredibly sensuous mouth. What was he saying?

 

“Do you want to be able to go to Hogsmeade with Ron and Hermione or not?”

 

What?

 

“You’ve got to get a grip on yourself, mate.”

 

Mate? Who was he calling mate?

 

“You slipped up again! You’ve got to keep from doing any unintentional magic or Uncle Vernon won’t sign your form. Did you see Aunt Petunia’s face when Aunt Marge went to sit down but missed because the chair had suddenly moved two feet to the right?”

 

Harry snickered and the mischief dancing in his eyes made Ginny’s heart skip a beat.

 

“Damn, but the whole house shook! I swear that obesity must run in the Dursley genetics!” Beached Whales, the lot of them.

 

He hadn’t actually spoken that last bit, but the thought had come through as clear as day.

 

Ginny looked down. Her hands seemed to be resting on what appeared to be a sink. But they weren’t her hands. They were a boy’s hands, the nails short and rough, but they were beautiful hands — Harry’s hands.

 

Oh my God!

 

She could see the fixtures behind her (him?) now -  shower stall, a toilet. She (he?) was in a bathroom, leaning against the sink, talking to her (him) self in the mirror.

 

Suddenly another voice intruded on her ear.

 

“Boy! What the devil’s taking you so long? Marge is waiting to take a shower — come out of there, now!”

 

Harry gave his reflection a half smile and turned away.

 

Ginny blinked. The bathroom, the mirror, Harry’s reflection, were all gone. She was staring once again at the blank pages of her journal.

 

What had just happened? What the Hell had just happened?

 

She closed her eyes. Suddenly the man’s voice was in her head again.

 

“Worthless, lazy, good-for-nothing!” he yelled.

 

She could feel her (Harry’s?) stomach beginning to roil.

 

“You do what you need to do and get out. None of this lallygagging around!”

 

She was still sitting at her desk, but now, behind the closed lids of her eyes she could also see the big beefy man from her first bout of double vision standing in front of her. The man looked livid. Behind him stood the large, loud woman who had shouted at her when Fred had asked her to pass the butter.

 

The woman was dressed in a large pink bathrobe which had dainty roses embroidered all over it.

 

On anyone of a normal size it would have been quite lovely. On this woman, however, it looked completely incongruous.

 

Seeing the man and woman together like this, Ginny was certain that they had to be brother and sister.

 

“I want you to apologize to your Aunt Marge this instant!” bellowed the man.

A hand reached up in front of her line of vision — the boy’s hand — bushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose.

 

“Sorry I took so long Aunt Marge,” said Harry’s voice.

 

The woman glared at him before turning to her brother.

 

“I don’t know why you bother, Vernon. They boy is a hopeless case if I ever saw one. Petunia says he looks just like his father. He’ll turn out just the same - you mark my words! Worthless, lazy.“

 

The roiling in Harry’s stomach had increased and Ginny now felt a white-hot anger simmering just under the surface of his skin.

 

The handbook, she found herself (or Harry rather) thinking. Think about the handbook. Page ten, a spell for slow stoppers-

 

The woman was still gabbling, but Harry was focusing on the handbook, and the words rained down around him - meaningless and empty.

 

Still babbling on, the woman entered the bathroom he had just vacated and closed the door with a snap. It opened again almost immediately and a toothbrush and comb launched themselves at his head.

 

He caught them instinctively.

 

“You shouldn’t let him keep his things in here, Vernon, he might have lice,” said the loud woman named Marge. “Who knows what sort of things they get up to at a criminal school like Brutus’s!”

 

The man again — just a glimpse of his blotchy face, and then a hallway ahead with light green carpeting and white walls. A door to the left was standing open. Inside was the pig boy who had hit him in the garden.

 

The pig boy was sitting at a desk. His fat bottom lopped over the sides of the chair. He was sitting in front of what looked like a television screen, but it had a board in front of it with letters printed on stubby buttons. Computer was the word that came to mind, and though she wasn’t entirely sure what a computer was — she knew that this was one.

 

The pig boy was manipulating a small box with a stick in the middle.

 

Joystick — supplied the voice, Harry’s voice in her head. Must be the new Toumb Raider game. Jesus but they make her boobs ridiculously big!

 

Ginny felt the part of her sitting at her own desk begin to blush, but then realized that there was no need. He — Harry — didn’t know that she was hearing what he was saying. But that wasn’t right. He hadn’t said anything. His mouth hadn’t moved, and the pig boy hadn’t responded to his comment.

 

“Wouldn’t care to test your luck, would you Dud?” came Harry’s voice.

 

The pig boy turned slowly in his seat and looked at him with bored, dull, piggy little eyes.

 

“You don’t know how to play,” said the boy scathingly. “Stupid freak, cooped up with that bloody bird and freak stuff from that freak school.”

 

Ginny felt Harry’s eyebrows rise on his forehead.

 

“That a yes then?” said Harry’s voice dryly.

 

“It’ll be a pleasure to whip your sorry arse,” said the pig boy.

 

The boy rummaged under his desk and produced another small box with a stick set in the middle. He plugged the trailing wire into a hole on the side of the screen and handed the box out to Harry.

 

“I win, you do my chores for a week,” said the boy.

 

“You’re on.”

 

Amazed, Ginny watched as the screen split, now showing two exact screens, each sporting a curvy, buxom cartoon woman who looked like a cross between Parvati Patil and Cho Chang, except that she had unrealistically large breasts.

 

Ginny grimaced.

 

As if in response to her reaction, Harry snickered.

 

“What’s with you?” sneered the pig-boy (who Ginny now realized must be Harry’s cousin Dudley).

 

“Don’t you think her, uh, dimensions are just a tad bit unrealistic?” chuckled Harry.

 

“What are you, a poofter?”

 

“In your dreams Popkin.”

 

Dudley snorted.

 

The countdown on the screens began. When the numbers reached zero, the barely clad girl began moving across both screens simultaneously, although the characters were not moving in tandem.

 

Ginny soon realized that each screen was somehow being controlled by the box each boy held his hand. There were markings on each box. She kept getting glimpses of them; right and left arrows, up and down arrows, a button marked ‘jump,’ another marked ‘kick.’

 

It was, Ginny realized, a game that had been projected onto the television — computer — screen. The girl was maneuvering a maze of some sort. It looked like a ruined castle.

 

Running numbers in the top right-hand corner were clicking steadily upwards. The further into the maze the girl got — the more beasts and enemies she killed, the more treasure and artifacts she found — the higher the numbers in the corner increased.

 

They’re keeping score! Ginny realized.

 

From the corner of Harry’s eye she could just see the pig boy’s fat hands flying over the controls. His mouth was hanging open. His piggy little eyes were scanning the screen ceaselessly.

 

Through Harry, she was acutely aware of his own fingers dancing over the controls so fast that he seemed to almost preempt the next moves.

 

Merlin he’s fast! Ginny thought, then added, must be the Quidditch reflexes.

 

She noted with some satisfaction that the score on Harry’s side was nearly double that of his cousins.

 

Stupid fat git! — Ginny thought vehemently.

 

Almost as if he had heard her, Harry hesitated. His whole body seemed to twitch, but then he was back into the game. When the timer ran out, he had beat Dudley solidly.

 

“Looks like I won,” Harry said blandly.

 

“Beginner’s luck,” Dudley grunted, eyeing Harry mistrustfully.

 

Harry shrugged.

 

“Night Dud.”

 

Harry could feel Dudley’s eyes on his back as he exited the room and headed back down the hall.

 

The next door on the left opened under Harry’s hand.

 

“Why aren’t you in bed yet?” said a snappish voice from Harry’s right.

 

Harry’s eyes cut to the right and there, at the top of the stairs stood the tall, elegant woman with the blonde hair and rather horsey features whom Ginny had seen in her double vision before. Her lips were pursed and she looked very annoyed.

 

“Played a game of Tomb Raider with Dud,” Harry said dully.

 

The woman eyed him suspiciously. She had a tall glass of milk in one hand and a plate of what looked (and smelled) like chocolate chip cookies in the other.

 

Harry’s eyes flicked from the woman’s face, to the cookies, and back again. His stomach rumbled, and Ginny knew that lunch had been the last time he had eaten.

 

“Get in your room,” snapped the woman. “You almost made me drop Dudley’s snack!”

 

Ginny felt her own instant dislike of this woman coupled suddenly with Harry’s own rush of hatred.

 

What kind of a woman brings one boy a snack but not the other?

 

“My Aunt”, replied Harry’s voice.

 

It was Ginny’s turn to freeze. He’d heard her! Sweet Merlin, was it possible that he’d actually heard her?

 

“Of course I heard you!” Harry muttered angrily, stepping into his room and shutting the door firmly behind him. “And now I know that I’m loosing it, cause I’m talking to myself. Don’t even have the excuse of a house elf!”

 

Ginny stifled a giggle.

 

Harry’s stomach rumbled again, loudly.

 

You haven’t eaten since lunch? asked Ginny tentatively in her head.

 

Harry shrugged. His insides were roiling again, and Ginny knew that it was from anger, not just hunger. She became aware of his thoughts then.

 

The large woman, Marge, had blamed Harry for the juice she had spilled on the living room carpet. His punishment had been to sit at the dinner table while the rest of the family ate.

 

Oh Harry, I’m so sorry!

 

“Knock it off, Potter!” Harry hissed angrily.

 

He pulled off his t-shirt, kicked his jeans and trainers into a corner.

 

“Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t going to do any good!”

 

Wait till they’re asleep, suggested Ginny, then sneak downstairs and nick yourself some food.

 

“Can’t,” grunted Harry. “She keeps track of everything. She’s got the cupboard and fridge contents memorized. Besides, if she catches me I’d loose my suppers for a week.”

 

What a horrid family! fumed Ginny silently.

 

“You said it!” Harry agreed and flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His stomach rumbled again.

 

Ginny  - who had six older brothers and knew just how much a 13-year-old boy could eat  - felt her own stomach give a sympathetic growl.

 

With as start she realized that she could feel tears slipping down Harry’s face. He fell asleep thinking about the Hogwarts welcoming feast and as the double image drifted away, Ginny quietly got up, slipped into her nightgown, and crawled into her own bed.

 

For the first time she saw Harry Potter not as a hero or some sort of fantasy boyfriend, but a boy, a boy the same age as Ron. A boy who wanted desperately to belong, but who never could.

 

What she’d felt at the dinner table, about being on the outside looking in, that was pretty much the story of Harry’s life.

 

She could feel her own tears now, and outside  - as if in sympathy -  it began to rain.

 

Sleep, for Ginny, was a long time coming.

 

~*~

 

8 August

 

That was either an incredibly vivid and detailed dream  -  or I really did see things from Harry’s point of view last night. Since I saw each of the other people who I’ve seen in my double vision episodes, I’m leaning towards the latter option. I know it sounds crazy, but what if it’s true?

 

(Damn, Gin, how pathetic can you get? Are you really that loath to give him up? Now you’re inventing whole scenarios so that you can be with him in your mind since you can’t be with him for real?)

 

But what if I am crazy? What if all these double vision episodes are just figments of my imagination? What if it’s all just a dream? More likely it’s some sort of emotional reaction to having been — what is the term? Oh yes — traumatized.

 

I definitely feel as if I’m going crazy! I want to scream and yell. I want to throw a temper tantrum - like I did when I was little. I want to stamp my feet and fuss until everything goes back to the way it used to be.

 

My stomach isn’t making things any easier. It’s been upset all day and I feel jumpy and on edge. Who knows — maybe I’m just hungry.

 

~*~

 

Ginny went down to supper with her head a jumble of odd thoughts and her stomach behaving very much like a volcano that is about to blow it’s top. She sat down between Fred and her father and watched with morbid fascination as the large, loud woman  -Harry’s Aunt Marge  - swam into focus across the table between Bill and Ron. As she came into focus, so did the full and considerable volume of her voice.

 

“No, Vernon. Go on boy, go on — proud of your parents, are you? They go and get themselves killed in a car crash (drunk I expect)-”

 

“Ginny, are you O.K.?” That was Ron’s voice.

 

She opened her mouth to reply to Ron, but instead of the words she was trying to get out, she heard herself say, “They didn’t die in a car crash.”

 

She could feel Harry on his feet and was vaguely aware of the fact that she, too was standing up. An ice-cold fury was flooding Harry’s veins.

 

Marge was speaking again.

 

“They died in a car crash you nasty little-”

 

But now Marge was swelling -  rising off her chair like a helium filled balloon. Her evil-tempered little dog was ripping at Uncle Vernon’s trouser leg.

 

Suddenly, Harry was no longer in the dining room. He was gone. He was upstairs. He was grabbing his things from his room, his trunk from the cupboard under the stairs.

 

Uncle Vernon - his leg all bloody - was limping out of the dining room, his face livid.

 

“Come back and put her right!”

 

“I’m going. I’ve had enough!” yelled Harry.

 

Ginny was yelling with him.

 

As the words left her mouth every single piece of glassware in the hotel dining room shattered simultaneously. At exactly the same moment the lights flickered out and the room was plunged into darkness.

 

Ginny  - now fully aware of her surroundings - turned to run. She was prevented from running, however, by strong arms that had wrapped around her from behind. Someone. Bill.

 

He had swung her into his arms like a baby. Her head was cradled against his chest. He was carrying her up to her room — his face just visible in the dim glow of the emergency lighting.

 

Ten minutes later the lights came back on. But the Weasley’s (with the exception of Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley and Charlie) were all crammed into Ginny’s hotel room.

 

Ginny - her face still buried in Bill’s shoulder  - was trying desperately to ignore Percy’s angry tirade.

 

“What the hell just  happened, Ginevra!” Percy demanded. He’d been running his fingers through his hair until he looked quite wild. “Do you realize how many Muggles witnessed your little temper tantrum?” he added, sounding thoroughly put out.

 

“Stop whining, Perce,” said Fred hotly. “There were only three other families and the staff who witnessed it — fifteen people, tops. Mum, dad and Charlie are downstairs right now doing memory charms.”

 

“They’re not authorized for  obliviation!” snapped Percy. “Statue of Secrecy, chapter three, paragraph seven says that-”

 

“For your information, Perce,” said Bill in a quiet, dangerous voice. “All witches or wizards with an N.E.W.T. or higher rating in Charms are legally able to do Obliviation Charms in emergency situations.”

 

“I hardly think this constitutes an emergency sit-”

 

“Put a sock in it, Percy,” growled George.

 

Sticking his nose in the air while still managing to look highly affronted, Percy stalked out of the room.

 

“Git,” Fred growled.

 

“Getting named Head Boy is already going to his ego,” muttered George.

 

Ron snorted.

 

“Fred, George,” said Bill. He sounded calm and authoritative. “Please check on Percy, then go down and make sure mum and dad have everything under control.”

 

“I’ll check on him all right,” muttered Fred.

 

“Check him into a mental institution,” added George.

 

The twins left the room. Both of them looked uncharacteristically grave.

 

“You can come out now, Gin,” said Bill quietly.

 

Ginny choked back a sound that was half laugh, half sob, and slowly lifted her head from Bill’s shoulder. Except for Ron — who was leaning against the windowsill — they were alone.

 

“You O.K.?” Ron asked concernedly.

 

Ginny nodded, then gulped.

 

“What happened?” asked Bill gently.

 

“I — I don’t know!” said Ginny.

 

This wasn’t entirely true. She’d seen Harry. He’d left the Dursley’s. He’d been in a towering temper. He’d blown up his Aunt. But who could she tell? Who would believe her? If she told them what she was seeing, what she was feeling, they would most likely lock her up in St. Mungo’s with Professor Lockhart.

 

“You saw something,” said Ron quietly. “I saw you, Ginny, your eyes got all big and-”

 

“I- I can’t talk about it, Ron,” Ginny said, fresh tears streaming down her face.

 

“Ginny-”

 

“I’m sorry, Ron, I just can’t!” she wailed and turned her face back into Bill’s chest.

 

Ron sighed.

 

A sharp tap — tap — tap made all three of them jump. An owl was sitting on the sill.

 

“Get that, would you, Ron?” said Bill.

 

With a sinking heart Ginny knew that the owl was for her. She was going to be expelled. She’d broken the Decree for Underage Sorcery so bad she’d probably be locked away for good.

 

“It’s for Dad,” said Ron.

 

They’re writing to dad about me, thought Ginny dully.

 

“Give it here,” said Bill, holding out a hand. “Dad’s a bit indisposed at the moment.”

 

He ripped open the letter.

 

Ginny felt herself holding her breath.

 

“Bill, what is it?” Ron sounded anxious. “Bill?”

 

“It’s Harry,” said Bill in an odd, strained sort of voice. “He performed an impressive bit of wandless magic and ran away from the Dursley’s. Nobody knows where he’s gone.”

 

What?” said Ron, incredulously. “But aren’t there supposed to be blokes watching him?”

 

“Yeah, but the magic must have distracted them. He’s disappeared.”

 

Ginny - her eyes closed - felt a sudden lurch of fear. There was something there, there in the shadows.

 

“Lumos,” said Harry’s voice.

 

For an instant he could see a great, black shaggy shape, a bear-like dog. He stumbled, tripping over his trunk.

 

BOOM!

 

A triple-decker, violently purple bus erupted out of mid-air. The Knight Bus. The conductor was saying something, taking his trunk, stowing it under a brass bed near the front of the bus.

 

“Ron, go get dad.”

 

That was Bill’s voice.

 

“Hurry, Ron, it’s important we find him before Black does.”

 

Ginny was vaguely aware of Ron clattering out of the room.

 

“He’s on the Knight Bus,” Ginny whispered. Her voice was so faint that Bill almost didn’t hear her.

 

“Ginny, what?”

 

“He’s on the Knight Bus, heading for the Leaky Cauldron.”

 

“How do you-”

 

“I just know!” Ginny snapped. “I can’t explain it, Bill. Please don’t ask me how I know. I just do. Trust me! He thinks he’s going to be arrested. He’s going to Gringotts to get his money before he runs away.”

 

Her father dashed in just then - followed closely by Ron - and snatched the letter out of Bill’s hand.

 

“They’ve looked everywhere,” he said, scanning it quickly. “Fudge thinks that he might be headed for the Burrow.”

 

Bill was looking at her with an odd, appraising expression.

 

“Actually, dad, if he thinks he’s broken wizarding law badly enough, he probably wouldn’t come to us,” said Bill carefully. “If he’s scared he’ll get caught, he’s probably going to run. I bet he’s headed for Diagon Alley. Doesn’t he have money in a vault at Gringotts?”

 

“But how would he get there, he can’t Apparate-”

 

“Fly maybe,” said Bill, “or perhaps he’s on the Knight Bus.”

 

“Merlin’s Beard!” exclaimed Mr. Weasley. “That’s it! That’s how he disappeared so quickly! I need to Floo Fudge immediately.”

 

“There’s a fire you can use at my office,” said Bill.

 

He put Ginny down gently on her bed.

 

“Come on, dad.”

 

He and her father both Disapparated with small pops.

 

“I’ll stay with Ginny,” said Ron helpfully.

 

“I hope they find him,” said Ginny after they’d been alone for several minutes.

 

“I wonder what kind of magic he did this time,” wondered Ron.

 

“He blew up his Aunt,” said Ginny without thinking.

 

Ron stared at her.

”What do you mean, blew her up?”

 

“Not in pieces, more like a balloon.”

 

“How did you know that?”

 

“Bill told me,” said Ginny quickly, desperate to cover her mistake. “It was in the letter.”

 

They both lapsed into silence then. Ginny must have dozed off, because she woke up a few hours later, to find that Ron had fallen asleep beside her - his arm was wrapped protectively around her waist.

 

What had happened to Harry?

 

Ginny closed her eyes and willed her mind to focus on him.

 

A portly little man in a bottle green suit was sitting across from him at a small table. There were two cups of tea and a plate of scones on the table between them.

 

“I am Cornelius Fudge, Harry, the Minister of Magic.”

 

“He’s safe!” Ginny murmured into her pillow, and went back to sleep with a smile on her face.

 

She could have sworn that as she drifted off again she heard Bill’s voice murmur, “So it would seem.”

 

 

~*~

 

9 August

 

 

Dad informed us this morning that Harry had been picked up by the Knight Bus and was safely ensconced at the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley. But of course I knew that, which makes me want to believe that what I’m seeing is for real.

 

Should I tell someone? Who would I tell? Better yet, what would I tell them?

 

Oh sure, I can hear it now. “Oh, by the way, mum, I’ve found out that I have a direct line to Harry Potter’s thoughts and feelings. I can see what he’s seeing, hear and feel what he’s hearing and feeling.”

 

Uh huh. Right. Sure. I’d be in the loony ward before I could blink! Professor Dumbledore might believe me. But again, how would I go about telling him? And what if he let Harry know? Talk about humiliation? Harry already thinks that I’m a stupid little girl. I mean, really, I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to prove myself otherwise, have I? He’d probably think that I was just trying to get his attention. I don’t think I could stand that. I’d die of mortification.

 

Note: Can you believe that there was a time when I thought that “mortification” was the process by which a person lays bricks?

 

Even worse — what if Dumbledore believes me and then tries to use me to get into Harry’s head? Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that Dumbledore would try to manipulate Harry, but I’m fairly certain that he wouldn’t sneeze at the opportunity to see inside Harry’s head. What better way to keep tabs on him after all?

 

Even more terrifying, what if they discovered the fact that Harry can hear me and even responds to me? Wouldn’t that be too tempting for someone even as noble as Dumbledore to pass up?

 

No. Better to keep my mouth shut. No one needs to know about it — if indeed it all isn’t just a figment of my imagination. And there is the catch. I keep coming back to that one word. IF.

 

What if it’s all in my head?

 

DAMN.

 

 

 

11 August

 

The double vision has become almost second nature to me now. The only thing that pushes it away — aside rather — even a little is my dancing, a really involved book, or flying on a broomstick.

 

This last one I don’t get to do nearly as often as I’d like.

 

Bill took me out this morning to a secluded area he knows of, and let me have a go on his Tempest 211. It’s a really nice broom, an older model, but, like Bill says, it does everything he needs it to — and then some.

 

Bill, for one, understands my love of flying. I confessed to him, years ago, that I’d been breaking into the broom shed, and he gave me express permission to ride his broom whenever I wanted.

 

Anyway, once I was up in the air, it was as if everything else just melted away into oblivion. I felt happy! I felt free! I felt as if I were full of a quicksilver joy, the kind I’d never expected to feel again.

 

I shrieked and whooped with joy as I flew — laughing so hard it’s a wonder I was able to stay seated.

 

You should have seen Bill’s face when I touched down. He was grinning fit to burst and absolutely alight with relief at seeing me let go like that. I grabbed him and we did an impromptu tango, which ended up in us falling into a tangled heap.

 

But of course the double vision comes right back. On a more positive note, since Harry’s been at the Leaky Cauldron it’s at least been of a relatively benign nature.

 

The roiling and churning in my stomach has begun to taper off too. I’m beginning to wonder if the stomach upsets had something to do with anger perhaps, or stress — Harry’s of course.

 

But the double vision; I’ve been seeing snatches of buildings, shops, shopkeepers and occasionally glimpses of students I know.

He — Harry — is quite smitten with the newest model of broom at Quidditch Quality Supplies. It’s called the Firebolt. It’s an international standard broomstick. He goes there everyday to pay it homage.

 

Hey, I’m not blind. It is a fabulous broom! But the closest I’ll ever get to it is the display case I’m afraid.

 

While the double vision can be annoying — and potentially hazardous if I sidestep an insubstantial item and walk into a real one — it is nothing compared to being able to hear Harry’s thoughts.

 

Yes. His thoughts. It’s as if there is a radio station turned on in my head. It’s there — stuck in my brain — 24 hours a day, seven days a week “All Harry All The Time.”

 

No matter what I do I can’t tune him out completely. If I get involved enough in something else I can tone it down to a mindless sort of static, but as soon as I’m done — there it is, as clear as day.

 

Harry compares this freedom he’s been given (staying on his own in Diagon Alley) to what life is like at the Dursley’s, and I have to tell you — it’s quite enlightening.

 

I now understand why Harry is so quiet, introspective, polite and unassuming. It’s because he’s never been allowed to be otherwise.

 

What id doesn’t explain is why he is as good of a person as he is. He should be bitter at having been treated like a second-class citizen. But while he’s obviously scarred emotionally, he is resilient. He has excellent powers of reasoning and in fact, he has an adult’s understanding.

 

I think perhaps it is this last bit — his understanding — that has proved his salvation.

 

Strangely enough Harry’s understanding - this ability to grasp the truth of things — stems, like my own, from his having been touched by the Dark Lord.

 

I was given my understanding in one — nearly lethal — dose.

Harry on the other hand, has had multiple run-ins with the Dark Lord. It amounts to the same thing. We see and we understand.

 

And it’s not over.

 

Not by a long shot.

 

I know this as surely as I know my own name.

 

Harry knows it too.

 

Harry also knows — deep down — that there is a darkness etched on his very soul. It is a darkness that realizes that — in the end — it will be up to him to bring about You-Know-Who’s final demise.

 

I don’t think that Harry the boy realizes this. Or perhaps he does, but does not want to admit it for fear that in acknowledging it he will make it real. It’s sort of like knowing that there is a rattlesnake under your bed. You’ve seen it — you can hear it. It’s slithering along and shaking its coils. You’ve even been bitten by it once and miraculously didn’t die.

 

You know of course, that you might never be so lucky again.

 

So you stay in bed — feet tucked up — trying to ignore the fact that you have to go to the bathroom, and instinctively knowing that if you don’t want to make a mess, you’re going to have to kill it.

 

Right now Harry is just trying his best to ignore the pressure in his bladder and keep his feet tucked up. Its just a matter of time.

 

 

14 August

 

We leave tomorrow, back to the Burrow for two weeks, and then to school.

 

God, I’m going to miss Bill! It has been so good being able to talk to him whenever I need to, but I’ll have Ron. And while I can’t be quite as open with Ron as I am with Bill, it’s still better than being by myself!

I’ll never forget the year before I started Hogwarts when Ron was gone and there was nobody at home but me and mum and dad. God, I was so lonely it wasn’t even funny!

I had friends from the village when I was little, but we were never really close. It wasn’t like I could invite them over or anything. I swear, if it hadn’t been for Bill and my dance lessons I would have gone spare.

 

Mum and dad tried to make up for it by paying me extra attention, but that sort of backfired. It made me feel less special and more like a baby.

I thought that when I went to Hogwarts everything would be better.

 

I wasn’t counting on the derogatory comments about my robes and lack of new things. I was desperate for friends — to feel included. And that’s where Tom came in. He did all that for me.

 

I worry a bit about how things will go this year. I mean, it’s not as if I actually got to have a normal first year. I didn’t really make any friends I didn’t need them, I had Tom. But now Tom is gone. I’m on my own.

 

I guess it’s time to grow up.

 

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