Chapter Text
Harry Potter awoke with a start. A stick-like boy, Harry sat up in bed and groggily pushed his mop of black hair off his forehead, clutching his scar. He winced, as the peculiarly shaped lightning scar on his forehead seared and throbbed as if someone had taken a hot iron to him. Squinting, Harry tried his hardest to recall what his distressing nightmare was about. Echoing in his mind, all he could remember was a voice, cold and grating, the face of a man Harry could swear was familiar, and a flash of green light. The rest of the details, try as he might, slipped from his mind like sand through his fingers.
With a huff, Harry got to his feet, switching on his lamp, it’s warm glow engulfing the room. Harry pulled open his curtain to reveal an empty street, still bathed in darkness. “Must still be early,” Harry surmised. A loud pig-like snore from his cousin Dudley next door confirmed his suspicions. Glancing over at his bedside table, Harry’s eyes landed on two Birthday cards, sent by his two best friends, Ron and Hermione. His fingers twitching, Harry itched to write them a letter, explaining what had happened. Thinking of his best friends, he tried to imagine what their advice would be in this situation.
“Your scar hurts? That’s really serious Harry! You must write to Professor Dumbledore immediately! I’ll start researching in Common Magical Ailments and afflictions right away!” imaginary Hermione shouted shrilly at him.
Write to Dumbledore. Yes that sounded like a good idea. The wisened man was the most powerful wizard Harry had ever met, and rumour had it, was the only wizard Voldemort was afraid of. Harry had no doubt that Dumbledore would know what to do. But at the same time, he cringed at the letter he would have to write.
“Dear Professor Dumbledore, Sorry to bother you, but my scar hurt this morning. Yours sincerely, Harry Potter.”
Yeah, he wasn’t ready to look like a complete idiot in front of Dumbledore.
Switching tactics, Harry tried to imagine what Ron would say.
“No way. I mean, it’s impossible for You-Know-Who to be near you right? You know what, don’t worry mate. It’s possible for curse scars to act up every once in a while. I’ll ask Dad.”
This was an even far less effective solution. Ron’s Dad, Mr Weasley worked in the Ministry of Magic in the department of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. Thus while being a highly competent wizard, was very unlikely to have knowledge about curses, much less curse scars. Harry also dreaded the idea of the rest of the Weasley family knowing about his ailment. Mrs Weasley, who was a very lovely woman, would undoubtedly fuss over him, unwittingly causing Harry further embarrassment. Ron’s twin older brothers, Fred and George would certainly tease him a fair bit about it. Being close with both of them, Harry was very familiar with their disposition and knew that despite harbouring no ill will, they would endlessly taunt him about it. The Weasley twins always had trouble not knowing when a joke was going too far.
Kneading his forehead with his knuckles, Harry agonised about what to do. Not wanting to bother Dumbledore, and not wanting to embarrass himself in front of the Weasleys, especially since they were planning on taking him to the Quidditch World Cup, he was stuck at a cross roads. This was when a stroke of genius struck him. Sirius.
Rushing over to his desk, Harry pulled out a piece of parchment and quill, as he prepared to write to his godfather, Sirius Black. Being a falsely convicted murderer, Sirius was on the run. Since the start of the summer holidays, Sirius had sent Harry two letters, both attached to unusually colourful tropical birds. Those two letters, which were hidden under a loose floorboard under his bed, had been a source of solace from the misery that was living with the Dursley’s. Scribbling, and occasionally scratching out words, Harry wrote down his letter to Sirius as the sun slowly crept over the horizon bathing his room in a warm glow.
Finished with the letter, Harry reread his messy scrawl.
“Dear Sirius,
Thanks for the last letter, that bird was enormous, it could hardly get through my window.
Things are the same as usual here. Dudley’s diet isn’t going too well. My aunt found him smuggling doughnuts into the room yesterday. They told him they’d have to cut his pocket money if he keeps doing it, so he got really angry and chucked his PlayStation out of the window. That’s a sort of computer thing you can play games on. Bit stupid really, now he hasn’t even got Mega-Mutilation Part Three to take his mind off things.
I’m ok, mainly because the Dursleys are terrified you might turn up and turn them all into bats if I ask you to.
A strange thing happened this morning, though. My scar hurt again. Last time that happened it was because Voldemort was at Hogwarts. But I don’t reckon he can be anywhere near me now, can he? Do you know if curse scars sometimes hurt years afterwards?
I’ll send this with Hedwig when she gets back, she’s off hunting at the moment. Say hello to Buckbeak for me.
Harry”
That looked quite alright to Harry. He had decided to omit his dream for the simple reason that he didn’t want to come off too concerned. There wasn’t really a point anyway, since he couldn’t recall majority of his dream. Pleased with himself, Harry put the letter outside and glanced out the window, seeing the street bathed in the orange glow of the sunrise. Rising to his feet, Harry got dressed and went for a quick walk before the Dursleys awoke, a habit he had developed over the holidays.