Chapter Text
Midsummer in the countryside of England was filled with beauty and simplicity—the meadows in the lowlands, the expanse of greenery and wildflowers between farmlands. Blades of grass swayed in the wind, tickling their neighbors as the gusts danced through the region.
You sat each morning, greeting the rising sun with a radio playing next to you and an owl resting at your feet before it flew back to its owner. Two months have passed since the end of your fourth year. With it came waves of activity and waiting. In the first month, your sister debriefed your mother and Aunt Vera on the year, ending with the sad demise of Cedric Diggory.
Your mother took the news hard, feeling a sense of familiarity with the tale of Cedric and how Harry swore of Voldemort’s return. She kept to herself for the first few weeks of your summer vacation. She refused her meals during her isolation, leaving plates untouched before her bedroom door.
It was sometime at the end of June, possibly the beginning of July, when Professor McGonagall appeared at your door on behalf of Professor Dumbledore. Unbeknownst to the rest of you, your mother had communicated with the Hogwarts staff. At first, she pled to keep you girls away for the remainder of your tenure, opting to place you in Muggle schools until you graduated. And if that could not be done, she wanted to seek sanctuary in the foreign magical schools, hoping there would be a fraction of safety away from Harry Potter.
According to McGonagall, during her visit, Dumbledore denied both requests. It was far too dangerous for three untrained witches to be placed in public Muggle schools without intense supervision, which he could not guarantee, especially with his status with the Ministry falling. On top of the knowledge drain, you would have experienced without magical education. While uprooting the family to place them in another country could be a possibility, it did not mean there would be a reprieve from the rise of Voldemort when he finally emerged from hiding. It would be safer, Dumbledore continued through Professor McGonagall’s speech, under the direct supervision of himself and the other Hogwarts faculty.
Your mother and Aunt Vera disagreed, but it was not as if they had a plan otherwise. It would be Tessa’s final year at Hogwarts, and there was no way she would leave, especially if it meant leaving Malcom behind. Meridon, on the other hand, couldn’t care less about where she finished her education if it was another wizarding school. But even she knew there would be an immense financial strain on the family moving from England to another country.
Then there was you. You were the closest to the issue, as Harry and his friends had become your friends over the past year. You witnessed the aftermath of Cedric’s death on Harry’s mood and behavior firsthand. You had continued to keep up correspondence with the Gryffindor trio, albeit more so with Harry than Hermione and Ron. McGonagall’s visit explained the lack of communication between yourself and Hermione at least.
The professor could not divulge all the information, partly because the adults present were Muggles, and the witches present were minors. But she vaguely mentioned that a meeting of like-minded upstarts and the Weasleys (plus Hermione) were all gathered in one place. Later in the month, they would pluck Harry from his relatives, where they would all remain until the start of school. Your family, given your closeness to the situation, was also allowed to be a part of it. Your mother and Aunt Vera would be taken into hiding while you and your sisters would join the Weasleys.
Aunt Vera immediately refused. She may be old, but there would be no way she would allow some “magicians” to come and dictate to her how her family needed to be separated because of a deranged man. You could tell Professor McGonagall was immensely impressed by your great-grandaunt and taxed by the constant back and forth. Her eyes narrowed occasionally as your mother and Aunt Vera fought her at every point.
“It’s bad enough that Tessa is allowed to perform magic now simply because she’s turned 17.” Your mother interjected during the meeting. “She just pops in and out of rooms to frighten us!”
“Well, these are the laws of our people—” McGonagall started.
“She’s too young!” Your mother cried out. “They all are. Now that…this Dark Lord of yours is back, my children are in danger again. Hasn’t our family suffered enough because of your laws and oversight?” McGonagall’s eyes dropped as your mother continued. “Every year since (F/n) started school, there has been one crisis after another, all thanks to one boy! And now the same boy has somehow roped my daughter…my baby, into his little gang right as the crazed wizard returns to kill him. Anyone around that child is a target, and you plan on letting him continue at the school?”
You took hold of your mother’s hand at the time. Feeling hers tighten around yours, but she would not look in your direction. Her eyes were squarely locked in on McGonagall’s frame. “Mom,” your voice came out as a whisper, yet it reverberated in the room’s silence. “Mom, we have to go back.”
Your mother’s eyes closed at the end of your statement. She took a deep breath in before it expelled through her nose. “Who is going to keep you safe if I can’t?”
Tessa took your mother’s other hand in hers. “You know I’ll watch after Meridon and (F/n).”
As the tears rolled down your mother’s cheeks, McGonagall took her leave. She said she would return the second week of July.
It had been a whole week since McGonagall’s visit. Since then, there has been a flurry of owls to and from your home. Aunt Vera and your mother were packed and ready to leave for a safe house close to the school for your mother’s reassurance that you three would be all right. It would be their first time in Scotland and their first time in years being in a village between Muggles and witches. The village’s residents were a mixture of the two, an almost even split, with many mixed families.
As for you girls, you were to wait for McGonagall specifically, as she was your guide to the safe house where the others were. And while Tessa could Apparate, you and Meridon were still underaged witches.
You gazed at the rolling fields of the countryside now. Taking in the fresh summer breeze as it weaved through the trees. The calls of the birds filled the air, drawing out any anxiety that settled into your bones. There had been a lot on your mind, not including this new arrangement. According to Harry, he was having a hard time with his dreams. It was either the reoccurring dream of watching Cedric die or the unsettling feeling whenever nothing happened on the Muggle news. You weren’t sure what to tell him. You obviously couldn’t tell him about the happenings behind the scenes or why Hermione and Ron weren’t as responsive as he’d expected.
Every letter was filled with more frustration than you knew how to handle on top of your own emotions. Without telling him everything else, you couldn’t confide in him about what your family was going through. You couldn’t even tell Draco what was going on…for obvious reasons. It was the first summer you’ve ever felt so alone. Was this the price you paid for being close to Harry?
A sigh escaped from your lips as another soft breeze ruffled free hair strands as it moved through the leaves and blades of grass. It felt as if the countryside was wishing you farewell and attempting to soothe your anxious spirit before the journey to London.
Your ears perked up as you heard Tessa call out to you from the house. It was time to leave the idyllic scene of your childhood home yet again. This time, however, you felt a needling in the pit of your stomach that this year would turn everything upside down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Harry could feel the sweat forming along his hairline, on the dip in his upper lip, and along the crease of his underarm. This had been the hottest day of the summer, and even as the day ascended into early evening, the heat did not let up. Drowsiness tugged him gently as the silence of the little cul-de-sac was punctured by the news coming from an open window of the Dursley residence.
He had been lying under his aunt’s hydrangea bush, his toes wiggling in his old sneakers to keep them awake. It had been the best idea he could think of to avoid his aunt and uncle while accessing the news, though he couldn’t say it was the most comfortable option.
As a cereal commercial concluded, Harry caught sight of Mrs. Frigg. The old woman had a habit of inviting Harry to tea whenever she spotted him recently; he was suddenly relieved that she couldn’t see him from his vantage under the flowering bush. As she turned the corner, Harry heard his uncle’s voice again from above. He followed the conversation about his cousin…and his “popularity” with a scoff.
Dudley spent his summer vandalizing the park, tormenting smaller and weaker children, or smoking on the street corner. The perfect picture of the “sweet” and “well-mannered” boy his aunt spoke of was nonexistent. His focus shifted to the musical intro to the evening news.
Harry could feel his stomach clenching as the newscaster droned about a union strike, “Give’em a lifelong siesta, I would,” Vernon Dursley growled out.
Harry’s stomach was unknotted, and he could breathe again. He hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until the end of the reporter’s sentence. This had been the never-ending cycle of anxiety Harry found himself in. First came the tension in his muscles as he braced himself for the worst outcomes. Would it be a random attack on Muggles? A sudden invasion of what they thought were mythical beasts bursting through shopping centers. Or would it be quiet at first? A few missing persons reports would become a few missing persons reported a day.
These tense moments led to relief as the world seemingly continued to turn unbothered by the looming figure of Voldemort. But the next day would be just like the last. Harry would be seized with tension, waiting for the other shoe to drop, only for it to remain suspended. He questioned himself as everyone seemed too busy to respond to him, which was worse. Was it worse to feel the constant fear, or was it worse to remember the suspended shoe dangling over his head like a blade?
Harry had to wonder why nothing was happening. He felt compelled to keep listening. Listening for a small clue, something that Muggles wouldn’t recognize. His eyes closed as the reporter continued to another topic. He opened his eyes with a steady sigh, inching his way from under the window.
Unfortunately, that is when things started their fateful turn. A loud crack echoed through the sleepy cul-de-sac. Sounding like a gunshot blasting from its barrel. A cat darted from under a parked car, followed by a shriek and a curse, and then finally breaking china from within the Dursley’s living room.
Harry was waiting for something like this. He could feel his heart racing as he leaped to his feet, yanking a thin wooden wand from his waistband. Sadly, he didn’t count on smacking his head against the Dursleys’ open window, causing his aunt to scream louder.
The pain shot through Harry like lightning. He could feel his eyes tearing up as the searing headache pounded against his skull. He tried to blink away the pain, only to be engulfed by hands wrapped around his throat. The blockage to his air supply caused the throbbing in his head to worsen as his uncle’s meaty hands added pressure to his esophagus.
“Put—it—away!” Uncle Version hissed into his ear. “Now! Before—anyone—sees!”
“Get—off—me!” squeaked from Harry’s raw throat. He tried prying his uncle’s hefty fingers with his left hand while keeping a firm hand on his wand with his right. As the pain in Harry’s head increased, ranging from throbbing to stabbing, Vernon yelped and released him as if he’d been shocked.
Harry could feel oxygen filling his lungs again as he panted in the bushes. He got to his feet, a bit shaken, but standing with his back straight, he glanced around the quiet neighborhood. There were no signs of what caused the loud crack before his altercation with Uncle Vernon; however, there were newly emerging faces in the windows of the houses closest to the Dursleys. Harry quickly hid his wand in his jeans with a look of innocence as Vernon attempted to smooth the seething grimace.
“Lovely evening!” Vernon shouted, waving to a neighbor who glared behind her curtain at the noise nuisance. “Did you hear that car backfire just now? Gave Petunia and me quite a turn!”
The tension in Vernon’s neck grew as he kept the plastered manic smile bent on placating the neighbors back into their hovels. As each peering face retreated, the smile turned into rage as Vernon commanded Harry back into his reach.
Harry dared to move a step or two closer, stopping short of Vernon’s physical reach. “What the devil do you mean by it, boy?” Vernon growled.
“What do I mean by what?” Harry responded. The tone of his voice brought out the icy nonchalance he held for his relatives. His eyes instead scanned the street, hoping to catch the cause of the initial noise.
“Making a racket like a starting pistol right outside our—”
“I didn’t make that noise.”
Petunia’s thin, equine face appeared next to her husband’s fat, purple one. She was equally as charged as his uncle. “Why were you lurking under our window?”
Vernon nodded emphatically, “Yes—yes, good point, Petunia! What were you doing under our window, boy?”
Harry resisted the sigh, fighting its way out of his being. “Listening to the news.”
His aunt and uncles shared looks of outrage before turning to him again. “Listening to the news! Again?”
“Well, it changes every day, you see,” Harry replied smartly. Did he think that would go over well with the already hot-tempered Vernon? Probably not, but it still made Harry feel a bit better.
“Don’t you be clever with me, boy! I want to know what you’re really up to—and don’t give me any more of this “listening to the news” tosh! You know perfectly well that your lot…”
“Careful, Vernon”
“…that your lot don’t get on our news!”
“That’s all you know.” Harry wasn’t sure where this snark was coming from. He had felt more empowered since his start at Hogwarts, but it was more than the taunting of his wand. It had been the reality of realizing his mortality for the first time that let this recklessness rear up.
His aunt and uncle stared at him a few heartbeats longer before Petunia broke the silence. “You’re a nasty little liar. What are all those—” her voice lowered, barely sounding out the next word, “—owls—doing if they’re not bringing you news?”
Harry was hesitant for a moment. He couldn’t possibly be honest with his relatives. The truth would only cause Harry to reignite his increasing frustrations. Not that their constant pestering about the damn owls wasn’t also triggering his angst.
“We’re not stupid, you know,” Vernon’s voice snapped Harry from his thoughts.
“Well, that’s news to me,” Harry replied, his temper was at its peak now. He had to disappear before the Dursleys could return with a retort or disciple. Harry spun on his heels and stomped across the front lawn. He hopped over the low garden wall and up the street.
Though he knew his comments meant he would be in trouble with his aunt and uncle, he couldn’t find the strength to care. The consequences of his actions would have to wait for whenever he happened to return to their residence. In the meantime, he had more important concerns that took up space in his mind.
Harry had been sure about the cracking sound from before. It could be someone Apparating or Disapparating. The sound reminded Harry of Dobby whenever he vanished into thin air. But it couldn’t be possible for Dobby to be there again. Could it? Perhaps the house elf was following him now? However, as Harry glanced around the neighborhood, trying to take in any subtle changes or shadows, he was again met with the silent, deserted street.
As he continued walking, unaware of the streets as he passed them, he would look over his shoulder, conscious and subconsciously searching for a sign of the magical world he was a part of. He hoped that something would bring him back in contact with the magical world's current (and accurate) state of affairs.
He couldn’t rely on the news in the Daily Prophet as he once did. Those idiots were still hiding Voldemort’s return at the behest of the Ministry. And he couldn’t expect news from Ron or Hermione, as he had hoped at the beginning of the summer.
Their letters continued to say the same thing each time. They couldn’t say much and weren’t allowed to say this. They were busy but couldn’t provide details. All of it was just so frustrating. Did no one care how he felt? Did no one consider how this lack of communication drove him insane with the “what ifs?” He had been so angry with them that he dumped their birthday chocolates in the trash unopened.
Harry’s letters from (F/n) had been more informative at first. She told him she had been listening to the radio back home but never heard anything unusual. She was the only one who was still upfront with Harry. But he eventually felt (F/n) was keeping something from him. Suddenly, her letters became as sparse and vague as Hermione and Ron’s. (F/n) in her last letter, had added that she looked forward to seeing him soon.
He wondered how soon it would be. Harry often caught himself thinking about (F/n) over the summer after the mini-panic attacks subsided. He would wonder what she did on her family’s farm. What the countryside looked like in the summer heat. His stomach clenched as he remembered how soft her lips felt against his. Or the smell of honeysuckle and lavender seemed to seep from her pores as she passed by. Harry’s only reprieve in the onslaught of his racing thoughts was the memory of (F/n)’s presence as if it enveloped him in a warmth he could not usually experience.
Especially when his mind would turn to the graveyard. He had been the lone survivor, yet again. The last person to be in Voldemort’s crosshairs and live to tell the tale. Harry tried to tamp down the image again. The nightmare that haunted him since June. Every time he closed his eyes, he could picture it so vividly. The sight of Cedric’s body as he was instantly hit with the curse. The light in his eyes darkened just as quickly. Cedric never had a fighting chance.
There were nights when Harry would wake up screaming. Still traumatized by the events of the early summer. And yet, he was also somehow locked out of the information loop that clearly regarded him. It didn’t make sense. Harry angrily kicked at a loose rock in his path. The sharp taps of the rock making contact with the asphalt created a short-lived rhythm.
Even Sirius had been as secretive as the others. His letters were littered with warnings, as if Harry didn’t know he needed to be careful now that Voldemort had returned. Harry’s steps led him to a neighboring playground as the sky darkened. He easily hopped the low fence to the playground and settled into the only swing Dudley and his crew hadn’t broken. With a sigh, he wound his arm around the chain of the swing and stared at the ground in front of him.
He had followed Sirius’s warnings more or less; if he hadn’t, he would have taken his broom and flown to the Burrow before July came to an end. Harry didn’t realize how long he had been sitting there until he heard voices in the distance. Voices he soon realized that he had recognized. From up the block, the figure of his cousin formed as he was flanked by his faithful minions.
While Harry may have gained some muscle with his Quidditch training and near-death escapes, he was still on the leaner side of the physical equation. After a year of dieting, Dudley found that his hulking mass was very suitable for boxing, an unfortunate shift for the children in the neighborhood he and his crew ganged up on relentlessly.
Harry wished for his cousin’s friends to notice him. He was alone in the park, an easy target for them. More than anything, he willed for his cousin to be forced to pick a fight with him…or to find a way to weasel out of his friends going for him. Harry wanted to be reckless. He didn’t want to heed Sirius and keep his head down. He wanted a fight with those bullies. He wanted the chance to whip his wand out to curse each and every boy in Dudley’s gang. But they passed him without the slightest glance in his direction.
A sigh escaped Harry as he eased himself up from the swing. He followed Dudley and the crew from a distance. Perhaps it was better this way. Even as he watched Dudley’s friends bid their farewells, the snark and angst ate away at his fleeting attempt at peace. While Harry meant for the exchange, he was gearing to make to be a chastising poke at his cousin, he was not ready for the being that lurked in the shadows—staking him and his bickering cousin as they meandered and fought their way back to the Dursley residence. But had Harry been aware of the significant change in his surroundings, would he have been able to put aside his urge to belittle his cousin? Would he have been able to handle the situation like the adult he claimed he was becoming?