It had only been a week since he had disembarked from the Hogwarts Express and returned to his dismal life on Privet drive and Harry was already bored of it. Though it was quite a bit better this summer than any of the previous, due in whole to the Order’s conversation with the Dursleys, Harry found he could no longer take joy in anything. He exhausted himself the first couple of days back doing bits and pieces of his summer assignments, even finishing a few, but he couldn’t keep his mind on them for too long.

His thoughts kept drifting. They drifted most often to Sirius, but they also drifted to his conversation at the end of the year with Dumbledore, that horrible Umbridge woman, visions of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, and strangely, his conversation with Luna on the last day before coming back here.

At the moment, he was sitting on his bed with his back to the open window staring straight at a wall without seeing it. Hedwig was out foraging and the Dursleys were still asleep. Harry couldn’t sleep. He hadn’t been sleeping well all week. Scattered on the floor were half a dozen letters from his friends. One from Ron, promising him that he, Harry, wouldn’t have to stay there much longer, one from Dumbledore, telling him that he would continue Occlumency lessons once a week with Snape or Dumbledore himself, and the others were from Hermione, Ginny, Fred and George, and Luna...the last of which worried him just a bit.

Sitting next to these letters were a couple of recent Daily Prophets. Instead of annoying his Aunt and Uncle by trying to watch the news with them again, he continued to receive the Wizarding paper and now read the whole thing, so as not to miss anything important. They were, thankfully, no longer portraying him as a delinquent, but he was mentioned far too often to fit his taste.

Still involved in his one-sided staring match with the wall, he didn’t notice the tawny owl that swooped in through his window until it dropped, rather ungracefully, to the floor under its heavy burden.

“What the – ”

There was no mistaking what this package contained, as only one object would have that shape when wrapped. Harry jumped from his bed, smiling for the first time in over a week as he unwrapped his Firebolt.

He couldn’t believe that he’d forgotten about it. And, of course, with Umbridge gone, there would be no reason for the school to keep it from him.

He looked up shortly to see the owl still standing there, proffering it leg on which was attached an envelope. He opened it expecting to see the familiar handwriting of Professor Dumbledore, or perhaps McGonagall, but the handwriting was only vaguely familiar, and it definitely did not belong to the Headmaster or the Head of Gryffindor house. Harry pondered this as he opened the envelope and was so engrossed that he didn’t even notice the owl leave rather dissapointedly.

Potter,

I practically had to tear this from Filches hands, but Minerva figured it was only fair you got it back since your ban has been released. I suppose now that a few more from your team have graduated, you’ll need this if you actually expect to beat us again. I assume you will use it well.

And the strangest bit of all, it was signed Professor S. Snape.

Snape? thought Harry, alarmed. He scooted back on the floor away from his Firebolt. Had Snape perhaps jinxed or hexed it? Even if forced to send it back to him, there was no way Snape would have said the kinds of things he did. Had he personally pried it from Filches hands? Not even McGonagall could have possessed him to do that if he hadn’t the will to.

Weird.

Tentatively, Harry moved back toward his broomstick and touched it, as though that would discern whether or not it had been tampered with.

He stood up and placed the broomstick on a shelf in his closet. He figured the Dursleys wouldn’t appreciate him leaving an obviously magical item lying out where anyone could see it. Not that they cared, or even came to his room. They didn’t need any more reasons to stay away from him. Though, they weren’t completely ignoring him. In fact, at dinner the other night, Aunt Petunia had actually asked Harry, rather politely, if he would pass the salt. Harry had had to keep himself from laughing when, after this, Uncle Vernon’s eyes seemed likely to pop out of his head.

Harry stood back and just looked at his Firebolt. He hadn’t seen it in months. It was like seeing an old friend again after being apart for very long.

Old friend. Being apart. A wave of emotions passed over Harry as he again thought of Sirius. His godfather had been the only form of family he’d ever known, besides the Weasleys. Snape had hated Sirius. And for good reason, too, though Harry was loathe to admit it.

Harry sat back down on his bed again. Thinking about Sirius and Snape reminded Harry of what he had seen in the Pensieve last year. He still just couldn’t believe his dad had been such a jerk. No wonder Snape had always hated Harry! People are always saying how much he, Harry, is like his dad.

But I’m not like my dad, Harry thought. He didn’t go around jinxing people to impress girls, and he didn’t hate people for no reason, and he didn’t show off whenever he had a chance, or purposely bring attention to himself. In those respects, he was the opposite of his father.

Harry didn’t want all the attention he got. He wished he was a normal wizard. He wished he wasn’t famous. He wished his scar didn’t burn every time Voldemort had a bloody mood swing!

Harry practically growled as he stood back up and paced the room. He’d done a lot of that this summer. After about a half an hour of walking and not getting anywhere, he heard his aunt and uncle stirring. It wouldn’t be long before they were tapping on his door to “request his presence in the kitchen.”

Harry left his room to go to the loo before someone else could occupy it. By the time he had used the toilet and taken a quick shower the Dursleys could be heard doing their normal morning routines.

Dudley was in his room wreaking havoc on virtual alien Motherships, while Aunt Petunia was muttering to herself about the strangeness of their neighbors’ recent behavior as she tidied up their bedroom. Uncle Vernon was no doubt down in the den reading the newspaper, sipping tea, and running over in his head the many horrible things he wished he could do to Harry.

Harry walked back to his room and was surprised to see yet another owl settling itself on the windowsill. Harry extracted the envelope from the owl’s leg as it ruffled its feathers and soared away.

Looking at the envelope, Harry saw a very ornate seal on the back and no return address on the front. Sliding his forefinger under the flap on the back, Harry tore the seal and pulled out several pieces of parchment. The front piece was signed Griselda Marchbanks and was informing him that his O.W.L. results had been calculated. The other pieces were his scores for each.

Harry couldn’t believe his eyes! He had done very poorly indeed on his History of Magic exam, as he had expected, since he hadn’t even finished it, as well as his Divination and Astronomy exams, but those didn’t surprise him at all either. He was glad to see the good grade he’d gotten on his Care of Magical Creatures exam. Hagrid would be happy. His other exams were okay, too, but those weren’t most important to him. He had gotten Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts – of course – Exceeds Expectations in both Transfiguration and Charms, and Outstanding in Potions. Potions! He’d gotten the highest grade possible in his worst class!

The final page was a form for him to fill out about this year’s class schedule, with small text on the bottom telling him what he’d need for each after-graduation job. He knew he’d have to sign up for N.E.W.T levels of most of his classes and was very much dreading having to take Snape for another two years.

Harry looked back up at his broomstick. Snape had sent it back to him. Snape had hated Harry’s father, and Sirius. As far as Harry could tell, Snape hated Harry. But Snape had done a very unSnape-like thing in sending his broomstick back.

Harry shook his head, ridding himself of that train of thought. Now was not a time to think about Sirius, and he definitely didn’t want to continue thinking about Snape after such good news.

Harry turned, hearing an unfamiliar noise. A small handwritten note slid beneath his door. Harry shook his head in exasperation this time as he picked it up and read it quickly. He’d gotten enough notes delivered to him today, they least his uncle could have done was to tell him personally to “come down for breakfast.”