Dusk finally spread its sheets on Little Whinging. The kids playing on the street were long gone, called by their parents to have dinner. Cars had returned to their respective driveways, their owners settling down on myriads of sofas to watch the evening news. Nothing was happening in the world. All was quiet.

After eating, the Dursleys had mercifully retreated to the living room immediately, thus leaving their nephew to take care of the dishes in peace. He even succeeded in sneaking some leftover cold chicken for both Hedwig and himself.

Harry hadn’t really expected to catch anything related to his world on muggle TV. Last summer had been a good enough example. But to not even hear the weatherman mention some of the thick fogs that had swept all over Britain in spring when the dementors had abandoned Azkaban to go frolicking about the isles? That was strange.

It did nothing either to ease the tension that had accompanied Harry since the Third Task.

“So, Ted. Tell us a bit about tomorrow’s temperatures.”

“Well yes Todd! With pleasure. So tomorrow’s going to be even warmer.”

“As if we didn’t know that already, you moron!” he heard Uncle Vernon shout, “Tell us something we don’t know or quit! My money’s got better investment opportunities than this!”

Aunt Petunia laughed piercingly.

“How true. How true.”

“- but this is pretty normal for July.”

“Exactly. What’s slightly irregular is the great amount of icy showers.”

Harry perked up his ears. Could it be? Dementors again? A cold shiver ran down his back.

“Icy showers? You want to pull my leg Ted!”

“Ahahaha! Todd, I just meant the ice-cream sellers are going to have their hands quite full.”

Harry groaned inwardly. Stupid weathermen and their stupid jokes.

The Dursleys must have found it funny enough though, judging from the guffawing coming from the living room.

Quietly Harry put away the cleaning rag and tiptoed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Only 54 more days to go, just seven full weeks more, and he would be safely on his way to Hogwarts.

Harry sat down at his rickety desk and watched the evening air pulsating with the heat of the day. Through the window thrown wide open, Harry could hear some lawn sprinklers drizzling water to maintain the illusion of healthy front yards. A few birds were still fluttering about, uttering short chirpings to each other.

He lived for these moments of peace when he could close his eyes without fear.

He drew in breaths consciously and tried detaching his mind from all the stress going on. From all the feelings having a rave inside his chest. The book Hermione had found for him just after Sirius die- the book had suggested to imagine each troubling thought or feeling as a little cloud that you could puff out with each breath.

In. Out. In. Out.

The sad little cloud hung there for a second. Stubborn it stayed between Harry’s eyes. The book further explained to just blow the clouds away once you had released them.

How could I blow these clouds away?

Grey clouds heavy with rain and lightning chased each other around his head.

They’re too heavy!

No, just relax.

I can’t.

Just try.

But what if I’ll lose him?

It’s okay. Just let go.

He was, without a doubt, officially and absolutely turning crazy. Honestly, speaking with himself? Next Harry would have to watch out not to be admitted to an asylum.

The truth was he had always talked to himself. All these hours spend in the cupboard under the stairs in absolute darkness. How else should he have stayed sane? The irony of the situation didn’t escape him.

With no one to speak to even outside the cupboard except for some teachers wanting to know why he hadn’t done his homework again, he took to reading himself from books.

In the beginning, it had been hard sounding out the words as he was barely able to read. They had begun learning the alphabet in school one month ago and hadn’t gotten as far as the letter “S” yet.

Nevertheless, Harry struggled on through the words, stringing them into sentences and finally a story. He finished Robin Hood after two weeks, which was astounding considering that he was only allowed to stay in the library during rain breaks. Then again, England had its fair share of rain, especially in the spring months.

When he started third grade he could visit the library freely but was always careful Dudley didn’t notice him when he turned into the corridor leading to the reading room. It wouldn’t do for his mean cousin to find out where Harry was hiding most of the time to escape the constant tormenting.

It wasn’t until the first weeks of Harry’s fourth year that Dudley finally caught on and Harry was forced to leave the library for good. Dudley had always been slow, an immense advantage for Harry, but he wasn’t as stupid as his marks would’ve suggested. Harry had seen him operating his brand new Game Boy enough times to know that Dudley was cleverer than most teachers gave him credit for.

Though, that also made him more dangerous. Setting a clever mind to think up new torture methods for his cousin never promised something good, Harry was sure.

He shuddered thinking about the consequences that particular incident had provoked. It was the first time Uncle Vernon had used the belt.

He was sitting on the comfortable carpeted floor, his back to one of the shelves completely absorbed in the story of a little fellow setting forth on a magnificent adventure with thirteen dwarves.

“Well, well well!”

He looked up abruptly, first noticing four pairs of expensive trainers. He had lain on the ground enough times with a perfect view of these shoes to know whom they belonged to.

“Who do we have here?”

“Hey Dudley, it’s your stupid cousin.”

“Finally!”

“You thought you could hide here forever, freak?”

As they drew nearer menacingly, Harry scrambled away. The boys loomed over him. Dudley put his hands on one of the shelves above so Harry was trapped.

“What are you reading?”

“Didn’t know you could read, Potter!”

Dudley looked at him oddly. Almost as if he was surprised at discovering something new about his cousin who lived with his family since they both could remember. As quickly as it had come, the look disappeared and all Harry could see was unfiltered glee.

“Give it here, freak!”

“No,” it was the first time he had spoken.

“What?”

“I said no!”

Dudley leaned back and crossed his arms. Instantly the other boys were on Harry pummelling him.

“Get the book,” Dudley ordered lazily.

Harry rolled up into a ball fending off the groping arms, the book clutched desperately to his stomach. Someone pulled at his legs and Piers eventually got hold of his arms and forced them away from his body. He snatched the book and handed it to Dudley.

“The o? The obt?” he read slowly.

“The Hobbit,” Piers corrected.

Harry snorted. He could give him the benefit of a doubt for computer games, but reading would never be one of Dudley’s strong suits.

“Whatever,” Dudley said.

With feigned curiosity he turned the book in his hands.

“Let’s see what we can do with it, eh?”

And without further ado he began ripping off the front cover.

“NO!” Harry pushed the other boys away and tried tackling his cousin. Tried being the operating term here. Because of their considerate weight difference, Harry didn’t even accomplish to make Dudley stumble. He just continued tearing apart the pages scattering them everywhere on the library floor.

“What is going on here?”

The librarian finally alerted to the scuffle going on in her territory advanced on them with long strides. She wasn’t your typical librarian or maybe she was, depending on your point of view.

Mrs. Kitaab was not protecting her books with eagle eyes nor was she particularly interested in the students or their choice of reading material. Mostly she just sat at her desk in the front of the library reading away at some funny looking book only glancing up to check out something with a tranquil look.

Now however her placid expression was completely absent, as she looked shocked at the pages strewn around the five boys. Scraps of paper still floated through the air and slowly, horror dawned on her face.

“What have you done!”

Dudley quickly dropped the mangled front cover he had still clutched in his fist.

“It wasn’t us!” Dudley was quick to comment.

“Who else - pray tell - should it have been? I don’t see any other students here!”

“Well, you see, we were just reading here!”

“He appeared out of thin air, ma’am, I swear!”

“He just started ripping the book Dudley was reading!”

“He’s crazy, I swear!”

“We were so scared!” Dudley concluded.

Confusedly blinking between the boys due to their their tangled explanations, Mrs. Kitaab turned towards Harry, who was the only one who had said nothing and stood frozen in his corner.

“Is this true Harry?” she asked perplexed.

Harry’s eyes darted between the other boys finally settling on his cousin who looked on with grim satisfaction. He hung his head and stared at his feet. A page had landed at his toe and he could just make out the words “It cannot be seen, cannot be felt, cannot be heard, cannot be smelt”.

“Harry?”

“I-,“ he looked at Dudley again.

“- I don’t know.”

She gave him a sharp glance.

“Well, rest assured I’ll investigate this matter. This is not over!”

True to her word, Mrs. Kitaab had called a parent-teacher conference over the affair but just as Harry’s luck would have it, nothing had come of it. Well, to say nothing had come of it wouldn’t be right exactly. The school had to concede eventually that the odds stood four against one what with the elaborate statements the boys had made against Harry.

Oddly enough, Mrs. Kitaab had insisted various times that Harry should also make a statement. But in the room full of grim adults Harry had shrunken in on himself, trying to appear as small as possible to ride out the wrath turned on him. Ultimately, her voice had fallen on deaf ears.

The Dursleys were there of course what with Dudley’s involvement and all and had enjoyed front row seats in Harry’s conviction.

He was banned from entering the library unless accompanied by a teacher. That ruled out hiding there during lunch breaks.

And he had to pick up rubbish around the schoolyard for two weeks. Although that hadn’t really been a punishment for Harry. It had meant two weeks of absolute unbothered peace before the storm, otherwise known as Dudley Dursley, had descended upon him again.

What followed at home however definitely was punishment.

Harry shook his head to clear out the memories that seemed keen on creeping into his conscious mind. Unfortunately, he had already finished reading Ron’s book. It had been as fascinating and thrilling as the title had promised. At first, Harry had only allowed himself to read one chapter per day to stretch the pages over a few more lonely hours. But he had quickly given up on that.

Harry had to grin thinking about his secret. No one else would have believed him to be this bookish, literally devouring the pages. Ron would’ve been horrified and Hermione would’ve jumped up in the air at the chance to discuss her passion with him.

Only, Hermione preferred non-fiction, which he generally found somewhat lacking. It wasn’t the fact alone that it was often written unappealingly dry. Harry just couldn’t concentrate this long on all the facts he felt forced to commit to memory to understand the rest of the book.

Fiction was so much better. The language of a book well written could completely draw him in and a good story just seemed to flow by like a river he could set his boat into and simply float along.

Hermione would have never understood this. Or would she?

Both of his friends had gifted him books out of nowhere and his birthday wasn’t even for another three weeks. So maybe he should give them more credit. He knew Ron to be a good strategist and as that, he had to pick up on some clues whether it was consciously or not. And Hermione? Nothing seemed to escape her.

Hermione. As he thought of her, his hands absentmindedly smoothed out the letter that he kept as bookmark between the pages of the meditation guide.

Hermione had held him back in the compartment before stepping onto platform 9¾.

“I have something for you.”

Confused he had turned around from trying to wrestle his trunk down the luggage rack.

She held out a small package.

“What? Why?”

“I thought you could use it,” she told him easily.

“But my birthday isn’t-“

“It’s not for your birthday.”

He just blinked while looking first at the carefully wrapped package and then up into her eyes. Over her shoulder, he could see a group of redheads uniting and catching up to each other after long months of separation.

Mrs. Weasley was just embracing Ron who appeared to want to flee his mother’s caressing as soon as possible but Harry could tell by Ron’s relaxing shoulders that he was relieved to be home as well. Harry was good that way with reading people. Maybe it was because he had to watch out for these bodily cues since early childhood. Or maybe wishing for them to be bestowed upon him so badly simply made it easier to notice.

“Harry?”

“Sorry what?”

“I said; promise me you’ll take a look inside, yes?”

He ran his fingers over the smooth wrapping paper.

“Yeah. Yes, of course. Thank you!”

He was reminded uncomfortably of another package. One he had never opened when there still had been time.

Hermione smiled.

“You’re welcome.”

He put the package into the inner pocket of his jacket vowing to actually unwrap this one.

“You’re ready Harry?”

“Not really,” he muttered, “but when will I ever be.”

She gave him a troubled look but said nothing else as they climbed onto the platform together.

Upon opening the package in his room at Privet Drive, a note had fallen into his lap. Gingerly he had picked it up and read.

Harry,

I know you don’t want to talk about Sirius.

But listen to me here at least. You have to deal with your grief. I don’t think it’s good suppressing it like you did over the last week. I know it’s all still fresh and I can’t even begin to try to understand what it must feel like for you. I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going through right now.

But know that we will be there for you, Ron and me both, whenever you need us.

I know it isn’t ideal for you at your relatives. A lot less than ideal actually.

Promise to write if something should come up with them. And write as well if nothing comes up!

Also, if you want to talk, I’m here.

In the meantime, I hope this book will help you. My parents sent it to me before exams in third year and some of the techniques in there really helped with my exam nerves. Obviously they’re not the same as what you’re dealing with. But maybe it can help you. I’ll stop my rambling now.

I know your summer isn’t going to be nice so I’ll not say: Have a nice summer!

But I sincerely hope that it’ll all work out for you in the end!

Love, Hermione

Reading it again now, Harry had to blink away some of the residue wetness in his eyes. He tucked the letter back in the meditation book. Lying down on his small bed, the sheets crumbled around his legs, his thoughts wandered back to Ron and Hermione.

He knew of course, that his two friends would always be there for him. They had been through too many adventures together. But to see it clearly written on the parchment had given his heart a funny little jolt. As though it hadn’t known whether to be happy or sad. He closed his eyes.

Maybe it was a mixture of both.

Who was to say that wasn’t possible?