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Harry Potter and the Junior Year Abroad
Fan Mail From Some Flounder
By Ishtar
Chapter Three
Fan Mail From Some Flounder
Harry's alarm clock was set to go off at the godawful hour of 5:30 a.m. so he could receive his copy of the Daily Prophet and actually have time to read a little of it before the Dursley family started to stir. On the morning after visiting Dudley's meeting, it was particularly difficult to get the energy to turn the alarm off. Harry smothered it with his pillow and went back to sleep until he woke to find an annoyed owl pecking at his hair. He paid the bird, took the newspaper, and decided he might as well stay awake. He was exhausted, and couldn't figure out why, at first. He'd actually come home early after that boring meeting of Dudley's and gone straight to bed … hadn't he? Then he saw a scroll on his desk, neatly rolled up, and a book and a plastic freezer bag next to it. Where had that come from? He picked up the scroll and was mildly surprised to see his own handwriting on it. He unrolled the scroll and started to read.
By the time he'd got to the end of it, he remembered everything, and was almost shaking with fury. That … that … O'Dwyer person had tried to put him under an Imperius Curse and make him forget what he had seen! And it had almost worked! Between the potion and the incense and the Curse itself, he had almost forgotten it. It was fortunate that he'd written it down in order to preserve the details. He'd found himself remembering more and more of it as he read the scroll, and now he had all the memories back again, from the taste of the biscuits to the smug look on O'Dwyer's face. He managed to calm himself while getting dressed, and managed to fix breakfast normally, though his stomach was so twisted in knots he wasn't able to eat any of it. Fortunately, Dudley was still abed — Harry didn't think he could stand seeing that big soppy grin right now. Not knowing what caused it.
Uncle Vernon reeled off a long string of chores Harry was to do today, to which Harry responded with grunts and the occasional "uh huh" to indicate that he was listening, which he really wasn't. As soon as his uncle was out of the house on his way to work, Harry grabbed one of Aunt Petunia's shopping bags out of the closet and took the stairs two at a time. Stuffing the scroll, book and freezer bag in the shopping bag, he was back downstairs in a bare minute and headed out the door, leaving Petunia spluttering in his wake.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Harry had no idea what proper working hours were in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office, or even whether this matter fell under their jurisdiction, but Arthur Weasley was the only reliable connection he had with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was also pretty sure Mr. Weasley would come if he asked, and sure enough, when he got to Mrs. Figg's house, he found the red-headed man finishing a cup of coffee in Mrs. Figg's parlour. "Harry, my boy! Got your owl last night, figured I'd come right on over before work today. Your handwriting was all over the place and Hedwig was that upset, I was tempted to come over right then. But there didn't seem to be an immediate need, and Molly thought your Aunt and Uncle might not appreciate my visiting at midnight. I dare say she was right. So, what's in the bag?"
Harry explained, as briefly as possible, and thrust the scroll at Mr. Weasley. While the older man read through the scroll, Mrs. Figg provided Harry with a breakfast he could actually eat. Mr. Weasley was frowning mightily by the time he had finished. He opened the freezer bag and the smaller sandwich bag, and sniffed at the crumbled seedcake remains, then carefully inspected the bottles of herbal capsules, though he didn't open them. "You realize this is very serious, Harry. This O'Dwyer, if that's his real name, which I doubt, is in serious violation of the Muggle Protection Act, using potions, fumes, and mind-control spells on unprotected and unsuspecting Muggles. God knows what he's been convincing them to do … Not to mention using an Unforgivable Curse on you, regardless of whether it worked. The problem is, of course, that you, our only witness at this point, are underage so can't testify against him when we catch him … so we'll have to be careful. I believe that the Aurors can use this information, however, to stage a raid operation, and hope that it turns up some independent evidence." The slightly fuddled air that Mr. Weasley so often had about him was gone now, replaced by a crisp and efficient law enforcement agent.
"What about the people he's been dosing with his potions and pills and things?" asked Harry. "Like Dudley?"
"That's another reason to be very cautious with this. Until I have these capsules analysed at the Ministry, we don't know what they're being dosed with or what the results would be if their supply were to be cut off. We may have to work with Scotland Yard on this one, treat it as an ordinary Muggle drug case, get them into treatment … Well, I have my work cut out for me — technically this isn't quite my department, you understand, but if I bring it in, they can't very well keep me off the case, can they?" Mr. Weasley swept the bags and the scroll into his briefcase and snapped it shut briskly. "Thank you for drawing my attention to this, Harry. We'll try to keep your cousin out of it as much as possible, don't worry. Now, if you'll excuse me …" he pulled a handful of Floo Powder from the can on Mrs. Figg's mantel and vanished in a burst of green flame.
Now that the evidence was safely in Mr. Weasley's hands, Harry felt strangely let down. Tufty jumped up on the table and scarfed the rest of his egg yolk, and he just sat back and let her. "Well, that was interesting," said Mrs. Figg. "I'm sure the Ministry folk will get to the bottom of it."
"You trust the Ministry?"
"Not the higher-ups, of course … I haven't thought well of certain figures in high places for years, not that my opinions matter to anyone … but the people that actually do the work, like young Mr. Weasley there and the Aurors, they're solid."
"I've been thinking of becoming an Auror when I'm done with school, you know. I think I'm suited for it."
"That's a worthy career goal. It's dangerous work, you know, but exciting. Were I a little younger … and a witch worthy of the name, of course … I'd be considering it myself. I was actually thinking of becoming a policewoman when I was younger, but then I met Mr. Figg, and well, there you are." The old woman smiled dreamily, as she often did when speaking of the late Mr. Figg. "Of course, back then it was mostly making coffee for the male officers and typing reports. These days it's all different, especially for young ladies like our Tonks. But if you want to be an Auror, you've got to have the O.W.L.s for it. Have you got your test results yet?"
"No, I haven't. I thought they were supposed to come in July some time, but we're almost out of July. We should be getting our school letters any day now."
"Well, now, I have yesterday's mail for you, perhaps it's in there."
Mrs. Figg had kindly been allowing Harry's friends to send their owls to her house instead of risking Uncle Vernon's ire. Other mail was being delivered to the Weasleys and passed along in a bundle to Mrs. Figg; a fresh package was in the parlour where Mr. Weasley had been sitting. As a result of the mail drops, Harry was in far better communication with Hermione, the Weasleys, and others of his schoolmates than ever before. The letters so far had been innocuous, though … none of the frustrating half-hints that had characterized last summer's letters. Well, Ron was frustrated — since Sirius' death, the Order of the Phoenix had had to relocate their headquarters from Grimmauld Place to somewhere else, and this time the adults had decided not to let the younger set know where it was. So Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, and Hermione were all as out of the loop as Harry himself was. Ron was also suffering random flashes of memory, presumably from the brain attack he'd suffered at the Ministry. Sometimes the flashes were innocuous, simple data injections (for example, he now knew twenty-seven different recipes for making quiche), but in the middle of July he'd started reciting the minutes of the September 30, 1957 meeting of the Ministry Committee on the Abuse of Muggle Artefacts that had led to the ban on flying carpets in Britain. Mr. Weasley had found the recitation quite interesting at first (especially since he had found a logical flaw in an argument that he thought he could use to get the ruling reversed), but after the sixth full recital, and with no sign that Ron was going to stop any time soon, he and Molly had hustled Ron to St. Mungo's for an emergency Pensieve treatment to remove the memory loop.
Hermione was on a holiday trip with her parents, still recovering from her injuries in the Battle of the Ministry, so her letters were not frequent, but were accompanied by little souvenirs from various places in Italy, and photographs of herself posing in front of various historical places. Neville had written as well. His grandmother had allowed him to have a small greenhouse where was propagating some cuttings as a summer project for Professor Sprout. The broken nose that he had suffered during the Battle was only a memory now. And Luna had sent several notes from Sweden, where she and her father had failed to find any trace of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, but rather fancied they'd found evidence of a race of dwarves living in tunnels under the glaciers.
Perhaps as a result of the interview last spring in The Quibbler, followed by the Battle of the Ministry and subsequent revelations, Harry found that he had also developed a small but fervent (and mostly female) fan following. Most of them were known to him, of course, being his own classmates, but he found he was getting mail from unknown witches in Ireland, Scotland, and France as well. He was able to answer the requests for autographs well enough, though he hadn't figured out how to get pictures of himself to send yet. He thought perhaps he'd ask Colin Creevey to take some, though he hated to encourage the younger boy in his photographic mania. Many of the letters contained pictures of the senders, which Harry had found himself unwilling to dispose of, so in his trunk he now had hidden a collection of pictures of young witches, most smiling or waving shyly, but also including two rather disturbing ones of older witches. One of them was doing something unusual with a broomstick. Those he had put back in the original envelopes and stuffed way, way at the bottom of his trunk. They gave him strange feelings that he wasn't quite ready to examine yet.
Today's batch of mail included a note from Hermione and a photograph that showed her sitting on the bow of a picturesque fishing boat on a picturesque beach somewhere in southern Italy, wearing a bikini which was anything but picturesque. She had a nice tan and smiled brightly, and Harry was glad the picture was a Muggle one that didn't move, because if she inhaled deeply, he was sure she'd fall out of that bathing suit. He wondered if she was sending similar pictures to Ron, and found that he sort of hoped not. Her note said that she would be in transit on Wednesday, returning from the continent, but that she hoped he had a very happy birthday. There were two more fan letters and an advertisement clipping for Fred and George's joke shop promoting their Portable Swamp product, with a handwritten note across it promising him a free one if he wanted it. He spent a few minutes happily considering the notion of putting a swamp in the middle of the Dursley living room, but regretfully gave it up as a Bad Idea. There were no O.W.L. results and no school letter. Somewhat glumly, he took his letters and returned to Privet Drive, where he had to listen to Aunt Petunia go on about "rudeness" for the rest of the day.
0o0o0o0o0o0
Wednesday was his birthday, and he woke early to the arrival of multiple owls bearing notes and gifts. His own Hedwig had returned, having spent yesterday at the Weasleys. She carried with her a bundle which proved to contain a batch of Molly Weasley's best biscuits, and a note from her saying she hoped he'd be able to join them at the Burrow soon. A note from Ginny informed him that she had helped make the biscuits and she hoped he liked them, and she would be glad to see him when he got there. Hedwig also carried a freshly killed vole in her beak, which she placed carefully on Harry's nightstand; apparently that was her present to him. Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, brought a three-pack of Chocolate Frogs from Ron (that being about all the tiny bird could carry) along with a note wishing him a happy birthday and informing him about several notable historical happenings that had happened on July 31 in years past. Apparently either Ron had done some real research, or his brain flashbacks had burped up some semi-relevant information for a change. But besides Hedwig and Pig, there were a number of strange birds perched on his windowsill, all bearing packages. There was a raven from Cho Chang, bearing a gift of a leather bookmark that only he could remove from a book, thereby insuring that he'd never lose his place, and a note that said she looked forward to seeing him in school. The note was lightly scented with a floral perfume. Harry frowned at it; was she going to try to start up a relationship with him again after all the trouble they'd had last year?
Three medium-size owls brought notes from some of the girls who'd been writing to him; one included a present of a tie pin in the shape of a Golden Snitch, and one a small bottle of cologne, but the third had laboured in with a larger package. Under the outer wrapping was an inner wrapping of silky material, and inside that, a book with a pink leather cover. On the cover was the title, "Messages to my Love". The inner pages were blank, except for a note on the first page from the sender, Genevieve du Lac, a student from Beauxbatons who had previously sent him a few unexceptional notes. He had tried to be cordial and polite in his responses, and apparently she thought his pleasantries meant more than they did. The note read, "My dearest Harry, when you write in this book it will appear in the matching book I have. We can correspond privately, much faster than by owls. I look forward very much to getting to know you better." Tucked into the book was a picture of her wearing a silky black nightdress that revealed more than it covered. As he looked at it, the picture gave him a smile and a sexy little wiggle. His surprise turned to shock when he realized that the inner package wrapping was the very nightdress she was wearing in the picture! He wrote a quick and very non-committal thank you note and sent it by the owl, not in the book. The book and nightie went into the bottom of the trunk, with all his other dubious "treasures." He didn't want to risk anyone else finding them. He had fastened the picture of Hermione inside the lid of the trunk, where he could see it every time he opened it. Maybe when they got together, he could ask her for help in dealing with these girls and women. He had to admit he didn't understand what was going on at all, and she had been able to translate what was happening with Cho so well last year, perhaps she could straighten things out this year. But on the other hand … he looked at her picture again. He was beginning to think his feelings for her might be just a little more than friendship, and discussing other women with her now … maybe not.
The final owl was a very large barn owl with a very large package. It didn't wait for a response or thank-you note, just deposited its burden on Harry's bed, accepted an owl treat, and left. Puzzled, Harry undid the wrappings, revealing a large book entitled Travels in the Wizarding World. Harry opened it and looked at the table of contents. It was a combination history book and travelogue about all the places in the world that were part of the international wizarding community. A bit of parchment stuck out between the pages about halfway through the book. Harry opened it to that section ("Wizarding in America: Old Ways in the New World") and pulled out the parchment.
Scrawled on it in untidy handwriting was the note: "Give to Harry on bday?" Harry felt his eyes burn with unshed tears as he recognized the handwriting of Sirius Black. Returning to the Muggle world and the Dursley household had given Harry a respite from the grief of losing his godfather; here he could pretend that Sirius' death hadn't really happened. But seeing his handwriting brought it all back to him afresh. He blinked back the tears, to read a second note written beneath the first on the parchment, in a more elegant but just as familiar hand.
My dear Harry,
This book was left for you among Sirius' belongings. He obtained it last spring and thought you would find it useful. I thought it best to forward it to you for your birthday, as he wished. I hope it does not grieve you, but brings you some happiness to know he was thinking of you.
I shall be seeing you soon, and hope to have a gift of my own to give you at that time. Happy Birthday.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Harry closed the book slowly and hugged it to his chest. He didn't know why Sirius would have chosen this book for him. Perhaps he was making plans for both of them to go away together once Harry was done with school and he himself was able to leave the confines of Grimmauld Place. Perhaps it was a hint that Harry should not forget that there was a big world out there, bigger than Hogwarts or even Britain, and that he should be ready to explore it. Whatever his purpose, it was his last gift, and Harry would treasure it always. He carefully stored it in his trunk with his other books. His trunk was beginning to get very crowded and heavy, but he had no other safe and private place in which to keep his belongings, and after last year's hasty departure, he felt it best to keep it always packed. He would start reading the book when his eyes didn't burn quite so much.