Harry Potter 1. Chapter 1

**And now, presenting to you...my very first HARRY POTTER FANFICTION! *musical fanfare***

**Hi all, and thanks for giving this story a go...i'm sorry this chapter is so atrociously short, I had intended to have it as one half of a chapter, but the second half kinda went a bit nuts and i decided it needed to be a chapter on its own...which was all very well, except now this chapter is barely 1000 words :S  
But believe me, the next one will be longer...much longer...yeah :P**

**As much as i wish it were true, i dont own Harry Potter :(**

**Enjoy!**

Hermione tapped gently against the wooden door, and poked her head through the frame. She spotted Ron, sitting on his bed decorated with Chudley Cannons covers, and leaning against the wall beside it. He beckoned her over, and she quickly shut the door behind her as she entered the room. A few sporadically placed candles lit the room, giving it a warm and cosy glow, but the light was quite contrary to what either Ron or Hermione were feeling.

She quietly moved across the room, stepping around various discarded belongings on the floor, before perching herself gently on the corner of Ron's bed. Her eyes were quickly searching the room, but her stomach dropped with disappointment when they fell upon their target.

'Pig still isn't back?' She gestured half-heartedly at the empty owl cage in the corner by the window, and Ron shook his head with a sigh. They had sent the little owl almost three days ago, and were still yet to hear anything back.

Hermione's eyes wandered from Pig's empty cage around the room, over clumps of discarded clothes, precariously stacked piles of magazines and books, a broomstick leaning in one corner against the wall, over to his crowded desk, where they fell on a moving wizard photograph. Worry gripped her heart as she looked at the image, and she bit her lip as she thought of the cause. The Harry in the photo before her was laughing, one arm slung over the shoulders of the photo version of herself, while the image of Ron stood behind them both pulling faces. But despite having three moving people in the photo, her eyes only focused on Harry.

No one had heard from him since the end of their previous year at Hogwarts; not one letter, not a single owl, nothing. They were more than a month into their holidays; the longest Harry had ever stayed at the Dursleys' home since meeting the Weasleys. And it wasn't for lack of trying; Ron, Mr Weasley and -even though the other Weasleys were unaware- Ginny had all sent invitations to Harry to join them at their home, but so far none were answered. Hermione herself had, after receiving permission from Ron's parents, sent an invitation to Harry through the muggle mailing system, but all to no avail. The Order had posted guards, as they always did, to watch over Harry and ensure that no dark wizard came near him, but they rarely ever saw him outside the house.

Ron and Hermione had learned, from various eavesdropped conversations between Mr and Mrs Weasley, that the Ministry of Magic were keeping the Order on a very tight reign. They agreed to let them watch over Harry, to protect him from a magical point of view, but they were adamantly refusing to allow them to interfere with the Muggle family without substantial evidence that something was amiss.

Finally, Ron and Hermione had had enough. They had written a desperately frank letter to their friend, expressing their concern, accompanied with a plea for some form of response. Pig was yet to return, which was another cause for anxiety, but in a bid to stay positive, they were hoping it was just because Harry was taking his time to write a long reply. But by now, after three long days, their optimism was beginning to fade.

Hermione sighed and shuffled further onto the bed, leaning against the wall next to Ron. He glanced down at her face, his worried eyes checking to see if she was feeling the same way that he was. Seeing his own concern mirrored in his friend's eyes, he gently draped his lanky arm across her shoulders and pulled her closer to his side. She rested her head against his shoulder, trying to take comfort from the friendly contact.

'Do you think he's okay?' She asked in a quiet voice, her eyes looking glumly down at a loose thread from the bedspread she was twirling between her fingers.

'Yeah, 'course he is. He's been through so much, I'm sure staying a few extra weeks with his Muggle family won't cause him too much strain.'

'But why hasn't he written back?'

'I'm sure its just his uncle, stopping the owls from getting to him or something…you know how paranoid Harry says they get about wizards and the like…' Ron's voice trailed off, but even as the words passed over his lips they both knew how unlikely that was. They fell into silence as Ron tried in vain to think of some way to comfort his friend other than the false phrases he'd been repeating for the last few days whenever this conversation arose. When no words came to mind, he simply took her hand in his, rubbing smooth circles across the skin with his thumb. Her eyes darted down to where they were connected, but once the initial shock passed she sighed in an almost contented fashion and moved in closer to his side.

He soon heard her breath slow, and within minutes she was asleep in his arms. A small, fond smile twitched his lips as he looked down at her peaceful face. Not being able to find it in his heart to wake her and tell her to go back to her own room, he instead gently lowered her down until they lay against his pillows. Glancing at the lit candles, he quietly clicked his fingers, and at the sound the enchanted lights flickered out. He gave one glance out the window, checking the horizon for any signs of an owl returning home, but when nothing disrupted the stillness he lay back down next to his friend and drifted off into a light sleep.

**I hope that was enough to capture your attention...**

**Please don't get me wrong, this story is primarily going to be friendship/angsty goodness, not all fluffy ron/hermione, but as i said some of the angst was going to make an appearance in this chapter but it got so long i needed to split it up**

**id absolutely LOVE a review, it always without fail makes me write faster and better, so if you want to hear of the ensuing Harry angst, write me a review!**

**thanks a billion for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Howdy readers :)**

**Heres the next chapter, and may I warn you now, it does have a fair bit of physical abuse. But worry not! All shall be resolved!...once I've had some fun with angsty Harry, that is...mwahahahahaha!!!!!!!! :P**

**I OWN HARRY POTTER! WORLD BOW DOWN TO ME!!!!!!!!!!!! *cough cough* oh sorry, seems my delusional alter-ego took over for a while there**

Harry sighed quietly as he gazed out the window, his eyes hungry for a sight other than the interior of the dreary house in which he was trapped. He watched the trees gently sway in a warm summer breeze that he couldn't feel, saw the garden blooming with flowers that he wasn't allowed to smell. He pressed his hand subconsciously against the glass, wishing that he could somehow recreate the magic that he had used on Dudley all those years ago at the zoo and make the panes disappear.

He ruefully turned away from the window, and gazed dejectedly around his tiny room. His belongings were scattered around the small space, but anything that could even be remotely traced to his time in the Hogwarts had been locked away. Hedwig was the only thing in his room with any connections to the wizarding world, along with a box of cheap bird feed purchased at the local supermarket on the way back from the station at the very start of the holidays. It wasn't suited to her diet, and Harry could tell it wasn't healthy for her, but he hoped that by giving her half of whatever he was given for dinner that she could live out the rest of their time here well enough.

His eyes dropped to the desk where Hedwig's cage sat, and a moving wizard photo caught his eye. It was of him with his two closest friends, his arm slung around Hermione's shoulders while Ron danced around in the background pulling faces. A weak smile tugged at his lips as he remembered the day it was taken, after an impromptu picnic lunch by the Lake in the last week before the summer holidays. He remembered his remorseful farewell at the station, and sighed as the realisation hit home that he hadn't been in contact with them since.

He hadn't been allowed to read the letters from his friends, and only knew of their existance after seeing his uncle throwing them into their fireplace the night before. At the sight of his uncle before the fire, memories had flooded back of the time before he knew he was a wizard, of watching his uncle burn the mysterious letters with his name penned across the front in curling green ink. Back then, he was much to timid to do anything more than glare, but many years had passed since that time, and at the sight of a hand-made birthday card curling in the flames he had launched himself across the room at his uncle's crouching figure with an angry roar.

For a fleeting moment during the fray, he had allowed hope to fill his heart, that maybe he would be able to overpower his uncle, force him to return his belongings, and allow him to leave without a second glance. But their encounter hadn't ended well. Harry shuddered at the thought of what exactly had transpired down in that lounge room the night before. He could remember every vicious detail, all of which filled him with an all-encompassing and cold fear of the people who inflicted such brutality upon him.

In an attempt to clear his mind, he picked up the photo of his friends from his desk. Looking down at the image, he was filled with fondness tainted by intense sadness. What he wouldn't give just to be let go, to stay at the Burrow and never have to return to the cruel house that he currently resided in. He was snapped out of his disheartened reverie, however, when a booming voice yelled menacingly up the stairs.

'Boy! Get down here!' Harry was shocked when he felt genuine fear flood his body at the sound of his uncle's voice, and to see his hands had begun to slightly tremble.

He slowly got to his feet, and moved out of his darkening room into the hall. He descended the stairs haltingly, and he couldn't help but stay on edge and constantly on the lookout for some type of trap. He cautiously made his way to the kitchen, and sighed inwardly with relief when he saw all three Dursleys were sitting around the kitchen table. Perfectly within sight, and no longer able to surprise him. He warily moved into the light of the room, and had to force himself to not recoil when he saw the dark expressions on the faces of all three of his relations. His eyes fell upon an empty chair between his uncle and his cousin, and with a curt jerk of his head his uncle signalled that he was to sit there.

Harry slowly sat down, every instinct in his body begging for him to get away. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, about how drastically one incident could change his perspective on life, but the mild observation was quickly pushed aside to make more room for the intensifying and icy fear that was filling his mind. The silence was tense, but despite the creeping dread he felt by making eye contact with his uncle, he looked into his face inquisitorially. The huge man looked affronted by his nephew's boldness, but soon recovered and tossed a crumpled piece of paper onto the table in front of Harry.

'Read.' He hissed viciously, pointing a thick finger at the sad-looking sheet on the pristine tabletop.

Harry reached out a quivering hand, and scooped the sheet off the table. He flicked it open, and his heart soared as he recognised Hermione's tidy cursive curling across the paper in neat lines. He could hardly believe what the Dursleys were allowing. Maybe, _just maybe_ they were feeling remorse for what they had done to him the night before, and this was their way of apologising. Suddenly filled with optimism, he turned his eyes eagerly to read what was written on the tattered piece of parchment before him.

_Dear Harry, _

_Ron and I are very concerned about you. Why haven't you written to us, or returned any of our other letters? We understand that your relatives aren't very tolerant towards the magical community, but normally they have allowed some form of contact by now. Even though Mr and Mrs Weasley assure us that you are safe, they have admitted to each other that the Ministry has forbidden the Order from taking any actions to protect you from anything other than a magical attack. If we don't hear from you soon, we don't think we have any choice other than coming to visit you ourselves._

_Please respond as quickly__ as you can, and we'll try to organise for you to come to stay at the Burrow as soon as we get a reply._

_Lots of love, Hermione and Ron_

The same anger that had possessed Harry to attack Mr Dursley the night before began to burn in his chest again. Who knew how many letters his friends had written to him? He was sure there must have been a lot, for Ron and Hermione to resort to writing something as frank as the letter before him. But, with a lot of effort, he forced the flaring anger away. The Dursleys had been lenient enough to show him this letter, he figured, so the least he could do would be to contain his anger. He took a moment to centre himself, to remove any negative emotion from his face, before looking up once more to meet his uncle's eye with what he hoped was a thankful expression on his face.

For a moment he was confused, at the expression he saw on the faces of not just his uncle, but his aunt and cousin as well. He had expected that they would be looking resigned but martyred, as though they had allowed him some great privilege by showing him the letter. What he wasn't expecting was what he was met with: murderous glowers that made any pleasant feeling towards them shrink away with fright. The confusion soon sparked fear, and fleeting flashes of the previous night's events flittered through his mind. He sprung to his feet, desperate to get away, but quick as lightning Dudley was standing between him and the door, cracking his knuckles menacingly.

Harry stood frozen, like a deer in headlights, his eyes wide and flicking between the three other occupants of the room. With speed to rival his son's, Mr Dursley was suddenly on his feet, his surprisingly strong hand grasping painfully at the top of Harry's arm. The meaty fingers of his uncle dug into the already broken and bruised skin across his shoulder, and Harry let out an involuntary cry at the unwelcome pressure. His uncle's face was inches from his own, and as much as Harry writhed he couldn't escape his cruel grasp.

'You _dare _tell your friends about your life here?' Mr Dursley snarled, his face bulging with anger.

'Do you realise how much danger you have put my family in? We've had experiences with your kind before, and we know how hazardous you lot can be. Now we've put up with huge amounts of rubbish from you in the past, and have been more tolerant than any person could be expected to be, but this time you have gone too far!' With strength that no one would have guessed he possessed Mr Dursley tossed Harry back towards his chair as if he was nothing more than a rag doll.

Stumbling from the force of his uncle's shove, Harry tripped back towards his seat. He lost his balance, and with a yell crashed face-first into the unforgiving kitchen table beside his chair. His glasses shattered; spiky shards scratched against his cheek and splintered into his skin. By some miracle the slivers of glass avoided his eyes, but as the fragments pierced the sensitive skin of his face he couldn't help but cry out once more. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and stifled a moan as he felt rough hands shove him into his chair.

Moments later a pen was thrust into his shaking hand, and paper placed before him. A voice, he could no longer tell whose, haughtily sneered in his ear.

'You are going to reply to those…diseased acquaintances of yours, and tell them that you are fine. You will tell them to never come anywhere near this house, and that you will see them again the next time we can dispose of you at that…institution that you call a school.' Harry's hand quivered above the paper, his mind reeling, and not absorbing the instructions. His moment of incomprehension was taken as hesitant disobedience, and his bewildered mind was overridden with agonising pain as something heavy slammed across his back. His chest flew forward and his forehead smashed into the table once more as he collapsed under the pressure, and only by sheer willpower did he not allow a sound to escape his lips.

Forcing himself to sit up, Harry pulled the paper towards him, and placed a shaking pen upon it. In lettering warped by his trembling fingers, he began to write what he was instructed to. He was hardly able to read his own words without the lenses of his glasses in tact. Because of his impaired vision, he didn't even notice the silent tears slowly trailing down his cheek until one splattered onto the paper before him. His hand came to a quivering halt once more, as his eyes tried to focus on the droplet, and his mind tried to comprehend its presence. But once more, his hesitation was seen as defiance, and a voice hissed in his ear.

'Finish the letter, boy.' Its tone was menacing, and when he didn't move a hand came sharply against his cheek with a slapping sound that rang around the silent room.

'Sign it!' Harry was pulled from his stunned reverie with the menacing instruction, and hastily scrawled his name across the bottom of the sheet. He tossed the pen from his hand as thought it burned him, and leant forward with his head in his hands with anguish. He could tell that, with that one letter, he had signed off his fate for the rest of the holidays. With a triumphant cry, Mr Dursley leapt to his feet.

'Petunia, go collect an envelope from my study upstairs. Dudley, go up to your second bedroom and bring that blasted owl to the door. And you,' he snarled at Harry, 'if you move one _inch_…' a crooked smile twisted his face, a malicious glint sparking in his eye, and leaving his sentence hanging in a threateningly suggestive manner, he strode out the back door. Dudley and Aunt Petunia quickly followed, departing to complete their own assigned tasks. Harry sat frozen, his head still in his hands, waiting to be sure he was completely alone, before letting out a shuddering breath that he had hardly realised he was holding.

His body ached, his shoulders throbbing from the repeated assaults of the last few days. His face stung, both from where he was slapped and where the tiny shards of glass were breaking the skin. All he wanted to do was let the pain take over, surrender to it completely, but with huge amounts of effort he forced himself to sit up. He would wait, he assured himself, until he was back in his room. When he was there he would be free, at least for a while, of the oppression of his relatives, and able to let down his brave facade. Until then, however, he would have to make himself look strong, play the role of the stubbornly unyielding prisoner.

He forced his eyes open, and cringed as they stung when exposed to even the dim light that hardly lit the room. He took a moment to collect himself, before looking around the deserted kitchen. No one had bothered to turn on the lights, and in the dimming light the kitchen had fallen into ominous shadows. Harry's eyes fell upon the letter before him, and his heart shrank as he realised the ramifications of when the letter would be sent. His eyes trailed to the pen, where he had tossed it after signing the letter. An idea floated to the top of his mind, and he quickly glanced around the room.

He couldn't hear anyone coming back, and despite the risk of his uncle's wrath if he was caught, he scooped up the pen and pulled the letter back towards him. He scrawled in the bottom corner the phrase 'HELP ME', not bothering to prevent a stray droplet of blood dripping from his forehead from smudging across the paper. To hide his message he folded the letter in half, desperately hoping that it would go unnoticed by his uncle. He slid the paper back into place, and put the pen back where he had dropped it before, but his heart sank as he realised just how different the letter looked in its folded state. But before he could rearrange it, he heard his aunt coming back down the hallway, and his cousin thumping down the stairs. He quickly leant back into his hands, just in case his uncle was being serious with his threat on movement.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw his aunt come back to the table, and with a wave of relief so strong he felt as if his stomach had collapsed, she snatched the letter off the table without noticing how it was folded. She shoved it roughly into the envelope, and as she sealed it Dudley reappeared in the kitchen carrying Hedwig in her cage. Harry immediately bristled, becoming on edge when he saw his first real friend being roughly swung around in her cage. He forced himself to stay still as Dudley and his aunt moved out to the backyard, but when he heard his owl screech loudly he jumped to his feet and shot out the back door.

He saw his uncle clenching Hedwig tightly in his hands, as Dudley tied the letter to her leg, obviously much too tightly. She writhed in his grasp, screeching loudly all the while.

'Hedwig!' Harry cried, disregarding the consequences and running to her side. With adrenaline-fuelled strength he prised his bird from his uncle's grasp, and dashed across the yard with her. Her feathers were ruffled, and her eyes wide, but she appeared to be unharmed. He gently stroked her until she stopped screeching, but when she was almost calm Harry sent her into a flurry again when he almost jumped out of his skin when his uncle growled his name.

He saw the robust man speedily crossing the yard, a murderous glint in his eye, and Harry quickly tossed Hedwig into the air. With a single flap of her wings she was out of reach, hastily flying away into the night sky. Harry caught a glimpse of a smaller, rounder bird joining his owl in the sky, but before he could do anything more than feel relief at seeing his letter escaping from the Dursley's grasp he felt an arm roughly seize him around his waist, overbalancing him and making him tumble to the ground. Harry crashed to the dry grass below, an uncontrollable yelp breaking through his lips as he felt a rib shatter beneath the immense weight of his uncle's body crushing down on him.

Paralysed with the new pain in his chest and gasping for breath, Harry could hardly fight back against the unforgiving hands of his uncle as he was dragged back inside. Barely able to support himself, he was almost carried back upstairs, where he was thrown unceremoniously thrown into his room, and the door slammed behind him. He stumbled to his bed where he, no longer able to hold himself upright, collapsed onto the old mattress that had been his for longer than he could remember.

He forced himself to roll onto his back, remembering something he had heard from Madame Pomfrey after one of his numerous Quidditch injuries, about needing to keep the bones in the correct alignment. A whimper slipped through his lips as he moved; every part of his body seemed to be burning with agonising pain. Panting with the effort he finally flipped over, cringing and curling his fingers in pain.

'Bloody hell!' he gasped between breaths, tears stinging at his eyes. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, trying to force the tears to stop. Moments later he gave that idea up as a lost cause, his hands rubbing up through his hair before dropping to his sides.

'Bloody hell…' he whispered once more, feeling the barriers he had been holding up slipping away.

Left only with raw emotion, Harry lay still, his mind reeling with an overwhelmingly complex mixture of feelings. He was confused, hurting, alone, and dismayed as he realised all his hopes were riding upon his friends. Despite trusting Ron and Hermione explicitly, all-compassing despair flooded his mind. If he couldn't get out of the situation himself, how could he possibly expect his friends to be more successful than he was? Without their magic, they had no advantage over the Dursleys, and as much as he desperately wanted to believe that they could somehow help him, in his heart he knew that all the good his letter would do would be to confuse them.

With a hollow ache in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries, Harry glanced over at the photo on his desk. The three in the picture were all now embracing, carefree laughter filling their faces with joy. Harry scooped a stray pillow off the bed and pulled it to his chest, trying to hinder the pain. He could feel a cloud of fear and anguish overcoming him, making his pain not just physical but psychological too. He looked longingly out the window, his vision blurred by the broken glasses and gentle tears slowly trickling down his cheeks.

He had never felt so alone in his life. All he wanted was for this to end, for him to somehow escape the pain. But for now, he glumly concluded, he could only take solace from being able to escape from this lonely house into the solitude of sleep, and allowed his mind to slip into a desolate state of unconsciousness, with a silent wish that he could somehow escape from this place for good.

**awww poor baby :)**

**that was a looooooooooooooonnnnnnngggg chapter. whew. I hope you enjoyed!**

**I'd love some more reviews...lets say 16-20 before I post the next chapter??**

**Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay. I'd like to start by apologising- obviously asking for reviews in the Harry Potter sect of this website is a bit of a no-go. But I would like to clarify something- in the previous chapter, I asked for a 16-20 reviews, meaning an overall total of that many for the story as a whole. At the time of the last chapter's publication, I believe I had 12 reviews. Meaning I was asking for between 4-8 reviews. That's all. Taken the general reaction to this request, this probably won't justify anything, but I felt the need to explain that I was not trying to get 20 reviews for one chapter.  
I am sorry to anyone out there who genuinely enjoys this story, but because of the harsh reaction I received because of this statement, I lost all inspiration to continue. I know I'm pulling a bit of a Stephenie Meyer and having a little diva-out, but coming from other communities on this website who are very friendly and supportive it was shocking -and rather hurtful- to garner such negativity from naivety on my part.  
So this chapter is for all the people who gave positive reviews, which actually mentioned something of the story rather than just insulting me, and I thank you sincerely for your wonderful input. Enjoy! **

Ron started as a loud crashing sound resonated through his room, sleepily sitting up and looking around for the source of the noise. Beams of early morning sunlight cut through the room like airy knives, their glary white light temporarily blinding Ron as he shot upright. His eyes soon adjusted to the brightness, but before he could place what exactly made the crash a quiet moan sounded from down near his waist.

He glanced down in surprise, and blanched when he saw a slim arm draped across his stomach. After a moment of complete blank shock, memories of his discussion the night before flooded back, and with a relieved sigh he remembered why his friend was lying so unusually close to his side. With an incoherent mumble she pushed herself upright, grasping her hand across Ron's shoulder to balance herself. Her hand lingered on his arm after she was sitting up, and they both slowly looked down at it, before their eyes met. They sat frozen for a moment, before jumping apart as though buzzed by an electric current.

'What's happening? Hermione asked, her voice tainted with sleepy disorientation. Ron, suddenly remembering the reason for his abrupt awakening, glanced around the room quickly as he began to search for the source of the disturbance. He was puzzled when he saw nothing out of place, but he snapped back to attention when Hermione grabbed his wrist.

'There!' Hermione pointed at the window, and when Ron followed her gaze he saw his tiny owl sitting on the window ledge, looking ruffled. Jumping to his feet to let the bird in, he guessed that the crashing sound was Pig running into the window in his haste to get home- but as he undid the window's latch to let him in he appeared completely undamaged. He zoomed in circles around the room, occasionally letting out tiny squeaks until he settled on the top of his cage. Ron absentmindedly fed him an owl treat, a confused frown tweaking his brow when he saw no trace of a letter anywhere in his room.

Hermione gave out a sigh, looking decidedly dejected as she sat on the bed.

'He didn't write back, did he?' Ron turned when he heard the hurt tone to her voice, and guiltily had to smother a smile at how she looked. Her hair was mussed by sleep, her oversized pyjama top slipping off one shoulder, and a crestfallen expression on her face made her look akin to a homeless puppy. He moved back over to his bed and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. He was just trying to think of some consoling words when he felt Hermione straighten beside him, before leaping from the bed and running to the window.

'Look! It's Hedwig!' Ron dashed to her side, just in time to see Hermione extend her arm out the window and for Hedwig to come to a gentle landing there. Hermione lifted the bird inside, stroking her feathers gently with her free hand and cooing kind nothings after the bird's obviously hasty and tiring trip. An ecstatic smile lit her face, and Ron began to grin too when he saw the letter tied to Hedwig's leg. Ron leant in and began to untie the string attaching the letter to the bird, and a slightly confused frown playing across his features as he saw Hedwig's leg was red and scabbed.

'What's the matter, Ron?' Hermione asked, seeing his uneasy expression and looking down with concern of her own.

'I dunno, it's just, this letter was tied on way too tight, and it's cut into Hedwig's leg. Harry knows better than to do that…' With a feeling of apprehension that he couldn't quite place, Ron pulled the letter free and slit open the envelope. A single, folded sheet of paper was inside and Ron, after a single moment's hesitation, flicked it open.

The writing on the sheet was barely legible, but Ron could recognise that it was written by Harry's hand. He moved back over to his bed and sat down, Hermione right beside him, and they both began to read.

_Dear Ron and Hermione,_

_There is no need to worry about me, I am fine. I don't think I'll be coming to the Burrow these holidays, my Aunt, Uncle and Cousin want to spend some more time with me until we get back to school. There is no need for you to come and visit me here. I'll see you at the start of term._

_Harry._

Ron finished reading the letter, and stared at the writing blankly for a moment. It made no sense; Harry had _always _left the Dursleys as soon as he got the chance in the past, an arrangement which was usually mutually appreciated by both Harry and his relations. Not to mention that he had only ever talked of them as hating him in every imaginable way, making it sound even stranger that they wanted to spend extra time with him over the holidays.

Ron glanced up at Hermione's face, and saw she looked just as utterly confounded as he did. He turned the letter over, looking to see if there was something else, but was disappointed to find nothing.

'Wait, look…' Hermione quickly took the letter out of his hands, and lifted a dog-eared corner of the letter. Underneath was a scrawled message, with a dark red smear beside it.

'Is that…blood?' she asked in a shaky voice, passing the letter back to Ron. He read the writing, his stomach dropping uncomfortably at the ominous words, and his confusion merging into worry as he recognised the red smudge as blood.

'It looks like the paper's warped here, too…' Hermione pointed at a wrinkled section of paper, shaped suspiciously like a teardrop, smudging the ink of the pen. Ron gulped down a gasp of air, trying to steady his fingers which had begun to shake. He looked up from the letter to see Hermione's face had blanched, her mind obviously whirring with hundreds of horrible possible reasons behind the presence of their friend's blood and tears.

'We have to show this to someone.' He said in as steady a voice as possible, and after receiving a silent nod of confirmation from Hermione they both rose from the bed and solemnly walked out the door. They descended down into the kitchen, where most of the Weasley family was sitting at the table eating breakfast. At the sight of the pair, Fred and George jumped to their feet, both wearing identical mischievous grins.

'So we heard, Hermione, that you didn't go back to your room last night…'

'…and that does make one wonder what exactly you and Ickle Ronnikins got up to in that secluded…' George trailed off when he saw Ron's distraught expression, and Hermione's pale complexion. Mr Weasley glanced up curiously when his sons stopped their taunting so abruptly, and quickly strode over to their side when he saw their alarmed expressions.

'What's happened?' he asked in a low, serious voice, which immediately commanded the rapt attention of the entire room. Ginny and Mrs Weasley looked over apprehensively from the table, and even the dishes in the sink that we washing themselves froze in place. Ron held out the letter to his father, and slid an arm around Hermione's shoulders once his father took the note from his hands. Arthur quickly scanned through the note, and shot a slightly confused glance at his youngest son. Immediately knowing why he was confused, all Ron did was point to the dog-eared corner, and once he saw what was there Mr Weasley's face was filled with aghast understanding.

Mrs Weasley was at her husband's side in seconds, snatching the letter and reading it hastily. Her husband pointed out the note in the corner, and Mrs Weasley's hand flew to her chest as she saw the scribbled message. Mr Weasley quickly guided her back to her seat at the table, and she sank slowly off her feet. She dropped the letter onto the scrubbed wooden table, where it was promptly seized by Ginny, with Fred and George reading over one of her shoulders each.

By the time they had finished examining the note Arthur was beside the fire grate, fastening his cloak around his shoulders and leaving his breakfast discarded on the table. He grabbed the letter from his daughter and stowed it safely within a hidden inner pocket of his jacket.

'I'll get this straight to Kingsley; see what he can do to help. Boys,' he added with a completely serious and intolerant glance at his sons, 'do not do _anything _until I return.' And with a swift peck to his wife's cheek, he tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the flames and disappeared in a swirl of green light.

Silence reigned in the kitchen for a full minute; each person frozen in place, all their eyes glued to the fireplace where Mr Weasley had just disappeared from. No one knew what was going on, but at the same time they all shared the knowledge that something horrible had transpired.

The awful silence seemed to stretch on forever, as though the small slip of paper had drawn all their energy, and made them incapable of anything but horrified contemplation. The spell was broken, however, when with a small pop Bill apparated into the kitchen.

'Hey, mum, I just thought I'd…' Bill trailed off into silence, his eyes wide at the scene before him. A moment later he was at the other side of the room, on his knees at his mother's side.

'Is it Dad? Have some of _his _followers…' Bill trailed off as his mother sadly shook her head. His eyes remained confused, slowly trailing from his mother's face to the others in the room. Fred and George were sitting side by side, both staring at their hands. Ginny was beside her brothers, sickly pale, clutching a mug of tea like a lifeline. Ron stood, his arm still encompassing Hermione's shoulders, standing as still as stone. Hermione stood as still as her friend, the only difference was a solitary teardrop that was trailing down her cheek. He turned back to Mrs Weasley, his eyes imploring, begging to know what was wrong.

'It's Harry, dear. We received a letter from him…we aren't sure what to make of it, but it sounds bad. Your father's gone to the Ministry to try and get them to help, but we don't really know what's happening yet.'

Bill looked aghast at the news, but he quickly smothered the expression with a mask of neutrality. He rose to his feet, and held out his hand in an authoritative manner to his mother.

'By the sounds of it, then, you're going to have a new guest here by the end of the day. Shouldn't you be preparing his room?' Mrs Weasley stared at her son with wide eyes for a moment, before springing to her feet.

'Yes, of course, dear.' And she bustled away, muttering a list of tasks to complete under her breath as she made her way to the stairs.

Bill immediately sunk into Mrs Weasley's vacated seat, letting out a gushing sigh and looking around at his siblings and Hermione.

'Is it true?' There were various mumbles of affirmation from around the room, and with a sigh Bill leaned his head against one hand.  
'That kid just can't catch a break, can he?'

Shaking his head slightly, Ron seemed to break out of his reverie. He gently led Hermione to the kitchen table, where they sat side by side. Their fingers had somehow become linked in the process, and were resting together against the smoothly scrubbed wood. Bill pulled out his wand and silently summoned two steaming mugs of tea from beside the kettle, which came to rest in front of the pair of shell-shocked best friends.

'What do you think is going to happen?' Ginny's voice sounded hollow, as her eyes continued to stare blankly into the fireplace where her father had disappeared into a good ten minutes prior.  
'Dad'll try his best to get the Ministry to break their ban on our interference…'  
'Fat chance of that.' Fred murmured darkly, while George nodded his agreement beside him.

'We'll just have to wait.' Hermione said in a thin, quiet voice. Loathe as they were to the idea, after years of being able to take action whenever they chose at Hogwarts, the family gathered around the table had to admit that Hermione was correct. So with resignation in their hearts, the clan huddled around the table, prepared to wait until Mr Weasley brought further news.

**I hope you liked it, more to come as soon as I decide the best way to get Harry out of his little pickle. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Leaving this with that last message, I think, left the idea in the minds of many that I had abandoned this in a sizeable hissy fit, which is indeed not the case. I am in my senior year at school and (in Australia, where I am) it is pretty intense all year long (we don't just have one big exam at the end of the year, we have tests throughout each term which contribute to our overall marks and thus which universities we can apply for). So I have been working, not sulking. I do quite like this story, and so I've been chipping away in my spare time to get another chapter ready. I hope you like it :)**

The morning passed into a sunny afternoon with no further news, leaving almost painful waiting in its place. Hollow words of hope were repeated every half hour or so, encouraging optimism since Mr Weasley's negotiations to interfere with the Dursley house had clearly not been bumped back immediately. The hours trickled by, a horrible feeling of anticipation hovering in the air of the kitchen where the Weasley clan remained assembled. Mrs Weasley had been bustling about ever since Bill had arrived, preparing everything that Harry could possibly need upon his arrival. When she had hesitantly removed her magical healing kit from its place in the laundry and placed it instead in the kitchen where it could be easily reached, a shivery sense of reality crawled up everyone's spines, the small box soundly grounding in everyone's minds the very real possibility of Harry coming back to them at least a little bit broken. Mrs Weasley next moved on to baking a treacle tart, the familiar sweet aroma of the baking pastry filling the kitchen; it was a scent that reminded Hermione so acutely of her best friend, that she felt the immediate compulsion to get away.

'Ron? Do you want to go out into the orchard for a bit?' She asked quietly, loathe to break the solemn silence that reigned but desperate to escape to the freshness of the air outside. He nodded once, and they headed out the back door together, all eyes in the kitchen trailing them absentmindedly into the late afternoon sun. They wound their way down through the yard, past the overflowing and unruly garden beds that Harry so loved, past the large field where they had played two-on-two Quidditch uncountable times. They passed a grumpy-looking gnome waddling through the grass, retreating from the garden they had once degnomed together, before finally reaching the trees of the orchard, ripe with apples and providing dancing leafy shadows across the ground below. Picking the largest of the trees, the pair dropped to the thick, soft grass, relishing quietly in the escape from the stifling atmosphere of the normally homely Weasley kitchen.

The pair sat in silence, surveying the quiet country around them, minds filled with heavy and worrying thoughts. The air was amply refreshing, the sun sufficiently warming; however neither could quite lift the gloom settled upon their hearts.  
'What do you think they're doing, taking so long?' Hermione asked hesitantly, 'I'm not sure how the Ministry handles this kind of thing…'  
'Normally this would have been resolved in a heartbeat. Any report of abuse, magical or otherwise, is checked out and remedied as soon as possible. It's only coz it's Harry that it's taking this long.' Hermione sighed angrily in response, letting herself fall back against the lush blades of grass to stare at the leaves dancing above her head.  
'This has escalated to the point of ridiculousness. If they have a _problem _with Harry,' she spat scathingly to the canopy above, 'they shouldn't let it interfere with their professional duty to protect a person in danger!'  
'It's bang out of order, I've never heard of anything like it before.' Ron grabbed an overripe apple from the ground beside him where it had fallen, tossing it from hand to hand as he spoke. The dappled golden light that filtered through the leaves swayed warmly across his face, but Ron angrily wished it away. It didn't seem right, the comforting glow of the summer sun, its cheery presence feeling unwelcome amid the tension. He stared down at the shiny red fruit in his hand, before flinging it away across the orchard. It collided with the trunk of the next tree along, splattering slightly against the wood.

'We're going after him, whether the Ministry allow it or not.'  
'I know.' Hermione replied, her eyes still watching the leaves above, her tone resigned and slightly apprehensive.  
'And that family of his, if they've done a single _thing _to him…'  
'I know.' Came the simple reply. Hermione propped herself up on one elbow, searching for the eyes of the young man beside her. They were rife with ire and concern, impassioned and unabashedly creating a window into his worrying heart. 'He'll be alright, Ron. We'll make sure of that- all of us will.' Ron gave a sigh as a wave of tiredness quelled his anger slightly, the rationale of Hermione's words pulling him away from his fiery temper, as always. He lay down beside his friend, who slowly lowered her head to rest on his rhythmically rising and falling chest.  
'I know.' The words vibrated against Hermione's ear as Ron brought an arm around to pull her close. His skin tingled lightly beneath his shirt where Hermione's hand rested against his body; he ruefully pushed the beginnings of these feelings aside, the sweet thoughts sidling into his mind seeming as out of place in their current state as the glowing sun above. Hermione seemed oblivious to any of the thoughts in Ron's head, gazing blankly down through the grove of heavily laden trees and appearing a thousand miles away. Ron turned his eyes to the sky above, watching wispy clouds trail by, and waited.

The sky had transitioned through a brilliant sunset and trickled into a gradient of purples and blues before anything changed. Ron, his eyes still lazily gazing at the sky above, saw a dash of silver streak across the inky canvas and towards the Burrow; a patronus, he recognised, doubtlessly sending word of what was happening. He pushed up onto his elbows, Hermione rousing from where she had been lightly dozing upon his chest, her eyes worriedly darting between Ron's face and the Burrow, where he was ardently gazing. They watched together as the back door swung open, a pool of yellow light streaming out, silhouetting someone in the doorframe. Their arm waved, and a distant voice calling their names carried across the expanse of garden between them. Ron was on his feet in an instant, offering a hand to Hermione; she quickly accepted it and they hurried back through the trees, fingers intertwined. Hermione rubbed her arms as they walked, the skin there cooled from the darkness, her heart also icy at the impending news awaiting them inside. She could feel Ron's fingers in hers tremble ever so slightly as they stepped across the threshold of the back door.

The Weasleys were huddled in the kitchen, gathered around the fireplace, eyes trained upon the dancing orange flames. As the door swung open their eyes darted up, before trailing back to the fireplace.  
'Your father is on his way, Kingsley's coming with him.' Mrs Weasley explained in a low voice, a clothing brush in hand ready for her impending guests. As though on cue, the flames burned emerald green, and the form of Mr Weasley appeared inside the grate. He quickly stepped away, making space for Kingsley to follow after. He gave Mrs Weasley a small peck on the cheek as she began to brush the ash from his clothes, as the flames sprang back into life to reveal Kingsley's formidable form stepping from beneath the chimney.  
'Weasleys,' he greeted the clan with a nod, 'Miss Granger,' Hermione has stepped forward when Kingsley had arrived, concern etched into her features and Ron trailing not far behind.  
'Is there somewhere more comfortable we can take this, Arthur?'  
'Of course, Kingsley, this way.' The group migrated as one into the sitting room, everyone drifting to armchairs and couches, leaving Kingsley standing beside the mantle, all eyes trained on his solemn face.

'We have news, and I am afraid it is not exactly what we wished to hear. However,' Kingsley added at the sight of the varied expressions of distress upon the faces around him, 'it is a start, which is much to be grateful for. The Ministry's official stance on the Dursley residence remains unchanged, as does their rule prohibiting any member of the Order from interfering there in any way. They have conceded, however, to allowing a check upon the residence, during the night when the muggles will be asleep, in one week's time. Unless any new, solid evidence of any attacks can be brought forward, I'm afraid there is little more that we can do.'  
'He wrote in his own _blood_ to ask for help! How is that not enough evidence to launch an enquiry, at least?'  
'Harry's official history with the family is not exactly positive. Blowing his aunt up, the incident with the tongue lolly and his cousin- from the ministry's point of view, he appears as just a disgruntled child looking for a way out from a family he is not close with.' In the past, these incidents had been remembered with mirth; now, however, even the twins looked grim as they realised the unexpected ramifications of their prank.  
'Additionally, no one has seen Harry within the last 48 hours to verify any evidence of mistreatment, which does not play in our favour.'  
'But they might have locked him up somewhere, in his room or something!'  
'It is possible, but unfortunately unable to be proven at this time. The politics of this has been debated all morning, but the plausible deniability of the claims being put forward apparently overcomes the needs of who we are trying to protect.' Kingsley finished with a slightly bitter tone tainting his normally gentle speech.

'So he just has to wait there?' Ginny asked in a hollow voice, looking at Kingsley with a longing to be contradicted. The slow nod he gave seemed to deflate her, as she leaned back against the armchair and covered her eyes with her hands. The assembled family sat in sad and contemplative silence for a long moment, before Mrs Weasley rose to her feet and forced a lukewarm smile upon her lips.  
'Well, we all still need to eat, now don't we? How about I rustle something up quickly- Ginny, you can help me, and boys, could you please set the table?' She moved out the door with a sense of purpose, however she lacked her usual matronly bustle and a certain something in her normally soft features had hardened. The Weasleys followed slowly, either moving to help in the kitchen or off to do something else- the news was broken, and there was no reason to linger any longer. Kingsley and Mr Weasley also shifted, following the crowd, their heads close as they discussed the best course of action to take from here. Soon only Ron and Hermione were left. Neither had moved from their seats; Hermione, knees hugged to her chest on the couch, and Ron directly opposite, on a rickety old chair with his elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

'Ron?' Hermione asked timidly, but he did not stir. She felt a pang of sympathy for her friend- the magical world, which had clearly seemed until now to be just and infallible in its correctness, had just betrayed the naïve trust he had instilled in it. But more than that, their friend was still not safe, not with them. The boy so battered by the first few years of his life that most adults could not viably complain beside him, was once again in the hands of someone trying to do him harm. It hurt her to know this, and she knew Ron was hurting too. She slowly unfurled her legs and trod softly across the room to his side.  
'Ron…' she hovered awkwardly by his side, wanting to do something, but not knowing what. She tentatively raised her hand, before lowering it softly against the nape of his neck. She trailed her fingers through his hair; gently rubbing his neck in what she hoped was a relaxing manner. She felt a light pressure as he lent, for just a moment, into her hand, revelling in the comforting contact. Next thing she knew he was on his feet, eye to eye with an expression so intensely impassioned she felt a something trill through her stomach. He did not need to speak, she merely rubbed his shoulder once, where her hand had fallen, and quietly whispered.

'I know.' He nodded once in response, before taking her hand and leading her towards the stairs. If they were going to succeed with this they needed to do it right, and so they returned to the privacy of Ron's room to plan.

**I saw a couple of reviews hoping for just a Golden Trio plot, which is what I had planned anyway, but this will confirm that we shan't just be waiting for a legality to get Harry home, there shall be some adventuring involved, of sorts. Hopefully thats what you wanted to hear? :)  
For the same reason as above, I don't believe I shall update before November time, when my exams wrap up. Enjoy, give suggestions, whatever you like. Thanks for the read!**


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