Chapter Text
The heat that summer felt almost personal.
Not the warm, golden kind that came with late afternoons, but a suffocating, motionless heat that clung to the walls of Privet Drive as if the entire street had been trapped inside one breath held for too long.
Harry Potter sat on the slanted roof outside his bedroom window, worn trainers resting against the gutter as he spun a Snitch between his fingers.
He stared down at the street below, irritatingly normal.
That was how the Muggle world kept going: normal. Irritatingly normal, while headlines about disappearances and attacks filled the folded Daily Prophet lying beside him.
Two more wizarding families had vanished.
Harry hadn’t finished the article.
Lately, he hadn’t finished any of them.
With a tired sigh, he let his head fall back against the hot roof tiles and closed his eyes for a moment. Silence buzzed in his ears. Not real silence — Privet Drive was never truly silent — but the kind that settled in after spending too much time alone.
A window downstairs slammed open.
“Boy!” Petunia shouted. “If you’re going to sit out there like some delinquent, at least do something useful and take out the rubbish!”
Without opening his eyes, Harry smirked faintly and tightened his grip on the Snitch.
“Good morning to you too,” he muttered.
Petunia slammed the window shut before he could hear the reply.
The Snitch still twitched between his fingers, tiny golden wings vibrating impatiently. Harry watched it for a few seconds before tossing it into the heavy air. It shot away instantly, and Harry grabbed the broom lying beside him.
Seconds later, he was flying.
And in those moments, he had the one thing he wanted every single day.
Freedom.
Not the war.
Not Voldemort.
Not the Boy Who Lived.
Just him and the wind.
Even thick and heavy, the air felt lighter above the rooftops of Privet Drive. Harry dove sharply, laughing under his breath when the Snitch veered away at the last second. His body moved automatically; up there, he didn’t have to think.
And for a few minutes, that was all that mattered.
Then his scar burned.
Harry swore and dropped several feet before catching himself. The pain vanished too quickly, leaving behind only the familiar sense of danger.
Annoyed, he landed near his window and climbed back inside before one of the neighbours started complaining about “the strange boy” again.
The room was stifling. Clothes scattered everywhere, books piled high, letters from the Weasleys thrown across the bed.
Harry picked one up absentmindedly.
Ron Weasley’s handwriting took up nearly half the page.
Ginny swears she’ll kill you if you don’t show up before the end of summer. Fred bet ten Galleons you wouldn’t survive more than two days alone with the Dursleys. Honestly, I think he was being optimistic.
Harry smiled before he realised it.
Another letter lay partially hidden beneath his pillow. Shorter. One he avoided rereading whenever possible.
Harry,
We are monitoring the situation. Remain at Privet Drive until further instructions.
— Kingsley.
Harry threw the letter away immediately.
“Monitoring the situation.”
As if he were a bomb waiting to explode.
Everyone talked about the war as though Harry was the final answer to everything, but nobody actually helped him understand how. It was always the same instructions.
“Wait.”
“Stay quiet.”
“Trust the Order.”
He was tired of waiting.
Harry’s gaze drifted toward the photograph sitting on the desk.
Sirius Black smiled from the other side of the enchanted frame, one hand resting on Harry’s shoulder while he said something the picture couldn’t reproduce without sound.
Harry stepped closer and, for a second, almost spoke.
The instinct hit so suddenly it tightened painfully in his chest.
He missed his godfather.
Then he looked away.
He still couldn’t bear staring at it for too long.
Downstairs, an absurdly loud car horn echoed through the street.
Harry froze.
Another honk.
Longer this time.
Then voices.
“HARRY!”
Harry rushed to the window and looked down.
Fred Weasley was practically hanging out the side of an unidentifiable car, waving his arms like a lunatic while George Weasley laughed behind the wheel.
Harry burst out laughing before he could stop himself.
“You’re going to make the neighbours call the police.”
“Excellent,” George replied. “Always wanted to get arrested in a suburban neighbourhood.”
“Come on before your aunt starts throwing Unforgivables.”
Harry didn’t even bother hiding his smile as he grabbed the half-packed bag from the floor.
Five minutes later, he was taking the stairs two at a time.
Petunia Dursley appeared in the hallway just as he reached the front door.
“And where exactly do you think you’re going now?”
“Socialising. Apparently it’s good for emotional development.”
She narrowed her eyes at his bag.
“Don’t come back late.”
Harry nearly laughed.
As if coming back were an option.
“Sure,” he replied automatically.
He shut the door before she could say anything else.
The air outside felt different immediately.
Fred threw the car door open with exaggerated drama.
“Would you look at you. You look worse than Percy did at his own funeral.”
“Thanks,” Harry said, climbing into the back seat. “I’ve been working on it.”
George glanced at Harry through the rear-view mirror for a second too long.
“You’re skinny.”
Harry shrugged.
“The Dursleys call it a diet.”
Silence.
Then Fred clapped his hands once.
“Right. Before this gets emotionally devastating, let’s discuss important matters. Harry, do you have any idea how many bets there are about you this year?”
Harry groaned.
“No.”
“McLaggen thinks you’ll break Malfoy’s nose before October.”
“Ginny bet September,” George added.
That pulled a real laugh out of him.
The car sped down the street while the twins talked over each other. Harry absorbed every second of it with quiet relief. He just wanted to get back to Hogwarts.
By the time they reached the Burrow, the sky was already beginning to darken.
The house seemed to explode with light and noise through the open windows.
Harry barely had time to step out of the car before Molly Weasley pulled him into a crushing hug.
It felt strange.
It had been so long since anyone had hugged him like that that Harry nearly froze.
“You’re far too thin,” Molly said immediately, pulling back just enough to hold his face. “Arthur! He’s thin again!”
“I’m happy to be back,” Harry murmured, though his voice came out rougher than expected.
Ron appeared in the doorway.
“Finally. Thought you’d died of suburban boredom.”
Harry smiled automatically.
And just like that, within seconds, the mask slid back into place.
“Almost. But I survived heroically.”
Ginny Weasley rolled her eyes as she passed them.
“Merlin, he’s already trying to be funny again.”
“Again? I never stopped.”
Hermione Granger appeared right behind her and hugged Harry tightly enough to knock the air from his lungs.
“Harry! I missed you so much!” she exclaimed. “How was your summer?”
“Incredible,” Harry replied sarcastically.
Hermione laughed immediately.
Later that night, lying in Ron’s bed, Harry stared at the dark ceiling while muffled voices drifted softly from downstairs.
For the first time that summer, he didn’t feel alone.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Harry had forgotten how easy it was to wake up at the Burrow.
He could never stay in bed past ten, no matter how hard he tried. It was impossible when you lived with the Weasleys.
Still, Harry preferred that kind of chaos to waking up to Petunia Dursley banging on his door every morning.
Ron Weasley lay sprawled across his bed, lazily spinning his wand between his fingers while watching Harry from the corner of his eye.
The room looked exactly the same as it had the summer before.
And somehow completely different.
The walls were still covered in Chudley Cannons posters, clothes were still thrown across nearly every available surface, and something suspicious was moving inside an abandoned sock near the dresser. But there was a new tension in the air, something Harry had been noticing since the start of summer.
As though everyone was waiting for something to happen.
Downstairs, muffled voices echoed through the house.
The Order.
Harry recognised Kingsley Shacklebolt’s deep voice almost immediately, followed by Remus Lupin’s.
He looked back up at the ceiling.
He could barely look at Remus after Sirius’ death.
“So,” Ron said suddenly, “are you going to keep staring dramatically at the ceiling or are you going to tell me what happened to your face?”
Harry turned his head slowly.
“My face has always looked like this.”
“No, seriously. You’ve had this weird expression ever since you got here.”
Harry let out a short sigh.
“I’m tired.”
Ron grimaced.
“You’re always tired.”
“Thanks for the emotional support.”
Ron smirked slightly.
That part was easy.
Talking to Ron had always been easy.
Harry shifted on the bed and ran a hand through his messy hair.
“How’s everyone doing?”
“Fred and George nearly blew up the kitchen last week.”
“Not surprising, but that answers absolutely nothing.”
“Ginny’s unbearable because she decided to start training early for the team this year. Hermione spends half the day arguing with Fred and George and the other half arguing with me.”
Harry laughed quietly. He’d missed that more than he wanted to admit.
“Sounds healthy.”
“It’s awful.”
For a moment, everything felt normal.
Then louder voices echoed from downstairs.
Ron’s smile disappeared instantly.
Harry noticed immediately.
“What?”
Ron hesitated.
Harry hated that.
The way everyone hesitated around him now. As if anything might break him.
And maybe it could.
“There was another attack yesterday,” Ron said finally, quieter this time. “Near Manchester.”
Harry went still.
“Deaths?”
Ron nodded.
The room fell silent.
Harry stared down at his hands.
It never got easier.
“Harry, I—”
“It’s fine, Ron.”
Harry finally looked up and offered a small smile.
But Ron noticed.
He always noticed.
And Harry hated the fact that he still tried hiding things from him anyway.
“Heard Malfoy nearly got thrown out of a shop in Knockturn Alley,” Ron commented, changing the subject.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“That’s new?”
“Apparently he was arguing with his father in public.”
That caught Harry’s attention immediately.
The Malfoys weren’t exactly known for family arguments.
“Lucius?”
Ron nodded.
“Fred overheard someone talking about it in Diagon Alley. Said it looked ugly.”
Harry tried to ignore the strange feeling that stirred in his chest.
Malfoy fighting with his father shouldn’t mean anything to him.
“Weird,” he muttered.
Ron shrugged.
“Maybe Death Eaters have terrible family meetings.”
Harry snorted involuntarily.
Then someone banged loudly on the door.
Harry flinched slightly.
“RONALD WEASLEY!” Hermione Granger shouted from the other side. “YOU PROMISED YOU’D HELP ME!”
Ron closed his eyes immediately.
“Oh no.”
Harry started laughing as Hermione stormed into the room without waiting for permission.
She carried three enormous books in her arms and looked genuinely offended.
“You said you’d help me understand all of this this morning!”
“I got distracted by Harry!”
“And that stops you from keeping a promise?”
“Yes? I hadn’t seen Harry in weeks!”
Hermione shot him a murderous look before finally turning back to Harry.
Her expression softened immediately.
“You really do look tired.”
Harry dropped dramatically backward onto the bed.
“Wow. Has everyone collectively decided to point that out today?”
“Because it’s true.”
Ron pointed at her.
“See? Told you.”
Hermione ignored both of them completely and dropped the books onto the table.
“Kingsley brought new information today.”
Harry felt his whole body tense instantly.
Hermione noticed right away.
“It’s nothing urgent,” she said quickly. “Just… strange movements. More disappearances. Isolated attacks.”
Harry laughed humourlessly.
“So exactly the same as the past few weeks.”
Hermione pressed her lips together.
Ron looked away.
Harry hated that too.
That careful expression.
The way everyone constantly watched him, waiting for the moment he finally cracked.
He wouldn’t crack.
He couldn’t.
“Anyway,” Harry said quickly, sitting up again, “is someone going to tell me the important Hogwarts gossip or not?”
Ron looked almost relieved by the change of subject.
“McLaggen’s telling everyone he’s going to be Gryffindor captain.”
Harry burst out laughing.
“I’d have to die first.”
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Honestly, the two of you have the emotional maturity of eight-year-olds.”
“Thank you,” Harry and Ron said in unison.
Hermione tried not to laugh.
Failed miserably.
“You’re laughing now, but when McLaggen tries stealing my spot on the team, we’ll see,” Ron complained.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“Steal your spot? Ron, you nearly had a heart attack during the last practice last year because a Bludger flew near your head.”
“That was defensive strategy.”
“That was panic.”
“Shut up.”
Harry laughed and threw a pillow at him.
Ron barely dodged it.
“But seriously,” Ron continued, pointing accusingly at Harry, “this year you need to stop disappearing halfway through practice. You’re captain, mate.”
Harry looked deeply offended.
“I never disappear.”
Hermione let out an incredulous laugh.
“Harry, you literally vanished for three hours before the final against Slytherin last year.”
“And we still won.”
“Because your ego is the size of Hogwarts,” Hermione replied immediately.
Harry grinned smugly.
“And because I’m brilliant.”
Ron grimaced.
“Sometimes I forget how much you love attention.”
“That’s because I’m humble too.”
Hermione picked up one of the books and threatened to throw it at him.
“You’re insufferable.”
Harry only laughed harder.
It was familiar.
Easy.
It was strange how the weight of the entire world seemed to disappear whenever he sat there listening to Ron complain and Hermione pretend she wasn’t enjoying herself.
For a few minutes, he could just be Harry.
Not the Chosen One.
Not a weapon for the Order.
Not someone destined to kill Voldemort.
Just Harry.
“Oh, and another thing,” Ron said, leaning forward. “Heard Ravenclaw started Quidditch training earlier this year.”
Harry looked up immediately.
“Really?”
“Yeah. The Prophet said someone saw their team buying new equipment in Diagon Alley.”
Hermione sighed dramatically.
“Fascinating. Truly vital information during wartime.”
“It’s Quidditch, Hermione,” Ron replied, as though that explained everything.
“Exactly. People are disappearing and you’re worried about flying broomsticks.”
“You’ve clearly never experienced the joy of winning a match in the last second.”
“And you’ve clearly never experienced the joy of opening a book.”
Harry watched them bicker with a distracted smile until one sentence caught his attention.
“Actually,” Ron continued, “looks like Malfoy officially became captain.”
Harry blinked.
“Malfoy?”
“Yeah. They finally gave him the badge.”
Harry rested his elbows on his knees, interested despite himself.
“Poor rest of the team.”
Ron laughed.
“Fred said he saw him yelling at one of the Chasers during tryouts.”
“Shocking,” Hermione said dryly.
But Harry kept thinking about it longer than he should have.
He could picture Draco Malfoy perfectly on a Quidditch pitch: arrogant, bossy, wearing that irritating smile of someone who knew exactly how to get under people’s skin.
And honestly?
Harry hated admitting how good Malfoy was at flying.
“Bet he’s going to turn practices into military training,” Ron said.
“Maybe it’ll work,” Harry replied without thinking.
Ron went silent for a second.
“Did you just defend Draco Malfoy?”
Harry blinked, confused.
“What? No, I didn’t.”
“You literally did.”
“I just said maybe he’s a decent captain.”
Hermione watched both of them suspiciously.
“That’s new.”
Harry scoffed immediately.
Then footsteps echoed through the corridor.
The door opened before anyone even knocked.
Ginny Weasley appeared holding a half-eaten apple.
“Mum says you lot need to come downstairs before Fred sets something on fire.”
“Again?” Ron asked.
“Technically this time it was George.”
She finally looked at Harry and narrowed her eyes.
“You look like you slept three hours a night all summer.”
Harry pointed accusingly at her.
“Wow, really? Nobody’s mentioned that today.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Why has everyone decided to attack me?”
Ginny shrugged.
“Because you look terrible.”
“That’s cruel.”
“That’s honesty.”
Hermione laughed quietly as she stood up.
“She’s right.”
“Traitor.”
Harry got up last, running a hand through his messy hair before following the others downstairs.
The voices grew louder as they approached the kitchen.
Harry could hear Molly complaining about something, Arthur trying to calm her down, and the twins arguing over who had actually exploded the stove.
The heat hit him immediately when he walked into the kitchen.
Arthur Weasley smiled as soon as he saw him.
“Harry! We were beginning to think Ron had kidnapped you.”
“Thought about it,” Ron replied, pulling out a chair.
Molly Weasley piled food onto Harry’s plate before he’d even fully sat down.
“You are eating all of this.”
Harry stared at the absurd amount of food.
“I think this could feed a small dragon.”
“Perfect, then.”
Fred immediately pointed at Harry from across the table.
“Told you he was skinny.”
George nodded solemnly.
“Nutritional intervention.”
Harry rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.
As the voices blended around him, Harry let his gaze drift around the kitchen.
The dark window.
The warm lights.
The Weasleys arguing loudly as though the world outside wasn’t slowly falling apart.
And maybe that was the strangest part of all.
The war existed.
People were disappearing.
Voldemort was getting stronger.
But there, in that warm and noisy kitchen, it felt impossible to believe that anything could truly reach them.
For one brief moment, Harry wanted to hold onto that feeling forever.