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Author: Ash Story: Harry Potter and the Bloody Summer Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-HBP Status: Completed Reviews: 11 Words: 69,775
Harry was desperately pulling himself awake as another scream split the silence. Disoriented, he sat up and looked around groggily, trying to identify attackers and victims. But the vision was gone. Instead, he was in his room with a startled-looking George Weasley. The scream had come from downstairs and Harry realized he knew who it was. George nodded. "That'll be Ron, then, giving your cousin hell." He jumped up and strode toward the door. He jerked the door open and called down over the muffled sound of Ron's loud yelling. "Oy! Ron! Up here!" "Half a mo'!" Ron's voice carried up the stairs loudly. "Just got to-" There was a whack and a loud thud. "Wanker. All right-on my way!" George paced back over to the window silently but whipped around as soon as loud footsteps reached the door. Ron's even-taller frame filled the doorway, and he tossed a quick grin in George's direction as he rubbed at his fist. "One git down, two more to go, eh?" Then his eyes went wide as he found Harry, who was still struggling to stop swaying from where he sat up on the bed. "Ron, good to see you, mate." Ron actually rocked back on his heels. "Holy hell, Harry. What happened to you?" Harry looked down at the bedclothes, suddenly self-conscious of his disheveled appearance. "Lay off, Ron. He's been halfway to death twice this summer already," George said tensely. "How's everything at home?" "Oh, s'fine, I guess. Fred's been acting a bit barmy since he got home. He's been 'patrolling the perimeter' and using the Floo like a chimney sweep. Barking." George looked relieved, but determined. "Right." He turned to Harry and knelt in front of him. His eyes bored into Harry's own. "Don't give in, mate. You-Know-Who's just trying to jar you, draw you out. You don't believe it for a second, no matter what he shows you. And don't you worry about the Weasleys. We can take care of ourselves." Harry swallowed, alarmed at the sudden stinging in his eyes. He finally nodded. George smiled grimly before standing. "I reckon I should head home and give Fred some back up. Ron, try and make Harry eat. I forgot to this go around. Bye, Harry." With a wave, George was out the door. Ron, whose mouth was still gaping, followed slowly behind and closed the door. He turned to stare at Harry, who looked away from the scrutiny, not sure if it was his appearance or George's behavior that was causing Ron's narrowed gaze. A few seconds later, Ron stalked over to the desk chair, threw himself down in it and sighed. He said nothing. Harry watched him stare out the window for a minute, realizing that Ron was probably gathering his thoughts for that torrent of anger that Ginny had warned him about. No sense in trying to disarm it. He'd just wait. Unfortunately, it was slowly being impressed upon him that he very badly needed to visit the loo, probably long before Ron's fuse blew. Carefully, Harry stood to his feet and took a few unsteady steps toward the door. Ron had turned to watch him. "Need a hand?" "Er . . . no. I think I can-well . . . maybe." Harry stopped at the door and rested one hand against the wall. Feeling weaker by the second, he sank into it deeply until his knees began to buckle. Within seconds, Ron was there beside him, gripping him around the waist and settling his arm over Ron's shoulders. "Up you go." Harry kept his eyes closed, but figured Ron must be stooping a good foot and a half to get up under his arm that way. "Thanks," he mumbled. It was an awkward trip, and the trip back was worse. Harry had insisted on privacy, which left him winded and dizzy beyond bearing. Everything was blurry and there was a buzzing in his head that he couldn't shake. Halfway back, the buzzing grew loud and the walls turned so bright white that they eclipsed all else . . . . "Could have given me some warning, mate!" Harry was being jostled and laid on the bed by a breathless Ron. "Blimey! Just slid right down in the middle of everything!" Ron sat back, a bit pale and shaking his head. "Did you do this to the others?" "Sorry.I felt bad." Harry's voice was barely above a whisper. Weak tears leaked out of his eyes, and he couldn't even move to wipe them . Ron snorted. "Figured that much, Harry. Any other breaking news for me?" But then concern filled his gaze. "Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up." Harry nodded and closed his eyes. The room felt airy and bright around him, and the buzzing lay faint in the background. A soft whisper reached his ears just before he nodded off. "I'm right here, mate. Nothin's going to happen to you now. I swear it." ****** Harry woke after several hours of sleep feeling the best he had in days, if still weak from malnutrition. Ron was obviously relieved to see him awake. He stood and emptied his pockets which proved to hold several ingenious foods that magically inflated to normal size when you spit on them. It was a bit messy, but fun, and the fish and chips tasted fresh from the paper. There was also a meat pasty and a serving of consommé in a cup-for which Ron apologized profusely. "Mum made me, I swear." But Harry ate it, despite it not being very filling. The only thing Harry wouldn't touch was the bar of chocolate from Honeydukes: the smell of it revolted him. Ron was unnerved until Harry reminded him that the last chocolate he'd eaten (that damn cake) had eaten half his stomach right back. By the time he was done eating, Harry felt up to trying his first solo trip down the hallway. When he got back, the window was open and a strange owl was sitting on the back of the desk chair. Ron turned to him abruptly, his eyes accusing. "Since when are you getting owls from Malfoy?" "What?" But as Harry stepped forward, he recognized Draco's eagle owl. "It's never been here before." "Oh, does Malfoy usually send another owl?" Ron words had an edge that irritated Harry. "Ron, use your brain. Why would I be corresponding with that prat?" "Good question. I think I just asked that." Ron's nostrils were flaring; he was serious. Harry went rigid with anger. "I have never gotten an owl from Malfoy before in my life and I have NO idea why he's started owling now and I have even LESS of a clue as to why I have to explain that to you when you know PERFECTLY WELL that I DESPISE him." Ron pulled his eyes away and relaxed his stance a bit. "Just seems like you have a lot of secrets lately. That's all." Harry glared at him and started over towards the owl-then stopped. "Aren't you going to open it?" Harry shook his head. "No." "Well, I bloody well will then," Ron snapped. He grabbed at the owl's leg, detaching the folded parchment in his hands before Harry could gasp out- "No! It could be a Portkey!" Ron froze, staring at Harry with wide eyes. Harry stopped breathing. Five seconds ticked by as they stared at each other . . . . . . . until it was apparent that the parchment wasn't going to transport Ron someplace horrible. Harry relaxed his rigid stance and rubbed at his forehead. Ron let out a loud breath. "Lucky one, eh? Guess this message is legit." Harry nodded shakily, not bothering to point out that Portkeys can be made to only be triggered by one certain person's touch and that Ron was probably not their target. "You're so curious about it, why don't you read it?" "All right." Ron snorted as he unfolded it. "Always wanted to see Malfoy give a proper death threat." As Harry watched the eagle owl stare at him, Ron drawled the next words in a very familiar manner. Potter, Heard you're having trouble with your Muggles. Pity they don't understand what a rare privilege and opportunity it is to have you in their home, eating their food and breathing their air. Then again, they did make the most of it recently by drugging you senseless. Perhaps Muggles are useful after all. Although, I believe their usefulness might be coming to an end. This is a warning. Do not leave the house, you ignorant clot! Malfoy "Yep," Ron concluded in his normal voice, folding the note again. "Death threat." "Did that sound strange at all to you?" "Nope. Malfoy-sneering, threatening, being gitty-all's right with the world." Harry frowned. "I would have thought it beneath him to call anyone an 'ignorant clot' in a letter. You know, sort of beneath his breeding." "Hm. Good point." Ron tossed the note in the trash can. "But nothing new in there, anyway. 'Don't leave the house.' Everybody's been hammering that into your head all summer. Not that you've listened." "I have, too." "Oh, right, Harry," Ron said in a voice dripping with sarcasm, leaning back against the desk. "When Lupin locked you inside to keep the Death Eaters out, you Alohomora'd that thing and came out fighting like a perfect Wally and you know it! If I'd been here, I'd have put you in a body bind myself." Harry leveled a gaze at him. "You'd have been out there fighting with me, Ron." Ron's face flushed. "I wouldn't have. Not when their whole point is just to get to you! What the BLOODY HELL are you thinking? Why won't you just let everyone protect you?" Harry stared at Ron, surprised that he didn't understand. Ron gathered himself and pressed his advantage. "What is it you're hiding?" Harry's eyebrows shot up and Ron pointed at him. "Don't look like that. Hermione says you're hiding something and she's right." Harry slid off the bed and walked to the open window, shaking his head nervously. The view was the same as it had been all summer-dry, wilting grass, green trees and blue sky beckoning to him. Ron seemed to take his silence as an insult. "Come on, Harry! D'you think I couldn't tell that you and George had some kind of secret?" Ron spat the word out angrily. Harry reached out, grabbed the open window and slammed it shut, breathing deeply and evenly, saying nothing. Ron was a bloody, suspicious- "And you and Fred, too! Why the hell can you tell THEM and not ME!" Harry struggled for a moment, then whipped around. "I told them because I woke up screaming bloody MURDER while they were here-THAT'S why! You KNOW how it is when I have visions, Ron! You know it!" Ron froze. "You had a vision?" "YES!" The anger drained from his face. "Why didn't you just tell me?" "BECAUSE IT WAS OF DEATH EATERS ATTACKING THE BURROW! AND YOUR MUM-your mum . . . ." Ron had turned deathly pale, but it just made Harry angry again. "See? That's exactly why I don't tell you things, Ron! That-that right there!" He was so tired of people getting caught in the middle of his war with Tom. His war. He had to start thinking of it that way-war. Kill or be killed. Ron was leaning against the desk again, still ashen-faced. "It wasn't real, though, was it? That's what you were telling George, right?" Harry walked over to the bed and sat down despondently. "Right. Tom's just trying to make me . . . I dunno." "Lose it?" "Yeah. I guess." Harry clenched his eyes shut tightly. If only he could find a way to do end this. If only he could find a way to take down Tom alone . . . . "Why does he keep picking at you?" Harry looked over to see Ron watching him, puzzled. Harry shrugged, but in his mind he answered. He knew exactly why-because of the Prophecy. Ron swore softly. "You do know why, don't you?" Harry shook his head, but Ron's voice gained confidence. "You found out, and that's what you've been hiding all summer." Harry pressed down the small whirring of panic in his stomach. "Ron. I am NOT having this conversation." Ron snorted and crossed his arms. "I think you are, 'cause you're stuck with me for about two more hours and I'm not going to tiptoe around you like-like you're a fragile, glass hippogriff that might fly to pieces the first time I fart. I'm your best friend, Harry!" Harry wiped all expression off his face and lay back on his bed, putting his hands mutinously behind his head. He stared at the ceiling and willed Ron to shut up and go away or die a very painful death of boredom. Ron, of course, did nothing of the sort. "You've been hiding something ever since that night we were at the Ministry." Harry harrumphed softly. Like Ron would notice that. "I reckon I wouldn't have noticed if Hermione hadn't written me about it, but she did and-she's right." Stony silence greeted his words. The only movement in the room was Ron shifting his weight along the desk, pressing his hands down on the surface and leaning slightly forward. "Harry?" Nothing. "Tell me." Harry was pretending he didn't exist, something the Dursleys had taught him. It was easy to imagine that Ron was talking to empty air, that there was nobody actually on the bed to listen to him. Harry wasn't here. Nobody could make him do anything. Ron stood abruptly, walking toward the door. Harry's nihilism was throttled by panic that he refused to show. Was Ron leaving him? But his friend stopped at the door, swearing loudly. He turned around to face Harry, his eyes bright and fierce, fists clenched. "'Mione says it has something to do with that Prophecy." Harry stopped breathing, his eyes wide. How the-? "That's it, isn't it? She says you've been acting funny about it ever since that night, ever since you trashed Dumbledore's office." Harry couldn't help it; his jaw fell open a bit. Ron looked uncomfortable. "Sorry, mate, but wizarding portraits talk. The first time Mum and Dad took us back to Grimmauld Place this summer, they told us what you did. That git Phileus kept going on and on about it, I thought, just to get a rise out of me. But eventually, I cottoned on to what he was hinting, that Dumbledore had said something to you, something really important." Ron looked away. "I kept thinking that if I left you alone, you'd eventually talk, explain what happened and why. But . . . you've written more to Ginny than to me." He looked over at Harry, some of the fire gone from his eyes. "So, why all the secrecy? Why'd you trash Dumbledore's office?" Harry closed his mouth and looked at the ceiling. "You were there, Ron. Bellatrix killed Sirius. And Dumbledore just-I couldn't-just-you know why!" Something was sitting on his chest, pressing so that he couldn't breathe. Why couldn't Ron just leave him alone? "Yeah, mate, I know," Ron said softly. He walked over to the desk and sat in the chair, turning it to face Harry. "But what about the Prophecy?" Harry clenched his hands into fists behind his head. "Come on, Harry, just tell me what it is. Please." "No." Ron jumped up, swore again and kicked at the chair, connecting hard, which made him swear again. He hobbled around and then plunked down on Harry's trunk at the foot of his bed, facing away from him, muttering curses. Harry tried hard to control his breathing in the hard silence. His emotions were getting the better of him. Ron started in again, his voice hoarse. "Hermione says you don't trust anyone and it's going to get you one day and she's right." "I can't tell you, Ron. I can't," Harry said quietly. Ron shook his head slowly, still facing away. "She says you were acting weird anytime the Prophecy came up. Why?" "Ron-" Harry closed his eyes again, anger stirring at his helplessness. "I'm right here, mate." Ron turned so that he could look at Harry. "You're going to tell me. I'm not leaving until you do. You might as well start talking." The firm resolve in Ron's pale face angered Harry even more. "Okay. Yeah, I'll talk." Harry sat up, giving his head an unbelieving shake. "Do you not remember how Tom spent the entire term last year giving me dreams about that room? Why did he do that, Ron? Waste an entire year making me believe that damned Chamber was somewhere I needed to be?" Ron was silent, not risking a wrong answer. "Think about it. The most powerful Dark Wizard in hundreds of years spent all of his energy setting me up, using information from Umbridge, using Kreacher, getting his top Death Eaters there waiting on me." Ron was silent. "He wanted that Prophecy, and he still wants it." Harry shook his head, not able to keep a hysterical grin off of his face. "If I tell you . . . if he finds out that you know . . . ." Harry kept shaking his head, unable to even continue. Ron looked thoughtful. "You reckon he knows that you know?" "You said it yourself, Ron! Wizarding portraits talk, right? And I think there's a leak in the Order. Somebody had to get Lupin's blood to do that spell on his robes." Ron was sitting on the trunk, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. He reached up and rubbed a hand through his hair, looking out at the window. "Funny thing, that. You don't want to tell me because it puts me in danger, right?" He glanced back over to see Harry nod. "See, I reckon he'd think you'd have told me by now, anyway. And if he did stop to ask, I don't think he'd believe that I didn't know." Harry's face drained of blood and time seemed to stop. Ron was right. It didn't matter if Harry told him or not, Ron was in danger just from being Harry's friend. Tom would hunt him just as much as he would hunt Harry. Visions flooded Harry's mind-Ron, Hermione, all of the Weasleys, Neville, Luna-running in fear, unable to get away from Tom and the green light that overshadowed them. And Harry, weakened by the piercing pain of his scar, watching through visions, unable to save any of them. Emotions crashed into him, choking him. One thought prevailed: Kill or be killed-alone. Alone. And suddenly-Harry knew how. He jumped up and grabbed his wand, looking breathlessly at Ron, who seemed frozen. Then Harry went for the trash basket, sliding to his knees. Ron gave a startled shout as Harry reached for the parchment from Malfoy, not caring where the Portkey took him, as long as Tom was there. ". . . bloody . . idiot!" Ron slammed into him just as Harry found the parchment, and he landed hard, parchment crumpled in his hand, fighting to keep it out of Ron's long reach. Harry only needed a few seconds for the Portkey to activate- Three- "give it . . . here!" Ron's frantic breathing hitched like a sob. Two- Harry yelled as his hand was pried open- One- ******
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