Connected
A Letter Recieved
Deep in the heart of Surrey in a town called Little Whinging Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived was sitting on a swing thinking about how much better his life would be if Dudley Dursley did not exist. It was 7th August, Dudley's sixteenth birthday, and he was now so big that both his Aunt and Uncle had to squeeze him into the car. Harry had laughed about this once but now he wished he hadn't, maybe if he hadn't he'd be in number four Privet Drive right now, actually eating a meal. For this had been the worst birthday that Dudley had ever had, worse even than the one where Harry had inadvertently set a boa constrictor on him; at least he'd seen some animals before being locked in his cupboard. This time he'd been thrown out of the house at nine o'clock by Aunt Petunia who looked even more horse-face than ever and she had threatened viciously that if he returned before eleven that night he'd be shut in his cupboard for the rest of his life. No going to the Burrow tomorrow was what they meant; Harry chuckled weakly for he was now incredibly hungry. The Dursleys had obviously forgotten that Mr. Weasley- who was coming tomorrow morning to collect him- was a wizard, and he could unlock anything the Dursleys cared to throw at him.
Going to the Burrow was the one ray of light in his otherwise painfully dull holidays. Ron and Hermione would be there along with the rest of the Weasley family, and Ginny. Harry gazed dreamily over the rooftops as he thought of her. He remembered their last kiss and how she had told him she loved him, he longed to see her again, her fiery red hair and her fierce but gentle eyes. Something pecked at his ankle and dragged him annoyingly back to reality. Harry looked down to see a massive tawny coloured owl standing at his feet. Its huge orange eyes were glaring at him expectantly and it lifted its leg slightly. Bemused, for it wasn't an owl he recognized, Harry untied the letter and the owl having delivered it hooted once and disappeared into the night. The name on the front was small and badly written so Harry had to lift the letter up to his nose to read it, but once he had his eyes widened slightly for the name was unmistakable. Vincent Crabbe.
He looked up but the owl was now long gone; had it been confunded? Whatever it was he didn't really feel like opening the letter, well it was addressed to Crabbe so it was probably full of bubotuber pus or something equally disgusting. It was almost eleven and Harry got off the swing. Hopefully Aunt Petunia will have prepared at least some food for me he thought as he headed back down Magnolia Crescent. He still clutched the letter in his hand; if it was for Crabbe he would give it to Hedwig when he got home but not before he'd had a good look at it, for Harry knew that Crabbe's family were Death Eaters and this seemed like the ideal opportunity to actually get some proof. Me kicked some bits of gravel happily. Maybe the letter would incriminate Goyle and Malfoy's parents as well, and that idea put a spring in his step as he imagined seeing the looks on their faces once their parents had all been locked up in Azkaban.
Once he'd reached number four Privet Drive he noticed that most of the lights were out and this could only mean that Dudley's friends had gone home. He smiled almost jovially, at least he wouldn't be used as a punch bag this time, he hadn't forgotten Dudley's last birthday and the pain of being attacked by five Smelting's sticks all at once. He winced at the memory. His smile widened however when he let himself in and the Dursley's were not in sight. There was a plate laid out for him in the kitchen with a slice of bread and the thinnest slice of birthday cake Harry had ever seen; next to the plate was a note which just said 'see you next summer' in his Aunt's neat writing. Harry had a hard time stopping himself jumping up and down screaming, he felt like he'd been given Felix Felicis. No more Dursleys! Not for another year at least, Harry stuffed the bread and cake in his mouth and then raced upstairs to see if it was really true. It was.
All the rooms upstairs were locked except for the bathroom and his bedroom but Harry didn't care, no Dursleys and he'd be leaving for the Burrow tomorrow, it just all seemed too good to be true. He hastily looked around his room and started packing for the next day, quills, spell books, parchment, the photo album of his parents and his firebolt were all stuffed unceremoniously into his trunk along with some muggle clothes and socks. He located his wand under his pillow but it was then that he remembered the letter in his jeans pocket. Cautiously he took it out and prodded it a few times with his wand not really knowing what to do, and even if he had known the spell for opening a letter he still wasn't seventeen. He remembered the last Ministry hearing he had had, and somehow he didn't think Fudge would let him off this time.
He looked at the letter again and sighed, Hermione would probably have told him to send the letter on to Crabbe regardless but Harry just couldn't do that, this was too good an opportunity to miss. He scrutinized the letter, asking himself again and again why this had happened. The owl must have been confunded, there was just no other way it could... He noticed a tiny blotch of ink in the bottom left corner and he tilted it towards the light, pushing the letter up to his eyes again, and he let out a tiny gasp as he noticed two infinitesimally small initials. HP. Perhaps the letter wasn't for Crabbe at all. His curiosity had now completely taken hold of him and he ripped open the letter without a second thought. There wasn't much on the parchment and it took him mere seconds to read it, but it left him feeling more confused then ever; Malfoy? Why would Malfoy be writing to him of all people if he was right about those initials, which he was sure he was. They had hated each other for so long that Harry just couldn't imagine him sitting down to write him a letter, he'd have to be dying or something... Hang on,he thought, what if Malfoy was a Death Eater? Both his parents were and there was nothing like this for running in families, Malfoy probably signed up happily as well the git. Maybe Malfoy had bitten off more than he could chew, and now he wanted to ask for help and an easy exit; he wouldn't be the first and Harry remembered Karkaroff. But if that was the case wouldn't he just write to Dumbledore?
Harry peered down at the letter, “an unexpected visitor”, who the hell did he mean by that, and why didn't he just tell him, Crabbe, unless he was too scared to... Harry's mouth formed an “O” of understanding. Voldemort must be at Malfoy Manor, and by the looks of it Malfoy needed to keep something from him. A small voice in the back of Harry's head told him to just ignore the letter, did he care whether Voldemort killed Malfoy or not? It was none of his business and the thought of Malfoy being scared gave him a sick sort of satisfaction. He grinned as he imagined Malfoy being turned into a ferret again, but this was Voldemort, he wouldn't waste time transfiguring people when he had a much more effective way of hurting them. Harry shuddered as he thought about the Cruciatus curse, the unbearable pain it caused, and there was something sad and almost pathetic about the letter, as if Harry was his only chance. That settled it for Harry. If it was a toss up between helping Voldemort or Malfoy he knew exactly who he'd choose, he took out a quill and some spare parchment and began to write.
Dear Draco,
I asked my mum about what you said and she told me to bugger off, even when I told her it was for a friend. I looked it up and I think you just have to close your mind and keep out any emotion and any memories that you shouldn't have.
The Potter thing sounds a laugh, and I think you should do it on the first night where you said. What are you going to say to him?
My holidays are pretty boring.
Vincent
Harry was careful to make several spelling mistakes, and not to use any words that Crabbe wouldn't have in his vocabulary; come to think of it, he'd never actually thought that Crabbe could actually write so it was uphill work. He had to write the letter out several times because he kept on writing Malfoy or Crabbe instead of their actual names, it just seemed too weird to be writing Draco, creepy... Finally he was satisfied with the letter and he folded neatly before opening Hedwig's cage. The snowy owl hooted softly and nipped Harry's ear affectionately. Harry stroked her smooth head and gave her an owl treat.
“Hedwig, this letter's for Draco Malfoy,” he whispered to her, not wanting to raise his voice and make it seem more real than it was.
Hedwig hooted once more and then flew out of the window in the direction of Malfoy Manor. Harry watched her go, his shoulders tense. Malfoy had better have a damn good excuse for this.
Going to the Burrow was the one ray of light in his otherwise painfully dull holidays. Ron and Hermione would be there along with the rest of the Weasley family, and Ginny. Harry gazed dreamily over the rooftops as he thought of her. He remembered their last kiss and how she had told him she loved him, he longed to see her again, her fiery red hair and her fierce but gentle eyes. Something pecked at his ankle and dragged him annoyingly back to reality. Harry looked down to see a massive tawny coloured owl standing at his feet. Its huge orange eyes were glaring at him expectantly and it lifted its leg slightly. Bemused, for it wasn't an owl he recognized, Harry untied the letter and the owl having delivered it hooted once and disappeared into the night. The name on the front was small and badly written so Harry had to lift the letter up to his nose to read it, but once he had his eyes widened slightly for the name was unmistakable. Vincent Crabbe.
He looked up but the owl was now long gone; had it been confunded? Whatever it was he didn't really feel like opening the letter, well it was addressed to Crabbe so it was probably full of bubotuber pus or something equally disgusting. It was almost eleven and Harry got off the swing. Hopefully Aunt Petunia will have prepared at least some food for me he thought as he headed back down Magnolia Crescent. He still clutched the letter in his hand; if it was for Crabbe he would give it to Hedwig when he got home but not before he'd had a good look at it, for Harry knew that Crabbe's family were Death Eaters and this seemed like the ideal opportunity to actually get some proof. Me kicked some bits of gravel happily. Maybe the letter would incriminate Goyle and Malfoy's parents as well, and that idea put a spring in his step as he imagined seeing the looks on their faces once their parents had all been locked up in Azkaban.
Once he'd reached number four Privet Drive he noticed that most of the lights were out and this could only mean that Dudley's friends had gone home. He smiled almost jovially, at least he wouldn't be used as a punch bag this time, he hadn't forgotten Dudley's last birthday and the pain of being attacked by five Smelting's sticks all at once. He winced at the memory. His smile widened however when he let himself in and the Dursley's were not in sight. There was a plate laid out for him in the kitchen with a slice of bread and the thinnest slice of birthday cake Harry had ever seen; next to the plate was a note which just said 'see you next summer' in his Aunt's neat writing. Harry had a hard time stopping himself jumping up and down screaming, he felt like he'd been given Felix Felicis. No more Dursleys! Not for another year at least, Harry stuffed the bread and cake in his mouth and then raced upstairs to see if it was really true. It was.
All the rooms upstairs were locked except for the bathroom and his bedroom but Harry didn't care, no Dursleys and he'd be leaving for the Burrow tomorrow, it just all seemed too good to be true. He hastily looked around his room and started packing for the next day, quills, spell books, parchment, the photo album of his parents and his firebolt were all stuffed unceremoniously into his trunk along with some muggle clothes and socks. He located his wand under his pillow but it was then that he remembered the letter in his jeans pocket. Cautiously he took it out and prodded it a few times with his wand not really knowing what to do, and even if he had known the spell for opening a letter he still wasn't seventeen. He remembered the last Ministry hearing he had had, and somehow he didn't think Fudge would let him off this time.
He looked at the letter again and sighed, Hermione would probably have told him to send the letter on to Crabbe regardless but Harry just couldn't do that, this was too good an opportunity to miss. He scrutinized the letter, asking himself again and again why this had happened. The owl must have been confunded, there was just no other way it could... He noticed a tiny blotch of ink in the bottom left corner and he tilted it towards the light, pushing the letter up to his eyes again, and he let out a tiny gasp as he noticed two infinitesimally small initials. HP. Perhaps the letter wasn't for Crabbe at all. His curiosity had now completely taken hold of him and he ripped open the letter without a second thought. There wasn't much on the parchment and it took him mere seconds to read it, but it left him feeling more confused then ever; Malfoy? Why would Malfoy be writing to him of all people if he was right about those initials, which he was sure he was. They had hated each other for so long that Harry just couldn't imagine him sitting down to write him a letter, he'd have to be dying or something... Hang on,he thought, what if Malfoy was a Death Eater? Both his parents were and there was nothing like this for running in families, Malfoy probably signed up happily as well the git. Maybe Malfoy had bitten off more than he could chew, and now he wanted to ask for help and an easy exit; he wouldn't be the first and Harry remembered Karkaroff. But if that was the case wouldn't he just write to Dumbledore?
Harry peered down at the letter, “an unexpected visitor”, who the hell did he mean by that, and why didn't he just tell him, Crabbe, unless he was too scared to... Harry's mouth formed an “O” of understanding. Voldemort must be at Malfoy Manor, and by the looks of it Malfoy needed to keep something from him. A small voice in the back of Harry's head told him to just ignore the letter, did he care whether Voldemort killed Malfoy or not? It was none of his business and the thought of Malfoy being scared gave him a sick sort of satisfaction. He grinned as he imagined Malfoy being turned into a ferret again, but this was Voldemort, he wouldn't waste time transfiguring people when he had a much more effective way of hurting them. Harry shuddered as he thought about the Cruciatus curse, the unbearable pain it caused, and there was something sad and almost pathetic about the letter, as if Harry was his only chance. That settled it for Harry. If it was a toss up between helping Voldemort or Malfoy he knew exactly who he'd choose, he took out a quill and some spare parchment and began to write.
Dear Draco,
I asked my mum about what you said and she told me to bugger off, even when I told her it was for a friend. I looked it up and I think you just have to close your mind and keep out any emotion and any memories that you shouldn't have.
The Potter thing sounds a laugh, and I think you should do it on the first night where you said. What are you going to say to him?
My holidays are pretty boring.
Vincent
Harry was careful to make several spelling mistakes, and not to use any words that Crabbe wouldn't have in his vocabulary; come to think of it, he'd never actually thought that Crabbe could actually write so it was uphill work. He had to write the letter out several times because he kept on writing Malfoy or Crabbe instead of their actual names, it just seemed too weird to be writing Draco, creepy... Finally he was satisfied with the letter and he folded neatly before opening Hedwig's cage. The snowy owl hooted softly and nipped Harry's ear affectionately. Harry stroked her smooth head and gave her an owl treat.
“Hedwig, this letter's for Draco Malfoy,” he whispered to her, not wanting to raise his voice and make it seem more real than it was.
Hedwig hooted once more and then flew out of the window in the direction of Malfoy Manor. Harry watched her go, his shoulders tense. Malfoy had better have a damn good excuse for this.
♠ ♠ ♠
The next chapter, I hope you like it!