nightseer

 Letters to No One


…stupid tournament. I have no idea how I survived the dragon and the lake. Sheer dumb luck, I suspect. When I think about what might happen next, I’m scared. All the possibilities my mind comes up with make me want to puke until Madam Pomfrey locks me in the infirmary so I can’t participate. This thing is full of things only seventh year students can handle, maybe sixth years if they’re really smart, and the third task is going to be the hardest. I’m fourteen, only in my fourth year here. There’s no way I can cover everything they know in the next few months. I’ve been trying since my name came out of the goblet on Halloween.

I hate Halloween. My parents were murdered on Halloween thanks to a back stabbing rat who couldn’t keep his mouth shut. A troll almost clubbed one of my best friends to death on Halloween. Halloween was the day Filch decided I had killed his cat and made it his mission in life to make me miserable. Halloween is the day my name came out of that stupid goblet—someone wants to kill me in a roundabout way ‘cause my mum saved me from Voldemort and they used the day he killed my parents to start their stupid plot.

Everything sucky happens on Halloween.

I’m sending this thing off with Hedwig now. I’m going to tell her to deliver it to whoever she wants or drop it in the ocean; I haven’t decided yet. I don’t think she’ll take it to a Death Eater (stupid name, huh?). She’s too smart to let something like this fall into enemy hands. (Yes, I’m fourteen years old and I have people out to kill me and no one wants to admit it but me. Everyone thinks keeping me wrapped up in wool and cotton will keep me safe.) I hope she doesn’t take this to Sirius; I don’t want him knowing how scared I am. To him I’m an extension of my father and he…I don’t know. I just needed to get all of this out before I exploded. I really hope whoever reads this isn’t a witch or wizard. I don’t think I could take having this printed in the Prophet.

Harry

Heero felt Trowa’s eyes on him and the owl sitting on his shoulder as he folded the parchment letter and stuffed it back in its envelope. Heero didn’t know what to tell the kid other than the letter was one giant whine-fest and he thought the boy was in dire need of medication.

Heero winced when the owl, as if she could sense his thoughts, tugged fiercely on his hair. He turned his head just enough to glare at her. She returned it with one of her own before flying off to where his bag was lying on the ground. He was stunned when she used her beak and claws to open it and pull out a few sheets of paper and a pen.

“I am not writing back,” Heero stated flatly, ripping the printouts from her claws.

The owl puffed her feathers and hooted at him like she was issuing an order. Yes, you will, her eyes seemed to say.

“No.”

If owls could smirk, Hedwig was doing a rather vicious one as she turned her head to look at his bag and back at him. She backed up against the bag and ruffled her feathers in a way that appeared ominous to Heero. Her eyes met his in a silent dare.

“You wouldn’t,” Heero hissed as Trowa coughed.

Hedwig hooted smugly and bobbed in place, an owl-ish ‘I will’. Not that owls could be smug, Heero reminded himself. She was just trained, well trained.

“You should give into her demands,” Trowa said with poorly hidden amusement. “She’s hovering over your extra gun.”

Odin’s gun; she was threatening Odin’s gun! Heero growled at the owl. She hooted back and shifted ever so slightly. “I can’t write on these,” Heero said, waving the printouts Hedwig had pulled from his bag.

Trowa stood and made his way to the truck. “I’ll see if I can find something. If I can’t, you can always use the back of the letter,” he said softly, that damn amused smile still on his face.

Heero growled softly as Trowa walked off. “I should have shot you,” he said to the owl.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…once told me to follow my emotions. In your case, following your emotions would lead to cowardice if fear is all you’re feeling. I suggest you look past your fear and see what else you’re feeling. Use that to guide you. Humans feel fear as a reminder to be cautious, not for you to hide behind.

I don’t care what she does to this one, it’s the last one I’m writing. If she doesn’t take it, it’s her problem.

Heero

P.S. You need to retrain your pet. She threatened to shit on something my father gave me if I didn’t write back.

“Hedwig,” Harry screeched, crumpling the letter and hiding it in his lap so Ron and Hermione, who kept trying to read it, couldn’t see it. “I was going to throw that away! I can’t believe you took it.”

Hedwig ignored him and continued to steal bacon from his plate.

“Harry?” Hermione whispered.

Harry stopped glaring at Hedwig and looked up to see Hermione was staring at him, her worried ‘I will get to the bottom of this’ expression firmly in place. Ron was staring at him too, his mouth hanging open and showing off his half chewed eggs, his eyes moving from Harry’s face to the letter Harry was hiding in his lap. Feeling more eyes on him, Harry looked up at the head table.

Dumbledore was frowning at him, his blue eyes concerned. McGonagall was sending him her best disapproving glare. Snape…Harry’s blush deepened when he saw the amused sneer on Snape’s face.

Draco Malfoy laughed, and that was it for Harry. He grabbed his bag from the floor and ran. He ran like he had when he was nine years old and Dudley and Piers were playing their favorite game, Harry-hunting.

He heard Hermione and Ron calling for him, but he didn’t stop. He passed the doors leading outside, instead heading for the stairs. Outside was too obvious, outside meant he could be found easily. Staying inside the castle gave him options, places to hide, places he could lick his wounds in private without Hermione and Ron trying to help but only making it worse. All he had to do was get high enough and far away from the Great Hall before Hermione and Ron decided to follow him. Moody had the map; he didn’t have to worry about anyone finding him with that.

He had written that letter last week when things had just gotten to be too much, when the late nights of studying and sneaking books out of the library had overwhelmed him, when Snape’s sneering and Malfoy’s laughs wouldn’t stop, when Ron’s overenthusiastic help and Hermione’s concern had reached all time highs. It had come down to getting a diary or writing a letter he could burn or get Hedwig to drop in the ocean. He had chosen a letter.

He regretted not buying the diary, despite the connection to Voldemort. Hedwig wouldn’t have delivered a diary to someone without explicit instructions.

Harry was panting by the time he reached the astronomy tower. Just like every other morning, it was quiet and deserted, and it would stay that way until noon when Professor Sinistra came to set up for the night. Harry tossed his bag in the nearest corner and sat on the wall. He sat there for a long time, staring out at the grounds and trying not to cry. Embarrassment and frustration were not good reasons to cry; even the supreme level of embarrassment he was feeling wasn’t reason enough.

When he felt he could read it again without imploding, Harry un-crumpled the letter and smoothed it out. This time, his embarrassment some stranger thought he was the biggest weakling ever faded a bit as he read. Heero, whoever he was, had a point—he did let fear guide most of his actions. He let Ron’s fear of Parseltongue stop him from using it; he let Hermione’s fear of being alone force him to make up with Ron when he wasn’t ready; he let his fear of the Dursleys’ finding out he was doing better than Dudley in school from doing his best; he let his fear of not being accepted stop him from choosing his own classes at the end of second year; he let his fear of loosing the only home he had ever known stop him from standing up to Snape…

Harry stopped himself before he ended up with a list of regrets as long as Hogwarts was tall. He knew it would go on for quite a while.

He stared at the letter, frowning at nothing in particular. The way Heero wrote made Harry think he was years older, but there were also little things scattered among the advice in the first half that made Harry think he wasn’t that much older after all. It was as if his anger at Hedwig had caused him to loose his focus and he had found it again halfway through. After reading the letter for a fourth time, Harry decided Heero wasn’t much older than him, just really driven and smart like Hermione. He also decided, despite the lack of questions about his sanity, Heero didn’t believe in magic. The way the other boy couldn’t accept Hedwig threatening him of her own volition proved it to Harry.

Harry summoned his bag and pulled out a fresh roll of parchment. It was breaking the law, telling a muggle about the wizarding world, but he wanted to write back. He used the excuse Hedwig could never apologize, so he would for her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“She’s back,” Trowa said in a low voice that barely carried past the walkway, and Heero had to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to shoot his gun inside the hanger, annoying owl or no annoying owl, as the OZ soldiers would take that as ‘Unauthorized Aggressive Action’—once again, Heero had to stop himself from snorting at Noin’s term for any fighting outside of the planned mobile suit battle.

Heero finished screwing the panel back into place and crawled out from behind the pilot’s chair. Hedwig was clutching a bar on Heavyarms' door panel with one claw, the other gripping the letter tied to her leg. He held his arm out and she reluctantly let go to fly to him. He hadn’t forgiven her for almost using Odin’s gun as a toilet and she hadn’t forgiven him for shooting at her when she delivered the second letter, but they tolerated each other.

“How did you get here?” Heero murmured as he untied the letter. He didn’t expect an answer, not really, but he was curious as to how she gotten from Egypt to Scotland to Antarctica in less than week. Hedwig gave him a look that said she thought he was a moron and lifted her right leg to show him a small black and gold cuff. Heero resisted the impulse to take it off and examine it, and shook her off his arm. “Go bother Trowa. He likes you.”

Heero made a mental note to clean up the mess she had made on the door on her way out, and he sat down in the pilot’s chair. Writing to this boy was a risk, but it was an interesting one. The first letter had been a whine-fest, but the others weren’t, although the second one had mostly been one long apology—one long apology with a few curious questions. Heero had ignored the questions and told Harry to quit apologizing for stupid animals, resulting in a third letter, which had been more of a written rant that Hedwig wasn’t stupid, she really was as smart as he claimed, she looked after him like a mother, and Harry would appreciate it if Heero didn’t insult the first gift Harry had ever been given. Several letters later, Heero had to admit he was enjoying writing to the younger boy, if only for the enjoyment of arguing with someone who wasn’t afraid of him and wasn’t Relena or one of the other pilots.

Harry was a strange mix of innocent and jaded. He wasn’t so innocent he was annoying like Relena could be at times, but he wasn’t so jaded he couldn’t enjoy life, either. His views on the war were something Heero could understand, unlike Relena’s belief all fighting was unnecessary, and Harry hadn’t dismissed Heero’s thoughts on why the war was necessary. He understood why Heero fought, even though he wished Heero didn’t. Heero hadn’t written back after that letter, and had received another long rant about Harry being able to keep his mouth shut when it was necessary and that he was studying a book he had found on Occlumency so no one could pick at his thoughts without his knowing. Heero had still refused to write back. The next time Hedwig had shown up, she had dropped a copy of the book and a note saying Treize was a wizard in Heero’s lap. Heero’s letter in return had started out as a simple thank you for the warning and had ended up being his own little venting session about too many people knowing who he was. Heero knew from Harry’s following letter the younger boy had been laughing at him. The ‘Do you feel better now?’ at the bottom had been a dead give away.

Heero frowned as he turned the current letter over in his hands. It was thicker than the others and his name on the front of the envelope was blurred by what looked like tear marks. Heero broke the wax seal on the back and pulled the letter out, keeping a little of his attention on what was going on in the hanger and trusting Trowa to warn him if someone came too close.

Remember my first letter, where I wrote I was scared of the next task in the tournament? If I didn’t think divination was complete bullshit, I’d think it was a premonition.

Cedric’s dead. Wormtail killed him.

I wish hadn’t written that out. It makes it more real.

I should start at the beginning so you know what I’m talking about. You know the last task was a maze…

By the end of the first page, Heero was vaguely concerned.

…We thought it was another part of the tournament, that the portkey was taking us to the next challenge. Hermione says that was expected since no one told us anything beyond ‘Here’s a maze. Have at it.’ But the second we got there, my scar started feeling prickly. It didn’t take long before it burned like it had during my first year when Voldemort tried to kill me. I should have known and made Cedric turn back. By the time Wormtail carried ugly baby Voldemort over to us, it felt like someone had shoved a hot poker in my head and was wiggling it around. I couldn’t even tell him to run…

…The Avada Kedavra is roughly like getting shot, but without the chance the person on the other end is a crappy shot or not aiming to kill. It doesn’t matter where it hits the body, it will kill. There’s no known magical shield beyond what my mum did and no one knows how she did it. There was nothing near him he could hide behind. Cedric didn’t stand a chance…

…Crucio…I don’t know how else to describe it other than it hurts. While Madam Pomfrey was shoving potions down my throat earlier today, she said it burns and cuts at the nerves. I think that might be a good way to describe it, one giant burn from the inside out with needles and glass shards involved somehow. I know I screamed. I hate that. He liked making me scream…

It was at that point, halfway through the third page, Heero realized the distant, not-quite-real way he cared about what happened to the boy was evolving into something a little more substantial. Heero stopped for a few minutes, finding it strange he cared about someone he had yet to meet face to face, before shaking off the feeling as he started reading again.

…It’s easier writing this out to you, compared to sitting in the headmaster’s office and telling him. And it’s not because it gets easier or because picking at it helps bleed off the shock and pain. I think…I think it’s because I’ve never met you. I can’t picture you looking at me with pity (like Hermione and Ron do), or accusation (like the Hufflepuffs do—Cedric was a Hufflepuff), or even sympathetic understanding (like the headmaster and my godfather do). None of those really seem like something you would do. I think you’d probably glare at me (there’d definitely be eyebrow raising involved somewhere) and force me to analyze what had happened, make me accept that Voldemort scares the hell out of me but one day I have to face him and be forced to fight him again, make me learn from what happened this time. I wish someone here would do that, or leave me alone long enough to do it myself. They still want to wrap me in wool and cotton and tell me the “bad man” won’t be coming for me. (The bad man bit is a direct quote from Mrs. Weasley. She’d lock me away in her vault if she thought it would keep me safe.)

The black thing on Hedwig’s leg is a portkey of sorts, something that can take her from place to place almost instantaneously. It’s illegal for me to make one solely for carrying a person, but making one for Hedwig with a little extra magic for that just in case scenario is okay. I’ve been really bored here in the hospital wing, looking up spells and laws until I’m too tired to dream. It’s amazing how many loopholes wizarding law has, the portkey one being the easiest example. I’m not sure if it will actually carry a person, though Professor Flitwick said it would. (It’s amazing what one semi-fake crying fit will get a teacher to admit to. I kinda feel bad for playing on his emotions like that.)

Anyway, the portkey is keyed to you and me only. I had to burn your letters and use the ashes to get a fix on your aura, so that’s one less thing for you to worry about. She should be able to find you anywhere on Earth with it on, and she’s the only one who can activate it. You can take it off of her and break it if you want. I just needed something to do while stuck in here and I wanted to get rid of your letters before I go home next week for the summer (If I could figure it out from so few clues, I’m sure my aunt could too). Ron and Hermione won’t go through my things without permission, but my cousin is another matter, especially if it means he could get me in trouble with my aunt and kicked out.

I have to go now. Madam Pomfrey’s coming at me with my next dose of Dreamless Sleep and nerve potions. I hate Dreamless sleep; I’d rather risk having the nightmares. Getting drugged into not having them cheapens what happened to Cedric in a way I can’t explain.

Harry

With forced calm, Heero folded the letter and tucked it back into its envelope, his mind racing. He had no idea when Harry had stepped over that invisible line, when he had become someone Heero wanted to protect, but he had. Heero suspected it had happened when he had read Harry’s description of Crucio. Killing an enemy was something Heero understood; toying with an enemy for the sole purpose of causing pain was a completely different matter. It was the one thing OZ didn’t do. Oz used people, forced them to submit, played dirty when it suited them, but they didn’t toy with people.

Heero grimaced when he realized he was starting to respect Treize and the way he forced most of his people to hold to a strict code of ethics. Respecting Treize because he was a dangerous opponent was one thing, discovering he respected Treize for the few morals he managed to cling to turned Heero’s stomach.

“Bad news?” Trowa called from the walkway outside.

“Yes,” Heero said as he hid the letter inside the cockpit. He’d destroy it later when there wasn’t the chance someone here would find him before he was done.

“You can’t save everyone, Heero,” Trowa said quietly. “You have enough trouble keeping Relena out of danger.”

Heero snorted, refusing to release the tired laugh that wanted to escape. There was no ‘keeping’ Relena from anything. He could give her warnings and threaten to shoot her until he was blue in the face and his hand was about to fall off, and she would still do what she wanted. The girl was the most stubborn individual Heero had ever met, which, he reflected, she needed to be to survive the war. But there were times when he was tempted to shoot her in a nonfatal area just to get her to realize how dangerous her stunts really were. He couldn’t bring himself to kill her, but he was sure he could injure her if he convinced his mind it was for her own good.

“Heero-”

“Hey, who’s the Harry Potter fan?” one of the techs said as he walked over to where Trowa was. He grinned at Hedwig and tried to stroke her feathers. Heero wasn’t surprised when the owl snapped her beak at the tech and shuffled down the railing. She turned irritable when someone interrupted her time with Trowa.

“Harry Potter?” Trowa asked, glancing at Heero, silently asking him the same thing Heero was thinking. How well known was this kid?

“Snowy owls became popular after it got out the kid has one,” the tech said, digging around in his pockets. “My nephews pitched a fit when Dennis couldn’t get one before he started Hogwarts. Said every book he had ever read said Potter has a Snowy owl, and Colin swore Potter really has one. My brother-in-law couldn’t afford it, though. Potter’s owl is from one of those rare lines bred to be companions; they’re damn expensive. Ah, found it!” He held half peanut butter cracker sandwich out to Hedwig, who gently took it from his fingers.

“They’re not worth the money,” Heero said, thinking of his gun. Hedwig swallowed her treat and shot him a dark look. “You went in the wrong suit,” he said, jerking his head towards Wing. “That one’s mine.”

Hedwig moved her wings in an owl shrug as if to say ‘As long as there’s a chance you might step in it.’

Trowa coughed, using it as an excuse to cover his smile with his hand, and the tech outright laughed. “She definitely a companion owl,” the tech said, reaching out to stroke Hedwig’s feathers again, and this time she let him. “They’re the only owls that express their opinions like that. Damn protective, too. I might end up shelling out the money for one for my cousins if things stay the way they are now.”

“Voldemort or the war?” Heero asked, eyeing Hedwig critically. He couldn’t understand why anyone would want something as annoying as her for a pet, yet it sounded like there was more to the bird than an attitude problem.

“You heard about that, huh? Thanks to Colin’s hero worship, I got an email from my sister last night about that, asking if I thought she should pull the boys out of school.” The tech shook his head, a frustrated expression on his face. “There isn’t much I can do about keeping Dennis and Colin away from either war, but companion owls have been known to take the killing curse for their owners. Colin and Dennis idolize Potter; probably follow him to the end of the universe if the kid let them. It would make me feel better knowing there was a chance they might survive that.”

“You know a lot about these owls for someone who hasn’t bought one,” Trowa said quietly, his eyes flickering from Heero to the tech. He shot Heero a warning look, one Heero planned on ignoring.

“I did some research when Dennis first asked for one,” the tech said with a shrug. “I must have driven that shopkeeper crazy with all my questions.”

“Then you wouldn’t know how to get a computer to work in their school,” Heero stated flatly, earning himself one of Trowa’s rare disapproving glares. Heero glared back.

“It’s impossible; it’s why I was so interested in the owls,” the tech said firmly. “The school is over a thousand years old, and magic has permeated the castle and the grounds. Even the neighboring town. Old fashioned radios, watches with gears instead of microchips, and antique cameras can work within the wards, but not much else. Magic and technology can’t exist in the same space.

“If your friend went to Beauxbatons, you would be able to have one charmed so it would work, but not Hogwarts,” the tech added in what he thought was a soothing voice; Heero took it as a challenge. “Hogwarts is too old.”

Heero nodded and turned to go back into the cockpit, stepping over Hedwig’s latest failed attack. He would continue working on the adjustments to Heavyarms until it was time for Trowa to take over. Then he would hook his computer up to the OZ mainframe and do a search. If Treize was a wizard, then Dermail knew magic existed and he was power-hungry enough to have researched the idea of mixing technology and magic. There was a way to mix the two; he simply had to find it. It was too dangerous for Hedwig to deliver letters if an OZ mechanic in Antarctica could recognize her.

“What did I say?”

“Never tell Heero something is impossible,” Trowa said. “He’s good at proving people wrong.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…lost his purpose. Noin tried to give him one by using Relena, his sister, but I don’t think Zechs cared the way she wanted him to. He was more concerned the last ‘pure’ heir to the Sanc throne was putting herself in the middle of a fight. It angers me Zechs can’t accept what he has become, that he can’t accept his father is dead and no one can live up to King Peacecraft’s ideals in this world, not even Relena. Zechs did what he had to, what was needed for him to survive. I don’t think his father would hate him for that. But the only father I’ve ever known trained me to be an assassin, so I can’t say I understand Zechs’s beliefs.

Yes, Relena was there again. You know of my visit to Marshall Noventa’s wife and granddaughter and how that ended. Relena was asked to keep a letter from Mrs. Noventa to give to me when we saw each other again. Relena, in what I’ve learned is typical Relena fashion, hunted me down instead of waiting. She had her butler fly her plane through our fight so she could stop us and read me the letter. (Yes, Harry, her seventy year old butler.) She also ordered me to kill Zechs at one point because we refused to stop fighting. For a pacifist, she’s extremely bloodthirsty. Not that I planned on listening to her.

I hope Noin’s revelation Zechs is really Milliardo Peacecraft finally makes Relena understand how her impulsive actions and words have consequences…

…I have my own project going to pass the time until they quit searching for me. From what I understand, common knowledge says magic does not mix with electricity or advanced technology, but I’ve found proof there are schools in the colonies for wizards and Duke Dermail has formed several research groups in the hopes of finding a way to combine the two, yet his efforts keep failing. Obviously your government is good at hiding things. However, I have made a contact on a message board that is willing to help me. She finds it amusing a muggle (whatever that means) has discovered your society…

…too dangerous for Hedwig to continue delivering letters. She is extremely recognizable, and her reaction to Trowa stuffing her in the cockpit of my suit was extremely messy and disgusting. I’m not sure if it was because it was my suit or because of the fighting, but I can’t risk her appearing during a fight and I won’t always be on Earth. By the time I send this, my contact should have sent the computer I paid her to make and enchant…

I can’t believe I’m using enchant outside of describing a fantasy novel or talking to a girl from one of those boarding schools I’ve been forced to attend…

…According to your school’s website (yes, it has a website for muggleborn parents. And yes, I know what that means now.), your train will arrive tomorrow. I will meet you there.

Heero

“Oh Merlin,” Harry squeaked. Despite knowing he was alone on the astronomy tower, he folded the letter up in his lap and looked around, and then he checked the map, just to be sure. Positive he really was alone, Harry tucked the map in his bag again and unfolded the letter. He reread the last few paragraphs, unable to wrap his mind around what he was seeing.

Heero was meeting him at King’s Cross. Heero had researched magic. Heero had proof magic and technology could exist in harmony. Heero had bought him a computer?

That last one was the hardest for Harry to believe. Not only was it difficult to believe someone would buy something so expensive for a person they had never met, he had trouble believing a Gundam pilot had that kind of money to throw around. It wasn’t like Heero could walk into a bank and make a withdrawal, and ATMs had cameras. Of course, Heero using a message board implied everything had taken place online, but it still seemed weird. Heero buying him a computer implied…something. That they were friends, maybe? It just seemed like such a un-Heero thing, but then Harry was also surprised Heero was still writing him.

Until Heero’s rant, all of Heero’s responses had been cold and distant, almost no personal details to be found, but there had been enough. Enough clues for Harry to figure out what Heero was, enough Harry had felt uneasy keeping those letters, enough he had asked Dobby to get the letters from his trunk instead of Ron. Not that Ron would have read them without asking, but Hermione, for reasons Harry didn’t understand, found it upsetting there was a part of his life Harry wasn’t willing to share. She would have gotten it out of Ron what Harry had asked him to do and taken the letters from him so she could read them on the way to the hospital wing. The things Heero had written in his rant about Harry and Relena would have immediately told her who he was, not left her to figure it out like Harry had. Even among wizards, it was common knowledge Relena Darlian-Peacecraft was fascinated with one of the Gundam pilots.

Harry sighed at the letter. He would have to burn this one too, though he wanted to keep it. Heero had written it over a series of days and it was longer than anything he had written before. Besides the rant letter, it was the first letter Heero had written that wasn’t filled with demands for information disguised as questions, lists made into sentences because they had verbs, and some tiny nugget of advice in response to Harry’s letters. And there were details and personal thoughts. Harry wondered if Heero had been aware of what he was doing and made a conscious decision to write this way, or if it had simply happened and he hadn’t noticed until he was done. Either way, Harry suspected it was the first real letter Heero had ever written.

It was also the most incriminating letter. He really needed to get rid of it, but…

Harry checked the map one more time. Snape was down in the dungeons; Dumbledore and Mad-Eye were cleaning out Crouch’s office; McGonagall was in her office, and Ron and Hermione were in the owlery with Hedwig. Harry made a mental note to ask Professor Flitwick to check Hedwig for charms—he didn’t think Hermione would do anything to betray his trust, but couldn’t take the chance her curiosity would override her common sense either. Harry scanned the map one more time and finally found Malfoy was in the Slytherin Common room. Relatively sure he would be alone for a while, Harry snuggled back into his corner of the astronomy tower to read the letter one more time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Mr. Weasley.”

Arthur reluctantly turned away from studying the muggle trains and smiled at the young man who had called his name. It was an effort to keep his smile once he got his first look at the serious boy. He appeared normal enough for a muggle boy, if dressed in a slightly more formal fashion compared to the other muggle children in the station, but his eyes were cold and distant.

Arthur forced his smile to be a bit warmer, despite his instincts warning him to be wary. “Yes?”

“I…” The boy’s eyes flickered to the brick pillar hiding the entrance to the Hogwarts’ platform. “I’m meeting a friend before my brother and I leave on vacation. I was wondering if it was possible for a muggle to get onto the platform. I’d like to give him his birthday gift before we go,” he said, patting the small duffle bag hanging from his shoulder.

Arthur’s smile stopped being forced at the brief flicker of nervousness in the boy’s eyes, and he relaxed. This wasn’t one of those metal suit pilots that had the muggles in such an uproar, just a young muggle taking his first step into the wizarding world. “Of course it’s possible. Just walk on through. The train’s not arriving for another ten minutes, though. Perhaps you’d rather wait out here?” he suggested.

The boy shook his head. “No,” he replied, already moving to step through the barrier.

“Ah, young man?” Arthur said, causing the boy to start, though he hid it well, and turn around. “How do you know who I am?”

The boy blinked, and there was a hint of a smile before his face smoothed back to its original serious expression. “My friend described your sons’ hair as Weasley red. I guessed.”

Arthur chuckled and ran a hand through his bright red hair. “We are a rather memorable lot, aren’t we?”

The boy nodded and squared his shoulders as he stepped through the fake brick wall. It was suddenly obvious to Arthur the boy was forcing himself to meet his friend on the platform, most likely to prove magic being real did not bother him.

“The young and their grand gestures,” Arthur murmured as he turned back to his study muggle trains. It was absolutely fascinating the way muggles had adapted to life without magic. He wondered what a muggle would say about wizards. Would it be amazing to them how wizards lived without teac…toch…?

Arthur frowned. He couldn’t remember the word Hermione and Harry said muggles used to describe all their gadgets and gizmos, and it was such an important word. It started with a t and ended with a y…

Molly poked her head out of the barrier, an act that would have appeared rather strange to the muggles if the Look Away charms hadn’t been freshly applied that very morning. “Arthur! Get in here right now; the train’s here!”

Arthur followed his wife back through and tried to keep up with her as she rushed towards Ginny and Hermione, who were just stepping off the train, but it was difficult since he was also looking for the boy he had seen before. Arthur was more than a little curious as to who the boy was meeting.

Spotting the boy waiting by one of the back cars, Arthur stopped long enough to give Ginny a hug and tell Molly he would look for the twins and Ron, before pushing his way through the crowd. He lost sight of the boy several times, but every time Arthur saw him again, the boy was in the exact same place, refusing to move and forcing people to move around him. Very unusual for a muggle. Very unusual for a teenager, muggle or wizard.

Arthur pushed his way through the last group of students just in time to see Harry, who was backing out of the train, one hand holding Hedwig’s cage while the other tugged on his trunk, stumble and start to fall backwards. Arthur reached for his wand, but before he could wrap his hand around it, the muggle boy had darted forward to catch Harry. Arthur was stunned to see Harry turn his head and, after a moment of confusion, relax into the boy’s grip, smiling warmly.

“I wasn’t sure if you would be here or outside,” Harry said, letting the muggle boy take charge of his trunk after the boy refused to touch Hedwig’s cage.

“I didn’t want to run into your uncle,” the boy replied, as he pulled Harry’s trunk off the train, forcing George to follow it off the train, as he was holding the handle on the other end.

Harry snorted as he snagged a free trolley. “Don’t blame you. I’d avoid my uncle if I could.”

George’s expression lit up as he looked from Harry to the boy. Arthur hurried forward, determined to put a stop to George’s teasing before it began. Harry was so lonely during the summers, and Arthur was too pleased to find Harry had a muggle friend to let his sons get away with their normal antics and possibly chase the boy off.

“George Weasley, what were you thinking, letting Harry pull at stunt like that?” he demanded, clapping a hand on George’s shoulder, getting George’s attention on him instead of the boys. “Molly would have had a fit if she had seen that.”

“I was a little surprised by the stunt he pulled before we got off the train,” George muttered, scanning the crowd. “Mum’s not around, right?”

“Your mother is with Ginny and Hermione,” Arthur reassured, keeping one eye on Harry and his friend as they moved Harry’s trunk onto the trolley. The two boys were now speaking too softly for him to hear over the noise of the other students in the station, but Harry wasn’t at all tense around the boy. If anything, Harry was more relaxed than he had been the week before when Arthur had visited him in the infirmary, not normal behavior for Harry at the end of the school year. Every previous year, Harry had been a bundle of tense, nervous energy as he got of the train and went to meet his uncle. It was strange to see him like this.

“I’m surprised Ginny’s tolerating Hermione near her, with her crush on Harry and all,” George said in a low voice, catching Arthur’s attention. He jerked his head towards the train. “Fred’s getting our trunks. Mind helping, Dad?”

“What do you mean by ‘Ginny’s tolerating Hermione’?” Arthur asked, as he followed George onto the train. He felt silly asking his son for schoolyard gossip, but he had thought Ginny was over her crush.

“Harry’s had a pen pal for the past while—I’m guessing that guy; he refused to tell Hermione and Ron who he was writing to. Hermione’s been in a snit about it ever since Harry told her to mind her own business. Things came to head last night when Harry caught her putting a tracking spell on Hedwig to find out who he’s been writing to,” George explained, leading the way down the corridor. “Harry took Hedwig to Professor Flitwick to have the spell removed. Now Hermione’s starting off next year with four weeks of detention for not only destroying Harry’s extra credit project but for almost killing Hedwig. Turns out Hermione’s spell reacted badly with the portkey Harry had made for Hedwig and would have killed Hedwig if she had tried to use it.

“They had a big row in the common room last night,” George said with a grimace. He stopped in front of a compartment, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. “Hermione said some fairly stupid things-”

“-Like Harry’s life is everyone’s business, since Voldemort’s back and he’ll definitely be going for anyone close to Harry,” Fred said as George helped him get the first of their trunks off the top rack.

“Harry shot back it wasn’t fair that he wasn’t allowed to keep secrets, because Hermione certainly kept her own,” George said with a grunt as he and Fred lifted the second trunk. “And that as far as he was concerned, he and Hermione weren’t friends until she learned to keep her nose out of his private business, and that her need to know everything shouldn’t apply to other people-”

“-Unless she cared to be known as a busy body it-rhymes-with-witch as well as a know it all pain in the arse. That was all before Harry told her he would never forgive her for almost killing Hedwig because she thinks she knows everything and hadn’t thought to check if the tracking charm she had chosen was safe,” Fred finished. He shook his head in disgust as he and George dropped the trunk on the floor. “Hermione’s been crying ever since, and Harry hid back here with us for the trip. Said it was too tempting to hex her.”

Arthur gaped at his sons. It was disturbing Harry and Hermione had had such a fight, but it was just as disturbing that Harry, at fourteen, had created a portkey. Portkeys were post NEWT; one had to take a special course at the ministry to learn how to make one. Of course, it was easier to create a portkey for an owl, but that was a NEWT level spell on its own.

Arthur moved to look out the window, focusing on Harry and his friend. Even though he knew about the fight and was looking for signs of it, he could see nothing wrong with Harry beyond a slight frown as the other boy said something. Arthur suspected he knew who that portkey had been delivering Hedwig to. “Did Harry study more this year?”

“I was not expecting that question. Did you see that one coming, brother mine?”

“No, I did not. Think Dad’s priorities are a little screwy?”

“Boys,” Arthur said in a warning tone.

“Not much, Dad,” George said, sounding worried, curious and confused all at once. “Just the cramming for the tournament we wrote you about.”

“Don’t forget his project while he was stuck under Pomfrey’s tender care,” Fred said. “Over a week in the hospital wing. I’m not surprised he asked Professor Flitwick for something to do; just that it was Flitwick and not McGonagall. He barely passed her class.”

Arthur nodded absently. As pleased as he was to find Harry had found a muggle friend for the summers, it was worrisome the amount of loyalty Harry was showing this boy after knowing him for such a short time. It wasn’t like Harry to throw away a four year friendship for someone he barely knew.

He needed to visit Hogwarts. Albus surely knew of Harry and Hermione’s fight, but Harry’s sudden friendship with this boy was not something Albus would know of. With Voldemort’s return, they needed to know if this boy was dangerous, and Albus was the only one with the resources to find out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…It’s quiet here, practically dead. Voldemort’s not doing anything big enough to be noticed. Fudge is still refusing to admit Voldemort’s back. I took your advice and started reading the paper from front to back, and Fudge is doing Voldemort’s work for him. It doesn’t bother me too much that Fudge is using the Prophet to malign my name, other than school is going to suck next term, but he’s also attacking Dumbledore and that’s bad. Dumbledore is trying to get a group together to fight against Voldemort and his followers and there are hints in the paper that he’s trying to warn people, but he can’t do that if people don’t believe him. Three days into break and there are already calls for him to be taken off the Wizengamot. Voldemort’s winning without one battle…

…This computer is a little odd; I’ve gotten too used to living with wizards. It feels strange to use a computer again. I haven’t used one since grade school. Oh, the thing to purge magic from the system was already an eighth full before I turned on that conversion thing. I know they put more wards on the house before I came home, but it’s ridiculous how fast it’s filling up. I wonder if it’s me. Dudley’s Playstation goes wonky around me sometimes.

You do know normal people have solitaire on their computers, right? I’m not complaining, just really bored.

You’re leaving? Already?

I should have seen that coming. Your home does need you, with the news saying Lady is going there…please be careful, Heero. Maybe I’ve spent too much time around Trelawney, but this doesn’t feel right. Something’s off. Things are going to get worse, a lot worse, before they get better.

Don’t do anything stupid.

Harry

“He sounds like Relena,” Heero muttered, as he deleted the email. He closed his laptop and stowed it in its case behind his seat.

A small window opened on Heero’s left screen, and Trowa’s face appeared inside it, although he wasn’t looking at the camera. “Who sounds like Relena?”

“Harry,” Heero said, as he ran a system check on Wing. He frowned at his main screen as information scrolled across it. This Wing wasn’t as good as the Gundam Doctor J had built, but it was close. If he had more time and money, he could make it perfect. “He told me not to do anything stupid. He knows I won’t do anything to jeopardize my mission.”

“Three things, Heero: Relena tells you not to fight, writing to a civilian qualifies as stupid, and I don’t believe he was referring to your mission,” Trowa replied. “He most likely meant your life. He doesn’t want you to die.”

“Hn,” was all the response Heero thought that comment deserved. He went back to checking the OZ bases near where Wufei, Quatre and Duo were. He and Trowa needed to draw suits towards them to buy the others time. Spaceports were immediately stricken from his list—he wasn’t taking his Gundam; it wasn’t worth the risk of getting caught at this point. “There’s another base fifty miles from their location.”

“That base is focused on repairs and supply,” Trowa said, checking his own information.

“And they have three units ready to leave,” Heero replied. “Are you coming with me, or did you have another location in mind?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…easy for OZ. The colonies are accustomed to letting the Alliance control them. They aren’t protesting OZ’s takeover. I expected this, they aren’t used to fighting, but I had hoped they wouldn’t make it this easy for them. It only took the L1 cluster two weeks to decide to make an alliance, with only a token protest against the weapons OZ wants them to build. It will take the L2 and L3 clusters less time if Une starts off with promising the aid they need to repair their older colonies…

…bring them into space?! It makes no sense. It’s too dangerous. I have no idea what those two were thinking; they’re next to impossible to hide on the colonies. Having a Gundam in space while Une’s pilot profiles are floating around is like hiding a canon under a small haystack in an empty field. You might not see it, but you have a good idea where it is.

I need to take care of those files tonight, if I can. I doubt it will do much good, OZ is bound to send out official, hard copy information on us soon, but it might buy me some time…

…Did I tell you about 02? He’s…you’d have to meet him to understand him. He plays the fool, yet I know he’s not.

Normally he’s not a fool. This time he did something that proved he is fully capable of living up to the mask he wears, bringing his suit into space like he did. 05 also made the same mistake, and 04 would have if he hadn’t been forced to destroy his suit. I think 03 and I are the only ones who understand what keeping a low profile means. 02 says my attitude draws more attention, but I personally believe his hair is a bigger problem. That mess is recognizable anywhere.

I’m curious what he’ll say when he finds out I’m planning to attend school under his name. If he tries to enroll here, he’ll be forced to cut that mop to play at being me…

…cause problems while I’m gone. I’ve checked out the message boards and it’s clear your world is just as rocky as mine is at the moment. Don’t cause waves, don’t get caught running your mouth—even if it is the truth, but don’t lie either, and don’t tempt your Minister into doing something stupid. Let your headmaster handle it while you train. You need to improve if you ever wish to survive your war.

Heero

Harry automatically deleted the email and twisted in his chair to look out the window.

Before Cedric’s death, Seamus had teased him about having a girlfriend, with all the letters he was receiving, but it wasn’t like that. He wanted to say it was like having another godfather, someone a bit more responsible than Sirius, but Heero was only seven months older than him, so godfather was out. Definitely not an uncle, either. Too young and the word uncle was forever tainted in Harry’s mind.

His friendship with Heero was almost like having an older brother, yet it wasn’t. Harry tried to picture Heero treating him like Percy and Twins treated Ron, and started snickering at the image of Heero with freckles and dressed in Hogwarts robes and glasses. Not brother-like, either.

He classified everyone close to him in terms of his ideal family (Dumbledore-grandfather. McGonagall-grandmother. Poppy-grandmother. Ron-brother. Hermione-sister.), but Heero wouldn’t fall into a nice, simple slot. It was frustrating.

Still smiling at the image of Percy-Heero, Harry went to shower and then dress for the day. He would have to turn the computer off and hide it before he left, but Harry’s was definitely leaving the house for a while.

Heero was right; he needed to train to survive. There wasn’t much he could do during the summer beyond studying his books and practicing his wand movements, but before Hogwarts he had been a damn good runner and during the tournament Harry had noticed it was harder for him to run as fast as he once had. Living as a wizard was making him lazy.

It was time to get his speed back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

…never thought to check them before, and I’m wishing I hadn’t now. Do you know how disturbing it is to discover there are over two hundred websites dedicated to me, and all of them label me as either an insane, attention seeking brat or a sex symbol?! I just turned fifteen; I’ve never been on a date! But there are seventy year old women out there who want to have sex with me!

*shudders* I’m scarred for life, and I blame you for it.

On a more amusing note, I found out Snape, one of my science professors, has an anti-Potter site (link’s at the bottom). Thanks to Professor Flitwick (and thank you for giving me a reason to talk to the man; I never would have learned so much about my mother otherwise. The man has so many stories about her he’s willing to tell me, I think Hedwig is getting more exercise this summer than I am, with the way she’s flying to him and the bookstore and back here. I wish I could use the bloody phone.), I found out he and my father did not have the best of relationships while at school. He didn’t tell me much, but it was enough for me to know Snape needs to grow up and let it go. The man is being so childish, transferring his hate for my father on to me. However, his site also has some excellent references for books I’m using for my summer work, hence Hedwig’s trips to the bookstore. I can’t wait until he reads it. I expect to wake up hearing him screaming the night after my first class.

By the time summer’s over, I swear I’m going to rival Hermione with all the new books I own. Professor Flitwick’s been sending me recommendations and his old class books (I have to return those at the start of term) since I told him a few things about my family and that I had no clue about the basics. They’ve been a huge help, though there’s only so much I can do on my own before I’m sending a letter full of questions to the professor.

I also blame you for my recent trip into Land of the Geek. Just so you know.

Everything else here is the same. Uncle Vernon is still an ass; Dudley’s wider than he is tall (though there’s more muscle now); Aunt Petunia’s still a bitch; and that lady with the purple hair is still around. (I have yet to figure out who she is, but I don’t think she’s a friend of Tom’s.)

I’m sending this to your old email since Aunt Petunia left me in London for the day and I can’t remember your new one. I hope you get it and don’t delete it with the rest of the junk. Stay safe.

Harry

P.S. Purple lady says she knows Paddy. I get the connection, but when was D. planning on telling me about this? At least I can ask someone else for help with my work, instead of bugging the professor all the time. And send off a hand delivered letter to D. about keeping secrets. I swear the man knows more about my life than I do.

“I know computers are the love of your life, but could you look away from that thing for five seconds?” Duo demanded from his hospital bed. “Have you heard anything from the others or not?!”

Feeling playful, Heero looked at Duo, silently counted to five, and went right back to his computer, deleting the massive amount of junk email that had built up since he had last checked the account. Duo huffed at him, and muttered under his breath about anal pilots and their computers and how they (Heero and Trowa) spent all their time looking at porn.

When Heero was done with the junk, his fingers hovered over the button for a moment before he deleted Harry’s email as well. He was mildly impressed with the amount of information the boy had put into the email without saying anything incriminating. It was rather like one of Duo’s after mission rants—if one didn’t know what was being discussed, it sounded like a bunch of teenage blather, but it contained quite a bit of information if you knew what to look for.

Harry was somewhere other than his aunt’s house, most likely a library, in an attempt to discover who was watching him and despite the observers’ efforts, Harry had caught them at it. His current watcher was also a member of the group Dumbledore was building, the others were as well, and the current woman was a friend or related to the boy’s godfather, someone Harry could possibly manipulate into doing a few things for him. And, most importantly in Heero’s opinion, Harry was studying and exercising to improve his chances of surviving his next encounter with Voldemort.

The only problem Heero had with Harry’s email was Harry using him as the bait for catching his watchers. Yes, Harry had been careful, and yes, he was in a public library; but there was still a good chance the boy could be caught by OZ. Une, when she was in her right mind, was not someone to underestimate. The woman had an extremely impressive information network.

Heero decided to email one of his Earth contacts about the problem. Tia could wipe the library’s security system, just in case. He also made a mental note to remind Harry OZ cells were not a nice place to be, and if the boy wasn’t careful, he’d end up a guest in one.

“Are you done now?” Duo demanded as Heero closed his laptop. He grabbed Heero’s hand when he moved to disconnect the laptop from the internet. “Hospitals, even safe,” Duo rolled his eyes at the idea of a Barton hospital being safe, “ones, aren’t the best place to be. I want out. Now.”

“I’m not breaking you out,” Heero stated flatly. “You need to heal.”

“And G messed with me almost as much as J messed with you,” Duo shot back. “I’ll be up in a week, maybe less.”

Heero shook his head in denial of Duo’s request, and to shake off the memories of J’s enhancement treatments. “You still need to rest for those to work. If you leave, you’ll go right back to fighting, and end up here again,” he added at Duo’s stubborn look.

Duo made a face and turned to glare out the window. He muttered something so softly Heero couldn’t understand him, though he had a fairly good idea what Duo wanted.

He still pretended ignorance. “What?”

Duo turned his glare on Heero. “At least leave the computer. I know a throw away when I see it,” he said, half pleading, half petulant.

Heero sighed and reluctantly handed over the neon pink laptop. “Just remember to junk it after you leave. I stole it off a classmate.”

As he opened the laptop, Duo smirked, a knowing look in his eyes. “You picked pink because you miss the princess. Right?”

Heero immediately decided that didn’t deserve a response, and said, “Do you remember how to get into my main email account?”

Duo’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at being caught snooping and he nodded. “Why?”

“There’s someone I want you to email after I leave. His address is the sixth one on the list. Tell him I have an assignment; he’ll know what it means.”

Heero patiently stood by Duo’s bed as the other teen stared at him, obviously trying to decide if Heero had been replaced with a pod person.

Duo eventually nodded, slowly, and said, “Uh huh. Why? I know I’m asking it a lot, but why do I—or you—need to tell this kid anything?”

“For the same reason I emailed Howard to let him know I was getting you.”

Duo blinked, and then frowned, both curious and suspicious, as he stared at Heero. “You have a civilian friend?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry,

So, ‘Ro asked me to do this, and I’m really confused ‘cause I thought the stick was permanent outside our group, but I’m doing it.

He’s fine, just off on assignment. Things are pretty hectic at the moment, so don’t be surprised if you don’t here from him for a while. Though I did manage to get the guy to admit he hadn’t written in a while already—said something about your last sane email was over four weeks old and your demands were getting fairly annoying. I can answer some questions for ya’ if you’re worried about the bastard. He did tell me the others are okay, if you know any of the other guys.

Anyway, I’m stuck in the hospital for the next week or so and bored out of my mind. Write back, damn it! ‘Ro says compared to Pinky, you’re sane and I need someone to talk to. He also said I should believe you if you say anything weird about your school, and he has proof it’s real. He also told me it’s not to go beyond the group since T already knows and he’s sure Quatre’s a quib or something. What is he talking about?

Duo

P.S. ‘Ro also wanted me to tell you good job on training. Why do you need to train? Are you like…you know?

Hermione stared at the screen, her lips forming a small frown. She had suspected Harry was up to something, but this was ridiculous.

Harry was writing to a muggle. Even worse, Harry was writing to a muggle who was telling others about their world. And to top it all off, he was doing it on an illegal computer spelled to connect to the internet and to run off magic. Harry was breaking the Law. A very big-

“What are you doing!”

Hermione jumped off the bed and turned to the door, a guilty expression on her face, one she immediately forced off her face. She wasn’t the one telling muggles their secrets; she had no reason to feel guilty.

Harry sneered at her as he walked past her and snatched his laptop from her bed. Hermione pretended his scornful look didn’t hurt as she opened her mouth to chastise him for his actions.

She never got the chance.

“I can’t believe you,” Harry yelled, hugging the computer to his chest and glaring at her with hurt green eyes. “Why do you have to know everything? Why? Why can’t I have one damn thing that’s just mine without you poking your nose in it and ratting me out to Dumbledore?!”

Hermione shook her head in denial, but Harry ignored it.

“Don’t lie to me! I asked you for help finding an Occlumency book, and two days later I was called to his office and reprimanded for my independent studies,” he hissed at her. “Never mind it stops the pain of my link with Voldemort, he tried to get me to stop so he could look through my head whenever he pleases. All because you ratted me out. I never told Ron I was studying it,” he added when she shook her head again.

“You’re changing,” Hermione whispered in explanation, shocked at the sheer amount of anger in Harry’s expression and voice. She had come to Grimmauld Place in the hopes she could repair her friendship with Harry, but this boy wasn’t Harry. “Ever since you started writing this guy, you’ve changed.”

Harry snorted as he stalked back to the door. “It’s called growing up, Hermione. You and Ron should try it some time.”

“What you’re doing isn’t growing up!” Hermione shouted back, twisting on the bed to face him, unaware there was a crowd forming in the hallway outside her and Ginny’s room. “You’re being secretive and studying so much and just not acting like you. You’re acting like a Slytherin.

“And that computer-”

“Is from the colonies and completely legal, as it was a gift,” Harry finished for her. He shook his head, looking at her with a mock expression of sadness. “You’re slipping. Normally, your research is perfect, Hermione. But this is what happens when you let other people think for you.”

Hermione curled in on herself, falling back against the headboard, and pretended she wasn’t crying. She was just trying to protect him; why couldn’t he see that?