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Book Four and Three Quarters (standard:adventure, 42207 words)
Author: MabAdded: Mar 24 2002Views/Reads: 2478/2183Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A spin-off from the Harry Potter series. Harry, Ron and Hermione go to stay with Harry's uncle Sirius Black for the summer holidays - but does everything go simply? It does not.
 



~BOOK 4 ¾ ~ 

~ For Paffy ~ 

Disclaimer:   I don't own the characters <sob> - I've just borrowed them
to play with while I wait for JKR to write the next book. I've brought 
them back all in one piece, though... (well, more or less.) 

Rating:   No slash, no sex – not even too much violence. Lame, hey? Read
on... 

...And, by the way, if you're into HP stories I recommend the
fanfictions on this site by Gryffindor_Girl, which are excellent! 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ 

The boy called Harry Potter stared out of the tiny window, and sighed. A
white owl sat on his shoulder, tweaking his ear with her beak, and 
Harry rubbed her feathers absently with an affectionate finger. 

“Oh, Hedwig,” he said miserably. 

That summer was the worst Harry had ever had. Not because Dudley was
back off his diet and insisting that he eat all of Harry's food as well 
as his own, not because Aunt Petunia had decided her little Dudders 
should take up some kind of sport instead, and suggested he practise 
his aggressive yoga on Harry; it wasn't even because Uncle Vernon had 
threatened to handcuff him to the piano if he uttered a single word 
about Hogwarts or his wizarding friends.  No, it was the worst summer 
of Harry's fourteen years because Sirius Black had sent him an owl 
asking if he, Ron and Hermione would like to go and stay with him in 
his house – and there wasn't a thing Harry could do about it. 

Sirius Black was Harry's godfather. He was also a convicted murderer –
in both the magic and muggle worlds – accused of a crime he hadn't 
committed, and hiding from the Ministry of Magic. Harry had been 
delighted to hear from him: he wanted nothing more than to spend the 
remainder of the holiday with him, and his two best friends, Ron 
Weasley and Hermione Granger. He wasn't worried about the danger of 
Sirius being caught – in his letter, Sirius had said that he was safe 
where he was, and Harry believed him. He knew Sirius would never place 
him or the others in danger if he could help it. 

But there was simply no way that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would let
him go. Although scared at the prospect of Harry having a homicidal 
maniac as a guardian, they had both nonetheless sternly forbidden Harry 
to bring up the subject 

“But why?” Harry had asked, exasperated over breakfast one morning. “You
want to get rid of me – I want to get out – so why don't you just let 
me go?” 

“That'll be enough of that, boy,” Uncle Vernon had said, furiously,
toast crumbs flying from his mouth as he spluttered. “One more word – 
one more word – and it'll be the piano for you.” 

Harry had quickly learned to dislike the piano thoroughly: the last time
Vernon had left him there, Dudley had came and jumped repeatedly up and 
down on the keys, making loud discordant noises very close to Harry's 
head. He hadn't stopped until Aunt Petunia had called him in for lunch 
– which, naturally, Harry wasn't given – and his ears were still 
ringing. That had been two weeks ago. 

So Harry sat in his small room, looking wistfully out of the window,
being careful not to make any noise that might make his Aunt or Uncle 
remember he was there and shout at him to mow the lawn or some equally 
tedious task, and waited hopefully for more owls from Ron, Hermione or 
Sirius. But the days wore on, and still no news came. 

And then, a month after Sirius's invitation and Harry's reluctant
refusal, Pigwidgeon arrived. 

Pigwidgeon – or Pig, as Ron, his owner, called him – was a small and
highly excitable owl that more closely resembled a bundle of brown 
feathers. He flew straight in through Harry's open window one night, 


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