Butterfly Effect ; H. Potter

65. padfoot in the fire.

Harry was first to wake up in his dormitory next morning. He lay for a moment watching dust swirl in the ray of sunlight coming through the gap in his four-poster's hangings, and saved the thought that it was Saturday. The first week of term seemed to have dragged on for ever, like one gigantic History of Magic lesson.

Judging by the sleepy silence and the freshly minted look of that beam of sunlight, it was just after daybreak. He pulled open the curtains around his bed, got up, and started to dress. The only sound apart from the distant twittering of birds was the slow, deep breathing of his fellow Gryffindors. He opened his schoolbag carefully, pulled out parchment and quill, and headed out of the dormitory for the common room.

"Hey," said Harry, when he saw Antheia walking mindlessly around the common room.

"Hey," she replied.

"What're you doing here this early?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she said. "I wanted to get up before Lavender and Parvati, and I noticed all the hats Hermione knitted for the elves disappeared."

Harry settled himself down comfortably and unrolled his parchment while looking around the room. The detritus of crumpled-up bits of parchment, old Gobstones, empty ingredient jars, and sweet wrappers that usually covered the common room at the end of each day was gone, as were all Hermione's elf hats.

"I wonder how many elves have been set free unwillingly," said Harry.

Antheia settled herself in a seat next to Harry. "What did you come down here for, anyway?"

"I wanted to write a letter to Sirius ..." admitted Harry, knowing Antheia had told him it was risky the night before. "Will - will you help me write it?"

"Alright," said Antheia. "First of all, don't call him Sirius."

"I won't."

Harry uncorked his ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, then held it suspended an inch above the smooth yellowish surface of his parchment, thinking hard ... but after a minute or so he found himself staring into the empty grate, at a complete loss for what to say.

He could now appreciate how hard it had been for Antheia, Ron, and Hermione to write him letters over the summer. How was he supposed to tell Sirius everything that had happened over the past week and pose all the questions he was burning to ask without giving potential letter-thieves a lot of information he did not want them to have?

He sat quite motionless for a while, gazing into the fireplace, then, finally coming to a decision, he dipped his quill into the ink bottle once more and set it resolutely on the parchment.

Dear Snuffles,

Hope you're OK, the first week back here's been terrible, I'm really glad it's the weekend.

"How am I gonna tell him about Umbridge without saying too much?" asked Harry.

"No way you're going to tell him about the lines, are you?"

"No, no, I won't."

"Tell Sirius that she's very nice ... as nice as his mum, even," said Antheia, smirking.

"You're a lifesaver." Harry put his quill to the parchment again and started writing again.

We've got a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Umbridge. She's nearly as nice as your mum. I'm writing because that thing I wrote to you about last summer happened again last night when I was doing a detention with Umbridge.

We're all missing our biggest friend, we hope he'll be back soon.

Please write back quickly.