The Whispering of the Wind (A Harry Potter Fanfiction)

It Sings To Me

The summer was long and boring. I travelled around with Barty Crouch for most of the summer. We were always going to France, but once or twice, he had taken me to Norway*. He had never told me why and always left me with someone else once he reached his destination. I had never bothered asking either because I had the feeling that I would find out eventually.

Of course Malfoy would probably know if it was anything Ministry related. Thanks to his dear old heartless dad.

I used most of my time writing letters. To Harry who was still trapped with the Dursleys. To Hermione who most likely off doing something adventurous with her parents. To Neville who spent time dealing with his garden. To Ron who was able to go to the World Cup with his family plus two. He would probably invite Hermione and Harry seeing as I've already gotten that covered. Most importantly, I had written to Sirius. I wasn't as much of an angry child as I was last year, so I had not been so mean to Sirius. He hadn't been able to tell me where he was or even sign the letter with his real name because the Ministry monitoring the letters. Of course, you already know that. I'm not an idiot.

I had talked to my mysterious friend from America. Of course, he was not so mysterious to me but like I said, I might never decide to tell you. He said he might visit, but I don't know how he would get through the wards at Grimmauld.

Neville's birthday had passed and I had gotten him a jade vine, which would've been disastrous to plant had we not had any magic. He had been wanting one for a while, but his Gran didn't approve of his garden, so she rarely got him anything plant related. He ordered a lot of it and I provided him with a few plants because he took comfort in gardening and I supported his preferences.

Right after Neville's birthday was Harry's. I would've gotten him a cake, but I knew Mrs. Weasley was going to make him one, and nothing could top her cakes and I, of course, couldn't bake. Instead, I had gotten him many savory snacks that would balance out the sheer amount of sugar he would eat. I also would've gotten him clothes, but I didn't know what he liked or his size, so I held back on that. I did, however, know his shoe size. I got him a pair of nice shoes so that he wouldn't have to walk around in those ratty muggle shoes that he always had on. Knowing Harry, he probably wouldn't wear the shoes until I yelled at him about them not being hand-me-downs and that if he doesn't wear them I will hang him upside down on the Astronomy tower.

A few days passed and I had gotten a letter from Harry and Hermione saying that they were to go to the World Cup final with the Weasleys. Like I said. Hermione was going to go to the Burrow the next day and they would get Harry two days before the World Cup. I was a little upset (more than a little) Puddlemere United didn't get to the final, but at least Ireland was able to. Of course I would root for them, no matter how good of a seeker Viktor Krum.

Ron, however, was wishy washy. He would root for Bulgaria if Krum gave him permission to kiss his arse. If Ron had to marry any man in this world, he would choose Krum.

Going away from the Quidditch match, I talked to my elusive friend (only elusive because I don't want to tell you his name). He wore all black as usual, but if that's what he felt was most comfortable in, then I won't say anything. He told me about this war that happened. Of course I was intrigued to know that it spread farther than the United States, but managed to not affect many people. I told him about Sirius and fed him before he left. He told me he would visit on Christmas and departed without telling me where he was headed.

Though Barty Crouch was busy, I spent time on my lessons with his. He always ended his lessons in funny stories and to this day, he still manages to amuse me. He is kind of like a father who is a bit on the private side. But he is not my father, so don't try to get ideas in your head. I already told you who my father was, and I'm not going to tell you again.