The First School Year Ends!
The first school year came to an end, its outcome both similar to and different from that of her previous life.
After the end-of-term feast, Harry's first holiday began.
The gold and crimson lanterns in the Great Hall cast a honey-colored glow over the students' cheerful faces.
Neville, holding a Chocolate Frog with a bite taken out of it, was chasing Dean around to see the new portrait of Dumbledore on his card; the Parvati sisters left a trail of giggles down the corridor.
Even the usually stern Professor McGonagall turned a blind eye to George and Fred's antics. At the eager request of the students, she even turned into a cat. Unfortunately, they could only look and not touch, leaving many cat-loving students sighing to themselves.
"Do you want to come to my house over the summer?" Hermione asked Harry, turning to her after stuffing the last textbook into her already bulging suitcase.
Glitter from the feast still clung to her curly brown hair, sparkling as she moved. "My mum heard I'd made friends at school, and she's been wanting to meet them."
When Hermione asked, Harry was mechanically folding her pajamas. The snake-shaped bracelet at her cuff suddenly tightened, forcing her to stop and pinch its restless scales with her fingernails.
"I might... um..." Her suitcase clasp clicked softly, and she stared at her pale fingers. "I haven't decided what I'm doing over the holiday yet."
Hermione's eyes lit up at once. "Perfect! We could-"
"Hey, Harry!" Three red heads suddenly poked through the entrance to the common room, cream still smeared on the tip of Ron's nose. "Happy holidays!" His ears suddenly turned red. "I mean... do you want to come to our house? Mum's baked ten boxes of Cauldron Cakes for you!"
George said, "Mum also said that if we could bring you home, she'd make us good food all holiday!"
"Mrs. Weasley's a brilliant cook. Would you like to try it, little princess? I promise you won't regret it." Fred winked at Harry.
The bracelet suddenly turned scorching hot.
Harry instinctively clutched her wrist.
"Thank you, but..." Harry hid her right hand behind her back and gestured vaguely out the window with her left. "I might have some things to take care of first."
Ron slowly lowered the arm holding the cake box and shrugged. "Can't be helped, then. If you want to come over, we can get in touch anytime. Just send a letter by owl, and I'll be sure to get it."
"Me too, Harry. If you think that's too slow, we could even call!" Hermione said to Harry.
Harry smiled and agreed to each of their suggestions. After her friends dragged their luggage away, the common room suddenly fell frighteningly quiet.
"Can't bear to part with them?" Voldemort's voice dripped with malice. "There's still time to catch up. All I have to do is give that Mudblood a little bite, and I guarantee she won't be able to leave the school all holiday."
Of course, it would be more than just the holiday. Like Moaning Myrtle, she would never be able to leave.
"Shut! Up!" Harry seized the snake's head, but the moment she squeezed, she heard the hum of the contract magic's backlash. She doubled over in pain, and her mood sank to rock bottom with her friends' departure.
Through the wall, a burst of laughter erupted in the corridor. She could just make out George shouting, "Ron, your ears are on fire!"
The cheerful din struck the door like sunlight touched through thick Dragonhide Gloves.
The bracelet gradually cooled to the temperature of something lifeless.
Harry picked up her luggage and headed for the door. She sighed, then took one last look back at the towering castle as she left Hogwarts.
At the end of the long journey home, Harry returned to Aunt Petunia's house.
When the oak door of 4 Privet Drive swung open, Harry instinctively tensed her shoulders. In the scene she reflexively recalled, Aunt Petunia should have been stuffing her into the cupboard like she was chasing away a stray dog, but now-
"Darling!"
Wearing a cute apron with a comical strawberry print, Aunt Petunia swept Harry into her arms.
She smelled warmly of butter and rosemary, and when Harry's nose bumped against her collarbone, she could even feel the rapid pulse of the artery in her neck.
Dudley came thundering down the stairs, his trainers scraping harshly against the carpet. Harry reflexively looked toward the stairs, only to hear a crash as Dudley, coming down too fast, knocked her suitcase to the floor.
"S-sorry!"
Dudley stammered, his muscular arms gesturing comically in midair. He was still fat, but the fat now covered distinct biceps, and his T-shirt sleeves were stretched taut. Seeing Harry staring at him, he suddenly lifted his shirt to reveal a slab of fat with a faint hint of definition.
"Look! I've been doing mixed martial arts for six months!" Dudley boasted.
Harry stared in astonishment. In her previous life, Dudley at this age had still been a chubby boy who knew nothing but eating. Never mind mixed martial arts—he probably would have found it exhausting just to run a few extra steps.
"Dudders, my precious baby, has been working so hard to protect his cousin." Aunt Petunia wiped away nonexistent tears and pulled Harry toward the dining room. "Vernon said that if he could block three of his coach's attacks, he'd buy him the latest-oh!"
A sizzling roast steak sat on the dining table, with a cake decorated with a Golden Snitch in icing beside it. Though the resemblance wasn't very close, a photograph of Harry holding the Golden Snitch beside the cake showed where its model had come from.
Mr. Dursley sat at the head of the table, his tie hanging loosely, and gave Harry a smile that could almost be called kindly. "I hear your school teaches... er... that..."
"Magic, dear," Aunt Petunia corrected him sweetly, piling Harry's plate high with pudding.
"So..." Harry stared at the increasingly burly Dudley. "Why all of a sudden...?"
"You wrote last year saying you'd been attacked!" Aunt Petunia frowned. "I knew those old wizards couldn't be trusted, so I signed Dudders up for classes that very night!" Her furious expression finally gave Harry a sense of familiarity.
Harry mechanically chewed her steak, her thoughts drifting in a strange direction.
If she ranked the Dursley family as they were now, Aunt Petunia's list would probably be: first, Harry the Chosen One; second, muscular Dudley; third, Uncle Vernon.
The little boy in the cupboard probably wouldn't even make the list.
Sometimes, Harry even wondered whether he might have been spared a life in the cupboard if he had looked like his mother in his previous life, too.
There was no way to know the answer anymore, unless Harry were reborn again. But just this once was already a gift from the world, and Harry couldn't hope for too much.
Still, if he had to guess...
It probably wouldn't have been as good as Harry Potter's treatment, but it would have been much better than Harry Potter's.
Since being reborn, the most important thing he had noticed was that everyone's hostility seemed to have been directed at him because he resembled his father.
...Although he was a little embarrassed, he really was curious whether his father had been that much less popular than his mother.
Or had he been more unlikeable in his previous life? Had being reborn made him less unlikeable?