By the time they all had arrived at the Burrow it was quite late. Harry felt as though he could sleep for a year and still be tired. He would be sleeping in Ron’s room until Mrs. Weasley found a more suitable living quarters for him, although Harry assured her nothing could be worse than living in a cupboard under the stairs. They all stomped sleepily up the wooden staircase to their rooms where Harry collapsed immediately on the bed. Ron had changed into his pajamas and was already snoring loudly, leaving Harry staring at the ceiling. He glanced over to his trunk and realized that he had not yet opened Hagrid’s gift.
“Accio package,” muttered Harry as he began to untie the string and unwrap the paper. Like the gift he had received from Hagrid in his first year, he found a good-looking leather book amidst the scraps of paper. Harry curiously opened it to find a newspaper cutout reading ‘The Boy Who Lived.’ Harry stared at the date, it was from seventeen years ago, just about the time his parents were murdered. He continued to flip through the pages, finding various newspaper clippings, all involving him. Bits about the Triwizard Tournament, pieces from his fifth year claiming he had lost his mind, the interview he gave for The Quibbler, articles then apologizing for calling him crazy “ and commending his courage, and lastly, a recent one recounting all that had happened involving Voldemort and his demise. He had not seen this article yet, so he inquiringly skimmed the writing. Amongst the pages of articles that Hagrid had put together were also various pictures of Harry, Hermione, and Ron. He smiled reminiscently at a photograph that was taken at the first Halloween feast in which a troll had so rudely interrupted. He watched himself wave happily, and then whirl around in fright as Quirrel sped into the Great Hall.
“This must have taken him ages,” Harry thought aloud, whispering in the silence.
He was just about to crumple up the brown scraps when he noticed a little slip of paper with handwriting he recognized as Dumbledore’s. Harry unfolded the paper and read “
Mr. Harry Potter “
I am writing you because I will most likely not be able to say goodbye to you after the feast. I would first like to say that seeing you grow and mature into such a splendid wizard has been one of the greatest joys of my long, long life. Ever since I placed you on the doorstep of your Aunt and Uncle’s, I knew you were destined for greatness. You lived up to all that I could have ever imagined, exceeded my expectations in many cases as well, and for that, I am proud to say that I have had the privilege to be Headmaster during your seven years at Hogwarts. I will no doubt speak to you again, and if not, I have enclosed another two-way mirror for you to use if I am ever needed (and please Harry, this time do not forget you have it, use it if you need anything). One last thing before I must depart- Harry, please do ask Mrs. Weasley so show you it if she has not already revealed it to you. Please forgive her if she has not, she is very busy and certainly very tense over all the on goings of the past few weeks. If she is asleep, do not wake her, but please do check behind the red curtain in Mr. Weasley’s bedroom for something that I believe you will find most joyous. Mrs. Weasley discovered it while cleaning out Grimmauld Place earlier this month. I am quite sure it will bring you happiness in this time of uncertainty. I wish you luck in all that you encounter in the future. I look forward to seeing you soon. Have faith in the future of the wizarding community Harry, and always remember, “Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus…” never tickle a sleeping dragon.
Yours Sincerely,
Professor Albus Dumbledore
Harry assumed that Mrs. Weasley was, in fact, asleep; the whole house was soundless. He looked around the room for a red curtain and spotted it, muttered ‘Lumos’ so that he did not trip over the bedside table, and drew back the curtain. To his absolute astonishment, Harry was staring into the face of his Godfather, who was yawning sleepily. Upon realization that he was being stared at, he beamed at Harry from the depths of the portrait.
“I was wondering when you were going to find that note, it’s kinda dark in here!” spoke Sirius with a grin.
“SIRIUS?!” Harry screamed, waking Ron.
“Wha- What’s going on Ha-Ha-Harry?” questioned Ron whilst yawning. Once Ron had looked up and seen what Harry was gaping at, he too yelped.
At this, Mrs. Weasley came sprinting into the room. Panting, she began, “Oh Harry, I “ I’m so sorry, I was just so tired, I went to go sit down for just a minute and next thing I knew I was asleep. Oh I should have told you right away! Yes, though, now that you have found it, isn’t this absolutely wonderful? I found this portrait lying in a pile of rubbish in the attic of Grimmauld Place, it had some slashes and was quite a mess but nevertheless“”
““Yea I had been yelling at the top of my lungs for what? A year just about? Molly, when you came up there, it was pure relief! What took you people so long?” Finished Sirius with his trademark smirk.
When everyone had finally cleared out and Ron had drifted off to sleep once again, Harry stayed awake, talking to Sirius’s portrait. Harry wished that Sirius was really standing there with him so he could give him the biggest hug he could muster. However, Harry knew he had no reason to be complaining. What had begun as one of the worst days of his life had now become one of the best days he had ever experienced since Sirius’s death. He told his godfather everything he could remember about the two years he had missed in his life, and although Sirius had already been told most of this information by Molly, he listened intently.
After a series of consecutive yawns, he and Sirius decided that they should end their talk and continue it in the morning. They said goodnight, and in a fraction of a second, Harry was unconscious. For the first time in much too long, Harry had an uninterrupted sleep, without any nightmares revealing Voldemort’s evil schemes or visions showing attacks on Ron’s dad (or anyone at all).
He awoke to the sun shining brightly through the window. Harry glanced at his watch and noted that it was 7 am, looked over to Ron, who was still sleeping soundly, snoring every so often, and then to Sirius, whose eyes were still sealed shut. He sat with his knees to his chest, elated with all he had encountered in the last 24 hours. He felt at ease, and for the first time since age 11, Harry felt normal… or at least as normal as Harry Potter would ever manage to be.