Harry Potter and the Key of Serendipity
by FlyBuckbeakFly

Rating: PG13
Ship: Harry & Hermione
Canon: Books 1 - 5
Genre: Drama, Romance
Status: Paused
Length: 18,505 words in 4 chapters
Published: 14 Aug 2005
Last updated: 10 Sep 2005

My take on Harry's sixth year. I started writing it before HBP, and it is obviously AU. It's the trio's sixth year,
which brings many changes and findings: love, new friends, enemies. New changes for Hogwarts: DA? A dance, Quidditch,
new students unions, house unity, new professors and so much more.

From the Unofficial Portkey Archive: https://portkey-archive.org/story/4959/

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1. An Unexpected Hand

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Author’s Note: I started this story before the sixth book came out, but was always a little shy on posting it anywhere,
but once I finished the sixth book, I just had to get back to writing it. I have always been a Harry and Hermione fan,
and I didn’t take too well to the sixth book. Although it wasn’t just because of the couples, I just didn’t think it was
that good. And as for everybody else who thinks I’m crazy for not going with the book, so be it.

My imaginative and creative self has gotten me this far in life and I’m not about to let it stop now. Harry and Hermione
will forever be the only way to go.

P.S.: anyone wanna be my beta?

Harry Potter and the Key of Serendipity

Chapter One- An Unexpected Hand

I haven’t been back for a week and I’ve already been ‘Harry Hunted.’

It wasn’t uncommon for Harry to be the subject of attack in the small suburbia of Little Whinging. Even though it was a
well-known fact that for the past several years, Harry supposedly spent the majority of his time at St Brutus’ Secure
Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, fear of him seemed to have diminished.

The sound of the left side of his face coming in harsh contact with the brick wall resounded through his head. His
glasses had slipped off the bridge of his nose, hitting the pavement and breaking into two.

Once he no longer heard the several pairs of fading footsteps he lifted his head out of his hands. Great, just bloody
great. How am I supposed to return safely back to the Dursleys’ if I can’t bloody well see where the hell I’m going.
Although, maybe it would be best not to return to the small suburban house, once Aunt Petunia saw him covered in blood
she was sure to have a fit at the possibility of him getting her newly retiled kitchen floor dirty.

Harry had spent most of his time since returning from Hogwarts, nearly five days ago, up in his room. Harry had found
the only way to keep his mind from replaying the horrible events that had occurred at the Department of Mysteries, was
to do homework. So that’s what he did, and to his surprise (and probably Hermione’s) he was nearly finished.

So upon deciding to take a much-needed break before starting his dreaded Potions essay for Snape, Harry took a venture
outside number four Privet Drive for the first time since returning to his so-called home.

And so now, here he was, being ‘Harry Hunted’.

Once again hearing footsteps nearing his way, Harry dunked down and covered his head with his arms, desperately wanting
to make himself as small as possible. It was times like this he wished he had his father’s old invisibility cloak draped
over him, invisible to the normal eye.

The single pair of feet came to a halt right in front of him. Carefully he lifted his head and looked up at the form
towering above him. His eyesight was rather weak without glasses, but he didn’t need them to recognize who it was. “What
do you want? Come to finish the job your little goons started?”

“Get up, Potter.” When Harry refused, he felt himself being yanked up by his cousin and cringed at the pain of Dudley’s
grasp around his left arm, which too, had been shoved into the brick wall.

“Let go of me or I’ll hex you!” Harry yelled, knowingly full well that Dudley knew he wasn’t aloud to use magic.

“Shove it, Potter. We both know you’re not aloud to use magic.”

After a profuse amount of struggle, Harry finally succumbed to the realization that he was not going to make his way out
of Dudley’s deadly grip. Within minutes he found himself being told to sit down in one of the chairs that surrounded the
kitchen table.

“Can’t you ever keep yourself out of trouble?” Aunt Petunia snapped at him, all the while continuing to clean the wound
on the side of his face and moved onto cleaning the deep cut on his left arm.

“I was minding my own business, it’s not my fault I seem to be the bloody target of several people these days!” Harry
angrily retorted, but was somewhat taken back by the look he received from Aunt Petunia. Instead of looking even
angrier, her features seemed to soften, as if she was worried.

Without making a comment, Aunt Petunia finished and sent Harry off to his room to clean himself up before Vernon came
home.

Later on in the early evening, Harry sat at his desk, desperately trying to keep his mind on the matter at hand, his
Potions essay Professor Snape had assigned on Acromantula Venom. He sighed and shoved his quill into the almost empty
bottle of ink. As oddly as it might sound he couldn’t seem to concentrate without Hermione hovering over him, correcting
his mistakes or reminding him that he needed to get it done.

And as if that was the only thing on his mind. The look he had received from Aunt Petunia caught him off guard quite a
bit. She never, ever showed any kind of emotion toward her sister’s orphaned son.

And then there was Sirius…

It was his fault.

No matter how many times he was told differently, it was his fault. He lost Sirius, the only father figure he had ever
had. If he wouldn’t have been so gullible and let Voldemort manipulate him, Sirius wouldn’t have died. If he would have
just tried harder at Occulemency, he could have blocked Voldemort from his mind and he would have never gone and dragged
five other fellow Hogwarts students with him to the Department of Mysterious.

He almost lost Hermione, one of the few people in the world who knew him for him. She was the only constant in his life.
She never got jealous of his so called ‘fame’ or for the fact that he had loads of galleons sitting in a bank vault just
waiting to be used. She was his friend, his best friend, and he had almost lost her.

Hearing the sudden, constant tapping on his window, Harry gladly diverted his attention from his thoughts, to Hedwig,
who eagerly awaited him to open up his window.

Once open, the snowy white owl swooped into the room and landed softly on the wooden desk. Untying the letter from
Hedwig’s leg, he found once again it was from Hermione. Harry had received at least a dozen letters alone, just from
Hermione and had yet to reply to any.

He knew she just wanted him to talk about the events of fifth year, but he wasn’t ready. As always though, Harry opened
the letter, not intending to reply.

Harry,

I really wish you would write back, I’m really starting to worry about you. You don’t have to talk about ‘things’ if
you’re not ready to, but eventually you are going to have to.

I’m going to continue to write and tell you about my summer even if you won’t write me back.

It’s been less than a week and I’m almost half way done with my summer homework. You probably haven’t even started yet.
But please, please don’t wait until the last minute, Harry!

Harry couldn’t help but let a small smile invade his features, for once; he was ahead of Hermione on summer homework. He
couldn’t help but wonder if she would be proud of him, or jealous. No, Hermione would be proud of him, she didn’t get
jealous over stupid things like that.

I’m already missing you, Harry. I’ve been in contact with Professor Dumbledore, and he hasn’t told me when you will be
able to leave that dreaded place. I hope it will be soon! Ginny is coming over for the week and I am planning on showing
her the ‘muggle’ ways of London. You know, shopping and other girl stuff. And did you know Luna Lovegood lives quite
close to the Weasleys’? Apparently Ron isn’t too happy.

No, Ron most definitely wouldn’t be happy about living close to Luna Lovegood.

Fudge just got fired (no surprise there), the ministry has already decided on someone to fill the spot. Although the
public doesn’t know who, yet.

Anyway, my parents and I are going to pick Ginny up at the Burrow. So…I guess I’ll talk to you soon?

Love, forever and always,

Hermione.

Harry was relieved upon finishing his letter from Hermione; she was going to stop pestering him, for now, anyway.

So Fudge was fired. Harry expected as much, since the truth finally came out about Voldemort’s return, it was bound to
happen at some point. A sudden thought struck him, had Percy returned home on his hands and knees, begging for his
family’s forgiveness? Or was he still acting like Fudge’s bitch?

In Harry’s opinion, Percy wasn’t good enough to be a Weasley. He had betrayed and looked down upon his family after all
they had done for him, after all they had done for the wizarding world. Percy didn’t deserve parents like Arthur and
Molly Weasley. And for Harry personally, it would take a lot more than a simple ‘sorry.’

Harry opened his desk drawer and placed the piece of parchment in it, along with rest of the letters he head received
(some opened, and some not).

~~

By the time Harry’s emerald eyes fluttered open the next day, it was well into the morning. After stretching a bit he
sat up, swinging his legs to one side of the bed and put on his taped-repaired glasses.

He noticed the time and thought it strange that Uncle Vernon hadn’t yelled at him to get up. He was never, ever aloud to
sleep in. After a putting on a pair of overly baggy jeans and a short sleeve t-shirt where the sleeves ended well below
his elbows, Harry slowly began his descent down the stairs.

He came to sudden stop at the landing and took in his appearance through the small mirror that hang on the wall. Merlin,
he thought. They certainly did a number on me. The top left side of his face was covered with small cuts that were
beginning to scab over and several bruises; one rather large bruise surrounded his left eye.

He looked underneath the bandage on his left arm and grimaced, it looked ten times worse than his face.

“Boy, don’t take it off, I’d rather not have blood all over the floor!”

Harry jumped slightly at his Aunt Petunia, “sorry,” he mumbled.

“There’s some breakfast for you in the kitchen, it’s probably cold by now. But that’s what you get for waking up late.”
Harry nodded, and went for the kitchen when his aunt spoke again, “you can reheat it, but hurry up! We’ve got work to do
today.”

Harry frowned, we? Since when did he get any help with his chores? Pushing through the swing door that led to the
kitchen, he found the plate of pancakes and bacon sitting at the table.

Just as he finished his breakfast, he began to wash his dirty dishes when Aunt Petunia barged in.

“Leave it. Dudley’s doing the dishes today, I’ve got plenty of other work for you to do.”

Somberly, Harry sat the half clean plate into the sink and quietly followed his Aunt Petunia. All the while, thinking of
several torturous scenarios in his mind of what kind of work she had in store for him today.

Harry sported a questionable look as they came to stop at the basement door. The basement? He was never, ever aloud in
the basement. It was more forbidden for Harry to try and make his way into the basement, than it was for him to say
something in reference to magic. The door was locked at all times, and the only key Harry knew of was kept by Aunt
Petunia.

He hadn’t even noticed Aunt Petunia open the door and begin her descent down the old wooden staircase until she yelled
up at him.

“Get yourself down here, boy! We’ve got lots of cleaning to do, it’s sure to take all day.”

Absentmindedly, Harry made his way down into the basement. He was quite shocked to the see that the small confines of
the basement was piled with boxes, some which looked to have not been touched for years and cobwebs clustered in the
ceiling corners.

Aunt Petunia was not the one to let dust and cobwebs build up. Then again, Harry’s aunt also wasn’t one to show a softer
side toward him, something she did yesterday.

Harry snapped out of his thoughts when Aunt Petunia started to speak, once again. “You’re uncle Vernon and I have
decided to turn this into a little work out room for your cousin. We have no doubt he’ll defend his title this year, but
this way, he can practice more.”

Harry nodded as she continued on, “we need to have this clean by tonight, Dudley’s equipment is being delivered tomorrow
morning.” She motioned to the smallest pile, where several boxes were sitting. They looked as if they had been sitting
there almost as long as he had been alive. “You start over there, most of it’s rubbish. You’re welcome to keep anything
you want.”

After Petunia finished she turned her back and started on a separate area of the basement.

Harry walked slowly over to his restricted area and opened up the first box he came to, he coughed as a cloud of dust
came his way. The heavy box revealed several old books. Hermione would love this, even if they were just muggle books.
But upon taking a closer look, Harry realized they weren’t muggle books at all, they were spell books and old pieces of
parchment.

The first thing that caught Harry’s eye was a thick stack of bound parchment, seemingly resembling a homemade book of
some sorts. He cleared off some of the dust and read the cover:

107 Hilarious Ways to Hex your Worst Enemy and Get Away with it By, the Marauders.

Harry couldn’t help but think how much Fred and George would love to have a go at some of the spells. He would
definitely have to show them, after he read it, of course.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his Aunt Petunia’s stare and hastily sat the heavy stack of parchment down and
continued on through the boxes.

Harry continued on through the several boxes that happened to be full of books and other things his parents had left
him. He had been so absorbed in his findings he didn’t even realize lunch had passed and rest of the basement had been
cleared out until he heard his aunt talking to him.

“I suppose you want all of that…that stuff?” Harry merely nodded. “Very well then, carry it all up to your room. And
remember, you still have to mow the lawn.”

As he watched the retreating form of his aunt, it finally hit him. She had kept this stuff for him! But why? “Aunt
Petunia?”

She turned to him. He couldn’t help but notice her normal thin-lined scowl had somewhat disappeared and was replaced
with a somber frown. “Hurry up and take it up to your room, we don’t want your Uncle Vernon seeing any of this.”

“Aunt Petunia?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

Petunia simply gave him a nod (if you could even call it that; it was more of a tiny twitch that caused her head to cast
downward) and disappeared up the staircase.

Harry had never been so eager to read in his life (Hermione would definitely be proud). He had carried all the boxes up
to his room, before running outside and mowing the lawn in what he thought for sure, was in record time.

Carefully, grabbing the thick stack of worn, bound parchment, Harry took a seat on his bed unmade bed that had several
articles of clothing strewn about on it, and turned to the first page. He had to work hard to not laugh out loud at what
he read:

A special thanks to Snivellus, who was always right around the corner whenever we needed him.

For the next several hours, Harry read through the (hilarious) hexes and couldn’t help but imagine trying each and every
one of them out on Draco Malfoy once returning to Hogwarts when the new term started on September first. He was
currently engrossed in hex number 33: Jakas, making an ass out of yourself. A hex, where you simply repeat the
incantation, ‘jakas’ and the target takes the shape of a jackass, or donkey, when he marked his place and decided to
call it a night.

He didn’t even care his stomach was demanding some nourishment, he was too eager for it to be tomorrow so he could
continue on through the several belongings that once used to be held in his parents’ hands.

As he changed into his over-sized pajamas, Harry made a mental note, to tell Ron about hex number five, ‘The Wicked
Wedge’. Once Harry had finally settled into a comfortable position beneath his covers, a rather loud rapping came at his
bedroom door.

“Er---uh, who is it?”

“Just get off your arse and open the bloody door, Potter!”

Dudley? Harry left his bed and opened the bedroom door revealing none other than his cousin, holding a plate full of
what Harry suspected to have been the evening’s dinner. “Er, um, Dudley?”

“Here.” The boy reluctantly shoved the plate into Harry’s unsuspecting hands, “mum asked me to bring you up some
dinner.”

“When you say ‘asked’ you mean ‘told’?”

Annoyance flashed through Dudley’s eyes, “either eat it, or I will.” Dudley hesitated, as if wanting to ask Harry
something, but in the end, deciding against it and turned toward his own room.

“Dudley?”

He turned, “what?”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me, thank mum, it wasn’t my idea.”

Harry shook his head, “no. I mean thanks for earlier.”

Dudley seemed taken back by Harry’s politeness, but quickly recovered, “yeah, well nobody has the right to pound your
bloody face in except for me.”

Harry could’ve sworn he saw a small smile on Dudley’s face, but immediately shook the possibility from his head and went
to bed.

~~

11:59… “5, 4, 3, 2, 1.” 12:00.

It was now officially the weekend.

Harry sighed and turned away from the clock that sat on his nightstand. While most kids anticipated Saturday and Sunday,
and considered them the two best days of the week; Harry absolutely dreaded the weekend.

All it meant for him: two whole days of Uncle Vernon. There was no 7:00 through 5:00 with just Aunt Petunia on his case;
it was forty-eight hours of Vernon Dursley’s constant badgering and ridicule.

It had been a week since Harry had ‘helped’ Aunt Petunia (nearly three since returning from Hogwarts…and Sirius’ death)
clean out the basement and he had spent most of his time going through the things. And He was down to one last box to go
through, and he was excited yet disappointed for the discovery and learning of his parents’ past.

He had received several more letters from his friends, namely Hermione (Ron seemed to have given up) and several members
of the order, who were writing for their obligatory checkup on him.

He still had yet to respond.

With one last groan, Harry shoved his head under his only pillow and fell into an uneasy sleep, only to be woken up six
hours later by the shrewd yells of his uncle.

“Boy, get up and carry my luggage down, now!”

Slightly confused, but awake, Harry forced his body into action and quickly dressed (not realizing they were the same
clothes he wore yesterday). Within two minutes he had the three large pieces of luggage down the steps and sitting by
the front door. But picked them up when once again, his Uncle yelled.

“Don’t sit them there, take them out to the car!”

“Yes, Uncle Vernon.” Harry complied with his Uncle’s orders and took them out to the car.

When he returned to the house and walked into the kitchen, all three Dursleys’ were occupied in their normal seats and
Harry took his seat in between Petunia and Vernon. He was quite surprised to see his plate full of food, but didn’t
bother to ask aloud.

After a few minutes of silence, Harry swallowed a mouthful of eggs and spoke the one thing that had been burning at his
mind since waking up. “So where are you going, Uncle Vernon?” He tried to keep his voice as monotone as possible and
show that he was the least bit excited about the prospect of going several days at number four Privet Drive without
having to answer to Uncle Vernon.

“Business trip.” He answered while his mouth was still full, his face started to turn slightly purple as he continued to
glare at Harry, “I suspect you’ll be gone when I return.”

“That depends. When are you planning on returning?”

“Don’t talk back to me, boy!”

“I was just asking a question!” Harry didn’t care if he pissed Uncle Vernon off, knowing full well he would not have to
take his wrath. Chances are he would probably be out of number four Privet Drive and wouldn’t have to look at his ugly
purple-boulder head until next summer.

“He’ll be back August seventh. Now, I believe you have chores to be doing, so finish up quickly and get working.” Aunt
Petunia said to him as she refilled Vernon’s plate with (what Harry suspected to be at least his fourth helping) bacon.

Rest of the meal went by in silence. Harry finished off his small portion of breakfast and left to began his long list
of chores. Dudley and Petunia said their quick good-byes seeing as Uncle Vernon was running late (could it possibly be
because he had a very long and big breakfast?).

Harry had been working for at least an hour outside in the front yard, mending to the ill cared for flowerbeds when Aunt
Petunia stomped out. “Get inside and clean yourself off.”

Harry looked up, trying to block the glaring sun from invading his sight, “but I haven’t finished yet.”

“You’ll finish tomorrow.”

“But…”

“Just do what I tell you and hurry up!” she snapped at him before turning on her heal and walking back inside.

Harry reluctantly stood and brushed the dirt off of him before following his aunt into the house, where she continued on
with her orders, “take a shower and put on some…” she did a quick up and down glance at Harry’s attire, “clean clothes.”

“Why?”

“I need to do some shopping and we both know I can’t leave you alone.” She seemed thoroughly disgusted at the thought of
being seen in public with someone of his…‘kind.’

As Harry walked through the crowds of people (several steps behind his Aunt Petunia, as she had ordered him to do), he
felt this odd normalcy sensation. He looked as if he was just another muggle teen, who was enjoying his summer vacation.
Nobody gawked and trembled at him, and their eyes never glanced at his forehead, looking for the well-known lightning
bolt-shaped scar.

He was just…Harry. Harry James Potter, an almost sixteen-year-old boy who was finally starting to look his age and was
in a desperate need of a haircut (although not too short, he preferred to keep his scar covered up).

Things seemed to get more peculiar for Harry as the day went on. Aunt Petunia was being…nice?

It started when he was patiently waiting next to Aunt Petunia as she caught up on the latest gossip with Miss. Bradley,
owner of a very fancy and expensive bakery (which Harry suspected to be the place where Aunt Petunia always picked up
food that she later claimed to have baked herself). She looked at him and commented on how much of a gentleman he was
being.

“Quite a boy you’ve raised there, Petunia. Waiting patiently and not bothering a soul.” Her gray eyes twinkled towards
Harry.

Harry snapped his head in the women’s direction before turning to Aunt Petunia. She was giving him a glare that for a
second seemed to resemble Professor McGonagall. It wasn’t quite a threatening glare, more of a ‘watch what you say,
Potter’ type glare.

So Harry gave the woman the best smile he could muster up, “thank you, ma’am.” He could’ve sworn the woman returned his
words with a wink.

Aunt Petunia grabbed her bag of goods, “yes, I suppose he does have the proper manners of a gentleman. Well we really
must be going.”

And then that’s when she made the comment about his hair. She said it was just a little too long and could do with a bit
of a trim. Aunt Petunia had already ushered Harry out the door before he had a chance to reply and they went on their
way.

This time instead of walking behind his aunt, Harry stayed in stride with her, “I really do need a haircut, Aunt
Petunia.”

“And what? You expect me to pay for it?”

“I’ll pay you back.”

“And you have money how?” She glanced in his direction but continued on to their next destination.

“Well I don’t exactly have muggle money, but I can exchange some galleons when I go to Gringotts and I’ll send Hedwig
back with it.”

“I’d rather not have that bloody bird flying around sending me stuff.” She snapped at him, “I suppose you should get a
haircut though, I wouldn’t want your friends thinking you aren’t being taken care of.”

His almond shaped eyes became the size of small grapes, “really? Thank you, Aunt Petunia. Hermione was always badgering
me about it last year, she evened tried to…” Harry stopped mid sentence, realizing the best way to ruin his day would to
mention magic “…anyway, she should be happy when she sees I finally got it trimmed.”

Petunia seemed taken back by Harry’s words. Not only was he being polite, but also she had never seen his eyes light up
while in her presence. “Yes, well it does grow awfully fast.”

And the day continued on like that. While Aunt Petunia had stopped to pick up some new clothes for Dudley (surprisingly,
his were becoming too big), she had gotten Harry a couple articles of clothing too. Something Harry still hadn’t been
able to wrap his mind around. Aunt Petunia was treating him, well, like a human, like someone she was related to and
like it was her job to look after his welfare (it actually was, but that never motivated her in the past). And then to
top it all off, she bought him a much needed new pair of glasses.

By the time Sunday afternoon had rolled around, Harry had completely finished his summer homework and was desperate to
get his mind off of Sirius.

He headed downstairs, planning on asking his Aunt Petunia to give him some chores (having finished those for the day,
too) when he ran into Dudley who was heading towards his new workout area in the basement.

“Er…sorry.” Harry tried to move past his cousin, but found himself blocked. “Excuse me, Dudley.” But Dudley stood firm.

“I’ve never noticed how bony you are.”

Harry wasn’t in the mood for his cousin’s self-amusing antics. “Really? What did you think would happen to me if there
was no food left on the table after you had finished stuffing your bloody face full?”

Dudley seemed to let comment roll off his back, “you could use some muscle.”

“What are you getting at, Dudley?”

“We should work out together. My trainer says it’s better to work in partners and well, maybe when I’m not around to
save your puny arse, you’ll be able to watch your own back.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed, “why are you being nice to me?”

“You’re my cousin, why shouldn’t I?”

“Bollocks! You want something in return, am I right?” Dudley shrugged his shoulders and avoided eye contact with Harry.
“Spit it out, Dudley.”

“Well, here’s the thing…I have to take summer school, I kind of failed some classes and…”

“You want me to tutor you?”

“Yes.”

Harry mentally weighed his options, if he did this, he could certainly use it to his advantage. “Ok, I will.” He stuck
out his hand and Dudley enthusiastically shook it (practically breaking Harry’s fingers in the process).

------------------------------------------------------------------------

2. A Bittersweet Sixteen

Harry Potter and the Key of Serendipity

Chapter Two- A Bittersweet Sixteen

Harry pounded his bloody fists into the punching bag that was being stabilized by his cousin.

It had been a month since the two boys shook hands on their deal, and so far things were going good. Dudley’s grades had
improved from Harry’s’ tutoring and Aunt Petunia was rather impressed by both boys.

There was a noticeable change in Harry’s form. He was actually starting to look like a boy who was nearing his sixteenth
birthday. He was nearly six feet tall (probably still shorter than the ever sprouting Ron), but instead of being the
bony and scrawny ‘boy-who-lived’, he was the tall, well toned ‘boy-who-lived’.

Harry had even noticed a six-pack forming while studying his (shirtless) figure in the mirror the other day.

Harry staggered over to the corner of the basement and slumped his body down the wall.

Dudley shook his head and took a seat next to his cousin, “you sure have a lot of anger, Potter.”

“Yeah---well the world has screwed me over a few times. You would to if you were destined to be the boy…” Harry stopped
mid-sentence, realizing he was about to reveal the prophecy made about him, and to none other than Dudley!

“The boy who what? Does this have to do with that guy you were yelling one night in your sleep…Sirius?”

“He is--was my godfather, he died because of me, just like Cedric and my mum...they all died because of me.” Harry
slowly told the events of his years at Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry, including the Prophecy, something he had yet to
tell Hermione or Ron.

Dudley eyed his cousin. The boy he had come to fear was…well was just a boy. A boy who had lost so much, and stood to
lose so much more if he didn’t kill. “But you didn’t kill them, that Lord Voldawart, or whatever his name is, did.”

“Voldemort, killed them because of me! Why can’t anybody see that!”

Dudley shook his head, not at all phased up Harry’s outburst. “And I thought you were the smart one. He killed them for
power, Potter. Anybody can see that. If he kills you, the one that he marked as his ‘equal’ there will be nobody else
that will be considered a threat to him. It’s up to you, Potter. Let that bloody bastard get what he deserves.”

“But I have to become a murderer.”

“He killed your mum and dad! When you kill him, you won’t be a murderer, you’ll be a hero…well at least to all those
people of your…kind. I mean, come on, you did that thing to those thingies last summer…”

Harry let out a small chuckle; killing Voldemort was going to be a lot harder than performing a simple Patronus Charm.
He was already a hero to wizards and witches around the world, he was the ‘boy who lived’.

Oddly enough, though, Dudley’s words seemed to help Harry deal with the prophecy that was marked for him. It came from
someone who knew him as a boy and not a young, powerful, famous wizard.

And even though, Harry was already a so-called hero, it was up to him. Not Dumbledore, and not anybody from the Order of
Phoenix, and no matter how much it scared Harry, he knew for once, Dudley was right.

He had to do this, or otherwise in Dudley (and Ron’s words), the world was doomed.

Feeling a new since of…not exactly pride, but something like it, Harry wrote to his two best friends for the first time
all summer. He started with Ron’s knowing it would be easier.

Ron,

I’m sorry I haven’t replied back to your letters. I just needed time to be left alone and sift through my thoughts.
Sirius’ death was hard on me, and I know it was hard on several other people, but that wasn’t the only thing on my mind.

The events from the night of the department of mysteries keep on replaying in my mind. I could’ve gotten you and Ginny
killed, I’m sure your mum isn’t too happy with me, which is completely understandable.

I haven’t forgiven myself yet, so how can I expect other people to?

Again, Ron, I’m really sorry.

Harry

Setting the piece of parchment to the side, he began Hermione’s.

Hermione,

I’m sorry.

Harry had so much to say, but couldn’t find the words to write it out in a letter, it would be easier to tell her in
person.

Thank you, for always being a good friend.

After sending Hedwig off with the two letters, Harry went to sleep, and for the first time in months, it was a peaceful,
dreamless slumber.

Harry had been woken up bright and early by several different owls zooming over his head and dropping parcels on his
bed. Once releasing his body from the tangled form of his sheet, Harry rushed to the window and opened it before the
owls woke up Aunt Petunia. At least Uncle Vernon wasn’t home to yell at him.

The only ones that stayed behind were Pig and a brown owl that he suspected to be the one that Hermione borrowed (she
had yet to get an owl of her own).

Hedwig must have not made it to his friends before they sent out his gifts.

One by one, Harry sifted through his presents. He wasn’t at all surprised to see a package from Neville Longbottom.
(Harry had found a book that once belonged to his parents, which focused heavily on herbology, and knowing it to be
Neville’s specialty, he sent it to Neville for his birthday). Although, he was a little stunned to see packages and
letters from Oliver Wood (former keeper and captain of Gryffindor’s quidditch team), Dean Thomas, and several other of
Harry’s acquaintances from Hogwarts, that although they were on good terms, weren’t necessarily friends.

Harry, not remembering having so many presents in his life, savored the moment (unlike Ron, who, no matter the amount
would have them all open in sixty seconds or less). From, Oliver, he had received a years subscription to the popular
quidditch magazine, ‘sweeping the air’ and several tickets to Puddlemore United games (one which happened to be against
the Chudley Cannons). Dean Thomas, sent Harry a t-shirt with the West Ham logo (‘your clothes look to be at least two
times your size’) and Neville sent him a wand holder, which was charmed so only the owner could pull out the wand
(Neville’s gran had bought him one along with a new wand).

Harry moved on to the stack of presents from several members of the Weasley family. Ron, with the usual, several dozen
chocolate frogs (ever since their first meeting on the Hogwarts express Harry had taken up his own collection of
chocolate frog cards and always seemed to find one he needed from a frog that was given to him by Ron). Fred and George
had sent him a variety pack of several joke items (some yet to be sold to the public, sighting safety reasons). Mr.
Weasley sent Harry a muggle product, which was a case to hold his glasses in; Mrs. Weasley sent him a basket of cauldron
cakes and from Ginny, Harry received the revised edition of Quidditch Through the Ages.

Harry had piled all the unopened letters into a small stack on his desk, he would get to them later.

Noticeably absent from his pile of gifts however, was one from Hermione. At this, Harry’s heart sunk. Knowing Hermione
though, she probably had a good reason. And indeed she did. Harry had untied the letter that was addressed to him from
Hermione.

Happy Birthday, Harry!

I’m hoping you will at least respond to this letter. I would’ve been over there by now, but according to Miss. Figg
you’re still alive and Professor Dumbledore insists you will talk when you are ready.

So how does it feel to be sixteen?

You’re probably wondering where your present is. Well, it’s just too big to send with an owl, but I promise it will be
well worth the wait (I hope). Hopefully I will be able to give it to you soon. Professor Dumbledore has yet to say when
you will be returning to Headquarters. I know you were planning on returning to the Burrow, but he insists that
headquarters is much safer.

Well, I can’t wait to see(and talk) to you, Harry!

Happy Birthday!

Love, forever and always,

Hermione

Harry’s mind was running with gifts that would be too big to send by owl post. Usually Hermione just stuck with books.
Then a sudden thought struck him; maybe the book was too big to be sent by owl!

Harry shook the thought from his mind and took a quick shower before changing into a pair of new pants and his West Ham
t-shirt. He decided to get breakfast started and began his trek downstairs.

Although he didn’t get very far, not even out of the threshold of his door.

Opening his bedroom door, Harry came face to face with Dudley. “morning, Dud.”

“Hey, potter.” He shoved what looked like a card collecting binder into Harry’s hands, “sorry I didn’t have time to wrap
it. but those cards you collect, you can have something to put them in.”

Harry smiled genuinely, “thanks.”

This summer had certainly been the summer of change. He and Dudley had become…well had become to actually acting like
what they were: Cousins. And Aunt Petunia, well Harry was still somewhat confused by Aunt Petunia’s behavior. One minute
she was treating him like her nephew, the next, as if he was still the scrawny little boy who lived beneath the stairs.
It was like she was fighting with her own demons and couldn’t find a common ground on what to do with him.

And then, later on in the day, Harry understood.

It was almost noon, and Dudley was still off at summer school, so it was just Harry and his aunt. He was starting down
the steps to make himself some lunch, but came to a sudden halt when he heard voices, one of them was clearly Aunt
Petunia, she sounded upset, and angry.

The other, well Harry couldn’t quite figure it out. The deep, calm voice sound very familiar, but Harry couldn’t seem to
place it with a face.

“Petunia, you must come to terms that he’s not Lily.”

“But he’s her son! How am I supposed to look into the those eyes everyday and not see my sister? Or not feel angry at
her for winning the love of our parents?”

“Petunia, you have every right to be angry. But you’ve taken it out on Harry way too long. He doesn’t deserve to be
treated the way you were treated as a young girl. It’s not his fault.”

“I know.”

Aunt Petunia moved back from the fireplace and Harry had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from letting a gasp
escape. Dumbledore was talking to Aunt Petunia through the fire?

“Now let’s get on with the reason you wished to talk to me. You say Harry is coming to terms?”

Aunt Petunia nodded, “yes. He and Dudley have started to accept each other and Dudley, in some way or another is helping
Harry come to terms with…everything.”

“And I suppose you are starting to do the same? You did give him his parents’ belongings, am I correct?” Aunt Petunia
once again, nodded, but stayed quiet. “well then, make sure Harry is ready by eight o’clock this evening.” And with that
said, Albus Dumbledore pulled his head from the green flames.

Harry didn’t give his aunt a chance to tell him to pack; he was already up the stairs and shoving his belongings into
his trunk when Aunt Petunia entered.

Petunia let herself in and glared at Harry, “I suppose you were listening in on my conversation with your Professor?”

Harry thought carefully about how to respond to her question, “I came down to get some lunch when I saw Professor
Dumbledore’s head in the fire telling you I needed to be ready by eight.”

She watched Harry suspiciously, “is that all you heard?”

“Yeah. Is there something else I should know?”

“No. Nothing at all.”

Harry nodded and his aunt left him alone to finish packing up his belongings. As the minutes went on, Harry continued on
packing but soon discovered not everything would fit into his trunk (something Harry never thought would happen).

But once again, Dudley came to his rescue.

After coming home from what Dudley said was a rather easy day at summer school, he learned from Petunia that Harry would
be leaving after dinner. Immediately, noticing Harry’s troubles, Dudley handed Harry a rather new looking duffle bag to
stuff the rest of his belongings in (mainly clothes).

So for the now sixteen-year-old Harry Potter, the next several hours dragged on rather slowly. By the time seven o’clock
rolled around, Harry had just finish taking a shower and dressing into some of his new clothes. He chose a new green
t-shirt (for which he could hear Mrs. Weasley commenting how it brought out his emerald eyes) and a clean pair of jeans.
He even tried to comb his hair flat, but to no avail, it stuck up the same as always.

Harry came down to the kitchen to find Aunt Petunia dressed in some of her finest clothes, and to his surprise, so was
Dudley. Aunt Petunia had made a seemingly large dinner and the two Dursleys’ were sitting at the table (food untouched),
waiting for his arrival.

“You didn’t have to wait on me.”

“Well you’re here now, so take a seat and dig in.” Right after the words left Petunia’s mouth, Dudley had gone straight
for the chicken. Harry shook his head, Dudley may have turned some of his fat into muscle, as a result of boxing; but he
still liked to eat.

The next sixty minutes ticked on and Harry, along with his aunt and cousin sat in the living room, anxiously waiting. No
one knew for sure how Harry was being picked up. But they were about to find out as the clock stroked eight.

For a brief second, the house was dead quiet, and then they heard it; the doorbell.

Petunia nearly jumped out of her skin, but quickly recomposed herself and went to answer the door, with Harry just a few
steps behind her.

“Harry!” the door had been pulled open and before he could comprehend what was happening, a pair of arms wrapped around
his neck, pulling him into a tight, yet warm embrace. “Oh Harry! You don’t know how happy I am to see you!”

By now, Hermione had pulled back enough to look Harry in the face. Tears were threatening to stream down her flushed
cheeks. “I was so worried about you! And then when I got your last letter, oh I was so happy! And then when Professor
Dumbledore told us that today was the day you were being picked up, eight o’clock just didn’t come soon enough! And
Hedwig, I was so happy to see her; she’s at the burrow at the moment and should be arriving with the Weasleys’. And--”

“Hermione?” Harry stifled a laugh at his best friend; sometimes she could just go on and on. “I’m really glad to see
you, too.”

Her cinnamon orbs watered once again, as her face turned crimson. “I was rambling, wasn’t I?”

Harry nodded, “but it’s ok. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Harry released himself from Hermione’s arms and turned
at the four other occupants in the room, “this is my cousin, Dudley and my Aunt Petunia.”

At the sound of his name, Dudley snapped out of his reverie to find his mouth hanging open. Shutting it, he gave
Hermione a smile. “Hi.”

The awkward silence continued on until Mr. Granger, cleared his throat, “well, we’re on a tight schedule, so we really
must be going.” he pointed to the trunk, “this yours, Harry?” Harry nodded, and Hermione’s father took it to the car.

Mrs. Granger smiled warmly at Harry, “why don’t you say your good-byes, dear.”

Harry nodded and turned to his aunt, it was quite an uncomfortable moment, “er—uh, I guess I’ll see you next summer.
Good-bye.”

“Yes, I suppose we will see you then, stay out of trouble.”

Hermione raised a brow at this, but Harry didn’t seem phased. “I’ll try, but we both know how trouble seems to find me.”

He turned to his cousin, “thanks again for…everything, Dud.”

Dudley nodded, “Just make sure you give that Voldy-git what he deserves.”

Harry’s trademark, crooked smile invaded his features, “I definitely will, Dudley. Who knows, I might even try out the
triple pounder on him.”

After several lingering seconds, Harry grabbed his duffle bag and followed the Grangers’ to their car parked out front.
The ride had been silent for several minutes, until Hermione finally huffed and turned to him, “so are you going to
explain to me what that was about?”

Harry shrugged, “we just…came to an understanding.”

“I’ll say! They were actually treating you human!”

“That’s quite and understatement, Hermione…” Harry filled her in on the events of his summer. Everything from being
‘Harry hunted,’ to getting new clothes and working out with Dudley.

“I thought your hair looked shorter. It looks good, not too short, but yet not too long.” She smiled, and tugged
slightly at the short sleeve of his t-shirt, “the green matches your eyes.”

“Er—thanks.” Harry felt the red creep into his cheeks at Hermione’s words and turned to look out the window. “So
umm…we’re going to Headquarters, right?”

Hermione nodded, “yes. But just you and me.” She picked up a pair of old sunglasses that were sitting between the two.
“Professor Dumbledore gave us this portkey, it’s set for eight thirty-six. We’ll be transported to Headquarters, where
Tonks and Professor Lupin are waiting for us. My parents will return home with your luggage and they will meet professor
Dumbledore through Floo Powder and they will hand him your luggage.”

Harry nodded, taking in the plan, “can muggles go through Floo?”

“Only if it’s set up by the ministry…and Mr. Weasley, pulled a few strings, so to speak.” It was then that Hermione took
the first good look at Harry’s face, she gasped, “Harry! What on earth happened to your eye?”

“What?” he touched his left eye, having forgotten all about the bruise, “I just got into a little fight.”

“And why didn’t you tell me this before?”

He shrugged, “it’s not a big deal, Hermione. You and I both know I’ve been in several fights before.”

Mr. Granger turned into an abandoned alley and put the car in park, halting (to Harry’s relief) the conversation from
going any farther. “Well, it’s almost time.” He turned to face Harry, “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced,
Harry. I’m Simon Granger, and this is Helen Granger.”

Harry shook both of their hands, “it’s nice to meet you. Hermione talks about you guys’ all the time.”

“Likewise, Harry. She’s always rambling on about her best friend, Harry Potter.” Simon winked at Harry, causing Hermione
to once again, blush.

“Look at the time, we’ve got two minutes, best be saying good-bye.”

After the quick (and tearful, for the two Granger girls) good-byes to Hermione’s parents, the two each grasped an end of
the glasses and held on for dear life. Once eight-thirty six came, Harry felt the familiar pull around his naval and
within seconds, he soon found himself in the kitchen of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, being toppled down by Hermione.

“Ouch!”

“Sorry!” Hermione pulled herself off of Harry.

“It’s ok, I’m not hurt.” Harry stood and took a look around the place that once belonged to his godfather, and more than
likely, was no his. The last time he had been here, was at Christmas, his last Christmas with Sirius. He snapped out of
his thoughts, when he felt her hand softly touch his arm.

“You ok, Harry?” Hermione’s eyes were warm and cautious.

“Yeah, I’m fine. The place just brings back memories.”

“Good memories, I hope.”

Harry nodded somberly, and soon found himself smiling, “yeah, definitely good memories.”

“There you two are! I wasn’t sure where you guys’ would arrive. You’d be surprised at how big this house is.” Tonks
waltzed into the kitchen, nearly tripping over one of the wooden chairs in the process, “wotcher, Harry.”

“Hey, Tonks.”

“Professor Dumbledore is waiting in the drawing room, he wishes to speak with the two of you.” Harry and Hermione
turned, and gave each other the same questionable look, before Tonks practically shoved them out of the kitchen
basement. “Go on you two, he doesn’t have all day, he’s a very busy wizard, you know.”

“That’s an understatement,” muttered Harry to Hermione as they started on the their way up the stairs to meet with
Professor Dumbledore.

“What do you think he wants to talk to us about?” Hermione questioned.

“I don’t know,” he lied. Harry feared it had something to do with the Prophecy that was revealed to him at the end of
last term.

The rest of the walk was silent, until the two teens stopped outside the double doors that led into the drawing room.
Both seeming to have the same question in mind: do they knock?

But before the thought could be contemplated very long, the doors swung open, revealing Professor Snape. His black eyes
bore into Harry, “Potter,” he sneered.

“Professor Snape.” Harry returned, with just as much hate.

“I suppose you’re quite impressed with yourself for finding a way to cheat on your O.W.L.s? You better be ready to show
your abilities come September, you certainly won’t be able to cheat off Miss. Granger anymore.” With one last glare in
Harry’s direction, Snape stalked off, his black cloak sweeping the floor behind him.

Hermione gasped, “Harry! You’re going to have N.E.W.T level potions, you know what this means?”

“Yeah, two more years of Snape.”

“Professor Snape, Harry. And it means Professor Dumbledore must have our O.W.L.s! And you got an O in Potions, but oh
no!”

“What?”

“Harry! I didn’t get an O in Potions! I won’t be able to take N.E.W.T level potions! I’ve failed, Harry! My whole
future, it’s over!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione. If I got an ‘O’, you most definitely did too.”

Before anything else could be said between them, Professor Dumbledore spoke, “ah, Miss Granger, Harry, it’s good to see
you again. I hope you’ve had a well deserved break?”

“Yes, Pro—Professor.” Hermione’s voice cracked at the fear of getting anything but an ‘O’ in potions.

“And you, Harry?”

“Just fine, sir.” He refused to look the older man directly in eyes.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled over his half-mooned spectacles, “please come in, come in.” Harry and Hermione obliged
and followed Professor Dumbledore into the much cleaner (Dark Magic free) drawing room. The two exchanged another
questionable look before taking seats next to each other, across from the desk Professor Dumbledore now resided in. “I
suppose you’re wondering why I asked to speak with the two of you.” The two nodded, “well, first I must start off by
saying, Miss. Granger, you received an O in potions.”

Hermione gasped, “but Professor Snape said--”

“Never doubt your abilities, Hermione.”

“You called me, Hermione…you’ve never done that.”

“Would you prefer I associate with you by Miss. Granger?”

Hermione shook her head, “No. Not at all, I’d much rather prefer Hermione.”

“Hermione it is, then.” Dumbledore turned his attention, partially to Harry, “I suppose you two would like to see the
rest of your O.W.L.S?”

Hermione nodded feverishly, but Harry didn’t quite reach his friend’s enthusiasm. The only one he was really confident
in, was Defense of the Dark Arts (no thanks to Umbridge), and even though he seemed to have lucked out in Potions, there
was still Divination, History of Magic and Astronomy (to name a few). What if he didn’t get O.W.L.s in all the right
classes? His dream of becoming an Auror would be ruined.

“Harry?”

Harry had been so absorbed in his own worries, he didn’t realize Professor Dumbledore had handed Hermione her letter and
was trying to do the same to him. “Oh, sorry, Professor.” Slowly, he retrieved his letter. He fingers lingered on the
seal, as if trying to delay the inevitable. Pulling out the rather long piece of parchment, Harry eye’s wandered to the
total box.

“Well, what’d you get, Harry?”

“I got ten!” he couldn’t believe it, “Hermione, I got ten O.W.L.s!”

“That’s terrific, Harry!” Hermione was genuinely pleased for her friend’s achievement, “I knew you could do it.”

“How many did you get?”

And that’s when Hermione’s smile grew, “I got an O.W.L. in every class, twelve.”

“That’s fantastic, Hermione! Seems Snape got you worked up for no reason.”

“Professor Snape, Harry. But yes, I suppose I was indeed, wrong.”

“Yes, indeed, I am very proud of the two of you. As you will notice, some of your classes have already been arranged and
the others are your choice,” spoke Dumbledore. “You will of course need to fill them out and return them by the seventh.
And now onto other things in need of discussion. This year their will be several changes and such going on at Hogwarts,
I can’t go into details, for that you will of course have to pay attention to my speech during the beginning of year
feast. But I will say this, Harry and Hermione: In the words of Moody, ‘constant vigilance!’ but in the words of
muggles, ‘keep an open head!’”

Hermione stifled a laugh, “sir, I think you mean, ‘keep and open mind’?”

“Ah yes, I think you’re right, Hermione. Keep an open mind.” He turned his attention to Harry, but still speaking to the
young witch. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to have a word with Harry.”

Hermione caught Harry’s gaze, and gave him a soft, worried, smile. He returned her smile, letting her know he was ok.
“Of course not, I’ll just be unpacking my belongings.”

Professor Dumbledore waited until he was sure Hermione was down at the other end of the long hallway, entering and
closing the door she shared with Ginny. “So how have you really been, Harry?”

“I’m sure you know all about my summer.” The animosity Harry had felt towards his Professor at the end of last term was
once again resurfacing.

“Ah yes, I suppose you found out about my meetings with your Aunt?” Harry nodded, his gaze now fixated on his O.W.L.
results the he clutched in his hand. “She said you had started to get along with your cousin, what’s his name, Dudley?”

“I told him the prophecy. I told him I had to kill Voldemort. He’s been training me in boxing. I know it can’t just
physically beat Voldemort to death, but he knows absolutely nothing about muggle fighting, I could indeed use it to my
advantage.”

Dumbledore nodded, a little surprised, but pleased with Harry’s words. “You seem to be coming to terms with the
prophecy. I’m certainly pleased with you, Harry.” Leaning in closer, Dumbledore bored his eyes into Harry’s, forcing the
boy to return his gaze. “And Sirius?”

Harry shrugged, “he’s gone. Nothing I can do about it.” after a long silence, Harry spoke once more; his voice was
hoarse with emotion. “It still hurts, but I have to be strong, for everyone.”

“It’s ok to grieve, Harry.”

“I have grieved, but I need to think of the future. It’s just like what Dudley said, I’m the only wizard he considers a
threat. Everybody learns from their mistakes. I made a mistake of letting Voldemort manipulate me, and look how I
learned: my godfather was killed. Now it’s time for Voldemort to learn from his mistakes.”

After his talk with Professor Dumbledore, Harry went straight up to the room he had shared with Ron several times
before. He found himself wanting to be alone for a while and was thankful to find Tonks had already placed his trunk and
the small duffle bag Dudley had let him use, there.

Going for his trunk, he pulled out his thick stack of chocolate frog cards and the binder he had received from Dudley.
Knocking his pillows carelessly onto the floor, he took a seat at the front of his bed and began to sort through the
many cards; placing them alphabetically into the card sleeves.

Harry had been at work for only a few short minutes until he heard a soft knock at his door, “Harry?”

Hermione.

She opened the door cautiously, and peeked her head around it, “can I come in?” Harry nodded, returning back to his
cards. “Is everything ok?”

“No. But it will be.” He sighed and looked up, “I’m really sorry, Hermione. I acted as though I was the only one who
lost someone.”

“He was your godfather, Harry. You had every right to be upset, angry and bitter. I was afraid for you, though. When you
didn’t return my letters. I knew the Dursleys’ hadn’t done anything to you, but that didn’t ease my fear. You can do
more harm to yourself than anybody else can.” Hermione was trying her best to hold back the tears that were on the verge
of freeing themselves.

Harry noticed this, and felt even worse, “I’m sorry, Hermione. Please don’t cry.”

She shook her head, “I’m just so happy that you’re talking to me again. Please, please, don’t shut me out again, no
matter what.”

Harry nodded and showed his trademark, crooked smile, “I won’t, I promise.”

Hermione returned his smile with one of her own, “Good.” Her eyes narrowed, and she grew serious, “because if you ever
stop talking to me like that again, I’ll hex you all the way into next year.”

Harry sat up straighter and saluted her, “yes, Ma’am.”

“Harry, stop!” a light blush creeped into her cheeks. “Birthday present?” she asked, pointing at the binder halfway full
of cards.

“Yeah, Dudley gave me the binder and Ron gave me the two dozen chocolate frogs.” Harry shut the binder and scooped up
the cards he had yet to add to it, deciding on finishing it later. “Speaking of presents, I believe you owe me one.”

“Oh, yes I do! But uh, I can’t exactly give it to you yet, Harry.”

Harry thought better of himself before asking questions, “oh, Ok. I still have more to open anyway.”

“Well what are you waiting for, Harry?”

So for the next thirty minutes, Hermione sat next to Harry on the carpet worn floor as he opened the rest of his gifts.
From Hagrid, he received Quidditch gloves made out of dragon hide; they were charmed to fit perfectly and comfortably on
the hands of the first person to where them. He had received two very worn, books on defense against the dark arts from
Lupin (which Hermione seemed more excited about, than Harry). And last but not least, Professor Dumbledore, it was just
a simple letter, and he had told Hermione he would open it later along with the rest of his letters, but Hermione
insisted on opening it now.

“It could be important, Harry.”

So as always, Harry gave into Hermione’s persistence and opened the letter:

Harry,

First off, I must wish you a Happy Birthday!

And second, I must apologize, once again.

I can’t go back and change things, but I can try to make them better. What you’re about to read is something you should
have been reading this time last year.

Harry pulled out the second piece of parchment that was enclosed in the envelope and read it a loud to Hermione.

I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, hereby invite you, Harry James Potter, to make your presence known at the
next Order of Phoenix meeting. You are one of several people to be asked to join the Order. Please make your presence
known on the night of August 3 at Headquarters of the Order.

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,

Founder and Secret Keeper of the Order of Phoenix

Hermione gasped once finishing the letter, “Harry! You’ve been invited to join the Order of Phoenix!”

“Looks like it. Hey, check your stuff, he wrote ‘several people’, maybe you’re one of them!”

“Oh, Harry, I don’t think Professor Dumbledore would allow me to join the Order.”

“Well we should at least check!” and the next thing Hermione knew, Harry had grasped onto her right hand and pulled her
out of his room and down a flight of steps, not slowing down a bit until they were inside Hermione’s room. “Where are
your O.W.L. results?”

Hermione went to her bed and picked up the opened envelope, “Honestly, Harry, I would have noticed it before…” she
stopped mid-sentence, pulling out a small piece of parchment that she hadn’t noticed before. Her cinnamon brown eyes
seemed to enlarged with each word as she scanned the letter, “Professor Dumbledore wants me to join, too!”

Harry felt a sudden sense of relief wash over him, “that’s fantastic! I wonder if Ron got one, too?” At his words,
Hermione’s smile faltered, “what?”

“Well it’s just…well we both know how Mrs. Weasley can be.”

“Yeah, you’ve got a point there.” Harry sighed heavily, “Ron’s going to be really jealous, again. Maybe I can convince
Mrs. Weasley to let him become a member, I mean…it’s not like he hasn’t faced any danger before.”

~

By the time Harry had made it to bed, it was well into the wee hours of the morning, nearly two. After Harry had learned
that he and Hermione were both becoming members of the Order, he had bade goodnight to Hermione and left her room, all
intentions of going to bed himself.

But those intentions were immediately tossed to the back of his mind as he heard the familiar voice of his best friend.
“Harry!”

Ron came bounding up the steps, several at a time. “Ron!” not caring of the fact that they were both sixteen-year-old
boys, the two met in a hug. “Ron! I thought you weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow!”

“Excuse me.” The two turned to the equally red headed girl standing behind Ron. Her arms were crossed in a reserved
manner, and she was scowling pointedly at Harry, “where’s my greeting.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Harry embraced Ginny into a welcoming hug. Over the years he had come to think of her as his little
sister, “It’s good to see you again, Ginny.”

“Likewise, Harry.” Ginny smirked, eyeing the closed door behind him, “so what was it you were doing in Hermione’s room?”
Harry’s face flourished into the color of Ron’s hair, “you guys were alone, am I right?”

“We—well yeah, but we were just talking, nothing was going on.”

“Well, I suppose there is only one way to find out. Now if you boys will excuse me, Hermione and I have a lot to catch
up on.” Ginny disappeared through the door, leaving the two boys alone.

Harry turned back to Ron, who was eyeing him suspiciously, “so, what were you and Hermione doing in there, alone?”

Harry held back the urge to roll his eyes; he expected it from Ginny, but Ron? “We were just talking.”

“About what?”

“O.W.Ls.” Harry smiled inside, pleased with his answer.

Ron’s demeanor faltered, he did not want to talk about O.W.L. results. “Oh.”

“So what’d you get?”

“Seven.” Mumbled Ron.

Harry nodded sympathetically; Ron could no longer become an auror. “That’s not too bad. Look on the bright side, you’re
finished with Snape.”

“Yeah, but mum was hoping I would do better. So what’d you get?”

“Ten.”

The boys had found themselves continuing on their conversation, while making their way to their room on the second
floor; right below the room shared by the girls. Harry pushed open the door and Ron followed him in.

“You get good presents?” Ron knew Harry received better gifts than his oh-so predictable pack of Chocolate Frogs.

And Harry knew this. “Yeah! I finally got Xavier Quigley’s card!”

“Aw, mate! I’ve been trying to get my hands on that bloody card for ages!”

Harry grabbed his binder full of cards, eager to show Ron. “Did you know they’re coming out with five new cards?”

“Yeah. Professor McGonagall is one of them, but as for the other four; no idea.”

“Well, I don’t care who they are, as long as I’m not one of them.”

A/N: Thanks for the reviews!

I know the thought of Dudley and Aunt Petunia being nice to Harry is a little out there, but it is all part of a bigger
plot. I personally have always thought the way Petunia treated her nephew in the books was for the way she was treated
as a child because of her sister being a witch. If she can’t get back at Lily, the next best thing would be her only
child: Harry. I hope that explains it, a little.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

3. Pandemonium, Part One

A/N: Thanks for the reviews! And S.K, thanks for telling me about the mistake, I have corrected it to 8:36. Well, here
is the next chapter; it’s more of a filler, just tying up some loose ends here and there.

Disclaimer: own nothing, all belongs to JKR.

Harry Potter and the Key of Serendipity

Chapter Three: Pandemonium

Pandemonium.

That’s what it was.

Was it really possible for so much to happen in a span of three days?

Apparently so.

Harry sat silently at the kitchen table, continuously dipping the end of his quill into the ink. His eyes were fixated
on the parchment in front of him: his class choices for year six. Some had already been predetermined for him as a
result of his O.W.L.s, but he still needed at least three more classes, it was the first of August, and Harry was to
have his class choices done and sent to Professor Dumbledore by the third. With Hermione’s constant persistence, he and
Ron gave in, deciding they should get it over with. He was taking N.E.W.T level Transfigurations, Potions, Charms, and
Defense Against the Dark Arts. He checked another box for Care of Magical Creatures, more for Hagrid than for himself.
And another one for Herbology, it wasn’t his best subject, but he did receive an E on his O.W.Ls in the class.

Seven down and one to go.

He was for sure not taking Divination again; he didn’t need Professor Trelawney to predict whose hands he was to die by.
So it was either another boring year of History of Magic from Professor Binns, or Muggle Studies. He did grow up as a
muggle, granted, he was treated lousy, but as a muggle nonetheless. It would be any easy grade. Yes. He was going to
take muggle studies.

He checked the last box and sighed, somewhat content on his decision.

Ron leaned forward, checking Harry’s latest choice, “good choice, mate. Can’t be too hard for you, growing up as a
muggle and all.”

At Ron’s words, Hermione too peered over the table to Harry’s choices, “Harry, what about History of Magic? It’s a very
important class--”

“Maybe Harry prefers to not sit around listening to a ghost with a nasally sounding voice, and who speaks an average of
ten words a minute discussing the Battle of Hastings,” Ron countered, not even giving Hermione a chance to finish her
sentence.

Hermione’s eyes narrowed, “Well maybe Professor Binns talks slow so certain people can keep up with what he is saying.”

“Yeah, like you! He talks slow for you, so you can copy every bloody word that leaves his mouth!”

Hermione scowled at Ron, before standing with her own class choices grasped firmly in her hand, “well if you are done,
Harry, would you mind if Hedwig sends my letter with yours?”

Harry shook his head. “No, that’s fine. She’s in her cage. I’ll be up in a minute.” He did not want to get in between
another one of their petty arguments. Sometimes he didn’t understand how they could possibly be friends.

With a rather loud ‘humph’ Hermione turned on her heal and marched up the several stories of stairs towards Harry and
Ron’s room.

Ron smirked, proud of his accomplishment, he rarely won an argument with Hermione Granger. “History of Magic? You’d have
to be mental to take that class willingly, Harry.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” mumbled Harry. But maybe he should take History of Magic, after all, look who he was: The ‘boy who
lived’. What good would muggle studies do? Merlin, I think some of Hermione’s reasonable conscious is starting to rub
off on me. What’s next? Deciding I should start studying for N.E.W.Ts? Suddenly Harry jumped from his seat, causing the
two youngest Weasleys’ to jump with him. “I’m going to send my letter off.”

Later in the early evening, Harry found himself hiding out in Buckbeak’s room, formerly Mrs. Black’s.

He had just come back from speaking with Professor Dumbledore. The house was his. Kreacher was his. A third of the
galleons in Sirius’ vault were his (the other two-thirds, inherited respectively by Tonks and Lupin).

He was leaning up against the wall across from Buckbeak; he tossed the hippogriff another dead rat, wishing it were
Peter Pettigrew.

Ron and Ginny had traveled by Floo Powder with their mother back to the Burrow, they had to take care of some things and
they would be back tomorrow sometime. And after dinner (which consisted of just him, Hermione and Tonks) Hermione had
mentioned something about a book and disappeared out of the kitchen.

So Harry was left alone to think. Something he hadn’t done much of since the day before when he was still residing with
the Dursleys’.

The Prophecy.

Yeah, he had accepted it.

But that didn’t make it any easier.

He, Harry James Potter, was the only one that could choose his fate. Not Voldemort, Not Professor Dumbledore, only him.
He had to beat Voldemort, not just for his own life, but also for hundreds of wizards, witches and muggles.

He had started to make a mental list of things he needed to do to prepare for his battle, whenever the time came. He
needed to study everything, he knew there was a library someplace in the Black estate, but he hadn’t really taken the
time to explore. He needed to continue his boxing, he needed another wand, he needed training, and most of all; he
needed his friends.

Harry turned his wrist over, checking his watch, having forgot it no longer ticked the time by. “It’s probably late, I
should probably get to bed, and tomorrow’s a big day.” Harry found himself constantly talking to Buckbeak, even though
he knew he wouldn’t receive any words in return.

Professor Dumbledore had personally handed him his Hogwarts letter (Harry didn’t even bother to ask how he had received
it so fast), and praised him for his wise choice of classes. So he was sure the rest would get theirs tomorrow morning
and they would then make their annual before start of term, trip to Diagon Alley.

Harry hadn’t even realized, somewhere in the middle of his thoughts he had left Buckbeak’s room, and instead of heading
to his own, he was now standing outside of Hermione’s.

Maybe he should tell her, now.

“Harry?”

Hearing her soft voice, he snapped from his thoughts, and focused his gaze upon her. She was standing behind him, having
just come back from someplace else. “I need to talk to you.”

No beating around the bush.

She raised a brow, “err—um, ok.”

Harry silently followed Hermione into her room, he turned, once he was positive the door was shut and locked (as best it
could be, without using magic). His eyes followed Hermione as she took a seat on the edge of her bed. She maneuvered her
legs into Indian style, and with her chin placed into the palms of her hands, she rested her elbows to her knees.

Harry recognized that position. She always sat like that when she was ready and waiting to listen to him.

“I have to kill Voldemort.”

She didn’t flinch; she never flinched at the Dark Lord’s name.

“Harry, I know you’re hurting. And I know you want revenge, but don’t be ridiculous, let the members of the Order take
care of him.”

She didn’t get it.

Ok, time for a different approach.

Sighing, he let his body plop softly next to her, “the prophecy, Hermione.”

She nodded, “the prophecy at the department of mysteries? It was ruined, Harry. You said Neville broke it, so nobody
knows what it held.”

Taking a breath and steadying his voice, Harry repeated the words Dumbledore spoke to him: “The one with the power to
vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…And the Dark
Lord will make him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…And either must die at the hand of the other
for neither can live while the other survives.”

Harry sat silent; his eyes could burn a hole in the floor below his feet, refusing to look up at Hermione.

Then it clicked.

She gasped.

A sob escaped from her lips.

“Oh, Harry!” she threw her body at him, almost knocking him to the floor, “Harry! Why does—why?” her voice cracked and
her emotions took over, the sobs racked through her body.

Harry did the only thing he knew to do. He wrapped his arms around her midsection, holding her tight against his own
body, letting her cry in his arms. He found his own tears streaming down his cheeks and silently berated himself, he
didn’t want to cry anymore, he had cried enough.

“Hermione, don’t cry…it’ll be ok.” How could he convince her when he hadn’t even completely convinced himself? He was
never good when it came to girls crying.

She pulled away, furiously wiping at her tears, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and emotion. “You don’t know that,
Harry!”

“Yes, I do, Hermione!” She flinched, and he cringed, not meaning to raise his voice, “it says, ‘the power the dark lord
knows not’. I have an advantage Hermione, I’ve got love!”

Since when was Harry the calm and reasonable one, and Hermione was the one freaking out?

Hermione, nodded somberly, her eyes were wandering off in a daze, “from your mum?”

“Yeah.”

Gaining some of her demeanor back and sat up straighter, “If love is what you need to defeat Voldemort, then you’re sure
to get the job done. Harry, so many people love you, Professor Dumbledore, Hagrid, Professor Lupin, your Aunt and
cousin, the order, the Weasleys’…me.”

Hermione’s words sent shivers down his spine, “from you?” the words were out before he could stop them.

“Yeah, you know, we’ve been best friends for nearly six years, I’m not going to just leave you alone, in times like
these.” Her face resembled the Weasleys’ trademark hair.

Get with it Potter! She meant it as a friend! “Thanks, Hermione.”

She nodded, and broke eye contact, “you’d better get to bed, we’ve got lots to do tomorrow, we should look through the
library, I’ve been rearranging it quite a bit. I hope you don’t mind.”

“You know where the library is?”

Hermione laughed, causing Harry’s boyish grin to show, “are you really that surprised, Harry? Now come on, go to bed!”

“Yes ma’am!” it was becoming a normal reply for him whenever Hermione told him to do something. He’d never really had
someone to tell him to do something simple that was in his best interest, such as, ‘go to bed’.

He opened the door, and stopped before leaving. “Hermione?” he turned, once again facing her.

“Hmmm?”

“Are you---you ok?”

Hermione knew what he was talking about. She nodded, giving him a reassuring smile, “I’m fine. I stopped taking my
healing potions nearly two weeks ago.”

Harry nodded, “that’s good.”

~

The next day found the trio alone on the second floor in the room shared by Ron and Harry. Hermione was sprawled out
comfortably on Harry’s bed, her mind indulged in one of Harry’s Defense Against the Dark Arts books he received for his
birthday. She was furiously taking notes and had already gone through several pieces of parchment.

Harry hadn’t really gotten to speak to Hermione alone, Ron and Ginny had arrived before he even woke this morning.

Harry and Ron were going over chocolate frog cards, trading with each other. Harry had filled Ron in on every little
detail of his summer, and the best part for Ron seemed to be the binder Dudley had given Harry for his chocolate frog
cards (they had already finished reading 107 hexes, Hermione of course disapproved of such a thing).

“Cecil Sullivan?” asked Ron, waving the card in front of Harry.

Harry shook his head, “got him too. You know, Ron, I could just give you Basil Horton.”

“No! I mean...it has to be a fair trade.” He continued on through his box of cards, “how about…”

“Montague Knightley.” Harry pointed out several cards with Montague’s face plastered on the front. “I don’t have him.”

“Why didn’t you say so, mate! I have at least ten of him,” said Ron, handing Harry the chocolate frog card in trade for
Basil Horton’s card. He watched as Harry slid Knightley’s card into an empty sleeve. “Too bad we can’t bewitch it. It’d
be nice if there were alphabetical labels telling you who you still needed.”

“Yeah, that’d be cool,” agreed Harry.

“Oh, and nobody could take out the cards except for the owner of the binder! Blimey, that’d be even better! I’m always
getting mine stolen.”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t be such a prat and brag about the cards you have.” Unbeknownst to the three, Ginny had opened
the door and was leaning against the frame, “mum wants you three downstairs. Hogwarts letters just arrived, and we’re
going to Diagon Alley.”

Hermione jumped from her spot following close behind Ginny, “It’s about time! I’m dying to get my books, I’m already
behind on my study schedule.” Harry just laughed, but Ron on the other hand looked at her as if she was crazy.

“Hermione, we sent our class choices out yesterday, and how can you be studying when school hasn’t even started yet?”
exclaimed Ron, making his own way out of the room.

Harry sighed and grabbed his letter from the nightstand next to his bed. Was it possible for those two to go one day,
just one, without getting into an argument?

“Harry dear, can I have word with you for a moment?” Harry had just placed both feet firmly on the leveled floor when
Mrs. Weasley spoke. Harry shrugged his shoulders at a questionable Ron and Hermione, before he followed Molly Weasley.
She stopped, once she was sure they were out of extendable-ear shot.

Mrs. Weasley looked at Harry with the same look of love she gave her own children, “how are you, dear?”

Harry loved Molly Weasley dearly, truth be told, she was the closest thing he had to a mother. But he honestly hated
when she looked at him like that, he wasn’t good enough to earn a look of love from her, not after nearly killing her
two youngest children. “I’m ok…and I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

Tears glistened in his emerald gaze, “for everything…last year and all.”

“Oh, Harry!” she engulfed him in a hug, her own tears threatening to spill, “you have absolutely nothing to be sorry
for!” she pulled back, giving the boy a smile, “it’s not your fault, if anything I’m thankful Ginny and Ron are around
somebody like you. Yeah, maybe they are put in a little more danger, but with Arthur and I choosing sides with Albus,
they were already put in danger. There’s a war going on, Harry, everybody’s in danger.”

Harry, to say the least was surprised at Mrs. Weasley’s words. In the past, she wasn’t exactly known for her brave and
understanding words, she always spoke the complete opposite: fear and anger for Harry, Hermione and her two youngest on
the choices they made. “Then what about the Order?”

“They’re too young, you’re too young! It’s one thing to run off and defeat a troll, it’s another to join the main source
of resistance against you-know-who!” she snapped in a harsh whisper.

That was the Molly Weasley, Harry knew.

Harry made a decision: Mrs. Weasley had to know, as did Ron. But now wasn’t the time, he would have to talk to Professor
Dumbledore before the order meeting tomorrow evening.

Instead, he just nodded at her words before turning and heading back to the group that had gathered around the
fireplace.

Once the four Hogwarts students and Mrs. Weasley were standing safely in front of Gringotts bank, four Order members
quickly joined them.

“Oi, Charlie…Bill, what are you two doing here?” Ron yelled out.

The oldest Weasley children were accompanied by Moody, and the ever noticeable, Rubeus Hagrid.

“You didn’t think we were just going to let you go out in a public place in times like these, did you?” Charlie replied.

“Harry, how are ye?” said, Hagrid, patting him heavily on the back, “ye like yer gift?”

Harry’s trademark crooked smile shown, “yeah, I’m definitely going to use them for Quidditch.” (A letter from Professor
McGonagall informed Harry that he was once again aloud to play Quidditch, although apparently his broom had been
destroyed and he would need to buy another one).

“Where to first?” Charlie asked.

“I uh…I need to get some galleons.” Harry hated mentioning money with the Weasleys’.

“I’ll come too, Harry.” Hermione spoke, coming into view from behind Hagrid where she was standing next to Ginny. “I
need to exchange some muggle money.”

Moody nodded, he looked at the two with his one eye, while his magical one continued to skim the crowd full of hustling
and bustling witches and wizards. “I’ll go with you two.”

Mrs. Weasley nodded, “well we’ll meet you at Flourish and Blotts when you’re done. Ginny, Ron, come along, now.”
Somberly, Ron followed close behind Ginny and his two oldest brothers.

Harry turned to Hagrid, “where will you be?”

“Gotta get me some stuff fer lessons.” He said rather excitedly.

Harry didn’t even bother to ask, not sure if he really wanted to know ahead of time.

Once making the short trip to Gringotts, Moody insisted they go straight to Griphook and no other goblin. Harry had
remembered Griphook from his first trip to the Wizard bank six years prior.

They made a quick stop at vault number 687 where Harry found his share of Sirius’ vault had been added to his already
thousands of galleons. He quickly refilled his moneybag and they went on to exchange Hermione’s muggle money.

Within ten minutes the three were entering the bookshop.

Hermione’s excitement boldly radiated off of her and Harry couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s enthusiasm. “There
are so many books I want to get.” She said, making her way through the crowd of Hogwarts students and towards the back.

Harry followed and soon found himself in the familiar position of being watched by several pairs of eyes.

“Harry!” Neville rushed up to Harry, nearly out of breath.

Harry felt a genuine smile invade his features; sometimes he felt he had more in common with Neville than he did with
Ron. “Hey, Neville.”

“I just wanted to say thanks for the book, I’ve read it at least a dozen times.”

“I thought you might like it. Thanks for the wand holder, it’ll be nice knowing I don’t have to worry about someone pick
pocketing it.”

“Yeah, I thought that too. So uh…” he took a quick glance around, lowering his voice, “did you get a letter too? You
know, for tomorrow?”

Harry’s eyes widened, and he too looked around at his surroundings, “you got one?”

“Yeah. I figured for sure that you got one. Hermione, too?”

“Yeah, we both did, but Ron…”

“Hey Ron!” Neville said loudly, warning Harry of the Weasley’s path towards them, “How was your summer?”

“It was good, yours?” Ron’s arms were buried under a huge stack of schoolbooks.

“Excellent! My Gran bought me a new wand.” He gave Harry knowing look, “well uh…see you guys soon. I should really head
back to the leaky cauldron.”

Harry watched as Neville disappeared through the thick crowd. Neville was invited to join the order?

Ron really wasn’t going to be too pleased.

“What were you two talking about?” Ron asked.

“Oh, umm, Chocolate frog cards,” lied Harry.

After the group got their books needed for school, Molly performed the shrinking charm on each bundle, making it easy to
carry.

“I’ve got to take Ginny to the second hand robe shop.” Said Mrs. Weasley once they were all out of the book shop, “I
suppose you three have places you would like to go?” The three nodded, “I want each of you to have somebody with you at
all times. Alastar, you stay with Harry, Bill with Ron and Charlie with Hermione. We will all meet up at the Leaky
Cauldron at one.”

After Mrs. Weasley left with an angered Ginny, Hermione spoke, “I need to run into the stationary shop and pick some
things up and go onto the Apothecary, Harry I’ll pick up your potion ingredients. I think we should meet up at the ice
cream parlor in an hour.”

Ron nodded, “sounds good to me, I’m off to Quality Quidditch Supplies. How about it, Harry?”

“I need to make a few other stops first.”

Reluctantly, Ron nodded at his friend, “if you insist mate, meet me at Fred and George’s shop, we can go to Quality
Quidditch supplies together.”

Harry nodded and watched as Ron threw himself into the crowd with Bill close behind. Hermione and Charlie had already
wandered off. Harry turned and smiled at Moody who was looking at him suspiciously with his normal eye, “can we make a
quick stop at Ollivander’s?”

After Harry bought his second wand (with much praise from Moody), the two moved on across the street to Wells’ Wonders.
Harry had never stepped foot in the store before but had heard plenty about it. Alden Wells, a muggle born wizard,
opened the shop nearly fifty years ago. He pretty much made and built anything, getting his inspiration from muggle
artifacts.

Harry knew this would be the perfect place.

Twenty minutes later Harry walked out of the shop (Moody following close behind) with a satisfied smile plastered on his
face. “I think it’s time we go to Fred and George’s shop, Professor.”

“I was never your professor, Potter. Just call me Moody.”

Harry nodded; the auror had a point, “Ok then, Moody it is.”

Fred and George ushered Harry into Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes as if he were royalty. Giving him the grand tour and
shoving odd products into every pocket of his robes.

“Only the best for the best, am I right, Feorge?” Fred handed Harry a rather tiny box.

“Ah yes, Gred. The Bubbling Box is an extremely wise choice, one drop is enough to spike every cup on the whole
Slytherin table twice.” Returned George.

“Produces a rather foul smell.”

“I’m sure Malfoy’s used to his own smell by now.” Added George.

“Harry, we gotta get going, Hermione will go mental if we’re late.” Ron came up behind him, his arms full of assorted
skiving snackboxes.

Harry nodded, “you’re probably right. Thanks again for the samples.”

“We should be the one thanking you.” Fred replied. “We’ll be looking forward to reading that book of yours, send it
soon.”

“Will do. See ya!”

Ron and Harry left the crowded confines of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes and made their way to Florean Fortescue’s Ice
Cream Parlor. They found Hermione sitting alone at an outside table (Charlie was sitting at a table next to her,
motioning for Bill and Moody who had been following Ron and Harry to join him), as always, her nose was in a book.
Sensing the two boys, she looked up, “hey guys!” she seemed rather pleased with herself.

“Hey, Hermione.” Greeted Harry, taking a seat next to her, “what are you reading?”

“I’ll tell you later, right now I have to give you your birthday present.”

“A little late, aren’t you, Hermione?” said Ron, taking a seat, although his eyes were fixated on the half eaten sundae,
“you done with that?” Hermione gave him a disgusted look, which Ron took as a yes and pulled the bowl towards him.

Harry looked around Hermione’s belongings, “where’s it at?”

“It’s not here.”

“But you just said…”

Hermione rolled her eyes; “it’s waiting for you at Quality Quidditch Supplies.”

Her words made Ron even stop eating. “Bloody hell! You got him a Firebolt 190!”

She shrugged her shoulders, “Harry will just have to go in and find out.”

~~I know it kind of seems like a place to end the chapter, but if I didn’t end it soon it would go on forever, so take
this as Pandemonium, part one.

~Thanks for the reviews! The paragraph that is bold and italic is the prophecy word from word as it reads in the order
of the phoenix, so it too, belongs to JKR.

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4. Pandemonium, Part two

A/N: thanks for the reviews!

Disclaimer: as always, I own nothing (except for my plot and the characters that I make up along the way).

Harry Potter and the Key of Serendipity

Chapter Four: Pandemonium, Part Two

Harry stood in front of the entrance to Quality Quidditch Supplies, his hand hesitant to grasp the tainted gold
doorknob.

Had Hermione really gotten him a Firebolt 190?

He knew with both her parents being dentists, they had a rather decent amount of money. But to by him, a broom, the
latest and fastest broom on the market, seemed a little surreal to Harry.

“Hurry up, Mate! You’re gonna let me have a fly on it, right?” of course Ron had already assumed Harry’s gift was indeed
a Firebolt 190. No its ands or buts about it.

He could see Hermione rocking back and forth on her heals, her hands grasped together behind her back, seeming just as
eager as Ron was for him to open the door.

Taking a breath, Harry wrapped his fingers around the doorknob; he twisted it and pushed it open, stepping through the
threshold. He found himself being hurried up by Ron, who was eagerly pushing his body along.

“Ah, Miss Granger, I see you have retrieved your friend.” The squeaky and aged voice sounded from the trio’s left. All
three turned around, and found a short and skinny wizard standing behind the counter, looking eagerly at their arrival.

Harry had visited Quality Quidditch Supplies many times before, but he couldn’t seem to place a time when he remembered
seeing Mr. Buckley.

“Hello Mr. Buckley. Yes, I believe it’s time Harry receives his birthday gift.” Hermione blushed slightly from Harry’s
stare. His emerald gaze seemed to be fixated on her instead of Mr. Buckley.

Mr. Buckley’s gaze was plastered solely on Harry, “yes indeed, Harry Potter, it’s a pleasure to finally see you in
person.”

Harry gave him a fake smile, knowing surely where this conversation was going; he had heard it too many times before.
“It’s nice meet you too, Mr. Buckley.”

“Please, please, call me Gilmore. It seems like just yesterday when James wandered in here for the first time at the
mere age of eleven.”

“You knew my father?”

“Absolutely. Once he started attending Hogwarts, he would spend most of his summers in this very store, he had a part
time job here; he was quite a responsible young lad. If it weren’t for your eyes, I would think I was staring right at
him.”

Harry gave the man a sad smiled, besides his days at Hogwarts, nobody really told him much about his father’s life
before James’ untimely death nearly fifteen years before.

“Well I suppose we should get down to the reason you are here. Miss Granger asked for my assistance on a birthday
present for a friend and when I learned who this ‘friend’ was, I couldn’t bare to turn her down.” Mr. Buckley gave
Hermione a small wink before disappearing beneath the counter and returning seconds later with what looked to be a
rather weighted package in his hands.

Ron looked at Hermione insanely, “you got him a book!”

Hermione scowled at Ron’s remark, feeling very self-conscious of how Harry would react to his gift. She smiled shakily
at Harry, “it’s not just any book. It’s taken me about two and a half months to put it together, even with Mr. Buckley’s
generous help.” She watched as Mr. Buckley handed it off into Harry’s hands, and bit her bottom lip nervously, “Happy
Birthday, Harry.”

“Haven’t you given him enough books? He could’ve really used a new broom, considering his mysteriously disappeared from
Umbridge’s office.”

A loud crack had just sounded behind the three, soon to be Hogwarts sixth years, “I beg to differ, Mr. Weasley.”

Ron let out a high-pitched yelp and spun around, he most definitely recognized the strict tone, “Professor
McGonagall…err uh…” his ears now mirrored his hair.

“Minnie! So good to see you, again! It’s been, what? Nearly six years?” Gilmore Buckley greeted his once-Hogwarts
classmate enthusiastically.

Ron mouthed ‘Minnie’ in Harry’s direction, for which he got a shrug in return. Harry was actually quite curious to see
what exactly was in the book and why Professor McGonagall had showed up at Quality Quidditch Supplies.

Minerva McGonagall nodded curtly; not at all fazed by the name Gilmore Buckley had greeted her by, “yes, I suppose it
has been nearly six years. I sincerely apologize for not keeping in touch, Gilmore.”

“Nonsense, Minnie! If Harry here is anything like James, you’ve most definitely got your hands full!”

Ron snickered, that was definitely an understatement.

“Yes, well I really should get down to the reason I presented myself here. It actually has to do with you Mr. Potter.”

Ron’s eyes widened, “you’re not going to take away his Quidditch privileges, are you?”

Professor McGonagall cast her stern glance downward at the red head, “not if Gryffindor wants a good chance at winning
the cup this year.”

Ron seemed appalled, “we won last year without him!”

“Indeed you’re right, Mr. Weasley, but I rather not take those chances again this year. Would you?” Ron shook his head,
“which brings me to the reason I am here. Gilmore, being a former Gryffindor seeker and Slytherin rival yourself,
wouldn’t you like to see us once again---”

“Beat their arses and utterly humiliate Malfoy and Snape!” Ron said enthusiastically.

“That’s Professor Snape to you, Mr. Weasley…and that is one way to put it.”

Harry thought for sure he saw the beginning of a small smile form on Minerva McGonagall’s lips, almost in a Cheshire cat
like way.

Gilmore Buckley chuckled and nodded, “ah, I see where you’re going with this Minnie. The whole team has Firebolt
190s…and you want the same. Am I right?”

“Well we do have to keep up with the competition.”

Harry snickered, “competition? With a seeker like Malfoy?”

“And a keeper like Bletchley!” added Ron, which caused Hermione and Professor McGonagall to roll their eyes
simultaneously.

“He has James’ ego when it comes to Quidditch skills, eh?”

Hermione didn’t like this. “Harry doesn’t have an ego! He’s one of the most nice and down to earth people I know, don’t
believe what the Daily Prophet writes!”

Gilmore put his hands up in mock surrender, “just kidding there. You’ve got yourself quite a feisty one, there, Potter.”

Both Harry and Hermione blushed slightly before speaking at the same time, “we’re not a couple!”

Crossing his arms, Ron glared at Mr. Buckley, “aren’t we supposed to be talking about brooms? You know, giving the whole
Gryffindor Quidditch team Firebolt 190s.”

“Not so fast Mr. Weasley, you don’t even know if you’re going to be on the team this year,” spoke Professor McGonagall.

“What?”

“Honestly, Ron. There are tryouts every year. I barely pay attention to the sport, and I even know that!” Hermione said
in her know it all voice.

Ron scowled at her, “well if you suddenly know so much about Quidditch, mind telling me who the new captain is?”

She crossed her arms and gave Ron a triumphant glare, “Harry.”

“Harry?”

“Me?”

Professor McGonagall nodded, “yes, you.” Harry didn’t get it. He thought for sure Katie Bell would get the position;
after all it usually did go by seniority. And besides, Professor McGonagall was not one to give the famous
Boy-who-lived, special treatment. “Miss. Bell was my first decision, but she declined, the position, explaining she
would have too much priorities with her upcoming N.E.W.Ts and her new Head Girl duties.”

“Well you’re going to give me the keeper position, right mate?”

Harry nodded, “yeah of course.”

“Harry! You can’t promise Ron the position, what if someone else tries out who is better than Ron.” Hermione exclaimed.

“Excuse me! But I’m not that bad!”

Harry cringed: here comes another Hermione and Ron argument. He had to stop it before it started.

He turned to Professor McGonagall, “thanks for appointing me. I’ll definitely have to send Katie an owl, thanking her,
too.”

Professor McGonagall nodded, “winning the Quidditch Cup would be a wonderful way of thanking me. And yes, you should
thank Katie.” She returned her attention once again to Gilmore, “so seven Firebolt 190s, Gilmore. Could you have them
sent to Hogwarts and I’ll send you the payment.”

“No need to pay me. Think of it as a sponsorship towards the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

Within fifteen minutes the three exited Quality Quidditch supplies, not even noticing Moody, Charlie and Bill beginning
to follow them again. Harry had completely forgotten their presence, until he heard the familiar rhythmic clunk of
Moody’s wooden leg.

“Bloody hell! Firebolt 190s! Can you believe it, Harry?”

Harry shook his head, trying not to lock gazes with Hermione’s disappointed stare. She was still seemingly upset with
Harry for automatically appointing Ron keeper without even weighing his options.

“We still have another hour to kill before we need to meet Mrs. Weasley at the Leaky Cauldron. Where should we go now?”

The three stood in the middle of the hustling and bustling Diagon Alley, Harry’s eyes stopped at one of the few stores
he had yet to enter. “How about he Junk shop?”

Ron raised a brow, “why in the name of Merlin would you want to go into the junk shop?”

He shrugged his shoulders, “I’ve never been there, before.”

“I think we should go, too.” Hermione agreed, “I’ve noticed while passing by that they have a huge collection of books.”

Ron crossed his arms, “Percy got a book there, and look how he turned out.”

“So are you saying if I purchase and read a book from the Junk Shop, I’ll turn out like your backstabbing git of a
brother, Percy?” Hermione’s face was flushing with anger.

Harry stepped in, “that’s not what he meant, right Ron?” Ron reluctantly nodded, “let’s just go and get out of the
center of Diagon Alley, people are starting to look at my forehead.”

Once the three had made the rather long trek to the Junk Shop (the three member orders once again chose to wait outside,
much to Moody’s aggravation), Harry found himself walking away from Ron (who was busy looking at a stack of old editions
of Sweeping the Air magazines) and to the other end of the small shop. It was one of the few places in Diagon Alley he
had not gotten the opportunity to visit.

It sort of reminded Harry of the times his Aunt Petunia (not that she would ever admit it) had dragged him off during
the day to flea markets. And it always amazed him; something that one person considered junk, another person considered
treasure.

The little sun that had made its way through the old enchanted windows gleamed into the contents of a broken cauldron
stuffed full of keys. One particular, rather large key caught Harry’s eye. Upon picking it up for closer inspection, he
caught sight of the Hogwarts crest engraved into the head of the key, it was barely noticeable from the beating it had
taken from centuries of life, but it was visible, nonetheless.

“It’s a worthless piece of rubbish, been sittin’ there for years. Pay me a sickle and it’s all yours.”

Harry whipped around, his raven colored hair rustling at the sudden wind. The man chuckled, as Harry looked at him
dumbfounded, “just a sickle?” The old wizard nodded and Harry Absentmindedly pulled a sickle out of his moneybag and
placed it on the counter, “err—uh, thanks.”

“A key? Why the bloody hell do you want a key?” Ron’s voice spoke from over Harry’s shoulder. Harry turned to his friend
and shrugged his shoulders; he wasn’t going to explain his reasoning to Ron in front of the shopkeeper. “Suit yourself,
mate. Let’s go find Hermione so we can get out of here.”

For such a small shop, it took the two boys awhile to find the third member of the so-called ‘trio’. But when they did,
neither was at all surprised to find her deeply divulged in a book.

“You’ve bought at least a dozen books today, Hermione! And that’s without counting the ones needed for school!” Ron
exclaimed as Hermione finished paying for the book and left the shop, leading the way to the Leaky Cauldron. “If you’re
going to spend so much money, you should at least buy something you need! Like an owl!”

“I’m not getting rid of Crookshanks, Ron. So drop it.” she pulled the heavy door open, not at all surprised to see Mrs.
Weasley had yet to arrive, they were at least a good fifteen minutes early. She took a seat at the nearest empty table
and sat her bags on the floor next to her chair. Harry followed suit, taking a seat next to her and pulling out the key
he just purchased, while Ron went to order three butter beers.

Following close behind was Moody, his magic eye swiveling wildly and his wooden leg echoing as he walked up to the table
Harry and Hermione now occupied. Harry quickly stuffed the key back into the confines of his robe pocket, all together
forgetting the abilities of Moody’s magical eye.

“Looks like a good find there, Potter.”

Harry shrugged, “it just looked interesting.”

Moody nodded, not at all believing the boy-who-lived. “Get all your school supplies.” The two nodded as Ron headed back
with three butter beers in his hands and talking eagerly with Bill and Charlie.

The group of six sat around the small round table, talking and sipping their butter beer when Harry heard the
oh-so-familiar dreamy voice behind him.

“Hullo, Harry.”

Harry turned and smiled genuinely at Luna Lovegood, “hello, Luna. Would you like to join us?” Ron’s eyes widened and he
nearly spit out his drink.

“Thanks, but no thanks. I just stopped by to congratulate you.” Her eyes had now wandered to her favorite Weasley,
although she continued to talk to Harry.

Harry raised a brow, “for what?”

“Why your chocolate frog card of course. You’re the youngest wizard in history to make it on to a chocolate frog card.”
She handed Harry one, “I must be going now. Father and I have a lot to take care of before tomorrow evening.” She left
the speechless wizard, staring at the picture of himself.

Ron grabbed the card out of Harry’s hands, and read it aloud: “Harry James Potter, otherwise known as the Boy-who-lived.
Harry was born on July 31, 1980, to James and Lily Potter. His parents’ came to an unfortunate death when he was at the
mere age of one. Harry is the only known person to ever survive the Avada Kedavra curse and has fought
he-who-must-not-be-named several times”.

Hermione was first to break the silence, “at least they didn’t make up any lies, like the Daily Prophet.”

After Mrs. Weasley arrived at the Leaky Cauldron with a still seemingly angry Ginny, the grouped flooed their way back
to number twelve Grimmauld Place.

~

“Honestly mate, I don’t see why you’re angry. It’s an honor to be put on a chocolate frog card.” Ron said right before
stuffing his mouth with another chocolate frog. Surprisingly, he had yet to show signs of jealousy.

“I’m only on there because my parents were killed and I survived Voldemort’s attack!”

Both Ginny and Ron flinched at the use of the Dark Lord’s name and Hermione rolled her eyes, “honestly, it’s just a name
and it’s not even his real name.”

“Why don’t we get back to the task at hand, finding who the last two new chocolate frog cards are?” Ginny said, “we know
Harry, McGonagall and…”

“Maglee!” Hermione answered rather loudly; aggravated that she was the only one to remember the witch’s name.

“Right. What’d he do again?”

“She wrote the very first edition of Hogwarts: A History.”

They had returned back to Grimmauld Place nearly five hours ago and after a gruesome three hours of cleaning with Mrs.
Weasley and then feasting down dinner, the four had been left alone.

So, here they were. Sitting around in a circle like figure on the carpeted floor in the center of the drawing room,
going through chocolate frogs. Well actually, it was more like Ginny, Hermione and Harry looking at the cards and Ron
eating the chocolate frogs.

Harry had been too involved in the day’s “big news” about his card; he hadn't really had a chance to tell Hermione about
Neville.

Until now.

Mrs. Weasley had just called Ron and Ginny downstairs, something to do with school robes. So it was just Harry and
Hermione.

Leaning closer to Hermione, his voice came out in a concealed whisper, “Neville was invited to the meeting.”

Hermione’s eyes widened but quickly returned to their proper size, “I guess I can understand Professor Dumbledore’s
reasoning. But Luna…” she spoke her name with some amount of disgust.

“Luna?”

Hermione nodded, “didn’t you hear what she said at the Leaky Cauldron?”

Harry stopped and thought about it for a moment. “I must be going now. Father and I have a lot to take care of before
tomorrow evening.”

“Yeah, she and her father.”

Hermione nodded, and the two left it at that, not wanting Ron to walk in on their conversation. Neither of them had
gotten around to telling him. Harry was still hoping Professor Dumbledore would show up and give Ron an invitation
because Mrs. Weasley had suddenly had a change of heart. Although, he knew that was very doubtful. Molly Weasley was a
very stubborn person.

The two sat in silence for several moments until Harry spoke once more, “thanks again for the book, Hermione.” He
blushed slightly and cast his eyes downward as she rested her gaze upon him. “It means a lot to me. I know you don’t
exactly approve of the sport.”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” She felt her cheeks too, growing warmer but refused to move her gaze away from him,
“if you study it, you’ll get better at your seeker moves and in turn, there will be less of a chance for you to get
hurt.”

Leave it to Hermione to say he could become better at his Quidditch Seeking skills by reading a book.

“Thanks, for everything. You’ve been the one person who has always been there for me. You’ve never gotten jealous, or
thought I was lying. And for helping me, with…you know. You’ve just…you’ve been a good friend to me. Sometimes I don’t
think I deserve your friendship.”

Hermione smiled sadly, “well you’ve been a good friend to me too, you were my first true friend, Harry.” The two sat in
a comfortable silence, their eyes locked in a gaze.

Harry finally spoke, “when do you think we should tell him? About the order and Voldemort?”

“Soon I suppose. Better we tell him, than he find out from somebody else. You and I both know how Ron is.”

“How I am about what?” Ron entered the drawing room, overhearing the very end of their conversation.

Harry and Hermione starred at each other.

“Err…” Harry started.

And as always, Hermione was the first to take action. She stood and closed the door into the room and turned the lock.
“Where’s Ginny?”

Ron raised a brow, “mum is readjusting her dress robes. Why?”

This time it was Harry who spoke, “we need to talk to you.”

“Ok. ‘Bout what?”

“It’s about Voldemort.” Maybe by starting out with Harry having to be the one to defeat Voldemort, Ron wouldn’t be as
angry when he learned of their, along with Neville and Luna’s invitation to the Order Meeting tomorrow night.

Ron flinched, “come on mate! Don’t just spring his name on me like that!” he reclaimed his seat next to Harry and across
from Hermione. “What about he-who-must-not-be-named?”

Taking a breath, Harry decided once again not to beat around the bush. “I have to kill him.”

“We’d all like to kill him, mate. After what he did to Ginny…” Ron shook his head, “make it painful too, use some of
those hexes in that book of yours.”

This time Hermione gave it a try, “you’re Right, Ron.” Both boys whipped their heads in her direction: Did Hermione
Granger just now tell Ron Weasley he was…Right? “We’d all like to kill him. But Harry…Harry’s the only one that can.”

Ron’s shoulders fell and face scrunched up, portraying his confusion. “How do you know?”

“The prophecy.” Harry answered somberly.

This time Ron didn’t have to think for words to reply, “But Neville broke it at the Department of Mysteries!”

Harry sighed, “Professor Dumbledore heard the prophecy, he knows it word for word. Neither Voldemort nor I can survive.
Either I kill him or he--”

“Kills you.” Ron finished.

Harry nodded, “I have to kill him. For the wizarding world, for muggles, for me, and most of all for my parents.”

“You’re father would be proud, Harry.”

All three whipped their heads around to look at the owner of the voice; they spoke in unison, “Professor Dumbledore.”

Albus chuckled slightly, “yes, it is me.” Slowly moving farther into the room, he shut the door with a flick of his wand
and performed a couple of locking spells. He took a seat in the closest chair and his eyes twinkled as watched the three
students. “I’ve been waiting for you to tell Mr. Weasley. You had me worried that you wouldn’t do it before tomorrow
evening.”

Harry scrunched his face in confusion, “you mean--”

“You were waiting for Harry to tell Ron about Voldemort before you invited him?” Hermione finished.

Ron flinched and looked at the three baffled by their conversation. “What are you talking about?”

His blue eyes twinkled through his half moon spectacles, “take a seat, Mr. Weasley.” Waving his wand, he ushered a seat
from the other side of the room and placed it right across from him.

“Err—yes, sir.” Ron obliged.

“Harry, Miss Granger, you too, make take seats.” They obliged too and Professor Dumbledore once again rested his eyes
upon Ron, “you’re mother and I have had quite the long talk.”

Ron sunk in his chair, “a conversation with my mum, this can’t be good.” He managed in a fearsome voice.

“On the contrary, Mr. Weasley.” Pulling an envelope from one of the pockets of his robes, he handed it to the redhead.

Harry and Hermione’s eyes both widened as they stared excitedly at the letter, and Harry was the first to speak, “open
it, Ron!”

Dear Mr. Ronald Weasley,

Please make your presence known on August the third, at Headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix Meeting.

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Ron tore his gaze away from the invitation, “I’ve been invited to join the order?”

“Yes indeed, Mr. Weasley. You’re mother and I have reached an understanding, and she has allowed me to invite you to
tomorrow night’s meeting where you will one of six new members.”

Ron turned to his friends, “one of six! Maybe you guys will get invitations, too!”

Hermione smiled, “actually Ron, we’ve already received our invitations.”

“I’m glad you finally got yours, mate.” Harry smiled, and smacked his friend on the back in a congratulatory way.

Ron scowled at his two friends, his mood quickly changing, “you guys got invitations and you didn’t tell me?”

“We were waiting for you to get yours.” Hermione said, not at all fazed by Ron’s new demeanor.

Harry nodded in agreement, “yeah, we didn’t want to spoil your invitation.”

“Now is not the time to be angry with your friends, Mr. Weasley, it is not their fault for your late invite. If anything
you should be thanking them, with their help I was able to get your mother to agree on you joining.”

“We were?”

“They were?”

The three students looked at Albus Dumbledore, “yes.” He answered, before his eyes glanced to the clock hanging behind
him, “you three should be off to bed; tomorrow will be quite an interesting day.”

~

Ok, so I haven’t gotten a lot of reviews, which I’m taking it to mean people don’t really like my story, or my writing
sucks. Either way though, I enjoy writing. But I also get inspired by reviews.
