Harry Potter and the Key of Serendipity by FlyBuckbeakFly

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 14/08/2005
Last Updated: 10/09/2005
Status: Paused

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.




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.



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.