The Adventures of Harry Black, Year One

reptilia28

Rating: PG
Genres: Humor, Action & Adventure
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 28/01/2007
Last Updated: 27/05/2007
Status: completed

What would have happened if Harry was rescued from the Dursleys when he was a baby? What would have happened if he had that loving family that he was denied? Follow Harry as he lives his years at Hogwarts through a different perspective. H/Hr, SB/OC

Chapters

1. untitled

2. Freedom and Betrayal

3. Ten Years Later...

4. Hogwarts

5. The First Night

6. First Day Classes

7. Interlude I: Abuse of Authority

8. Something Wicked This Way Comes

9. The Forbidden Corridor

10. Christmas Revelations

11. Creatures in the Night

12. Trial by Fire

13. Justice at Last

1. untitled

DISCLAIMER: I own Elizabeth “Lizzie” Black, Michael Black and Whizzy the house elf. All other characters are property of J.K. Rowling.

Current pairings: H/Hr (eventually); SB/OC; OC/?; RL/?

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Chapter 1 - In the Beginning

It was nighttime around Godric's Hollow. The moon shone brightly and the stars sparkled like diamonds in the dark sky. Owls hooted in the distance, the leaves rustling in the gentle autumn breeze.

But all was not peaceful within Godric's Hollow. Not when the memories of the deaths of two innocent people echoed within its walls.

A giant of a man stooped low to walk through the front door of Godric's Hollow, carrying a sleeping baby with a lightning-bolt-shaped scar over his right eye.

The giant was startled by a loud crack, much like a whip. He turned around, being careful not to jostle the baby too much.

“Who's `ere?” the giant said. Even though he whispered, his voice echoed in the night.

“Don't worry, Hagrid, it's just me,” a man said, walking out of the shadows. While dwarfed by the giant named Hagrid, he stood at a towering six feet. He wore dark pants, a white shirt, and a black leather jacket. His dark shoulder-length hair was tied back into a ponytail. Upon seeing him, Hagrid visibly relaxed.

“Ohh…You shouldn' scare people li' dat, Sirius. A'most gave me a heart attack, you did.”

“I heard about what happened, and got here as soon as I could,” the man named Sirius black said. Then he saw the bundle in Hagrid's arms. “Hagrid, give him to me,” he said, extending his arms.

“I can'. Harry's gotta go ter the Dursleys', Dumbledore's orders,” Hagrid said.

“I'm his godfather, Hagrid. And you know what will happen if he goes to the Dursleys'. They hate anything to do with magic; they'll destroy him!” Sirius was on the verge of tears now. Hagrid just shook his head.

“I'm sorry, Sirius. Orders are orders.” Knowing that he couldn't win this battle, Sirius simply lowered his arms and shook his head in defeat. He pulled out his wand and waved it. A second later, a large silver motorcycle popped into existence.

“Take my bike, then. It's faster.” Nodding, Hagrid mounted the motorcycle, which magically expanded to hold its enormous passenger.

“It's fo' the best, Sirius. Say hi ter Lizzie fo' me.” With that, he kicked the vehicle to life, and roared away into the distance. For what seemed like hours, Sirius could only think about the words that Hagrid had said. It's for the best…It's for the best…. But was it?

After burying two of his best friends and vowing to avenge their deaths at whatever cost, Sirius apparated home.

The house known as 12 Grimmauld Place was once a place of darkness. But once Sirius had replaced the barmy old house elf that used to live there with someone more reliable, it became a much friendlier household that normal people could actually live in.

Sirius apparated into the living room of Grimmauld Place to find his house elf Whizzy waiting patiently for him. How does he do that? Sirius wondered to himself.

“Would Master Black like something?” Whizzy asked in a squeaky voice.

“Could you tell me where Lizzie is?” Sirius asked.

“She is currently tucking young Master Black into his crib. Would you like me to summon her?”

“No, thank you, Whizzy.” The normally cheerful elf frowned at the stony expression on Sirius's face, as well as the trails of tears on his cheeks.

“Is something upsetting you, Master Black?” Sirius squeezed his eyes shut as fresh tears fell, then whispered, “James and Lily are dead.” Whizzy gasped loudly at the news. “I sorry, Master! I did not know!”

“That's okay,” Sirius said. Sniffling, he continued, “Whizzy, I am relieving you of your duties for the rest of tonight and tomorrow. Give yourself time to mourn for two good people.” Whizzy nodded gravely.

“Whizzy understands, Master Black. I will return to my quarters now.” Sirius nodded, and the elf popped away.

Sirius slowly climbed his way to the master bedroom and pushed the door open. Lying in the bed reading a book laid his wife Elizabeth. She had dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders, and light green eyes. She looked up and smiled when she saw her husband.

“Hey,” she said as she climbed out of bed to wrap her arms around his neck and give him a sweet kiss on the lips.

“Hey,” he replied, although without nearly as much enthusiasm. She frowned.

“Sirius, what's wrong?” Sirius sniffled, and then let out a strangled sob.

“They're dead, Lizzie. James and Lily, they're dead.” Lizzie gasped, and then pulled Sirius closer as he sobbed into her shoulder.

“Where's Harry, baby? Is he in his room?” Sirius shook his head.

“Dumbledore…Dumbledore sent him to the Durleys.” Lizzie looked like someone has just slapped her.

“He did what?!” she exclaimed. She and Lily had talked about the Dursleys during their many lunchtime conversations, and Lizzie knew that they would rather Harry be in an orphanage than be put with the Dursleys. “How could he put him with those…those…things?!” Sirius shrugged.

“Hagrid picked him up. I told him to give Harry to me, but he said that Dumbledore specifically ordered him to take Harry to the Dursleys.” Lizzie sighed.

“What are you going to do?”

“Tomorrow, I'm going to do some business in Gringotts. Then, I'm going to take Harry back. Then, I'm gonna make Peter pay for betraying them,” he said, cracking his knuckles threateningly at the last statement.

“Honey, promise me you won't do anything rash,” Lizzie pleaded. “You won't do either Harry or Michael any good being in prison.” Sirius took a deep breath and sighed, his temper simmering down at the thought of his son.

“Alright,” he finally said. “I'll try not to kill him; I won't make any guarantees, though.” Lizzie nodded in acknowledgment.

“Come to bed, sweetheart. You need to rest.” Lizzie climbed under the covers as Sirius stripped off his clothes and followed suit.

“I love you,” Lizzie sighed as she wrapped an arm over her husband's chest. Pulling her closer to him, Sirius planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I love you too, babe.” He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but neither of them could, the deaths of two of their closest friends and betrayal of another weighing heavily on their minds.

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A/N: And there's the first chapter. If you've read my ff.net version, you've no doubt noticed that this isn't a prologue anymore. Upon rereading my ff.net version, I saw a few things that I could have done better, but was too lazy to replace the chapter, so there may be minor differences in the first few chapters.

And don't forget to read and review!

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2. Freedom and Betrayal

And here's chapter two.

DISCLAIMER: I own Elizabeth “Lizzie” Black, Michael Black and Whizzy the House Elf. All other characters belong to J. K. Rowling.

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Chapter 2 - Freedom and Betrayal

Sirius woke up early the next morning. He looked at the clock on his nightstand, which read 5:24. Knowing that he had a lot to do today, he carefully climbed out of bed.

“I love you,” he whispered as he softly kissed her temple, before changing into his day clothes and sneaking out of the room.

Sirius walked into his son Michael's room. It was painted light blue with white clouds drifting across the walls. He snuck to the crib in the far corner of the room to look down at his son, fast asleep with his thumb hanging out of his mouth. Grinning, his whispered, “I'll be back, kiddo,” before kissing his fingertips and briefly touching the baby's cheek. He walked down to the kitchen, grabbed a green can, and then apparated to the Leaky Cauldron.

With a crack, Sirius appeared in the Leaky Cauldron bar and inn. As was to be expected at this hour, the only other people there was the old barkeep Tom wiping a table and a couple of customers clutching mugs of coffee like their lives depended on it.

“Anything I can get for you today, sir?” Tom asked cheerfully.

“No thanks, Tom. I just need to get to muggle London.” Nodding in acknowledgement, Tom resumed his cleaning. Sirius pushed the door open and breathed in the crisp morning air.

Sirius walked down a couple of blocks before he hailed a taxi.

“Where can I take ya, guv'?” the driver asked as Sirius climbed in.

“Little Whinging, Surrey,” Sirius said. “And could you hurry?” Nodding, the driver shifted gears and and drove to Little Whinging as fast as he legally could.

When they arrived at the front gate of the community, Sirius climbed out and flung the driver a hundred-pound note.

“Keep the change,” he said as he dashed in. The taxi driver was so shocked that his customer had gave him one hundred pounds without thinking that he simply sat in front of the gate for over a minute.

Sirius ran a couple of blocks before he realized that he had no idea where Privet Drive was. Cursing under his breath, he looked around the street he was in. He noticed a man a couple of doors down from where he was coming out of his house and ran towards him.

“Excuse me,” Sirius panted. “I know someone who recently moved here, but I can't seem to find the right street. Could you point me towards Privet Drive please?”

“Of course,” the man said. “Just go down that way two blocks and turn right, then turn left at the next intersection.” After thanking the man, Sirius ran down the street as fast as he could.

Five minutes later, Sirius found himself in front of Number 4 Privet Drive, the residence of the Dursleys, Lily Potter's magic-hating relatives. Sirius snuck around back and peered through the kitchen window. He saw a skinny, horse-faced woman trying to feed a toddler that would be considered obese beyond the shadow of a doubt cereal while said toddler was throwing a loud tantrum. He also saw Harry, wearing muggle Blue's Clues pajamas and picking at what seemed to be the crust from half a slice of bread.

Clenching his fist to prevent his temper from boiling over, Sirius snuck towards the kitchen door. Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, he pulled out the green can, which had a neon red “DB” emblazoned on it, and kicked the door open.

Mrs. Dursley screamed shrilly as she hoisted her gigantic son up and held him protectively, while Harry squealed excitedly at the sight of his godfather.

“Who are you?! What are you doing in my house?! Is that a grenade?!” she shrieked. Sirius winced slightly as the shrillness of her voice reminded him of his own mother, but picked up Harry and held him in one arm.

“I'll never know how Lily managed to love you, but here's a little gift for you. It'll be fitting for such rotten people as you.” Sirius pulled the pin out of the can with his teeth and dropped it before disapparating. Mrs. Dursley's eyes widened in fear as the green can hit the floor. A couple of seconds later, a putrid green cloud of gas was expelled from the can.

Number 4 Privet Drive never smelled the same again.

Sirius apparated back into the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place to see his wife Lizzie feeding Michael. She jumped in surprise at the crack, but sighed in relief when it was just her husband. She smiled widely when she saw Harry in his arms. She waved her wand to conjure a second high chair before placing Harry in it. While Harry and Michael started making random sounds at each other, Lizzie turned to Sirius.

“What are you going to do now?” she asked, the smile no longer on her face. Sirius sighed.

“First, I'm going to go to Gringotts and execute James and Lily's will, then I'm going to go catch a rat,” he muttered the last part darkly.

“Don't kill him, Sirius,” Lizzie said. “I don't want Michael visiting his father in Azkaban.”

“Don't worry, hon,” he said, kissing her softly. “I won't kill Peter. I'll just beat the crap out of him before turning him in.” Nodding, Lizzie kissed her husband again.

“Just be careful.” He nodded, then disapparated again. She sighed, then turned to Harry.

“I bet you're pretty hungry, aren't you, little guy?” she said excitedly. Harry started squealing again at the mention of food.

Sirius apparated on the front steps of Gringotts bank. Climbing the marble steps, he walked inside. By now, the world had awoken, so the building was rather full.

Sirius fidgeted nervously. While he could never explain it, Goblins always freaked him out. Maybe it was that perpetual scowl they wore.

Sirius stood before one desk and waited to be noticed. After a few minutes of waiting, the Goblin looked up at him.

“Well? Hurry it up, I don't have all day!” Sirius stepped forward.

“I am Sirius Black, here to execute the final will and testament of James Potter and Lily Potter.” The Goblin pulled out a folder from a cabinet and read it.

“It says here that upon their deaths, legal guardianship of their son Harry would go to you, is that correct?” the Goblin inquired. Sirius nodded. “I see. Very well then, just sign this on the dotted line,” he continued, producing a parchment and a quill. Sirius quickly signed his name on the specified line.

“Very well, Mr. Black. Guardianship of Harry James Potter is now yours. He is now to be officially referred as Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, or Mr. Potter-Black. Have a good day to you, sir.” Bowing his head, Sirius walked out of the bank.

As soon as Sirius was in a dark side alley, he whipped out his wand and muttered, “Point me to Peter Pettigrew.” He balanced the wand on his fingertip as it spun around several times before pointing towards the direction of Knockturn Alley. Slipping his wand back into its holster, Sirius walked towards the dank offshoot of Diagon Alley.

As Sirius wandered through the dark and seedy marketplace, he recast the Point Me spell several times, eventually leading him to a pub called the Black Wyrm. He saw a short, round man with a bald spot walk out, and grinned. He followed the man to an abandoned side street.

“Hello, Peter,” Sirius said darkly, startling the man. He spun around and looked at Sirius in fear. His mousy features and buck teeth only made him look more like a rat. How appropriate, Sirius thought.

“S-S-Sirius!” Pettigrew stammered. “W-w-what an unexpected surprise!” He chuckled nervously. “What brings you to these parts?”

“I should be asking you the same thing, Peter,” Sirius growled. Before he knew what hit him, Pettigrew was on the ground with Sirius' fists pummeling down on him. Not thinking, Pettigrew tried to disapparate, but since he made the connection with his magic just as Sirius' fist connected with his cheek, they both disappeared, reappearing somewhere in a muggle London.

“This is for James!” Sirius shouted, driving his fist into Pettigrew's jaw. “This is for Lily!” he slammed into his nose, breaking it. Grabbing Pettigrew by his shirt, Sirius pulled him up.

“Got any last words, Peter, before I send you to the Dementors?” he snarled. Pettigrew discretely pulled out his wand and pointed at a car behind Sirius, which just so happened to have several muggles standing beside it.

“Yeah, one,” Pettigrew said, in a rare moment of defiance. “Reducto!” a red beam shot out of his wand and struck the car, causing it to explode. The muggles nearby were killed instantly and Sirius was knocked back. Sirius heard Pettigrew scream in pain as something dropped to the ground, then saw a rat run into a sewer drain. As the dust cleared, Sirius saw a pinky finger lying on the ground. Scowling at what this would mean for him, he disapparated back to 12 Grimmauld Place before the Aurors could show up.

Lizzie was lying on the floor, her feet swinging like a child's while watching Harry and Michael rolling a ball to each other. A crack was heard in the kitchen, and Lizzie lifted herself up. She walked into the kitchen to see Sirius looking like a homeless man.

“Oh, my god!” she screamed. She rushed to pull Sirius into a tight hug. “What happened? Why do you look like hell and smell like smoke?” Sirius sighed, flexing his fist to calm himself down.

“Peter. He blew up a car in muggle London. He killed a bunch of muggles and then cut off his own finger to make it look like I did it. The aurors are probably looking for me now.” Lizzie gasped.

“But-but...they can prove you're innocent, right? They'll use Veritaserum, or a pensieve, right?” Sirius shook his head grimly.

“With Crouch at the head, it's more likely that they'll simply ship me off to Azkaban without a trial.” Lizzie clung tightly to her husband while she cried into his shoulder.

A knocking snapped them from their stupor. The knocking repeated, this time more insistent. They went to the front door, where the knocking was originating from.

“Who is it?” Sirius asked loudly.

“Sirius! Thank God, you're okay!” a muffled voice shouted from the other side. “It's Remus, let me in!” Sirius was about to do just that, when he stopped and considered what the Ministry of Magic was saying about Polyjuiced Death Eaters.

“How did we describe your condition during our Hogwarts days?”

“You called my lycanthropy my `furry little problem,' although most people believed I had an ill-tempered rabbit.” Satisfied, Sirius opened the door to let his last best friend in.

“While I'm not complaining that you're here, why are you here?” Remus shrugged.

“I was out for a walk when I heard that James and Lily died,” he said, and tears started welling up in his eyes, “so I went and bought some flowers to put them on their graves. Then when I got back to my apartment, I saw aurors trashing the place through the window, so I went straight here. Padfoot, what's going on?” Sirius sighed.

“I tried to catch Peter. But he killed a bunch of muggles and made it look like I did it.” Remus gasped.

“The cowardly bastard...” Remus growled. He took a deep breath to calm down. “How about Harry? Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” Lizzie said. “He's in the living room with Michael.” Remus nodded, then turned back to Sirius.

“Hopefully, this'll blow over soon, Padfoot. They'll figure out you've been framed eventually,” he said, although he did not look entirely convinced himself.

“Before or after Hell freezes over, Moony?” Sirius asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow. “You two go play with the kids. I need a shower.”

“Yes you do,” Remus said in a weak attempt to lighten the mood. Shooing him away, Lizzie sighed.

“Everything's going to be alright, baby,” she said before she joined Remus with the children. Sirius sighed.

“I hope so,” he said to nobody in particular before going upstairs to take a shower.

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And that's the end of the chapter. Keep those reviews a-comin'!

I just came back from seeing Epic Movie. Now I need to read fanfiction to cleanse myself of the shame that came with seeing the Harry Potter parody scene…. ~shakes head~

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3. Ten Years Later...

DISCLAIMER: I own Elizabeth “Lizzie” Black, Michael Black and Whizzy the house elf. All other characters are property of J. K. Rowling.

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Chapter 3 - Ten Years Later…

The boy known as Harry Potter groaned as his alarm clock buzzed at 4:30 AM sharp. Slapping the snooze button, he rolled out of bed and put his round wire-framed glasses on. He grinned when he saw a picture of his parents waving a baby Harry's hand at him.

Gathering some clothes, Harry took a quick shower, then went back into his room. He sat cross-legged on the bed as he closed his eyes and meditated, building up his Occlumency shields. His godfather had impressed on him that shielding one's mind was imperative for security reasons, especially so for him, so he began this morning regime since he was six years old.

After an hour and a half of meditating, Harry snuck downstairs. On his way to the kitchen, Harry stopped to look at some of the other pictures that were on the fireplace. Among them were his parents' and godparents' weddings, with his father and godfather switching places as the best man, a three-year-old Harry trying to blow out a trick birthday candle, with another boy trying to help, and a picture of Sirius and Elizabeth Black holding their newborn son Michael Alphard Black.

Smiling at the happy memories there, Harry walked into the kitchen to start cooking breakfast. As he placed a frying pan on the stove and started turned on the coffee maker, Harry mused as to how he came into this position. When he was six years old, he told the house elf Whizzy that he wanted to learn to cook, something that his godmother supported completely (“It's not like they're going to be living here forever, Sirius!” she exclaimed when it first came up). Since then, it has been something of a game between the two to see who could gain control of the kitchen first. After testing to see if the pan was hot enough, Harry poured some oil in the pan and placed some strips of bacon in the pan.

Remus Lupin was a fairly deep sleeper, especially during the full moon, but his heightened senses immediately picked up the sound and smell of bacon frying in the pan and sneaked down the stairs. When he reached the kitchen, all signs of fatigue disappeared to the intoxicating scent of fried bacon.

“I see you beat Whizzy today,” he commented as Harry pulled out the last of the bacon and started beating eggs. “You know he's not going to be too happy about it,” he added with a smirk.

“Ah, he'll get over it,” Harry said offhandedly as he poured off the grease and poured the eggs in. “Besides, he always cooks lunch anyway.”

“True.” Harry suppressed a chuckle as Lizzie shuffled into the kitchen, her hair wild.

“Morning Liz,” Remus said casually, cracking a grin.

“Morning Mum,” Harry said as he dumped the scrambled eggs onto a plate and gave her a cup of coffee. Muttering a barely audible good morning, Lizzie inhaled the scent of the black liquid in her mug before drinking it.

“I don't understand how you Brits can last the whole day on tea,” she mumbled, her eyes still only half opened and nursing her coffee cup like her life depended on it.

“Well, not everyone is as wound up as Americans, hon,” Sirius said, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck. “Good morning, love.”

“Mmm,” Lizzie moaned groggily, “it's morning, but not necessarily good,” she muttered, draining her coffee and pouring another cup.

“No one told you to get up,” Sirius laughed as he pulled out a butterbeer from the pantry.

“And who can resist that tempting smell of Harry's cooking?” Lizzie asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Michael,” all three males present said simultaneously.

“Besides him,” she said flatly. They looked at each other nervously.

“See, we don't know who can resist Harry's cooking because...no one else has had Harry's cooking,” Sirius said. Lizzie nodded.

“Mm-hmm. So until we can get people over here, we can only assume that the reason why Michael can resist the smell of Harry's cooking is because the boy can sleep through a stampede of Hippogriffs. Speaking of which, it's time to wake him up.”

“I'll do it,” Harry said after setting plates of food on the table. He sneaked up the stairs. A minute later, Harry came back down with another boy around his age, but with long neon-blue hair that stuck up in all directions. Sirius burst out laughing at his son's appearance, while Remus and Lizzie both cracked a grin.

“Thanks for the support, Dad,” Michael grumbled.

“You're welcome,” Sirius choked out between laughs.

“Good morning, love,” Lizzie said, kissing Michael in the forehead.

“Morning, Mum,” Michael said.

“Eat up, Michael, you'll feel better.” Grunting in response, Michael plopped into a chair and started eating.

Almost as soon as everybody sat down, two owls swooped in and dropped letters in Michael and Harry's lap. Everybody glanced at each other before the two boys flipped their letters around. It bore a wax seal bearing a lion, a snake, an eagle and a badger.

“Looks like our Hogwarts letters came,” Michael said neutrally. The eyes of the adults widened. “They really skewed our address, though,” he continued, handing his letter to Sirius. He looked at the front and sure enough, it read:

Michael Black

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/ London

“Huh,” Remus said, looking at the address. “So that's what happens when an auto-notes quill tries to write an address under Fidelius.” Sirius shrugged and gave Michael back his letter, who promptly opened it.

“Does it say things like `Welcome to Hogwarts,' `Please be there by September first,' `Your list of books is included,' that kind of stuff?” Sirius asked. Both boys nodded. “I wonder if McGonagall has all these pre-written and just writes in the name, `cause I swear these letters never change.” Harry shrugged.

“So...who's taking them to Diagon Alley?” Remus asked. Before anyone could answer, Whizzy the house elf popped into existence.

“Whizzy is so sorry for not preparing breakfast! Whizzy shall clean these dishes for youse, masters,” he said in his squeaky voice.

“Really, Whizzy, that's not—” but before Harry could finish, the elf and dirty dishes had vanished from existence. “...Necessary.” No one said anything for a minute.

“So...who's taking them to Diagon Alley?” Remus finally asked.

“I guess you are,” Sirius sighed. “I can't show my face anywhere. I guess you could take Lizzie with you; I don't think you've ever been to Diagon Alley, have you?”

“No, I've been there a couple of times with...Lily,” she said softly. Immediately the whole table went quiet.

“I guess that's settled then,” Sirius said, breaking the silence. “Michael, get dressed.” Nodding, Michael excused himself and ran upstairs.

Remus looked at the book list. “Book list didn't seem to change since we went to school, so they can just take the ones we have. That will save some time.” Michael came back down wearing black jeans and a black shirt reading “How do you keep an idiot entertained for hours? (Look on other side.)”. His hair was also back to normal, his black hair reaching past his ears.

“We ready?” he asked.

“Almost,” Remus said, “let me just grab my cloak and my shoes, then we can go.”

“Great!”

Ten minutes later, Remus, Harry and Michael arrived at the Leaky Cauldron via the Knight Bus (“Pure madness, I tell you,” Michael grumbled). After checking to make sure that Harry's baseball cap was secure, they walked in.

“Hello sir!” Tom the toothless barkeep announced. “Can I get you something?”

“Not today,” Remus said. “Just taking these kids to Diagon Alley.”

“Ah,” Tom said. “Right over here, then gents,” gesturing to the back. Thanking him, Remus took the two boys to a blank brick wall with three dustbins. Remus whipped out his wand and stared at the wall.

“Let's see,” he muttered to himself. “Was it two up and three across? Or was it three up and two across? Ah hell,” he said, and started tapping random bricks until he hit the right one. Luckily for him, he only hit two wrong bricks. “Oi Tom! Maybe you should mark the entry brick!” Remus shouted as the wall shifted away to reveal Diagon Alley.

“Your father gave me some money to buy your supplies, so we don't have to go to Gringotts if you don't want to,” Remus said.

“Yeah, I think we could do with a bit of spending money,” Harry said. Michael merely nodded; his attention focused on Quality Quidditch Supplies. Rolling his eyes, Remus nudged him out of his stupor, and the three of them walked to Gringotts.

When they made it to Gringotts, Michael tried to not seem afraid of the Goblins milling about the building. Remus made it to a desk.

“Yes?” the Goblin snapped.

“I'm here to make a withdrawal from...” Remus paused to look around before leaning over and continuing in a whisper, “the vaults of Harry Potter-Black and Michael Black.” Nodding, the Goblin asked, “Do you have their keys?”

“Yes,” Remus said, producing the two gold keys. The Goblin examined them for a moment, then nodded.

“Very well, Griphook!” the Goblin shouted, and almost immediately another one showed up.

“Takes Mr. Black and Mister Potter-Black to their vaults.” The Goblin named Griphook's eyes widened slightly, but bowed and led them to the carts. When they got there, Remus quickly turned his head away as a large man at least twice his height and three times his width climbed out of another cart, looking slightly green and swaying. Soon the three were rushing towards their respective vaults. After grabbing a few fistfuls of gold, they zoomed back topside, and continued their shopping.

First thing they did was go to Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions.

“Hello dears,” the slightly stocky woman said brightly. “Heading to Hogwarts?” The two boys nodded. Remus placed five galleons on the desk and mouthed “I'll be next door” while the woman took Harry away to be measured. When he went into the fitting room, there was already another boy there. He had platinum blonde hair and held an arrogant air.

“`Lo,” Harry said simply as he stood on the stool and the measuring tape started making random measurements.

“Hello,” the boy said, sneering. Harry just rolled his eyes as the woman came back in.

“Your robes are ready sir,” she said to the blonde boy. He jumped off the stool and snatched the robes out of her hands. She sighed as she started grabbing rolls of cloth and holding them up to Harry.

“Get that kind of clientele a lot?” Harry asked conversationally.

“More than I would like,” the woman admitted. Within minutes, he was done and thanked the woman before walking out, robes in hand.

“Did you see the boy that came out before me?” Harry asked as he sat down.

“Only that he was blonde and walked like he had a stick shoved up his arse,” Michael snorted. Harry grinned at this.

“Bet you a Galleon that he's related to the Malfoys,” Harry challenged.

“You're next, dear!” the woman said to Michael. As he got up, he looked at Harry dead in the eye.

“You're on.”

After that, they went to Eeylops' Owl Emporium, where Harry got a snowy owl he named Hedwig, after a witch he read in one of his history books. Michael got a black owl with gray rings around the eyes, which he couldn't help but name Smoke-Rings. Surprisingly, the owl seemed to like it.

After that, they went to grab their potion ingredients. Needless to say, none of them wanted to stay in there longer than what was absolutely necessary.

“Alright, now all that's left is you're wand,” Remus said as they stopped in front of Ollivander's. It looked run-down, with a wand in the window the only decor.

A chime tinkled as the door opened, and an old man walked in.

“Ahh...Mr. Lupin. It's been years. Willow and dragon heartstring, was it?” Remus shifted nervously.

“Uhh...yeah. These two are buying their first wands,” he said, placing a hand on each boy's shoulder.

“Oh yes. Mister Black, I presume?” Michael walked forward nervously. “Yes, I remember your father...Ash wood and unicorn hair...a shame that it was used for such evil deeds...” It took all he had to keep himself from shouting that his father was innocent. Ollivander pulled out a wand and gave it to Michael.

“Ten and a half inches, Holly, unicorn hair. Give it a flick.” Michael flicked it and a vase levitated into the air.

“Excellent! It usually takes two or three tries to find a good wand. Now, Mister...Potter, you're next.” Harry stepped forward nervously. “Yes...I remember your parents too...such a shame.” He pulled out another wand and gave it to Harry. “Eleven inches, yew and dragon heartstring.” Harry flicked it at the vase Michael levitated earlier, only to have it explode. “I suppose not,” Ollivander said, snatching the wand away and giving Harry another one.

Harry tried out wands for over an hour, with no success. Remus and Michael were sitting in the corner of the shop, growing increasingly bored.

“A tricky one, I see,” Ollivander mused as Harry blew up the same vase for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I wonder...” the old man said, then disappeared into the back of the shop. He came back with yet another wand.

“Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather. Try that.” Harry grabbed the wand and immediately he felt warmth as red and gold sparks flew from the tip.

“Curious,” Ollivander said. “Very curious.”

“Why?” all three visitors asked.

“Because, Mister Potter, the phoenix that gave the feather for your wand gave another, just one other! And the boy who had that wand did great things. Terrible, yes, but great. You hold a powerful wand, Mister Potter, and its brother gave you your scar.” At this news, Harry couldn't help but swallow nervously.

----

And that's the end of that.

The computer I'm on right now seems to log me off my author account every time I leave the control panel, so I can't make author's comments, so I'll just answer this now.

For those who are concerned about Harry still cooking, even though there's a house elf, I always felt that Harry's culinary skills is one of those things that makes Harry “Harry.” I've seen one or two fics (it was a long time ago, so I can't name them) where, after 16 years living with the Dursleys, Harry as an adult has no cooking skills whatsoever. That infuriated me to no end. I also think that his cooking skills would translate into his potions skills if Snape would just lay off the insults.

And although both Harry and Michael are sons of Marauders, I don't have a good mind for pranks, so don't expect to see too many in this story.

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4. Hogwarts

Alright, this is my last chapter released so far. I might write another chapter sometime this week though.

DISCLAIMER: I own Elizabeth “Lizzie” Black, Michael Black and Whizzy the house elf. All other characters are property of J. K. Rowling.

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Chapter 4 - Hogwarts

Soon, the first of September arrived, and chaos reigned in the Black household.

“Are you sure you packed everything?” Lizzie asked in a panic. “Toothbrush? Books? Clean underwear?”

“MUM!” Harry shouted, snapping her out of her panicking. “We'll be back in four months; it's not like we're joining the military or anything.”

“Oh, I know, Harry. But this is the first time that I'll be separated from you for so long. Can't a woman just be a little bit emotional?”

“Mum, take a deep breath, and relax,” Michael said, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

“Besides, I made a list,” Harry said, producing a piece of parchment with various items listed. All of them were crossed out. Finally satisfied, Lizzie glanced at her watch.

“It's 10:30. Go get changed and we'll apparate to the station. Collapsico,” she said, pointing her wands at their trunks. They instantly shrunk to the size of toy cars. With that, she left the room and closed the door. The two boys started changing into their uniforms.

“Don't forget your precious hat, dear brother,” Michael said, smirking. He grunted as he narrowly dodged the wadded up T-shirt that Harry had thrown at him.

Ten minutes later, Harry, Michael, Lizzie and Remus appeared at platform 9-3/4 with a crack (they said goodbye to Sirius at Grimmauld Place, as it would look suspicious to be side-along apparating a dog). Lizzie and the two boys were stunned at the sight of the scarlet locomotive that was the Hogwarts Express, while Remus merely smiled at the happy memories it brought.

“Don't forget to write lots of letters,” Lizzie said as she hugged Michael. “And be sure to make the sorting nice and detailed for me,” she continued, hugging Harry. “I love you both.”

“We love you too, Mum,” Harry said. Then he hugged Remus. “Bye, Uncle Moony,” he said. Michael repeated the gesture.

“I'll see you both at Christmas,” Remus said, eyes welling up with tears. Bidding their final goodbyes, and making sure that Harry's black baseball cap was on securely, the two boys climbed onto the train that would take them to Hogwarts.

The two boys opened a compartment to see a young girl holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, chewing on the end of a quill in thought. She seemed oblivious to their presence.

“Umm, hi,” Harry said. “Mind if we sit here?” She shook her head, but her gaze remained fixed to the parchment. Sitting down, the three of them sat in awkward silence until she asked out of the blue, “What's a seven letter word for `stupid'?” Harry and Michael looked at each other, confused. Michael shrugged his shoulders, and after a minute, Harry answered, “Asinine. A-S-I-N-I-N-E.” The girl nodded and scribbled on the parchment before tossing aside sighing.

“Bloody crossword's been stumping me all week,” she muttered to herself. Then she perked up as if finally noticing the two other presences there. “Hi there. I'm Blaise.” She held out her hand. After the two boys introduced themselves, she asked, “You excited about going to Hogwarts?”

“We are,” Harry said. “Our mum wasn't too thrilled, though.”

“Mmm,” Blaise hummed, nodding in understanding. “Separation anxiety. My mum did it too.” They lurched in their seats as the train started moving. Blaise suddenly frowned. “Where's your luggage?” Michael slapped his pants pocket.

“Had our mum shrink it for us. She taught us the reverse charm for when we get to Hogwarts.”

“Ah.” After a few minutes of silence, she spoke again. “So, what house do you reckon you'll be in?” They both shrugged.

“Our dad hopes we'll be in Gryffindor, but we'll just go where we're sent. How `bout you?”

“I'm hoping for Slytherin. My mum went there, and she's like the coolest mum ever!” she said, squealing excitedly. Harry and Michael cocked their eyebrows at each other.

“Our dad doesn't have the highest opinion of Slytherins, but after some verbal thrashing from our mum about prejudices, he mostly keeps it to himself,” Harry said.

“Who's you're dad?” Blaise asked.

“That's for us to know and for you to find out,” Michael said coyly, winking. Blaise glared at Michael while Harry rolled his eyes at his brother's antics.

About an hour later, the three were surrounded by sweets and playing exploding snap when the door opened to reveal a shy young girl with bushy brown hair.

“Hi,” she said softly. “Mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full.”

“Sure,” Blaise said, quickly sweeping the empty wrappers off the seat next to her. The girl timidly sat down.

“I'm Blaise,” she said cheerfully. The new girl hesitantly shook Blaise's hand.

“Hermione,” she said.

“I'm Harry.”

“Michael.” Hermione looked oddly at Harry, who shifted nervously under her gaze.

“Why are you wearing a hat?” Harry chuckled nervously as he pulled the cap down further.

“My hair's got a mind of it's own, and a hat's easier than trying to tame it,” he said, telling a half-truth. Hermione nodded, satisfied with his answer.

“We're playing exploding snap, wanna join?” Blaise asked as she gathered the cards. Hermione seemed hesitant to answer.

“Umm…I don't know how to play.”

“Ah, don't worry about it; we'll teach ya,” Blaise said dismissively, dealing all four of them a hand, then explaining to Hermione the rules of exploding snap.

Several hours - and explosions later, the driver announced that they were nearing Hogwarts and to leave their luggage on the train.

And true enough, within ten minutes, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station. The students walked down a beaten path until they reached a lake with dozens of small boats on the shore. They also noticed the man three times their height calling for them.

“Firs' years! Firs' years ove' here!” the man called. The first years immediately milled towards the giant. “Now, no more `en four to a boat, ya here?” the giant asked, gesturing towards the boats. Harry, Hermione, Blaise and Michael all climbed into one boat, which immediately started sputtering away, despite no motor or paddles.

“Amazing!” Hermione gasped. Blaise just rolled her eyes.

“It's just a simple propelling charm,” she said flatly. Hermione frowned while Harry and Michael shot her glares.

“Party pooper,” Michael muttered.

Several minutes later, the boats docked at the grounds of Hogwarts. The students climbed out of the boats and followed the giant man towards the doors to the entrance hall.

After the giant pounded on the doors three times, an aged woman with a strong air of authority opened it.

“The firs' years are all yers, Professor McGonnagal,” the giant said.

“Thank you, Hagrid,” the woman said. Nodding, the giant left. “Follow me,” Professor McGonnagal said sternly. The children gladly complied, not wanting to cross her.

While Professor McGonnagal was reciting her mantra on the houses, Harry and Michael were looking at the head table. They kept their heads low when they saw Dumbledore. They saw a dark, greasy-haired man, who they recognized from Sirius' stories as Serverus Snape. Next to him was a jittery man with a large and silly-looking purple turban. When Harry set eyes on him, Harry immediately winced and started rubbing his forehead as his scar started aching.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked, concerned. Harry nodded, still rubbing his forehead.

“I'm alright. It's just a headache.”

“…And now, the Sorting Ceremony shall begin!” Professor McGonnagal announced. Then she placed an old tattered hat on a stool. For a minute, it just sat there, but then the front crinkled to make a face and a tear opened to form a mouth. Then the hat burst into song.

“Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,

But don't judge on what you see,

I'll eat myself if you can find

A smarter hat than me.

You can keep your bowlers black,

Your top hats sleek and tall,

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat

And I can cap them all.

There is nothing in your head

The Sorting Hat can't see,

So try me on and I will tell you

Where you ought to be.

You might belong in Gryffindor,

Where dwell the brave at heart,

Their daring, nerve and chivalry

Set Gryffindors apart;

You might belong in Hufflepuff,

Where they are just and loyal,

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true

And unafraid of toil;

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,

If you've a ready mind,

Where those of wit and learning,

Always find their kind;

Or perhaps in Slytherin

You'll make your real friends,

Those cunning folk use any means

To achieve their ends.

So put me on! Don't be afraid!

And don't be in a flap!

You're in safe hands (though I have none)

For I am a thinking cap!” The students applauded the Sorting Hat's song. Professor McGonnagal pulled out a long scroll of parchment and began calling names.

“Abbot, Hannah!” Hannah Abbot walked to the professor, who placed the Sorting Hat on her head.

“Hufflepuff!” the hat announced. The crowd applauded as she ran to the Hufflepuff table. Professor McGonnagal tensed at the next name.

“Black, Michael,” she read, and the hall immediately went quiet. Some scattered whispers were exchanged as Michael walked up to the hat and donned it. After a long, tense minute, the hat shouted “Gryffindor!” There was scattered applause as Michael made his way to the Gryffindor table, giving Harry a thumbs-up on the way. Professor McGonnagal cleared her throat and called “Boot, Terry” to the stand.

Harry didn't really pay attention to the rest of the sorting beyond Hermione (“Gryffindor!”). But then Professor McGonnagal tensed again, and even paled slightly, before calling the next name.

“Potter-Black, Harry,” she said in a strangled whisper. Again, the hall went silent. The hall then broke into whispers again, with the exception of Michael, who was nervously waiting the verdict, and Hermione, who seemed too stunned to speak. Sighing, Harry took off his hat and walked towards Professor McGonnagal, who placed the Sorting Hat on his head.

Hello, Mr. Potter, a voice in his head echoed.

“Umm…hi,” Harry said awkwardly. Now, let me see…Ah, very interesting. Quite a mind you have tucked away there, and fiercely loyal to those you care about. Also plenty of courage and honor, but not afraid to be sneaky when you need to. Oh, if only the founders were here, they'd be fighting over who would get you. Very difficult decision. What do you think?

“I'd prefer Gryffindor, but it's up to you,” Harry said softly. The Sorting Hat chuckled in his head. Up to me, is it? Very well then. You shall be placed in…!

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Soooo…where do you think Harry will end up in?

And if Blaise is in fact a boy, I'm sorry, but I'm not changing it. The only time I remember Blaise showing up was during the sorting in 1st year, which gave no indication of gender. I don't remember if Blaise showed up again, I'm too lazy to check the Lexicon, and I don't know where my books are. So chalk it up to writer's liberty. But hey, this is minor. At least I didn't make Harry female or something. :P

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5. The First Night

Alright, I've tortured you guys long enough. Time for the next chapter.

DISCLAIMER: I own Elizabeth “Lizzie” Black, Michael Black and Whizzy the house elf. All other characters are property of J. K. Rowling (even if I did get Blaise's gender wrong…but who cares?!).

I've received one or two reviews about Hermione's change in personality, as well as her apparent knowledge of the wizarding world. Well, in my fic, Hermione is much more subdued, and more hesitant to speak up. She's still a know-it-all, she just won't flaunt it as much as in canon.

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LAST TIME: “I'd prefer Gryffindor, but it's up to you,” Harry said softly. The Sorting Hat chuckled in his head. Up to me, is it? Very well then. You shall be placed in…!

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Chapter 5 - The First Night

“GRYFFINDOR!” the Sorting Hat announced. The whole hall immediately broke into applause as Harry took off the Sorting Hat and walked to the Gryffindor table, sitting between Michael and Hermione.

“Why didn't you say you were Harry Potter?” Hermione hissed as the sorting continued. Harry shrugged.

“You didn't ask.”

“That was a close one, bro,” Michael said. “For a minute, I thought you'd end up in Slytherin or something.” Harry snorted.

“Dad would have had a heart attack if I did,” Harry deadpanned. While the two brothers were talking about the various reactions Sirius would have had based on where they might have been sorted, Hermione's head was spinning. Harry Potter? I rode the train with Harry Potter?! But he was kidnapped by Sirius Black! He should be dead! But as she looked at the two boys laughing about something, she thought, But look at them. They laugh and they banter like two ordinary boys. They said that their father would have had a heart attack if Harry was in Slytherin, but he was raised by Sirius Black! He should have fought tooth and nail to get into Slytherin. Could it be…? No, it can't…can it?

“Zambini, Blaise,” Professor McGonnagal announced. Harry and Michael immediately stopped their conversation to watch as the dark-haired girl ran up to the elderly professor and sat on the stool. The Sorting Hat was again taking its time, but Harry could see her mouthing something over and over again. Finally, the hat announced, “GRYFFINDOR!” Blaise squeaked and visibly paled at this. There was scattered applause echoing through the hall as Blaise walked to the Gryffindor table like a criminal being led to the guillotine. She plopped onto the chair directly across from Harry and cradled her head in her hands, muttering under her breath. Harry reached over and gently patted her on the arm.

“It's okay, Blaise. Gryffindor isn't that bad,” Harry said reassuringly. Michael nodded in agreement.

“Besides, the Zambini's are a…okay sort,” Michael added. “The most you're gonna get is a letter of disappointment from your parents. It's not like they're gonna disown you or anything. That's something the Malfoys would do.”

“Speaking of the Malfoys,” Harry said, directing his attention to Michael, “I believe you owe me two Galleons.” Rolling his eyes, Michael reached into his pocket and placed the two shiny gold coins in Harry's waiting hand.

“Thank you,” Harry said, pocketing his winnings. He then turned back to Blaise.

“Besides, you have us to keep you from the jerks in our dorm,” Harry said cheerfully. This seemed to have worked, for Blaise lifted her head from her silent sulking and cracked a small grin.

“Thanks, guys,” she said. Then all of a sudden she was back to her cheerful self. “So, Harry Potter eh? I must say I'm a bit surprised.” Before Harry could respond, Dumbledore stood up. Both Harry and Michael suddenly found their shiny gold plates very interesting.

“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!” the wizened wizard announced, his eyes twinkling merrily. “Before we dig in, I have a few words to say: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!” Suddenly, all the platters on the tables were covered with food of all kinds, with the students hungrily digging in.

“So…what do you mean `surprised'?” Harry asked as he spooned mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Well, I thought you'd be taller, for one,” Blaise said, hacking away at a piece of roast chicken. Harry shrugged.

“Can't help you there,” he said. “So you're not the least bit concerned about me being raised by Sirius Black?” Blaise shook her head.

“No. My parents were in school with him, and said that he was too nice to ever be a Death Eater. Now that other kid, Parker or something…”

“Peter,” Harry and Michael said in unison.

“Yeah, him. Now he was Death Eater material. Guy would jump off a bridge if you intimidated him enough, the little wuss,” Blaise continued. “Besides, you're too nice to be evil.”

“What if this is just a front while I secretly plot for Voldemort's return?” Harry asked, cocking his eyebrow. Hermione gasped at the name, but Blaise didn't seem fazed in the least.

“Then I'll write my mum. I'm sure she knows a few people she'd like you to get rid of while you're waiting,” she said in a flat tone. Harry snorted at her last comment. After swallowing a piece of ham, he turned to Hermione.

“So Hermione, what's your story?” Hermione, caught off-guard by the sudden attention, stammered, “Umm…I-I'm Muggleborn from Birmingham. Both of my parents are dentists.” She started picking at her food nervously. Nodding, Harry went back to his own food.

“What's a dentist?” Blaise asked.

“Muggle healer that keeps your teeth healthy,” Harry explained. Nodding in understanding, Blaise dug into the recently-appeared dessert.

After everybody had their fill, the scraps of food disappeared, leaving their plates spotless. Again Dumbledore stood up and the two Black boys had a staring contest with their reflections.

“Now that everybody has been fed and watered, I have a few announcements to make,” Dumbledore said. “First off, there shall be no performing of magic in the corridors. Second, the list of banned items has had seventy-four items added to it; you can find the complete list in Mr. Filch's office. Thirdly, the Forbidden Forest is just that: forbidden. Some of our older students would do well to remember that.” At this, his twinkling eyes fell to two identical red-haired Gryffindors. “And finally, I must impress on you that the third floor corridor is strictly forbidden to all those who do not wish to die a most horrible death.” There was some nervous laughter at this. “But on a lighter note, I'd like to introduce our latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Quirrel.” The nervous-looking man stood up, and again Harry felt his scar twinge. “I believe it is time for bed. Prefects, if you could please lead the first years to their dormitories?” A redhead boy and blonde girl stood up at the Gryffindor table.

“Gryffindors, this way please!” the male prefect shouted. The students navigated through the many corridors and climbed up the magical staircases that shifted positions.

“Amazing!” Hermione exclaimed. “I read about these in Hogwarts: A History, but it's another thing to actually see it!”

“A damn inconvenience, it is,” a third year student muttered darkly. “They're the reason why first-years are always late for classes.” They finally reached the entrance to the Gryffindor common room: a portrait of a large woman in a frilly pink dress.

“Password?” The Fat Lady asked.

“Caput Draconis,” the male prefect said. Nodding in acceptance, the portrait swung open to reveal the common room. The room was mostly a crimson coloring with some gold scattered. It combined with the light from the fire to make a warm atmosphere.

“This is the Gryffindor common room,” the prefect explained. “The boys dormitories are to your left, girls to the right. Now rest up, we have a long day tomorrow.” With that, the students climbed up to their respective dormitories.

When Harry and Michael got to their dorm, they saw who their roommates were: a tall, freckle-faced redhead who looked related to the prefect that led them there, a short brown-haired boy and a black boy who was looking around in wonder.

“Well, I guess we better turn in,” Harry said. He pulled his trunk out of his pocket and placed it on the floor, with Michael following. “Engorgio,” they said, and their trunks grew until it reached its normal size. They opened their trunks, ignoring the looks of awe that the other three boys were giving them, and changed before climbing into bed.

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And that's the end of that. As you may have noticed, this is a relatively short chapter (just over four pages), but this is more of a transitional chapter. Classes will begin next chapter (obviously).

And as you may have noticed, Ron is no longer part of the Golden Trio (or quartet, as it would seem). We'll just have to see if he and Harry are friends or not. And keep those reviews a-comin'!

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6. First Day Classes

I own Lizzie, Whizzy and Michael. But you already knew that, didn't you?

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Chapter 6 - First Day Classes

Harry rose with a groan as he woke up without an alarm screaming in his ear for the first time in five years. He glanced at the clock, bleary-eyed. It read 5:43. Wow, Harry thought, I slept in. Harry sat cross-legged on his bed, closed his eyes, and began building his Occlumency shields again.

An hour later, Harry got dressed and went down to the common room to see Hermione sitting in a chair, wearing square reading glasses, deeply immersed in her copy of Hogwarts: A History.

“Hi,” Harry said. Hermione looked up from her book in surprise.

“Hi,” she repeated softly. “What are you doing up so early?” Harry shrugged and sat in a chair next to hers.

“I could ask the same for you.” Hermione's lips tugged upwards slightly.

“I've always been an early riser,” she said.

“Trying to beat the house-elf to the kitchen,” Harry said. Hermione's barely noticeable smirk grew into a grin.

“You're not what I expected,” she said. Harry looked at her.

“How so?”

“Stuck-up, arrogant, up to your eyeballs in dark arts,” Hermione said, ticking off fingers.

“Wow, you've just described the entire Malfoy line,” Harry said, receiving a glare from Hermione.

“I read The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts,” Harry said. “The section about me is a load of tripe.” Hermione gasped that Harry insulted a book. “They weren't there when Voldemort fell, I was too young to give an interview, and they certainly haven't been keeping tabs on me the past ten years. So how could they possibly know what happened that night, hmm?” Harry cocked an eyebrow at Hermione. She opened and closed her mouth several times, but no sound came out. Harry glanced down at his watch.

“It's 7:30,” he said, “think we should head down to breakfast?”

“Okay.” Hermione closed her book and put her glasses in her pocket and together they walked down to the Great Hall. Half an hour later.

They were soon joined by Blaise, then later Michael.

“So how's life with Sirius Black?” Blaise asked, cutting up a waffle.

“Boring, considering that we've only been outside what, once? Twice?” Michael asked.

“Something like that,” Harry confirmed. He looked up as Professor McGonnagal started passing out the class schedules.

“Mr. Potter, Mr. Black,” she said as she passed Harry and Michael their schedules. “Professor Dumbledore wishes to see you after lunch today.” As she walked away, Harry sighed.

“Guess we should have seen that coming,” he said. He looked at his watch again.

“Come on,” Harry said, standing up. “We've got Transfiguration with the Hufflepuffs in an hour and a half, and if Dad's stories are any inclination, it'll take us at least an hour to find the classroom.” The four of them got up and left to find the Transfiguration classroom.

As Harry predicted, they found the classroom with a mere twenty minutes to spare. The only other occupant in the room was a tabby cat sitting on Professor McGonnagal's desk, its tail flicking idly. After the four of them found their desks, Hermione brought out her book and reading glasses, Harry and Michael started playing Hangman on a spare piece of parchment and Blaise tried to finish her crossword.

Over the next twenty minutes, the class quickly filled up. Soon, the start of the class came, with only two students missing and strangely, Professor McGonnagal.

Five minutes after the start of class, the red-haired boy and a round-faced Hufflepuff ran into the classroom, winded.

“Whew!” he exclaimed, huffing. “Good thing McGonnagal isn't here yet.” As if on cue, the cat jumped down and shifted to the strict professor.

“How nice of you to join us, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finch-Fletchley. Although I must admit that I am tempted to transfigure one of you into a watch. Perhaps then the other can get to class on time.”

“We got lost, ma'am,” Weasley said weakly.

“A map, then,” Professor McGonnagal replied stiffly. After the two had found their desks, she began her lecture. “Transfiguration is one of the most difficult branches of magic there is. It requires a great deal of concentration to achieve even the simplest of tasks. And if I see any of you fooling around in my classroom, I will not hesitate to throw you out of my class permanently.” After her rather long lecture on the basics of Transfiguration, she passed out matchsticks to change into needles.

Hermione waved her wand over her matchstick and muttered the incantation, and the piece of wood immediately shifted to a needle, earning Gryffindor five points. Harry waved his wand a few times, to no effect. He closed his eyes, imagined the matchstick turning into a needle in his mind, and waved his wand over the piece of wood, muttering “Mitalis Transfiguro.” The wood elongated and turned silver. While it wasn't quite as pointed as Hermione's was, it was still undeniably a needle.

“Five point to Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Good work,” Professor McGonnagal said, nodding her approval.

At the end of the class, two hours later, only Hermione, Harry, Michael and Blaise had managed to successfully transfigure their matchsticks.

“For homework, take your matchstick and keep practicing,” Professor McGonnagal said. “Class dismissed.” The students gathered their matchsticks and left the classroom.

“What's our next class?” Blaise asked.

“History of Magic with the Ravenclaws, oh joy,” Michael said sarcastically.

“Oh you just say that because you don't like history,” Harry said, grinning.

“Why should I care about a bunch of dead people?!” Michael asked. “Besides, did you listen to Dad's stories about that class?”

“I'm sure he's exaggerating just a little bit,” Harry said. He was soon proven wrong.

The moment the class bell rang, Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher and only ghost teacher, drifted through the blackboard and immediately started droning on about the Goblin Rebellion of 1136 AD. Professor Binns' voice was flat and monotonous, and within the first fifteen minutes, only two students were left awake: Hermione and Harry. Barely.

The class bell didn't ring soon enough for the students, and everybody quickly ran out of the classroom.

“Okay, so maybe he wasn't exaggerating,” Harry said, cringing under Michael's withering glare.

“Oh come on, it wasn't that bad,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes.

“`Wasn't that bad'?” Blaise exclaimed. “You and Harry were the only two awake! And Harry looked like he was hanging on by a thread.”

“I saw you beginning to nod off too, Hermione,” Harry pointed out.

“I was not!” Hermione shouted indignantly, although the blush on her cheeks said otherwise.

“I've heard mosquitoes more interesting than that old fart,” Blaise muttered.

“Our next mode of torture is Potions with the Slytherins,” Harry said, checking his schedule. “Guess we should get going; the dungeons are pretty far away.” With that, the four started jogging towards the castle dungeons.

They made it with five minutes to spare, and had just enough time to take out their cauldrons and supplies before Professor Snape swooped in like a giant bat, robes billowing behind him. He turned around and stared down all the students. Or, more accurately, all the Gryffindor students.

“You are all here to learn the fine art of potion making. There will be no foolish wand-waving here, so no doubt you will think this class to be a waste of your time. But I don't expect any of you to appreciate the beauty of a cauldron of potion bubbling over a fire, steam wisping perfectly over the surface. What I can hope for is that you will not be the usual set of dunderheads I am forced to teach, though I doubt it.” His eyes immediately trained themselves on Harry, who quickly averted his eyes.

“Mister Potter, our...new...celebrity.” Professor Snape growled. “What would I get if I mixed together asphodel and infusion of wormwood?”

“A sleeping potion called the Draught of Living Death, sir,” Harry answered flatly. The greasy-haired potion master sneered.

“Where would I find bezoar?”

“In the stomach of a goat, sir.”

“What is difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“Nothing, sir. They are the same plant, also known as aconite.” Snape glared at him, sending in a probe of Legilimency into Harry's mind, which was quickly repelled.

“Five points from Gryffindor for cheating, Potter,” Snape sneered. Harry was insulted by the unfairness of it all, but he merely contented himself to clenching his fist in anger under the table.

“We are going to make a simple Strengthening Solution. The instructions are on the board. Begin!” Harry looked up and found the list of ingredients on the board. But it was the suspicious lack of instructions on how to mix the ingredients together that infuriated him. Fortunately, he had mixed this particular potion many times before, so Harry just lit a fire and started mixing the ingredients together.

Half an hour later, a loud explosion disrupted the class.

“Longbottom!” Snape shouted. “Did you forget to take the cauldron off of the heat before adding the porcupine quills?” Before the boy could answer, he turned to Harry. “Potter! Thought you could make yourself look good by sabotaging Longbottom's potion, did you? Five points from Gryffindor and detention for you! Take Longbottom to the hospital wing.” Scowling, Harry slung Longbottom's arm over his shoulder and carried him to the hospital wing. On his way, Harry stopped by Professor McGonnagal's office, where the third-year class had just ended. Professor looked up from a paper she was grading at Harry.

“How can I help you, Mr. Potter?”

“I would like to file a complaint against Professor Snape,” Harry said. This immediately got McGonnagal's attention. While it was public knowledge that no one outside of Slytherin liked Snape, no one had filed a complaint before.

“Oh? On what grounds?”

“Abuse of authority as a member of faculty,” Harry said confidently. “At the beginning of class, Professor Snape attacked me with NEWT-level questions, then accused me of cheating when I answered them correctly. Then during a potions accident, he accused me of sabotaging the potion, even though we were on opposite ends of the room. He took fifteen points from Gryffindor and assigned me a detention.” McGonnagal frowned at this news.

“Those are some serious accusations. You understand that I will have to verify your claims. Do you know how to extract a memory?”

“No, ma'am,” Harry admitted.

“It is quite simple,” McGonnagal explained. “Place your wand tip against your temple, concentrate on the memory, then slowly pull out.” Nodding in understanding, Harry placed his wand tip against his temple and extracted the memory, the silvery strand dangling from his wand. McGonnagal bent down and produced a pensieve from her desk, and Harry dropped the memory in. Then she leant into it and fell into the memory.

A few minutes later, she reemerged, barely containing her anger.

“Why, the nerve of that man! Sabotage, indeed. While it is suspicious that you would know the answers to such advanced questions, he had no business accusing you of cheating. You will not need to serve your detention, Mr. Potter. And twenty points to Gryffindor for calmly coming to me on this matter.”

“Thank you, professor,” Harry said.

McGonnagal looked at the clock hanging on the wall and said, “It is almost time for lunch, Mr. Potter, so I suggest you get going.” She wrote something on a piece of parchment and gave it to Harry. “Here are the instructions to get to Professor Dumbledore's office. The password is `blood pops'.” Cringing in disgust, Harry thanked her again and left for the Great Hall.

When Harry reached the Great Hall, lunch was already in progress, and he found his seat on the Gryffindor table between Michael and Hermione.

“Where were you?” Michael asked, piling mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“I was talking to McGonnagal,” Harry said. “I filed a complaint against Snape for abuse of authority.”

“Sweet,” Michael said. Hermione opened her mouth to scold him, but could think of no excuse for Snape's actions, and kept quiet.

“So what's gonna happen to him?” Blaise asked.

“He should be on probation one to six months, but with Dumbledore, probably a slap on the wrist and a scolding,” Harry muttered darkly. Hermione was shocked that Harry could speak of teachers with such disrespect, but kept quiet.

Soon, lunch was over and Harry had to drag Michael off to Dumbledore's office. It took a while, but they eventually found the eagle-shaped statue leading to his office.

“Blood pops,” Harry said, grimacing. The statue started rotating upwards to create a spiral staircase, and Harry and Michael jumped on. A few minutes later, they finally reached Dumbledore's office. Harry knocked twice on the wooden door.

“Come in.”

----

Does anyone besides me find it odd that in the twenty-odd years that he's been teaching, despite people's constant complaints, it seems that not one person has reported Snape's behavior to their head of house?

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7. Interlude I: Abuse of Authority

ABUSE OF AUTHORITY FROM A MEMBER OF THE FACULTY OF HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

The faculty staff of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is to be held at the highest standards, and abuse of the authority and power that comes with the position is one of the worst offenses to the integrity of the school.

Actions that can be interpreted as an abuse of authority can include:

Favoring a particular House or student due to personal feelings.

Belittling as well as or intimidating a particular student or students of a particular House due to personal feelings.

Harboring an innapropriate relationship with a student.

Deducting House points as well as or administering detentions to a student or students for unnecessary reasons.

***

If a student suspects a teacher or other member of faculty of abusing their authority, they are to report to either their Head of House or Headmaster.

Reports are to be verified via either application of reveraqua^1 or a pensieve memory^2.

The identities of any and all students reporting a case of abuse of authority are to remain strictly confidential.

***

Should a claim of abuse prove substantial, the following punishments may be administered:

If a member of faculty should be proven abusive for the first time, the member in question shall be placed on probation for no less than one month and no more than six months. Should the member in question be proven offensive again during his or her term of probation, his or her employment shall be terminated no more than one week following the complaint.

If a member of faculty is reported again after his or her term of probation has expired, then he or she is fined by the Ministry of Magic to the sum of one hundred Galleons and is suspended from his or her duties for the remainder of the term.

If a member of faculty is reported for a third time, then his or her employment is to be terminated no more than one week following the complaint. The member in question shall also be fined by the Ministry of Magic to the sum of five hundred Galleons as well as or in place of a maximum prison sentence of three years in a minimum security prison facility.

----

1A truth serum. This potion has fallen out of use following the advent of Veritaserum in 1483 anno domini.

2This option was added in 1744 anno domini following the discovery of memory extraction, as well as the invention of the pensieve memory basin used to store and display them.

Last updated 17 of June 1834.

----

This is the rule that Harry looks up when he goes to report Snape in chapter 6. I thought that this would interest some people.

And I apologize if this doesn't seem “authentic” enough. I don't speak Legalese.

Enjoy.

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8. Something Wicked This Way Comes

Well, apparently that last chapter was not the smartest move I've ever made. Now I know. I won't do that again.

DISLCAIMER: I own Lizzie, Whizzy and Michael. Yada, yada, yada….

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LAST TIME: “Blood pops,” Harry said, grimacing. The statue started rotating upwards to create a spiral staircase, and Harry and Michael jumped on. A few minutes later, they finally reached Dumbledore's office. Harry knocked twice on the wooden door.

“Come in.”

----

Chapter 7 - Something Wicked This Way Comes

Harry opened the door to Dumbledore's office, careful to keep his eyes lowered.

“Ah, Messrs. Potter and Black,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. “Please, sit.” They both sat in the chairs opposite of the aged wizard, still keeping their gaze to the floor. “Lemon drop?” he offered. They both politely declined. “I trust that your first day at Hogwarts has gone well?”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said respectfully.

“Excellent.” For a minute, the only sound in the room was the whirring of various instruments in Dumbledore's office and the soft trilling of his phoenix.

“I'm sure that you are wondering why I've called you here today,” Dumbledore said. “Harry, there seems to have been a problem with your placement.”

“How so, professor?” Harry asked calmly, but clenched his teeth in anger.

“You were supposed to be placed with the Dursleys, Harry,” Dumbledore said gently. “That is the only place where you are safe. That is the only place where your mother's blood still lives.”

“Safe?” Harry scoffed. “I live in a house with every protection spell imaginable cast on it. If you tried and failed to locate me for ten years, I doubt that Voldemort did. And I don't consider Petunia Dursley my family.”

“Harry, you have been raised by the man who betrayed your parents!” Dumbledore said loudly, beginning to get frustrated.

“Funny,” Harry said. “He told us that Pettigrew did it.”

“Rather convenient to blame a dead man, Harry,” Dumbledore said, calming himself down. Harry felt something probing in his mind, and quickly snapped his Occlumency shields up, a look of anger on his face. Dumbledore seemed surprised that Harry could know Occlumency so well.

“Forgive us, sir,” Michael said, apparently having been probed as well, “we weren't aware that it was school protocol to poke into students' minds.” Sighing, Dumbledore turned to Michael.

“Michael,” he said softly, like a grandfather would talk to his grandson, “you can still live with your mother if you tell me where Sirius Black is.” Michael scoffed.

“Even if I could, I wouldn't tell you,” Michael said. Dumbledore sighed in defeat; he knew that he couldn't get these two boys to cooperate.

“Very well, you may go,” he said. They got up to leave, but as Harry was about to exit, he said, “One last thing, Professor.”

“Yes, Harry?” Dumbledore asked, surprised.

“I've done my homework. There's no such thing as blood wards.” And with that, he left the room.

“So, how'd it go?” Blaise asked when they got back to the Gryffindor common room.

“Not so great,” Michael said, dropping into a chair and sighing.

“Tried to get us to `fess up where Dad is, and we wouldn't,” Harry continued.

“Not that we could anyway.” Harry sighed and hauled himself up.

“I'm gonna go write Mum,” he said, before going up to his dormitory.

“Yeah, I should do that too,” Michael said, reluctantly pulling himself out of his comfortable chair and following his brother.

Two days later, during breakfast, both Hedwig and Smoke-Rings swooped down with letters tied to their legs. Harry untied his letter and fed Hedwig a piece of bacon before she flew up to the owlrey. Harry tore up the envelope and read the letter.

Dear Harry,

I'm glad that you and Michael are making friends already! And about Hermione, give her time; I'm sure that she's just shy.

The sorting sounds really interesting. Wish I was there to see it.

Your father did a happy dance when I told him that you two were in Gryffindor. I'm still not sure what he's so excited about.

Your Potions professor doesn't sound very pleasant. I'm proud that you kept a level head and informed another teacher instead of taking matters into your own hands.

Your History of Magic professor sounds even more boring than mine. At least mine took a breath every now and then.

Dad and Uncle Moony say “hi.”

Love,

Mum.

“What's the method of torture for today?” Blaise sighed.

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry said. “That could be fun.” Blaise shrugged dismissively and the four of them got up to find the class.

When they reached the DADA classroom, they were immediately assaulted by the smell of garlic. It was so strong, that they almost vomited right there.

“God, I like garlic, but this is ridiculous,” Michael gagged, covering his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his robe.

“I ap-p-p-pologize, Mister Black,” Professor Quirrel said, coming from the back of the classroom. “I k-k-k-keep the garlic to ward off a vamp-p-p-pire I angered some time ago.”

“This smell will ward off more than just vampires,” Blaise muttered darkly, but due to her mouth being covered by her arm, no one heard her.

Soon the class started, with the rest of the students making similar comments on the pungent smell that filled the room.

“So, who here c-c-c-can tell me what exactly the Dark Arts are?” Quirrel asked. Several people raised their hands. “Mister Malfoy.”

“Any spell that is to cause pain or death,” the slick-haired Slytherin said, smirking.

“A g-g-g-good answer, Mister Malfoy. Anyone else? Mister P-p-p-potter.”

“The Dark Arts is not so much a specific caste of spells as a state of mind,” Harry said.

“How so, Mister P-p-p-potter?”

“While there are some spells specifically designed to maim or kill, a lot of legal spells can be used to do the same thing. It's the intent of the caster that defines it as Dark or Light.” Everybody was looking at Harry in awe, except for Malfoy, who just sneered.

“Excellent answer, Mister P-p-p-potter. Five p-p-p-points to Gryffindor.” He turned his attention to the rest of the class. “Open your t-t-t-textbooks to p-p-p-page five, if you would.”

A long hour later, the class ended, and the class gave a collective gasp of air as they exited the classroom.

“I thought I was gonna suffocate in there!” Blaise gasped.

“Water. I need water,” Michael wheezed.

“The loo's right over here,” Harry said, looking a little green himself. All four of them rushed to their respective lavoratories.

The next day, a brown owl swooped down at Harry and deposited a letter for him.

“Who's that from?” Michael asked.

“I don't know,” Harry said. He opened the letter and read the large, scribbly handwriting.

Harry,

I know you got Fridays off, so why don't you come visit me for a cuppa? I live in the hut on the grounds near the forest.

Hagrid.

“Meh, what could it hurt?” Harry said. After they finished breakfast, the four of them went down to the hut on the edge of the forbidden forest.

Harry knocked on the door, and a loud barking and scratching boomed from behind the door.

“Fang! Back Fang, ye crazy mutt,” a man shouted, before the door swung open to reveal the large man that Harry and Michael saw the day they went to Diagon Alley. “`Arry!” Hagrid exclaimed. “I `aven' seen ye since ye was a lil' baby. Come in, come in.” The four kids climbed into Hagrid's hut. It was small, with only one room. Various pots and pelts hung from the ceiling; it had a quaint look to it.

“Who're yer friends, `Arry?”

“Michael,” Michael said, being careful not to mention his surname.

“Blaise Zambini,” Blaise said proudly. Hermione mumbled something.

“Wuzzat? I didn't quite hear ye.”

“Hermione Granger,” Hermione said a little louder.

“Pleased to meet ye. Care for a cuppa?” Not waiting for an answer, Hagrid put on a pot of tea.

“So, how've yer classes been, `Arry?”

“They're okay,” Harry said, shrugging. “History of Magic is boring, and I think Snape has it in for me.”

“Nonsense! Why woul' Professor Snape have it in fer ye?”

“Seven years of public humiliation at the hands of my father,” Harry said flatly.

“Codswallop,” Hagrid said as he placed a cup of tea in front of everyone. Harry sipped his tea when he saw a copy of the Daily Prophet on the table. He turned it around to read the headline. GRINGOTTS BANK BROKEN INTO; NOTHING STOLEN. Harry saw it was dated 31 of July. But before he could read it, Hagrid snatched it away.

“Sorry `bout tha', meant to throw that away.” They made some more small talk, then headed back to the castle.

“That was strange,” Blaise said, “the way he reacted to you reading that paper and all.”

“The library has past copies of the Daily Prophet. We can look there,” Hermione said.

“We can play detective later, I'm hungry,” Michael said. Everybody rolled their eyes as they headed to the Great Hall.

The weeks passed by quickly, and soon it was the day of Halloween. Dumbledore had apparently dismissed Harry's complaint, as Snape was as vindicative as ever.

“Today, we will be learning the levitation charm,” the tiny Professor Flitwick said, standing on his pedestal of books. “That is, the ability to make things float. The wand movement is a swish and flick, and the incantation is - repeat after me now - Wingardium Leviosa.”

“Wingardium Leviosa,” the class echoed.

“Excellent. And be sure to pronounce it correctly. Do not forget the wizard Baruffio, who pronounced it with an `R' instead of an `N' and ended up with a buffalo on his chest. Begin!” Michael and Blaise were paired together, Harry with a Hufflepuff named Seamus Finnigan, and Hermione with a red-haired Gryffindor boy named Ronald Weasley.

“Wingardium Leviosar. Wingardium Leviosar!” Weasley shouted, waving his wand frantically.

“Stop, stop,” Hermione said. “You're doing it wrong. It's Levi-oh-sah, not Leviosar.”

“Why don't you just leave me alone, bookworm!” Hermione seemed on the verge of tears.

“I was just trying to help,” she said softly.

“Mister Weasley,” Professor Flitwick said. “Is there a problem?”

“No, professor,” Weasley mumbled.

“I hope not. Miss Granger, if you would demonstrate the charm?” Nodding, Hermione wiped her eyes on her sleeve and said clearly, “Wingardium Leviosa.” Her feather floated high above their heads.

“Oh! Oh! Look, class! Miss Granger has done it! Well done.” A few minutes later, Harry succeeded in performing the charm, followed by Blaise, then finally Michael. In total, they earned ten points for Gryffindor.

Later that day, Harry and Michael were heading towards the common room when they saw a head of bushy brown hair streak by them.

“Hermione?” Harry asked before they ran after her. They turned the corner to see her run into the girl's lavoratory. “Michael, find Blaise.” Nodding, Michael ran off and Harry sat on the wall by the door.

Twenty minutes later, Blaise and Hermione came out of the lavoratory, Hermione sniffling.

“Hey,” Harry said. “You gonna be okay?” Hermione nodded her head.

“Yeah,” she said, choked. “It's silly, I'll be fine.”

“You sure?” She nodded again. “Okay. C'mon, let's get something to eat.”

By the time they were at the Halloween feast, the four of them were talking and laughing like nothing had ever happened. But the mood was killed when Quirrel burst through the doors of the Great Hall.

“TROLL! IN THE DUNGEON! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON! Thought you ought to know,” he added before collapsing. Then pandemonium coursed through the hall.

“SILENCE!” Dumbledore shouted, and immediately the room went silent. “Prefects, escort the students to their common rooms; the teachers and I will head to the dungeons.”

“Students! Students follow me!” the prefects shouted as they hurried to their respective common rooms.

“What the hell is a troll doing in the castle?” Michael huffed when they finally reached the Gryffindor common room.

“I don't know,” Harry panted. No one knew how the troll got there, or why it was there to begin with, save one. And he currently laid unconscious in the Great Hall.

----

And here's chapter seven. Enjoy.

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9. The Forbidden Corridor

Upon reading several “Marauders read the HP novels” stories, I noticed that events are out of order. Oh well, I am going to move those missed events to this chapter and chalk it up to this being an AU.

DISCLAIMER: I own only Lizzie, Whizzy and Michael. We clear on that? Good.

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Chapter 8 - The Forbidden Corridor

The next day, the prefects escorted the students down to the Great Hall for breakfast. When all the students were seated, Professor Dumbledore stood up and cleared his throat.

“As you know, there was a troll loose in the dungeons last night. However, the faculty has subdued it and with the assistance of the Ministry of Magic has relocated it. Thankfully, no one was harmed. That is all.” The food appeared, and everybody immediately forgot the previous night's incident in favor of the feast before them.

“What do we have today?” Blaise asked, spreading marmalade over a piece of toast.

“Potions, Transfiguration, History, and Flying. That should be interesting,” Harry said, not looking up.

“How do you think the troll got loose?” Michael asked, stabbing a piece of sausage.

“The more important question is, what is a troll doing in the castle to begin with?!” Hermione replied. “Dumbledore may be a brilliant wizard, but really! Keeping a troll in a castle full of students is nothing short of irresponsible.” Harry discreetly gave Michael a thumbs up.

“Think Snape set it loose?” Blaise asked, piling her plate with eggs.

“Nah,” Harry said. “Vindictive git he may be, this isn't Snape's style.”

“Professor Snape, Harry,” Hermione admonished.

“When he acts like a professional, I'll address him as one,” Harry said flatly.

“Now Quirrel, he's a shifty one,” Michael said. “What self-respecting white male wears a purple turban?” Everybody shrugged.

“Guess we should go, before Snape docks points off of Gryffindor for being ten seconds late or something inane like that.” With that, the four of them got up and left to the Potions classroom.

Potions was not particularly exciting. Snape seemed to pointedly avoid Harry, although continued to terrorize Neville Longbottom, as well as praise Draco Malfoy for his “perfect potion.” But since Snape did not take any points, nor could he see neither Malfoy nor Longbottom's potions, he couldn't report Snape again. Not that is seemed to matter.

Transfiguration was more interesting, where they turned beetles into buttons. Hermione netted Gryffindor five points for making a perfect button. Harry and Michael succeeded next, but Blaise couldn't master it in time.

History of Magic held its usual luster as Professor Binns wheezed on about the Troll Wars of sometime or another; Harry was doodling on his parchment and wasn't paying attention. He noticed that Hermione was vigorously taking notes, but seemed to be fighting stay awake too.

After lunch, they made their way to the Quidditch pitch, where the brooms were already waiting. Along with them was the hawk-eyed flight instructor, Madam Hooch.

“Alright, everyone!” she shouted. “Everybody take your positions next to a broom.” The students hurried to their positions. “Now, extend your right hand over your broom and say `up!'.”

“UP!” the students shouted. Some brooms immediately snapped into their owners' hand, Harry and Michael among them. Some of them slowly drifted upwards like Blaise's, and other simply didn't move at all, like Hermione's.

“Up! Up! Up,” Hermione said, but her broomstick simply rolled on the ground. She was getting frustrated when Harry gently placed a hand on her arm.

“Hermione, you're trying too hard. Take a deep breath, and calmly say `up',” he said, inhaling deeply. Hermione closed her eyes, took a breath, and quietly said, “Up?” This time, the broom shot into her hand so quickly, it almost went above her hand.

“Good work, Mister Potter,” Madam Hooch said, who had been watching. “Five points to Gryffindor for assisting a student.” Next, she showed the students how to mount their brooms. Harry, Michael and Blaise struggled to contain their laughter while Madam Hooch lectured Malfoy on how to mount a broom properly after bragging about how he had been flying for years before.

“Now, I want you to bend your knees slightly and kick off the ground,” Madam Hooch instructed. The students kicked off, and they all hovered about a foot off the ground...except one, who kept going up, and up, and up.

“Mister Longbottom!” Madam Hooch shouted. “Get down here this instant!”

“I-I don't know how!” Longbottom shouted back, clearly afraid. Without a word, Harry flew up to Longbottom, and gripping the handle of his broomstick, gently lowered him back to solid ground.

“T-t-thanks,” he stuttered, still shivering in fright.

“No problem,” Harry said, gently patting him on the shoulder, before returning to his place amongst Michael, Hermione and Blaise.

“Well, I think that's enough for today,” Madam Hooch said. “Class dismissed.” Everybody set their brooms down and proceeded towards the castle.

“Think you're so good, eh Potter?” a snobbish voice said behind Harry. Harry rolled his eyes before turning around to see who spoke. It was the Malfoy boy, flanked by two dim-looking boys, presumably his bodyguards.

“You want something, Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. Proof that you're all talk and no action,” Malfoy said smugly. “How about a wizard's duel?” Harry paused for a moment while he thought about it.

“When and where?”

“Harry!” Hermione hissed, scandalized.

“Play along,” Harry whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“Ten o' clock, in the trophy room. Goyle here will be my second,” Malfoy said, gesturing towards one of his guards.

“Fine. Michael'll be my second.”

“I am?” Michael asked stupidly.

“See you at ten,” Harry continued, ignoring him. With a smug grin, Malfoy and his entourage turned and left. As soon as they were gone, Hermione burst.

“Harry!” she shouted. “How could you do something so, so…stupid! You could get expelled!”

“Who said I was going?” Harry asked, cocking an eyebrow. A moment later, Hermione's eyes widened in realization, followed by Blaise. Michael's brow remained furrowed however.

“Could someone explain what just happened here?” he said.

“Harry isn't really going to duel Malfoy, Michael,” Blaise explained. “That was very Slytherin of you, Harry.”

“Thank you, Blaise. And if Malfoy comes to us tomorrow calling us cowards, then he might as well have admitted that he was out after curfew,” Harry added. “Seriously, Mikey, I think you inherited Dad's brain blips.”

“Oh ha-ha, Harry,” Michael said sarcastically. “And don't call me `Mikey'.”

The next day, Harry wore a smirk all through breakfast as Malfoy wore a scowl, presumably because Harry didn't get in trouble for their “duel” last night.

After Harry finally cracked and got some extra sleep in during History of Magic, the quartet was climbing up a stairway to the Common Room. But halfway up the stairs, it shifted towards another door.

“Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Blaise groaned.

“Come on,” Harry prompted. “Maybe we can find a different route to the Common Room.” They opened the door, and saw a dank corridor, statues and armor covered with dust and cobwebs.

“I don't think we're supposed to be here,” Michael said.

“Of course we're not, this is the third floor corridor, it's forbidden!” Hermione hissed.

“Oh.” The four were startled by a soft meow. They spun around to see a mangy brown cat with blood red eyes.

“Oh crap, it's Filch's cat,” Blaise groaned again.

“Run,” Harry said, and they all broke into a mad dash away from the cat.

“Did you find something my sweet?” they heard Filch say in the distance. “We'll get them, oh yes, and they'll pay….”

“Quick, in here!” Harry said, pointing at a door. They jiggled the handle, but it was locked.

“Alohamora!” Hermione chanted, pointing her wand at the door. It clicked, and they all ran inside.

“That…was close,” Michael gasped. “Filch'll never think to look in here.”

“Of course not, this was locked,” Hermione panted.

“And for good reason,” Blaise whimpered, pointing forward. The other three looked up to see a massive three-headed dog leering at them, teeth bared.

“Oh.”

“My.”

“God.”

“Run,” Harry said, and they all ran out the door screaming, as the monstrous canine barked at them. The quartet didn't stop running until they had reached the Common Room.

“A hellhound!” Harry gasped. “Of all the things, a hellhound! What the hell is that thing doing here?!”

“Didn't you see its feet?” Hermione gasped exasperatedly.

“Sorry, Hermione, we were a bit busy with its heads!” Blaise wheezed.

“It was standing on a trap door; it was obviously guarding something. The question is, what?” Harry thought back on the newspaper article he saw at Hagrid's.

“Maybe it's whatever was supposed to be stolen on my birthday. But Hermione's right, what is `it'?” Everybody looked at each other, unsure of the answer.

----

Well, that's that. Sorry about it being so short. Enjoy.

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For those of you who are wondering (and I'm sure that there's at least one of you who is), here's a brief history of Lizzie Black:

Lizzie was born Elizabeth Julia Davis May 18 1962 (making her two years younger than the Marauders) in Sacramento, California to Muggle parents. When growing up, she wanted to follow her mother's footsteps and become a doctor. When she was ten, she received a letter from the Salem Academy of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While initially baffled by the idea of magic, Lizzie's mother accepted her heritage as a witch. Her father, however, took a very Dursleyish attitude towards it, leading to a series of arguments between her parents. They divorced during Lizzie's first year, and she adopted her mother's maiden name: White.

Lizzie still wanted to be a doctor, and homeschooled herself in Muggle studies on the side. After achieving enough S.W.A.T.'s (Senior Wizarding Achievement Tests; American equivalent of N.E.W.T.'s) to become a healer, she went to medical school, and became a certified doctor.

She met Sirius Black while he was chasing a fugitive from England (he was an Auror, see). During a firefight, he was injured, and Lizzie was the attending healer on his case. Sirius, being his usual charming self, hit on Lizzie. After they caught their fugitive, Sirius elected to stay behind for a few weeks, and they went out on a few dates. They kept in touch after he went back to England. After about a year, she went over to visit, and they struck up their romantic relationship again. It was about a month after she came that Sirius proposed to her. They married the same day as James and Lily. Lizzie gave birth to Michael Alphard Black July 27 1980.

Lizzie writes to her mother once or twice a month, and sends them via Whizzy, which is quicker and safer. She has not contacted her father since before the divorce.

----

Here's a question for you: Why is it that when Sirius - the closest thing Harry had to a father figure - died, Harry seemed relatively fine, yet when Cedric - a boy Harry hardly knew - died, Harry nearly went off the deep end? And despite differing methods, both were killed in front of him, so it's not that.

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10. Christmas Revelations

I don't own Harry Potter. I wish I did. Get on with it.

And my first H/Hr moment in this chapter! Yay!

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Chapter 9 - Christmas Revelations

“How about this?” Blaise asked, pointing at an entry in Best and Strangest Magical Objects in Britain. “The Mirror of Erised. Created in the early tenth century, this magical object shows not a person's reflection, but his deepest, most heartfelt desire. Be warned, though, that this power is addictive, and people have wasted away in front of it. Its current wherabouts are unknown.”

“Nah, doesn't sound like something Voldemort would want,” Harry said.

“How do you know that it's even Voldemort?”

“Who else has the balls to try and rob Gringotts?”

“Oh. Well, that book's a bust,” Blaise said, closing the large tome and shoving it aside.

Ever since their run-in with the hellhound, the Marauders (as the four friends had taken to calling themselves on Sirius' insistence) had been going through every book on magical objects in Hogwarts' library in an effort to figure out whatever it may be guarding.

So far, they had turned up empty.

“Okay, that's the what, seventh book we've gone through?” Michael said, leaning back and cracking his knuckles. “How many more do we have?”

“Sixteen,” Hermione said, not looking up from her copy of Great Magical Artifacts of the Middle East.

“Fifteen,” Harry corrected, closing his book and sliding it away. He groaned tiredly and laid his head on the table. “I need a break.”

“We can't!” Hermione said. “You said it yourself, we still have fifteen books to go through!”

“Hermione, we've been at this for three days,” Blaise groaned. “My eyes are tired, my head hurts, and my back feels like it's been permanently relocated from all that hunching over. And besides, I still have homework to do; I can't blaze through everything in two nights like you and Harry.” With that, she pulled out a book and a long roll of paper out of her bag and began reading. “Four feet on Calming Draught. I swear, that slimy git'll get what's coming to him one day...” Blaise grumbled. Hermione chose not to comment on her blatant hatred for Snape.

“Do we even know what we're looking for?” Michael asked, stretching.

“Nope,” Harry said, his head still on the table. Michael sighed.

“Well, there's always the Black library,” Michael said. “Thing is Christmas isn't for another month and a half.” Harry sighed.

“I'm hungry, lunch is in twenty minutes,” Harry said, grabbing the books to put them away.

“So...why are you putting books away?”

“Because Madam Pince will kill us and use our skins for book bindings if we don't,” Harry deadpanned.

“Good point,” Michael said before grabbing an armful of books and placing them randomly on shelves.

November passed by quickly with no results, and soon it was almost time for the students who were planning to return home to sign their names. All four of the Marauders signed their names.

“I'll look through my library back home to see if there's anything there,” Blaise said. “After I do my homework, of course,” she added quickly.

“Same here,” Harry said. Michael yawned loudly.

“Well I don't know about you ladies, but I need my beauty sleep, `night,” Michael said tiredly, dragging himself up the stairs to the boy's dormitory.

“He's got a point,” Blaise said. “See you guys tomorrow.” With that, she too went to her dormitory, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the Common Room.

“So, what're you planning to do over Christmas holiday?” Harry asked.

“Oh, my parents were thinking of going for a family trip to America,” Hermione said. “What about you?” Harry shrugged.

“Research.” After a few seconds of silence, Hermione started smirking.

“So, put anything on your wish list this year?” Harry looked at her with genuine confusion.

“Wish list? What's that?” Suddenly, Hermione's expression turned to one of horror, as she pulled Harry into a hug.

“I'm so sorry, Harry,” she sniffled. “I forgot about your...home situation.” Harry awkwardly patted her on the back.

“It's okay, Hermione, really,” he said comfortingly. She shook her head in his shoulder.

“No it's not, Harry,” she said, tears leaking from her eyes. “No one should have to go without Christmas.” Harry gently pulled her off.

“Hermione, it's okay, really. I never had a Christmas, so I can't miss it.” Suddenly, Harry's eyes got darker. “Besides, if the price of keeping my dad out of prison is no gifts and a pasty complexion—” Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at that, “then it's a small price to pay.” Hermione sniffled again.

“Okay, but when we leave, I'm going to get something extra special for you and Michael,” she said.

“Okay, I can live with that.” Harry pulled her back into another hug, and they held each other for a few minutes before they left for bed.

It was three days before Christmas, and the Marauders decided to visit Hagrid one last time before they left.

“Back! Back, Fang! Crazy mutt,” Hagrid muttered when Harry knocked on the door to his hut. “Oh, `Arry! How are yeh? Come in, come in, Lord knows it's freezin' ou',” the giant man said, beckoning them in. “Care fer a cuppa?” Not waiting for an answer, Hagrid placed a pot of tea in front of the fire to warm. “So, how've thin's been?”

“Okay,” Harry said. “Uneventful.” Suddenly, Harry had an idea. “Say, Hagrid, you wouldn't happen to know about a hellhound in Hogwarts, do you?” Hagrid nearly dropped the now hot pot of tea.

“How'd yeh find out `bout Fluffy?” he asked incredulously. Resisting the urge to snort at such a ridiculous name, Harry shrugged.

“Heard rumors floating around Hogwarts. You know how rumors are here, can't tell what's real from what's not. So I just wondering.” Hagrid snorted.

“Prolly them Weasley twins,” he said. “Always stirrin' up trouble, them two. Good fer a laugh, tho'.” Harry just shrugged, not knowing who the Weasley twins were.

“It does beg the question, though, what is it guarding?” Hermione said. Again, Hagrid froze suspiciously. “I mean, hellhounds are some of the best guards for valuable objects.”

“Now see `ere,” Hagrid said before he could stop himself. “It'll do yeh no good to go snoopin' `round in thin's that don't concern yeh. That strictly between Dumbledore and Nicholas Flamel.” Suddenly, horror plastered itself on Hagrid's face. “I shouldn't've said tha'. I shoul' not have said tha'....” Muttering to himself, Hagrid did not notice the four kids leaving.

“Okay, so now we know what to look for,” Harry said. “Something to do with Nicholas Flamel.”

“I just can't help but feel...helpless that I can't do any research,” Hermione moaned. “But I already told my parents I'd go, and it's too late to change my mind now.”

“Don't worry, Hermione,” Blaise said, wrapping her arm around the other girl's shoulder. “We'll work extra hard for you, won't we boys?” Harry and Michael muttered to the affirmative.

The next day, the Marauders left for Hogsmeade station to leave for King's Cross Station. All through the train ride, the four kids played cards (Hermione, Harry and Michael taught Blaise how to play rummy), with no disturbances. Several hours later, the Hogwarts Express pulled into platform 9-3/4 and the Marauders went back to their respective families.

“Did you gain weight, Mum?” Michael asked. Indeed, Lizzie Black seemed a bit plumper than when they left in September.

“Erm...” she said awkwardly. “Your father and I have something to tell you when we get back. Now let's go.” Harry, Michael, Remus and Lizzie walked back to 12 Grimmauld Place, although the walk seemed to take longer than before. When they went inside, the boys were jumped by a large black dog.

“Eww, geroff, Dad!” Harry shouted, covered in dog slobber. The dog stepped back and morphed back into Sirius Black.

“Aww, you're gone for four months, and that's all the thanks I get? I'm crushed,” he said, dramatically clutching his heart.

“Ha ha, you're a real Clint Eastwood,” Lizzie said flatly. “Now move, I gotta pee.”

“What's up with her?” Harry asked.

“Later.” A few minutes later, Lizzie came out of the loo considerably calmer.

“Now kids, you may want to sit down,” Lizzie said. Harry and Michael complied. “See, the reason why I've seem bigger is that I'm kinda...sorta...pregnant.” Hours seemed to pass without word, even though it was only seconds.

“Pregnant?” Michael gasped.

“How long?” Harry asked.

“Three and a half months,” Sirius said. “It should be born around June.”

“That eager to replace us, huh?” Harry asked with a straight face.

“What?! We would never repla—Ohh, I get it, real slick, buster,” Lizzie admonished, even though she was grinning. Soon, the house was filled with laughter.

That night, Harry came up to Remus, who was having one last cup of tea before turning in.

“Uncle Moony?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you ever heard of Nicholas Flamel? It's for an extracurricular project.” Remus frowned in concentration.

“I might have, but it was a long time ago, sorry. You should check in the library.”

“Okay, thanks anyway, Uncle Moony,” Harry said, before climbing up the stairs.

Hundreds of miles away, in Zabini Manor, Blaise flipped through another history book, clearly bored. Absently flipping pages, she found a page on Nicholas Flamel. She skimmed through the text, and quickly found an interesting sentence. His greatest achievement is the Philosopher's Stone, an alchemical miracle that can turn base metals into gold and create the Elixir of Life, which can grant immortality. Bursting with excitement, she could not contain herself.

“EUREKA!”

----

Well, I hope that you enjoyed that.

Here's another question for you readers:

Judging by her continued attendance of Hogwarts despite all that's happened in the books, it seems that Hermione has kept a pretty tight lid on the activities there. The question is, if you were Hermione's parents (this question can be applied to your own children) and knew that all this was happening, what would you do?

A). Let her keep going to Hogwarts

B). Transfer to another magical school

C). Pull her out of the magical world altogether.

The responses may be filed away for future reference.

Don't forget to R&R!!!

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11. Creatures in the Night

do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J. K. Rowling.

You do not own Harry Potter. It belongs to J. K. Rowling.

These aren't the droids you're looking for.

These aren't the droids we're looking for.

Move along.

Move along.

----

Chapter 10 - Creatures in the Night

The Christmas week passed by quietly in the Black household, and soon it was time for Harry and Michael to return to Hogwarts.

The night before they were to leave, Sirius knocked on the door to their room.

“Come in.” Sirius walked in, his hands behind his back.

“You two all packed yet?” he asked.

“Not quite. We still have some stuff left,” Harry said, throwing a shirt in.

“Well, don't wrap up just yet, `cause I have a little something for you two.” This got both boys' attention. “I didn't give these to you before, because I didn't see the need to. But now that you two are in Hogwarts, I can't deny your birthrights any longer.” He held out his right hand and gave Harry a loose bundle of cloth. “That was your father's,” Sirius said as Harry unfolded it to show the large, silky cloak. “Well, put it on,” he prompted. Harry wrapped the shroud around himself, and his body disappeared.

“Wicked!” Harry said. Smiling, Sirius turned to Michael.

“And this, dear son of mine, is for you,” he held out his left arm, and gave Michael a blank piece of parchment. “I think you know what that is.” Grinning, Michael tapped his wand on the parchment and said, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” Ink started spreading from Michael's wand tip, until it showed a message in elegant writing.

Messrs. Moony, Padfoot and Prongs

Purveyors in the aid of magical mischief

Present to you

The Marauder's Map

“Congratulations, you two,” Sirius said proudly. “You two are officially half-way to becoming true Marauders.” The two boys clung onto him into a tight hug. “Now all you got to do is get your animagus forms and your Marauder codenames. Hey, maybe you can get your girlfriends into it too,” he added with a wink. He ran from their room laughing while dodging pillows that the two boys were throwing at him.

“Do you think Blaise figured out the Philosopher's Stone yet?” Michael asked as they settled into bed.

“Maybe.” Harry chuckled to himself. “Hermione's probably going spare about not being able to help.” Michael chuckled at this.

“Probably.” With that, they clicked their lights off and went to sleep.

The next day, the moment they stepped through the barrier to Platform 9-3/4, Harry was tackled by a bushy head of brown hair and nearly knocked back into the barrier.

“I missed you too, Hermione, but I kinda need to breathe,” Harry gasped. Hermione relinquished her death grip on Harry and reapplied it onto Michael, who gasped as he suffocated in the girl's embrace.

“So, what'd you do during your holiday?” Harry asked while Michael caught his breath.

“Oh, we went to dinner and opened presents, that was pretty much it,” Hermione shrugged. “Oh, that reminds me, I got your presents!” She dug into her pockets and gave them two small wrapped boxes. Harry opened his to see a ruby about the size of a muggle quarter attached to a long nylon cord.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Harry said as he put it over his head, the stone hanging over his sternum. “Sorry I couldn't get you anything.”

“It's okay, Harry,” she said before hugging him again.

“Umm…thanks, Hermione,” Michael said.

“No problem,” she said, detaching herself from Harry. “I've got another one for Blaise when we find her.” By now, the platform was milling with students, and the three Marauders climbed onto the Hogwarts Express.

A few minutes later, Blaise found their compartment, and promptly locked the door.

“Okay, guys, I figured out what Voldemort's after, it's the—” she began excitedly.

“The Philosopher's Stone,” Harry and Michael interrupted simultaneously. Hermione immediately shot up.

“The Philosopher's Stone?” she exclaimed. “The one that turns lead to gold and creates the Elixir of Life?”

“Yeah,” Blaise said. “How'd you know that?”

“Oh, I came across it a few weeks ago while doing some light reading,” Hermione said dismissively.

“Let me guess,” Michael said. “By `light reading,' you mean a book about yea big,” he continued, holding his thumb and index finger several inches apart. Hermione simply shifted her gaze to the floor and blushed. Then she remembered Blaise's present. “Oh, Blaise, I got you this,” she said, digging into her pocket to extract another wrapped jewelry box for Blaise. It was also a ruby. “I didn't know when your birthday was, so I got you a ruby too. You know, house pride and all,” Hermione explained.

“Thanks, Hermione,” Blaise said, putting on her necklace. “By the way, my birthday's April seven.”

“July twenty-eight,” Michael added.

“We also have something to show you,” Harry said, enlarging his trunk and pulling out his invisibility cloak. Blaise gaped at it in awe.

“Is that what I think it is?” She asked, dumbstruck.

“Yep,” Harry said proudly, carefully folding it back up and putting it back in his trunk, reshrinking it.”

“And I got this,” Michael said, producing the Marauder's Map. Both girls were amazed by it.

“That's a really advanced piece of magic!” Hermione exclaimed.

“Imagine what we could do with those two things!” Blaise squealed with delight. As the train ride drove on, the four junior Marauders talked about whatever came to mind, only unlocking the compartment door to buy snacks and change into their robes.

Eventually, the Hogwarts Express came to a stop at Hogsmeade Station, and the students climbed out and started towards the carriages that would take them back to the castle. But as the four Marauders were heading towards them, Harry skidded to a stop at what he saw. Bound to the carriages were dozens of black skeletal horses with leathery wings, flipping their whip-like tails around, staring at him with pale, glassy eyes.

“Harry?” Hermione said, concerned. “Are you all right, Harry?” Shaking his head, he replied weakly, “Yeah. I'm fine. Just a little tired, is all.” Hermione seemed to accept this answer, but the concern on her face remained.

They went to the Great Hall and ate their dinner, not paying attention to Dumbledore's welcome back speech, then quietly headed to their respective dormitories. Seeing that they were the only ones there, Michael took the opportunity to question his brother.

“Okay, spill. I know you saw something on those carriages that spooked you. What is it?” Harry sighed and shook his head while changing into his pajamas.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” he said evasively.

“Try me.” Harry sighed and flopped onto his bed.

“Thestrals,” he said simply.

“Okay, thestrals,” Michael said, not understanding. “What about them?”

“I saw them,” Harry said, not looking at him. “They were pulling the carriages. One of them looked right at me.” This news shocked Michael.

“WHAT?!” he shouted. “Thestrals?! Pulling the carriages?! Are you kidding me?” Harry shook his head negatively. Michael sighed and flopped down on his own bed. “You're the Boy-Who-Lived, probably the only one who can defeat Voldemort, and you can see Thestrals. What's next, you're a Parselmouth?” Harry chuckled humorlessly.

“Probably,” he deadpanned. By then, the other Gryffindor first years had started coming in, so Harry rolled over and went to sleep.

The next few days were mostly normal. Wake up, eat breakfast, go to classes, eat lunch, et cetera. But Harry noticed that he was starting to get strange headaches during Defense Against the Dark Arts. At first, Harry merely felt fatigued, but simply assumed it was from inhaling too much fumes from the putrid garlic hanging around the classroom, but his head soon began throbbing, particularly at his scar. He had gone to Madame Pomfrey several times, each time with a clean bill of health.

“I think Voldemort's going to make his move soon,” Harry said, rubbing his forehead. “My scar has been aching for days.” He stole a quick glance at Quirrel sitting at the staff table. “And I think it might be Quirrel.”

“Harry,” Hermione said. “You can't go around accusing professors that they're Voldemort.”

“I know that,” Harry said, “If I had proof, I would have done something already. Unfortunately, all I have is a gut feeling and a string of bad headaches, so all we can do is wait.”

Several days later, they heard rumors of a fight that happened in one of the corridors. Since they didn't see it, they didn't know the validity of the statement, nor did they care. During lunch that day, Professor McGonnagal came up to them.

“Hagrid has detention with a pair of students tonight, and has asked for you to assist him. He requires you at eight `o clock tonight.” Watching her leave, Michael sighed. “I guess those rumors about a fight were true after all.” The rest only shrugged and continued eating.

At fifteen minutes to eight, the four walked down to Hagrid's hut to see the giant man, his boarhound Fang, and both Weasley and Malfoy.

“`Arry! Glad ye guys coul' make it,” Hagrid boomed.

“Wasn't a problem, Hagrid,” Harry said.

“Goo', goo'. Now, someone or somethin's been injurin' unicorns in the fores', and we're gonna go `vestigate.” Malfoy and Weasley immediately protested.

“The forest?!” Malfoy shouted. “But there's...werewolves in there!”

“And…spiders,” Weasley added with a shudder.

“Oh, grow a backbone, Weasley,” Hagrid growled, hoisting up his crossbow. “A'ight, Blaise, `Ermione, yeh two'll go together; Michael, Weasley, yer wit' me; Harry, yer with Malfoy here.”

“If I'm going to be stuck with Potter here,” Malfoy spat snobbishly, “then we'll take the mutt with us.”

“Okay, but I warn yeh, Fang `ere's a bloody coward.” The dog gave a quiet whine. “If yeh run into trouble, shoot red sparks. If yeh find a unicorn, shoot green sparks. Le's go.” They followed Hagrid into the forest, before breaking away from each other.

Harry and Malfoy wandered through the dense trees, Fang sniffing at the ground. Both boys wished they were anywhere but in each other's company.

“So how'd you hook up with your little motley crew?” Malfoy asked, trying to break the silence.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, not looking at him.

“You know, you, the traitor Black's kid, the blood traitor, and the mudbloo—” Whomp! Harry's fist quickly and unexpectedly colliding into his face, knocking him out cold. Shaking his hand to relieve the pain, Harry drew his wand and cast rennervate on Malfoy. His hand immediately went to his bleeding nose.

“You hit me!” he shouted nasally. “You bloody hit me!” Harry glared at him.

“You were about to call Hermione a name that I will not tolerate,” Harry growled.

“I didn't say it,” Malfoy snapped, standing up and dusting off his robes.

“You were thinking it,” Harry said simply before turning around and following Fang. Grumbling to himself, Malfoy set after him, trying to stem the flow of blood dripping from his nose.

Some time later, Harry heard a slurping sound nearby. Quietly gesturing for Malfoy to follow him, he turned around and repressed a scream as pain exploded behind his scar. Bending over the neck of a dead unicorn was a hooded and cloaked figure. Fang whined in fear at the figure, which caused it to look up from its feeding, silver blood dripping from its mouth. Losing all resolve, Malfoy fled screaming, Fang hot on his heels, leaving Harry alone.

“Stupefy!” Harry shouted, and a red bolt of light shot out of his wand towards the being. The spell had no effect. “Stupefy! Stupefy!” Still no effect. “Oh, crap.” Harry turned to flee, but the being had appeared in front of him out of nowhere. Growling, the being reached up as if to grab him, but was stopped when another being jumped between them, lunging at the first being. Shrieking, it drifted away into the forest. The second being turned around to show that he was a dark-skinned man with the body of a palomino horse.

“It is not safe for you here, young one. Quickly, climb onto by back so we may take you out of this cursed place.” Harry quickly climbed onto the centaur and together they rode towards the edge of the forest.

When they reached the Hogwarts grounds, and Harry climbed off of the centaur, he was immediately assaulted by another one of Hermione's death-grip hugs.

“Oh my gosh, Harry, I was so scared!” she sobbed.

“I'm still alive, Hermione,” Harry said. “For the moment,” he added, struggling to breathe.

“Than's for the help, Firenze,” Hagrid said. “I `preciate it.”

“It is no trouble, Hagrid,” Firenze said, bowing. “But Mars is bright tonight,” he continued, staring at the sky, “and that is troubling.” Everyone looked up as well, but only saw cloudy sky.

“It is?” Blaise asked. The sound of hoofbeats brought them back down to Earth.

“Well, I guess yeh should be gettin' back to bed now,” Hagrid said, shooing them away. “Oh, `fore I forget, `Arry, `ere's yer Chris'mas presen',” Hagrid said, pulling out a wooden flute from one of his many pockets. “Took a little longer than I expected to make it.”

“Thanks, Hagrid,” Harry said before following his friends to the Gryffindor tower.

When they reached the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione laid a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

“Are you okay, Harry?” she asked. Harry nodded his head.

“I'm just rattled, is all,” he said simply.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Harry shook his head.

“Tomorrow.”

“Okay. Good night.” With that, the four of them went to bed.

As Harry and Michael got ready for bed, Michael asked, “When do you think it'll happen?” Harry sighed.

“Soon,” he said simply. “Very soon.”

----

A/N: Duh, duh, duh, duuuuuhhhhh!!!!

This year is coming to an end. I'd reckon only three or four chapters left for this year.

This week's question is, why and how do you think Dumbledore got his hands on James' invisibility cloak? He may be the leader of the Order, but I find it hard to believe that James would choose his former headmaster over his best friend to inherit what was probably his most valuable possession.

Don't forget to read and review!

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12. Trial by Fire

Okay, I decided to turn my near-obsessive attention away from Light's Hope, Death's Hunters for a moment to make this chapter.

I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, that travesty known as Half-Blood Prince would never have existed.

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Chapter 11 - Trial by Fire

For the next two weeks, the four Marauders were tense in anticipation for when Voldemort would make his move for the Philosopher's Stone. They kept a close eye on Quirrel, who did not act beyond his normal cowardly self.

“Merlin, I'm getting tired of waiting for Voldemort to show up,” Blaise groaned after leaving the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. “All we've been doing is listening to Quirrel ramble about zombies with more attention than normal.” Harry was about to respond when a voice whispered in his mind.

Tonight….

“What?” Harry said, confused. Everybody turned to him.

“What?” they echoed. Harry looked at them, pointing to his ear.

“Did you hear that? That voice?” Michael, Hermione and Blaise looked at each other.

“We didn't hear anything, Harry,” Hermione said worriedly. Then the voice returned.

Now, my servant, while the meddlesome old fool is away, we strike tonight…. It dawned on Harry what he was hearing: Voldemort's plan.

“Oh, crap,” Harry said. Hermione decided not to admonish him for his language.

“What?” Michael asked.

“Voldemort. He's making his move tonight. And Dumbledore's won't be here to stop it.”

“We got to tell Professor McGonnagal!” Hermione exclaimed. Harry sighed.

“It probably won't work, but okay.” With that, the four of them ran to McGonnagal's office.

McGonnagal was grading some O.W.L. papers when someone knocked on her office door. Setting her quill down, she stood up and opened the door to see her four top students leaning against each other, gasping for breath.

“Good heavens! What are you doing here?” she exclaimed. Harry, being the closest, was the one who responded.

“Stone…Voldemort…tonight…” he huffed, still trying to catch his breath. “Voldemort will be taking the Philosopher's Stone tonight!” McGonnagal's eyes widened slightly, but quickly returned back to her calm demeanor.

“I don't know how you found out about the Philosopher's Stone, Mister Potter, but I assure you that it is perfectly safe.”

“But—” Harry began, only to be cut off by McGonnagal.

“No buts!” she interrupted. “We have taken measures to assure its safety. Now, this is a fine day. Go outside and enjoy it. Good day.” With that, she gently closed her office door shut. Harry sighed in exasperation. Hermione glared at him.

“Don't you dare say—” she began threateningly.

“I told you so,” Harry said quickly before she could finish. Hermione scowled at him.

“I guess this means we're doing it ourselves,” Michael said dully. “Oh, joy.”

At 9:30 that night, the four Marauders snuck out of the Gryffindor Common Room under the invisibility cloak, using the Marauder's Map to guide them. After carefully avoiding Peeves, Filch and his mad cat Mrs. Norris, they finally reached the room that Fluffy was hidden in. Carefully opening the door, they saw the giant beast fast asleep, a harp gently strumming in one corner of the room.

“Okay, who here can play flute the best?” Harry asked. Hermione raised her hand. Harry handed her the reed flute that Hagrid had made him for Christmas. “Hellhounds go right out when they hear music, so if that harp stops playing, start blowing, okay?” Hermione nodded while Harry rolled up his cloak and stuffed it into his pocket. While Hermione fingered the flute nervously, the other three children struggled to lift Fluffy's paw off of the trap door, trying not to protest about the beast's foul breath too loudly. As soon as they moved the paw, the harp stopped playing, and Fluffy began to stir, but Hermione started playing the flute and he quickly went back to sleep. With a heave, they lifted the trap door with a loud creak, but didn't disturb the hellhound's slumber. Hermione got closer, and the other three jumped down the hole one by one. Hermione stopped playing and jumped in just as Fluffy woke up. And as soon as she jumped in, she heard two words that did nothing to increase her confidence.

“Ah, crap,” Harry groaned. Hermione fell onto something soft and…slimy.

“Is this what I think it is?” Hermione whimpered. She could hear her friends struggling a few feet away.

“Yup,” Harry confirmed. “Devil's Snare. Just our luck.”

“I fell asleep in Herbology, how do you get rid of Devil's Snare again?” Blaise grunted as she struggled against the slithering plant.

“Light! Heat! Fire! Exactly what we don't have!” Michael yelled, panicking. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Honestly, are you wizards or not? Use your wands!” Michael struggled against his bonds.

“I don't know about you, but I can't use my wand on account that I can't even use my bloody arms!” Harry took a few deep, calming breaths and stood still, and instead of trying to crush him, the Devil's Snare pushed him downwards onto a hard stone floor. Then it hit him.

“Stop struggling!” Harry yelled. “Stop struggling and it'll let you through!” The screaming stopped, and moments later, the other three dropped down. Michael shot up and started brushing himself off.

“Well, let's never do that again,” he said. Harry rolled his eyes as he helped Hermione and Blaise to their feet. They walked down a corridor to a wooden door. They opened it to show a large room. There was another door on the other end of the room, a single broomstick hovering in the center, and hundreds of small, glittering objects fluttering in the air above them.

“Are those birds?” Blaise asked, amazed at the sight. Hermione shook her head.

“No, those aren't birds. Those are keys.” She walked to the other door and felt the lock. “We're probably supposed to find the one that fits this lock. It would be silver and old-fashioned.”

Harry looked up at the hundreds of keys fluttering about, and almost instantly saw it: an old silver key with a crumpled wing.

“Okay, so the question is who's going to get it?” Blaise said. Michael turned to Harry.

“You've always been a better catch than me, bro. It's all yours.” Harry sighed in exasperation. “Hey, look at it this way, if you get it, you can try out for seeker next year!” Michael added, trying and failing to lighten the moment. Harry rolled his eyes and slowly stretched out his hand towards the broomstick. The moment his fingers touched the wood, the keys sprang from their lethargic fluttering and started swarming around Harry. Harry quickly mounted the broom and kicked off, flying around the room as fast as he safely could, tailed by a cloud of silver and gold.

The target key fluttered away from Harry in a desperate attempt to escape, while the young wizard closed in on it. Moments before he could grab it, a stray key plowed into his hand, bruising it. Ignoring the pain, Harry reached forward and grabbed the key.

“Here, catch!” he shouted as he threw the key at Hermione, still trying to avoid the angered swarm of keys following him. Hermione quickly jammed the struggling key into the hole and twisted it. Hearing a satisfyingly loud click, they wrenched the door open to the next room.

“Come on, Harry!” Hermione yelled. Harry dove straight towards the doorway, and as soon as he was through, the other three children slammed the door shut, wincing as the sound of a hundred keys slammed against the wooden door. They turned around to see Harry climb off the broom, clutching his hand to his chest.

“Let's never do that again,” he said, wincing in pain. The others nodded in agreement. The booming sound of torches being lit drew their attention to the next obstacle they had to face: a giant chessboard, complete with pieces. Harry rolled his eyes again. “Oh joy, who wants to bet that they're as vicious as real wizard's chess pieces too?” Michael walked up to the edge of the board and surveyed the area.

“I guess the object is to play our way across the board,” he said. He turned to the other three. “Harry, you take white bishop. Hermione, you take black castle. Blaise, you take black bishop. I'll take white knight.” Without a word, the four named pieces except for the knight jumped off their positions on the board, to be taken by the four children.

“Hey, Mike,” Harry said as Michael got into position. “Don't sacrifice us.” Michael nodded his head.

“I'll try. Pawn to D-2!” And the game began.

In a battle of wits and strategy, the chess game dragged on for what seemed like hours. Michael shouted moves from atop his chess piece like a general ordering his troops into battle from his horse. For every black piece that was struck down, a white piece was struck down with it. Soon, the entire chessboard was littered with the dusty remains of the fallen pieces. Michael analyzed the situation, and saw a path to victory. Unfortunately, with victory must come sacrifice.

“Harry!” Michael shouted. “You're in a position to win the game, but I've got to get out!” Harry wheeled around to him.

“No!” he shouted. “There's got to be another way!” Michael shook his head gloomily.

“Not this time, bro. After I move, move four spaces up to your right. Knight to H-3!” Michael clutched the collar of his horse nervously as the stone figure scraped its way to the appointed position. Stone ground against stone as the white queen turned to face him, and started advancing towards his position. As the looming figure came closer and closer, Michael couldn't help but mutter, “This is going to hurt.” When the queen stopped one space in front of him, Michael closed his eyes and braced himself as the opposing piece took up its sword and smashed through the horse, sending Michael flying across the board and knocked unconscious.

Trying to shake what just happened from his memory, Harry followed Michael's instructions, emerging two squares away from the white king.

“Checkmate!” Harry shouted. With a groan, the white king's sword fell from its hands and clattered on the floor in a sign of defeat. Harry sighed while Blaise ran towards Michael.

“Go!” she prompted. Harry and Hermione didn't move. “We'll be fine. Keep going!” Harry came up to her and gave her his invisibility cloak.

“Don't lose that,” he said. Blaise nodded in acceptance. While Harry and Hermione ran into the next room, Blaise rolled up her robes and used them to prop Michael's head up.

When Harry and Hermione entered the next room, all they saw was a table with several bottles and a piece of parchment on it. When they approached it, two walls of flame burst from the ground, trapping them. Seeing no other choice, Harry and Hermione walked towards the table, where Hermione read the parchment out loud:

“Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you will find,

One among us seven will help you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here forevermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onward, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different in size,

Neither dwarf or giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left, and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight*.” Hermione sighed and pondered the poem.

“Okay, obviously, only one bottle will take us forward, and one will take us back,” she said, mostly to herself, “two are wine, and three are poison. Great, no pressure.” Time drug on as Hermione negotiated the carefully thought-out puzzle. After what seemed like an eternity in the heat, she figured it out. “I got it!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down excitedly. She grabbed an end bottle. “This one will take us back.” Then she grabbed the smallest bottle in the row. “And this one will take us forward. Then she saw the amount of potion in the bottle, barely a mouthful. “There's only enough for one of us, though.” Harry gently took the bottle out of her hands. Hermione looked up at Harry, tears welling up in her eyes. “Be careful, Harry. You were one of my first friends, and I don't want to lose you.” Harry pulled her into a hug.

“You won't lose me,” he whispered into her ear. Hermione nodded into his shoulder and stepped back.

“Good luck,” she said before drinking her bottle and walking through the flames back to the chess room. Sighing, Harry pulled the stopper out of his bottle and drank the potion. It went down like ice, and chilled his body. Setting the bottle down, he closed his eyes and walked through the flames to see a large, ornate mirror, and the purple turban of Quirrel. The thin, pale man turned around to look at Harry.

“Ah, Mister Potter, so glad you could join us,” Quirrel said, his stutter gone. “Unfortunately, I can't have you having your wand. Accio!” Before he could react, Harry's wand flew out of his pocket into Quirrel's outstretched hand. “Ahh, that's better. With a wave of his wand, Harry was dragged towards the front of the mirror. “Dumbledore was clever, hiding the Stone within this mirror. Obviously he placed safeguards so that people like me couldn't get to it. But maybe you can. Now tell me, what do you see?” Harry looked at the mirror, but instead of his reflection, a scene played out in front of him. He saw his parents, alive and well. He, his parents, and a wild-haired girl about five years old were in the park having a picnic. Sirius, Michael and a very pregnant Lizzie walked into view, where they sat down on the grass where they talked and laughed. The mirror Harry reached into the picnic basket and pulled out a blood red stone the size of a tennis ball. Mirror Harry looked towards the real Harry, winked, and slid the Stone into his pants pocket. At the same time, Harry felt a weight in his own pocket.

“Well?! What do you see?” Quirrel demanded. Before Harry could answer, a cold, sibilant voice floated through the air.

“Let me speak to him,” the voice commanded. Quirrel looked around worriedly.

“But my lord, you are not strong enough.”

“I have strength for this.” Defeated, Quirrel turned around and slowly began untying his turban. As the final layers fell away, Harry saw all that remained of Lord Voldemort: a wrinkled face stretched across the back of Quirrel's head. “Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed, “we meet again. Now you know what I am, you see what I've become. Shadow and vapor, lesser than the lowest ghost, living off this pathetic servant like a parasite!” By then, Harry had turned around and was staring Voldemort down. “But that can all change. Together, we can do extraordinary things. All I ask is for something in return. Do you want your mother and father back, Harry? Do you want your godfather free? Together, we can accomplish all that and more. All I ask in return, is for that stone in your pocket. There is no good and evil, Harry. There is only power, and those too weak to seek it. What say you, Harry?” Harry faked a thoughtful look as he slowly pulled the Philosopher's Stone out of his pocket.

“Do you want this?” Harry asked, holding the stone up so it glittered in the firelight. Voldemort grinned evilly.

“You have made the right choice, Harry. Take it, my servant.” Quirrel turned around and started advancing towards Harry. Harry wrapped his fingers around the Stone.

“You want it? Then go get it!” With a mighty throw, he flung the Philosopher's Stone over Quirrel's shoulder and past the enchanted fire.

“NOOOOOOO!!!” Voldemort screamed. “Kill him!” With his wand in one hand, Quirrel lunged for Harry's throat with the other, but as soon as he grabbed his flesh, Quirrel's hand burned as if on fire. Harry took the opportunity to slip his wand out of Quirrel's pocket.

“What is this magic?” Quirrel gasped as he watched his hand crumble into dust.

“Fool! Kill the boy!” Snarling, Quirrel raised his wand above his head.

“Avada Keda—” he began, but was interrupted by Harry casting a spell of his own.

“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled, the wave of magic shooting from his wand into Quirrel's chest.

An interesting thing about the expelliarmus charm is that if not pointed at the target's hand, the target will be blown back as if suffering a physical blow. And that is exactly what happened to Quirrel. Unfortunately for him, Harry wasn't watching where he was aiming, so Quirrel was knocked back by the spell….

…Right into the fire.

Harry closed his eyes and turned away as Quirrel writhed in the flames, screaming in agony. Eventually, the screaming stopped, and Harry cracked open his eyes to see a smoldering corpse in the mirror's reflection. He didn't immediately notice the mist forming behind him, and by the time he saw it, the spirit of Voldemort had blown through his body, and his world went black.

When Harry next awoke, he was laying in a bed in the hospital wing surrounded by his three friends.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Michael said in a sing-song voice. Harry groaned in pain.

“My head…” he complained. “I feel like a hippogriff played football with my head.” Everybody chuckled at his predicament.

“Madame Pomfrey said that you'll be out in a few days, Harry, so don't worry,” Hermione said, holding his hand. Harry nodded in understanding. Michael stood up and cleared his throat.

“I'm sure that Harry here enjoys his fangirls swooning over him—” Harry shot him a withering glare, “but there's something personal I need to tell him, so if you ladies could vacate for a moment, that'd be great.” They both glared at him, but left anyway. Harry turned to Michael.

“Okay, what's so important that you had to chase out my so-called `fan-girls?'” Harry asked. Michael grinned mischievously.

“Oh, you're going to love this. This morning, I was lying in bed awake, and guess who I found.” He pulled a shrunken cage out of his pocket and enlarged it. Inside was an unconscious rat.

A rat with a missing toe.

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Only a couple more chapters left until the end of this year!

I'm sure no one here minds that I skipped the potion riddle solving part, but that was dreadfully boring (that, and it's really late here).

Don't forget to read and review!

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13. Justice at Last

Okay, guys, the final chapter at long last! Yay!

Note that this chapter is short, and there is not a whole lot of action in this chapter; it's mostly dialogue.

As usual, I don't own Harry Potter.

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Chapter 12 - Justice at Last

Harry gaped at the cage containing the rat that had forced his family to go into hiding for ten years.

“What are you waiting for, then? Show him to McGonnagal!” Harry hissed. Michael quickly shrunk the cage and stuffed it into his pocket before dashing away from his mad brother.

Michael opened the door to the Hospital Wing to see Hermione and Blaise standing nervously.

“We've got to go see McGonnagal,” Michael said simply, practically running to the Transfiguration classroom. The two girls looked at each other before sprinting to catch up with him.

The three were panting for air by the time they reached the Transfiguration classroom. Luckily, the class had been let out just as they arrived, so they were alone when they met with her.

“What can I help you with today, Mister Black?” McGonnagal asked tiredly. Michael brought the cage out and enlarged it, to which the old witch cocked her eyebrow. “Why exactly are you showing me a rat?”

“This isn't just a rat, professor,” Michael said, still panting. “This is an animagus. We know that there's a spell to reverse the effects, but we need you to cast it.” He set the cage on her desk and stepped back. Eyeing the three children suspiciously, McGonnagal unlatched the cage and placed the rat on her desk.

“If this is a joke, Mister Black, it will be detentions for the rest of the term, is that clear?” At Michael's nod, McGonnagal flicked her wand at the rat, which started shifting and growing, eventually turning into a small, round man with a large bald spot and grubby clothes.

McGonnagal gasped in shock as she saw a man lying on her desk that she thought dead for ten years. She quickly shot ropes from her wand to bind him and stunned him for good measure. Clearing her throat, she turned to the three students.

“Excuse me while I make a floo call,” she said calmly as she left for her private quarters. A few minutes later she returned with a tall woman in her forties, a monocle on her eye, as well as two aurors. She too gasped when she saw the man lying unconscious on the desk.

“As you can see, Amelia, we have a bit of a problem,” McGonnagal said. The other woman was momentarily stunned before she regained her composure.

“Yes, this is a bit of a problem. One that will hopefully be resolved soon. Dawlish, Shacklebolt, take him.” The two aurors grabbed hold of the man and portkeyed back to the Ministry of Magic. She turned to Michael, Hermione and Blaise.

“Which one of you captured him?” Michael raised his hand.

“I did,” he said simply. “Michael Black, ma'am,” he decided to add. Amelia nodded to him.

“May I speak to Mister Potter, wherever he is?” she asked.

“I'm afraid Mister Potter is currently recuperating in the Hospital Wing following an incident a few days ago,” McGonnagal replied. Amelia nodded in acknowledgement before turning back to Michael.

“On behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I apologize for letting this miscarriage of justice continue for so long, and I assure you we will attempt to rectify it. We will be sending you and Mister Potter a letter containing the date for the trial, as well as a letter for your father by next week.” As she walked back to McGonnagal's office, she muttered quietly to herself, “This is going to be a lot of paperwork….” Once she left, McGonnagal turned to her students.

“I feel I must congratulate you for your actions today. I don't know how you did it, but I feel fifty points each to Gryffindor will suffice. Now, hurry along, it is almost time for your next class.” The three children looked down at their watches and seeing that they were almost late for their Charms class, made a mad dash out of the classroom. McGonnagal sighed to herself as she went back to grading various essays.

Four days later, Harry was finally released from the Hospital Wing, and was eating lunch in the Great Hall when three owls swooped down and landed in front of him and Michael. The owls dropped their letters in front of the two boys and left without a word. Harry opened the letter addressed to him and read it.

Mister Harry James Potter-Black,

You have been summoned for the trial of Sirius Orion Black on suspicion of various charges. New evidence has come to light to question the validity of some of those charges.

The trial will take place in courtroom seven on 25 of January at 8:30 in the morning.

Accompanying this letter is a similar one for Sirius Black.

We hope to finally see justice being carried out.

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

After lunch, Harry and Michael ran up to the owlrey and gave the letter to Hedwig to take to Sirius. Now all they could do was wait.

On the day of the twenty-fifth, Harry and Michael were visited by McGonnagal to tell them that they were excused from the day's classes for the trial. McGonnagal escorted them to her office, where they used the floo to travel to the Ministry of Magic atrium. There, two aurors escorted them to courtroom seven, where they sat down at the front of the row, along with Remus and Lizzie, who had grown larger from the pregnancy. When the members of the Wizengamot were seated, Sirius Black was brought in, shackles clinking on the stone floor. He sat down on a chair in the center of the room with chains hanging from its sides, which promptly sprang up and wrapped themselves around him, binding him. Amelia cleared her throat.

“The trial of Sirius Black is now in session,” she said with authority. “His original charges were twelve counts of murdering a muggle, one count of murdering Peter Pettigrew and one count of kidnapping Harry Potter. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Sirius said strongly. Amelia nodded in acknowledgment. She turned to a nearby auror holding a small bottle.

“Auror Shacklebolt, you may administer the veritaserum.” The auror walked up to Sirius and poured three drops of the potion onto Sirius' tongue. Sirius shuddered for a moment before adopting a blank look.

“What were you doing 31 of October, 1981 between the hours of ten in the night and twelve in the morning?” Amelia asked.

“I was reading the Daily Prophet,” Sirius answered, not a trace of emotion in his voice.

“Who can vouch for that?” Amelia asked.

“My wife, Elizabeth and my house elf, Whizzy.”

“Were you the secret keeper for the Potters?”

“No.” Amelia raised her eyebrows at this.

“Who was then?”

“Peter Pettigrew.” Several shocked gasps rang throughout the hall.

“Why?”

“James and I figured it would be the perfect plan. I was the obvious choice for a secret keeper, so we figured that if we made it someone as inconspicuous as Peter, then even if I was captured and tortured, I couldn't reveal their location.”

“Are you a Death Eater?”

“No.”

“Did you kill Peter Pettigrew?”

“No.”

“Did you kill those twelve muggles?”

“No. Peter did. After the explosion, he cut off his own finger to frame me before running into the sewer as a rat.” Several members of the Wizengamot started whispering amongst themselves.

“Why did you run from the aurors?”

“At the time, the head of the DMLE was Barty Crouch. He had earned himself a reputation of sending suspected Death Eaters to Azkaban without a trial. With the evidence against me and my family's history, I feared that I would suffer the same fate.” Amelia frowned at this news.

“Describe to the court what happened after you arrived at the Potters' household.”

“When I arrived, Rubeus Hagrid had just gotten out of the house with baby Harry. I told Hagrid that he was my godson, and I should have him. Hagrid told me that Harry was to go to the Dursleys', his aunt and uncle's house. I tried to reason with Hagrid, but he simply said that it was Dumbledore's orders. Defeated, I went back home and gave my house elf the day off. The next day, I went to the Dursleys' residence. I took Harry back and detonated a dung bomb in their house. Then I dropped Harry off with my wife before going to Gringotts to legally adopt Harry. Then I found Peter lurking in Knockturn Alley. I chased him, and we Apparated to muggle London. We fought, and Peter killed the muggles and faked his own death. I Apparated home before the aurors showed up. I have remained in my house ever since.” Amelia thought hard on her next question.

“So you're saying that the charge of kidnapping Harry Potter is invalid?”

“Yes,” Sirius responded. “I helped Lily and James write their will, and I know for a fact that they specifically stated in their will that Harry was not to go to the Dursleys under any circumstances. On top of which, when I adopted Harry, the warrant for my arrest had not been issued, so I was within every legal right to adopt Harry.” Amelia digested this information for several moments.

“Auror, administer the antidote.” The auror from before dripped a few drops of a different potion onto Sirius' tongue, and he shuddered before looking normal again.

“It seems that ten years ago, we made a serious error in judgement which sentenced an innocent man and his family to house arrest,” Amelia said. “This is unacceptable. Any who feels that Sirius Black is innocent, raise your hand.” Every hand in the room was raised except one, a short woman who looked more like a toad than a human. “Very well then. Sirius Orion Black, we hereby find you innocent of all charges. Ten thousand galleons will be deposited into your Gringotts account as compensation for lost time. We humbly apologize for taking this long for the truth to come out. Peter Pettigrew will be held in custody until such a time as his trial is scheduled. This trial is adjourned.” The chains that bound Sirius immediately went limp, and the shackles on his ankles snapped off with a clank. He stood up and hugged his family, tears in his eyes. He was finally free.

The last few months of Hogwarts were rather boring by comparison. Unable to find a suitable replacement for Quirrel, Dumbledore simply stated that the students were to study their textbooks themselves and would be quizzed at the end of term. The four Marauders got the highest scores in their year.

After playing exploding snap for the entire train ride back to King's Cross station, Hermione pulled Harry into one of her signature bone crushing hugs.

“I'm going to miss you,” she said softly. Harry gently patted her on the back.

“I'll miss you too.” She pulled away from him.

“Be sure to write me, mister,” she said, waving a finger at his face, a serious look on hers.

“Okay, okay, I'll write every week.” Smiling, she gave him one last hug before repeating the treatment to Michael. With only a gentle hug and a “see you in a few months” from Blaise, the four Marauders went back to their respective families, marking the end of another year at Hogwarts.

Deep within a distant forest on continental Europe, a swirling mist drifted through the air, seemingly without purpose. As it saw a snake crawling on the ground, it floated into the snake's mouth, and the snake's eyes turned red. You haven't seen the last of me, Potter, Voldemort hissed to himself. I will return, and I will have my revenge….

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There you have it, the final chapter of Adventures of Harry Black, Year One! I hope you enjoyed it.

Year two is coming soon.

Don't forget to read and review!

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