Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Phoenix

JonClift

Rating: PG
Genres: Drama, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 21/07/2003
Last Updated: 09/01/2004
Status: paused

AU after OotP: One part of the "Deeper Magic" collection… Harry has unusual nightmares and there are changes to the usual Hogwarts staff. Harry & Hermione develop a connection that could possibly lead to something more and as a consequence of this, they begin to understand their importance to the world. But just what is it with the voice in their minds? Read on and discover how Harry deals with all this, and uncovers a deep, and dark secret - something that could rock the whole world (Wizarding and Muggle) to its very foundations…

Chapters

1. Chapter One ~ Surprises

2. Marauding Memories

3. Old Friends and New Faces

4. Another Riddle

5. Solaris

6. Author’s Note - 1

7. The Stone In The Lake

8. A Flame In Time

1. Chapter One ~ Surprises

Standard Disclaimer:

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books and the plot, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.

Chapter One - Surprises

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a blinding flash of green light and the thud of a large mass hitting the floor. Harry opened his eyes to see the body of the man who had protected him since he was only a child of one year. Albus Dumbledore, some say as the greatest wizard of modern times, lay on the floor. His blue eyes, once bright as supernovae now little more than pale ghosts of their former glory.

The boy known as Harry Potter stumbled, his silent scream catching roughly in his red raw throat, scraping his knees on the cold stone. Dumbledore couldn't die. He wasn't supposed to die. "No..." he cried weakly. A single harsh, cruel laugh replied. Harry gradually stood up. His hand rose until the tip of his wand was aiming at the place where a heart should have been. Without thinking, Harry uttered a single word. "Crucio!"

The powerful curse hit the man square in the chest, knocking him to the floor. Harry was pleased to see the torture he was placing the man in. On the icy flagstones of the corridor, the man writhed in agony, red eyes blazing, thin nostrils flaring. This man was the single person in the world who had caused the most pain and suffering in Harry's life. First was the heartless butchering of his parents; then, the cold-blooded murder of a fellow student; and now, the death of Albus Dumbledore. Harry felt complete anger and hatred for the evil thing in front of him. Without warning, the curse seemed to stop working. The man, known to many in the wizarding world but never called by name, arose with a murderous glint in his eyes. In one long stride he had reached Harry and started to shake him furiously.

"Wake up boy!!!" the screams came.

"Wake up now you little runt!” came the voice again, only it wasn't the voice of the red-eyed man. Harry opened his eyes, much too quickly, for he immediately regretted this decision. Uncle Vernon Dursley, a short stocky gentleman with a thick handlebar moustache was hovering just two inches from Harry's face. "Get. Up. NOW!!!"

'What time is it?' Harry wanted to say; instead the only sound that came out was "Wha…?"

"Your... friends... are here for you," replied Vernon.

Harry had completely forgotten. He would be spending his fifteenth birthday with his best friend, at The Burrow. Within the space of five minutes Harry had dressed, packed all his belongings into his trunk, grabbed his Firebolt and practically flew downstairs, hindered only by the sheer weight of his trunk. The moment he entered the living room, now covered in dust, a familiar face came running over to him.

"Harry! How've you been? Can't wait to show you what’s happened at home! Hope the Muggles have treated you better. Where's Hedwig?” Harry was about to reply when the last question sank in.

"Oops! Back in a sec," the sound of Harry's voice came, as he was halfway up the staircase. Hedwig was sitting in her cage, hooting indignantly at Harry. "Sorry girl, blame Uncle Vernon," he apologised as Hedwig took the scrap of chicken he offered her.

As Harry walked past Dudley's door, it opened slightly; Dudley’s plump face peeked out. The moment he saw Harry the door slammed shut again and Harry thought he heard the sound of Dudley scrambling around his room, as if he were trying desperately to hide his over-sized bulk.

"Bye Dudley," muttered Harry absentmindedly, whilst carrying Hedwig and her cage down towards the living room. When he entered, he noticed that his trunk had left along with Fred and George; Ron was still there, waiting patiently with his father, Arthur Weasley.

Mr. Weasley stood in front of the fireplace wearing robes of the deepest emerald green. The problem was that the colour of his robes clashed horribly with his vibrant, yet thinning, red hair. "Ah Harry, so good to see you again!" he exclaimed taking one long stride towards him and grabbed Harry's hand.

"Hello Mr. Weasley, thanks for offering to let me stay again," said Harry, as soon as his arm was once again free.

"That's no problem at all Harry - you know you're welcome to stay whenever you want to."

"We're going on holiday at the end of next summer, so Mrs. Figg has kindly offered to look after you when you get back from... Yes well, get going; I want my living room back to normal!"

Harry nearly jumped - this was the second time he'd forgotten things in the same day, this time the fact being that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were in the room had seemed to slip his mind.

"Not to worry Mr. Dursley, I'll have it back to normal in a jiffy. Ron, you take Hedwig for Harry and let everyone know we'll be arriving in a minute." Mr. Weasley then took Harry over to one corner of the room and spoke to him in a low voice so that the Dursley’s would not hear him, "Harry, before you jump in the fire, I need you to say 'Hagrid's' for me. When you get there, wait a few moments before I signal you to come to the Burrow."

"Why do I have to go to Hagrid's first?" began Harry in the same low tone of voice, “Isn’t he at the Burrow with you guys?"

"Harry, just do this for me, please - I don't want to ruin your surprise, and Molly would kill me if she found out I’d told you it," said Mr. Weasley with a small smile and a solemn wink.

Feeling deeply suspicious of the situation, Harry agreed, went over to the fireplace and stepped into the roaring green flames, saying "Hagrid’s Hut," at the last second.

As always, Harry closed his eyes and tucked his arms to his sides. The spinning usually made Harry feel dizzy, however this time he was too busy wondering what the surprise Mr. Weasley mentioned would be.

In no time at all Harry was picking himself up from the floor of Hagrid’s hut, brushing the soot from his clothes. As he looked around the single large room that was Hagrid’s kitchen, bedroom and living room all in one, Harry noticed an envelope on Hagrid’s larger-than-normal (for Muggles) table. He immediately recognised the untidy scrawl of Hagrid’s handwriting. Upon opening of the envelope Harry began to read the letter that had been addressed to him.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday Harry!

I’m sorry I can’t be there for yer party. Professor Dumbledore sent me on a mission for him, and guess who he asked to go with me! Madame Maxime that’s who. Great man Dumbledore! I got your birthday present and Ron’s lookin after it fer you. I baked you a cake as well and it’s in the box next to this letter. Hopefully I’ll be back at Hogwarts by the time you are, give me love to the Weasley’s and Hermione,

Hagrid.

Harry just stood there, shaking with silent laughter. As he was reading, he had imagined Hagrid’s worried face saying, “I shouldn’t ‘ave said tha’.” Hagrid had unwittingly given away the surprise Mr. Weasley had told Harry not to ask about.

Harry was elated - his first real birthday party that he could remember and he would get to spend it with the people he thought more closely of as a family than the Dursley’s. He’d be spending it with her.

Just that moment, Arthur Weasley’s head emerged from the fire. “I see Hagrid has baked another of his fabulous cakes has he?”

“He most certainly has Mr. Weasley,” Harry replied, the cake box lying open on his lap.

“Right then Harry, you ready to come back?”

“Absolutely! Er, before you go, would you mind taking the cake for me? Only every time I use Floo powder I seem to end up sprawled on the floor and I don’t want the same thing happening to my birthday cake!” said Harry, rather nervously.

“Of course, Harry,” Mr. Weasley replied as one of his arms appeared suddenly next to his head. “Now, Harry, please wait awhile after I’ve disappeared before you jump in. Should give me enough time to put your cake on the table and get some mats in front of the fireplace. Don’t want you all over the floor again do we?” chuckled Mr. Weasley.

“No.” Harry’s face reddened slightly. With a loud pop Mr. Weasley’s face, arm and Harry’s cake had spiralled back into the emerald blaze of the fire. Harry found himself looking at his watch, with the intention of discovering whether enough time had elapsed, only to realise that his watch didn’t work any more. In fact it hadn’t worked properly since the second task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament over five months ago. Force of habit alone caused the watch to remain on his arm.

Thinking too much about the tournament and his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in general was far too painful for Harry. Not only had he had to endure the temporary rift between Ron and himself over the choosing of Harry as a school champion by the Goblet of Fire, he had also found himself within the clutches of Lord Voldemort once again. He had witnessed the death of an elder student at the hands of Voldemort’s vile servant, Peter Pettigrew (more commonly known as Wormtail). This was the major reason for Harry’s nightmares almost every night since his return to Privet Drive.

Harry had felt enormous guilt over Cedric’s passing, feeling that he was the reason for Cedric’s premature death. In fact, Harry felt far worse over this than about the fact that Lord Voldemort had arisen once again, thanks in part to the blood forcibly taken from Harry. The only bright spot on Harry’s horizon at that point had been knowing that his friends were safe and the kiss she had given him only a month ago.

Harry couldn’t bear to dwell on thoughts like these so he was busying himself by wondering what his party would be like when he arrived. He found that, because of his complete lack of experience where parties were concerned (the only parties he had been to had been Dudley’s, and they weren’t exactly joyous occasions for Harry), he had no idea what it would be like.

‘It must be time now,’ he thought to himself. Gathering his courage he took a pinch of Floo powder from a box on Hagrid’s mantelpiece, promising to himself that he would buy some more for Hagrid when he returned as he could see the box was nearly empty. Scattering the powder into the hearth, the flames growing green once more, Harry clearly shouted “The Burrow,” and jumped into the flickering warmth of the fire. Spinning faster and faster, his feet hit solid ground before his mind registered that there was a ground to hit. Opening his eyes he realised, for the first time ever, he had remained upright.

‘Yes,’ he thought to himself silently. After he had dusted himself off, Harry looked up. His breath left him like a bat out of hell. The reason for this soon became apparent: Hermione.

***

She had been waiting almost a month to see him. ‘It can’t have been that long,’ she mused, ‘since I last saw those amazing eyes’. Hermione Granger had now been dreaming of those eyes and their owner ever since she had said goodbye to them at Kings Cross Station in London, not long after leaving the Hogwarts Express. The same eyes that the flame-haired girl beside her had written about just two short years ago.

Ginny Weasley had described them ‘as green as a pickled toad,’ as a result of her complete fixation with the dark haired boy. Hermione wouldn’t have chosen that analogy herself, but then, at that point in time, she had thought of the owner of those eyes simply as one of her two best friends in the whole world. Now she realised one of those friends had developed a serious crush on her and the other… That was the dilemma she was facing. She knew her feelings, but was completely in the dark when it came to his. Did he feel the same way? Or did he think of her only as ‘a friend’?

Suddenly her pulse quickened and her breaths became shallower. ‘He’s coming now,’ she thought. However it was more than just a thought. Hermione knew he was coming, as if a giant force connected her mind to his. She felt an intangible presence in her mind; unable to describe it she became lost to the feeling of anticipation that threatened to overwhelm her.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, so quietly that even Ginny to one side didn’t hear her.

The feeling of anticipation grew and grew until…

Harry Potter emerged from the Weasley’s fireplace, rising from the ashes, his black hair now darker due to soot but still as unruly as ever. It was at that point he looked up, not around the room and at the gathered people; Harry was staring directly into Hermione’s eyes.

’Wow!’ She thought before…

***

It was as if hundreds of Dr. Filibusters Fabulous No-Heat, Wet-Start fireworks had been released into Harry and Hermione’s hearts. Hermione felt that if she were not already seated, her knees would have buckled. Harry was having a much trickier time considering he was standing and was going through the same feelings - the thought of lying spread-eagled on the floor in front of everyone he loved strengthened his resolve to remain standing…

***

‘Wow!’

It was the only thing racing through his mind, though he wasn’t sure that it was his thought alone - as soon as he had stepped into the fire at Hagrid’s he could feel a growing anticipation that was both his and something else, someone else’s. He couldn’t fathom the reason for it, but he felt a connection between his mind and the mind of another. He wasn’t able to read her thoughts but he could discern the difference between his feelings and hers.

To Harry it felt as if he could just sense her presence, but when he tried to see her, the feeling disappeared. It was hard to describe, like something that you can only see out the corner of your eyes.

All this faded from his thoughts when he looked up, into the deep hazel eyes that had haunted his dreams (before the nightmares began). His stomach jolted.

All these events had occurred within the space of a few seconds and their importance were all but lost on the people other than Harry and Hermione.

“Harry, dear!”

Mrs. Weasley had pulled him into a fierce bear hug that threatened to do to Harry what Lord Voldemort had thus far been unable to accomplish.

“Uhh!” grunted Harry. It was all he could do considering he could hardly breathe.

Mrs. Weasley released her grip hastily. “I’m sorry dear!” she said, apologising for nearly squeezing the life out of his small frame.

“Happy Birthday Harry!” chimed the whole Weasley family, Hermione (he couldn’t stop thinking of her), and to Harry’s utmost surprise, Albus Dumbledore, who happened to be the loudest of the gathered people.

“Happy Birthday Harry,” Dumbledore repeated, his sapphire blue eyes twinkling behind his familiar half-moon spectacles. The shock of seeing his headmaster both alive (remembering his nightmare) and at The Burrow seemed to break through the trance Harry was in.

“T-thank y-y-you sir!” he stammered.

“I am glad to find once again, that you have survived another summer with your relatives Harry.” A mischievous glint appeared in the elder sorcerer’s eyes. Harry tried hard to keep his smile in check, but failed miserably; his green eyes the first to give evidence to his joy at being with so many people he loved.

“Right people, into the garden,” began Molly Weasley, “Come on Fred, George. Move.”

“Now, now mother-” Fred began. “You wouldn’t want your last words to us to be scalding would you?” finished George.

This seemed to lighten Molly’s mood. It had become something of a family joke between the twins and her - ever since last years Quidditch World Cup (quite possibly the best sporting event Harry had ever had the pleasure of witnessing). Whenever Molly would attempt to tell off or punish the twins, they would reply by telling her that she wouldn’t want her last words with them to be angry ones.

After the complete debacle after the match last summer, a group of Death Eaters (followers of Lord Voldemort) had paraded around the vast field used to house the competition, levitating a group Muggles fifty feet above the ground. This had continued until someone had launched the Dark Mark into the sky. This had the effect of scaring the wits out of the Death Eaters, but in the process caused nearly 100,000 witches and wizards to believe that ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’ had killed once again.

Molly Weasley had read Rita Skeeter’s article in the Daily Prophet, and had secretly feared for her family’s safety. She had practically crushed Fred and George in a tight hug as soon as they returned. From that moment onwards, Fred and George had managed to escape the wrath of their mother by reminding her of that summer’s events, playing to Molly’s good humour and loving heart. As yet Molly hadn’t become tired of this and thus Fred and George were getting away with everything. Well, everything their mother caught them doing.

As everyone filed out into the large gnomeless garden (thanks to Crookshanks), Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Harry, may I speak to you for a moment before we join the others for your wonderful feast?” his eyes twinkled again as he received a mischievous grin from Molly.

“Of course sir.” Harry felt less nervous now that Hermione was outside, unable to burst into his thoughts. Again.

“I must leave for a short while so that I may gather another surprise for you. Ah, and before my mind wanders from the subject of surprises,” Dumbledore looked directly into Harry’s eyes, and, as if he were reading his mind, said, “I have a pleasant surprise that I am sure you will no doubt enjoy. Your letter for next year.” Dumbledore carefully handed Harry a larger than usual letter.

Feeling its weight and bulkiness, he couldn’t help but wonder whether it was another list of books by Gilderoy Lockhart. Looking towards Dumbledore, Harry opened the familiarly crested seal and pulled out a carefully folded parchment covered in writing, of the neatest kind, in bottle-green ink.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you will be beginning your Fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Also find attached a letter and package from the Headmaster.

Term starts on September First. Remember, this is an important year for you and your fellow Fifth Year students, as you will be preparing for your O.W.L’s at the end of the summer term. There will be a new Defence Against The Dark Arts professor, as well as temporary replacements for the role of Care of Magical Creatures and of Potions.

Also Mr Potter, a suggestion about the Gryffindor Quidditch team. As Oliver Wood graduated from Hogwarts two school years hence, the house team is without a highly popular and proficient captain and keeper. It is my hope that you will meet with the remaining team members to seek a replacement keeper shortly after term begins.

Although it is the team’s decision to elect the captain, though, it is my duty however to inform you that I have already been in contact with the team members and they have unanimously decided to pronounce you, Mr Potter, as the Gryffindor captain.

Congratulations Mr Potter, I know you will do a marvellous job and will live up to the legendary Gryffindor team of Lupin, Black, Kaytrim, Parsons, Rinier, Clift, and Potter.

Your parents would be as proud of you as I am now Mr Potter. Bear in mind that now you are team captain, the Weasley twins will no longer accept your authority over them and will utilise every opportunity to create sources for their amusement, and it will be your responsibility to decide upon all practices and game strategies. You are always welcome to come to either Madame Hooch or myself for advice whenever you feel it is necessary.

This will be a demanding year for you, but you will succeed under pressure as you have shown yourself to do so time and time again. Lastly Mr. Potter I hope to speak to you personally on the Second to discuss the coming year in more detail.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress,

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Harry looked up to see Dumbledore standing patiently, twiddling his thumbs as if it were the most interesting thing in the world to do. Harry began to open the headmaster’s letter, instantly smiling at the loopy handwriting.

Dear Harry,

I would like to be the second person to congratulate you on your appointment as Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

It is also with great pleasure and pride that I announce to you, that the school governors and I have selected you to become a school prefect.

Being chosen as a prefect demands that the person in question has an ability to be responsible for his or her actions; to be able to work well with others, both those in authority and your fellow prefects; and to show unswerving loyalty to the school and its ideals. You, Harry, have shown these traits in great abundance on countless occasions.

It is to my knowledge that you have in your possession certain wonderful magical items, which may allow you to perform your duties as a prefect far more adequately than your fellow students. I must therefore ask you to utilise your newfound responsibilities and the items within your charge appropriately. Your badge, uniform and list of duties are to be found in the accompanying parcel.

You are truly your father’s son Harry, take heed of this and use it to your advantage.

Albus Dumbledore

Harry was shocked. A Basilisk might have petrified him for all his lack of movement suggested. At least while Dumbledore was standing, waiting for Harry’s response to the letter, Harry didn’t so much as even blink. The response Dumbledore had expected never quite came; Harry had fallen backwards and just happened to land in a comfortable chair, still with a gaping expression on his face.

“Harry, I believe it is customary to speak after receiving a very important letter such as this one.” Harry was again broken out of a trance-like state by the sound of Dumbledore’s voice.

“Er… Thank you! I-I mean, I have no idea what to say!”

“The very fact that you have appeared to recover from your brief loss of voice is enough thanks for me,” said Dumbledore quietly. “Come, it is time we rejoined your friends.” The elder wizards arm snaked out to encircle Harry’s shoulders and the pair walked out into the garden and stared at the sight before their eyes.

Author's Note:

Many of you have wondered why this story is described as “Part One of the Deeper Magic Series”, when it takes place at the same time as “Summer In Cornwall”(by The Heir Of Paravel).

The “Deeper Magic Series” is little misleading for a title, because the events within the stories may not necessarily follow a series / sequence. Consider, for the moment, that another great series exists, which also does not exactly run in sequence – Discworld©, by Terry Pratchett.

However, one question I can answer is whether Prophecy Of The Phoenix and Summer In Cornwall take place in the same time frame… the answer is a little misleading too, for it is both “yes” and “no”, or more accurately “possibly.”

You see, the end to Prophecy Of The Phoenix has not yet been written, and that is where you will discover the reasoning behind all this confusion. So, all I must ask is that you be a little bit more patient with me, and hope that I can write at least seventeen chapters in the next three months.

Deeper Magic, in essence, is a collection of stories by two authors (The Heir Of Paravel and myself) based around a deep, central theme that permeates throughout our work.

So far, Prophecy Of The Phoenix is still being written; The Gift Of Sight has been written and uploaded to Portkey as an added bonus to Summer In Cornwall, which has been completed; Christmas At Hogwarts centres around two original characters (thus the reason for it not being uploaded to Portkey) and better explains their role in Summer in the Sahara, which also is still being written;

We Fools Who Love is complete and has been uploaded; and finally The Tablet of Destiny has a Prologue, but nothing much more than that, as yet.

I sincerely hope that I have answered you all to your satisfaction, but, in case I have not, please feel free to rate & review, and e-mail me any further queries you might have.

Yours in Fellowship,

Jon Clift

Author of Harry Potter and the Prophecy of the Phoenix

Co-Author (with The Heir Of Paravel) of “Summer in the Sahara”

2. Marauding Memories

Standard Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are the plot and any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.

Chapter Two – Marauding Memories

“Molly, yet again you have outdone yourself. This is magnificent, although this saddens me to say it I must leave for a short while.”

“Not before you’ve tried the starter you’re not!” and from the fierce look she gave the wizened man she meant to back up her statement, by force-feeding him if necessary. “Well since you insist Molly,” the twinkle returning to his eyes, “but I really cannot stay too long. There is a matter that needs my attention. I promise you that I shall return before the evening.” The gaggle of wizards sat down and began to eat, Dumbledore leaving before the twins attempted to hand him one of their Canary Creams, while their mother was talking to Hermione about S.P.E.W – Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare (a society Hermione had begun only last year after discovering more than 100 house-elves worked at Hogwarts).

Hermione was determined to allow all elves to have pay and holidays, even though the magical creatures themselves were quite horrified at this idea. You see house-elves like working for humans, and they most certainly don’t want to get paid – with the exception of Harry’s friend Dobby. Dobby was an oddity in the realm of elves. He wanted to be paid for work and to wear clothes (house-elves aren’t allowed to wear proper clothes because if their master were to hand them clothes the elf would be freed). He was currently employed by Dumbledore to work in the kitchens of Hogwarts where the other elves ignored him as much as possible. Harry meanwhile was having one of the best birthdays of his life.

“Ron, I can’t thank you enough for this!”

“Don’t mention it mate,” replied Ron quickly, “You really deserve this.”

“Do you think we can have a quick game of Quidditch after lunch?”

“Sure, I could do with breaking in my new broom!”

“You’ve got a new broom!? What type is it? Can I see it?”

“Not until you finished your food Harry,” chimed Molly. “Of course not Mrs. Weasley, I couldn’t possibly let any of this wonderful food go to waste.”

“You always say the kindest things dear,” said Molly. In a quieter tone, almost to herself she added, “Just like your mother.”

When the plates were clear (no mean feat considering the meal was almost banquet sized), Ron rushed inside and returned a few minutes later carrying a bunch of brooms. Harry immediately recognised his faithful Firebolt, but was shocked when he saw the gold lettering on the broom Ron carried in his left hand. ‘Nimbus 2001’. “What, you thought only Malfoy could have one of these? Fred and George bought it for me, seems they got their money back from Bagman.” ‘Like that’d ever happen’ Harry thought cheerfully. It was more likely the twins had paid for the broom with the Tri-Wizard Tournament winnings Harry had given them recently.

They were in the air before they reached the hill at the end of the garden. Harry feeling exhilarated to be once again flying through the cool air. Ginny, riding Ron’s old broom an aging Comet 260; Fred and George; and most surprisingly of all, Hermione were all zooming around, hidden from the prying eyes of Muggles by a ring of twenty foot tall trees. Hermione it seemed wasn’t a confident flyer and decided to lie off from performing the reckless manoeuvring that came to Harry so naturally. Harry noticed that there were now 3 tall posts with rings on the tops. The Weasley’s had started to create their own Quidditch pitch.

“This is brilliant Ron. When did you learn to fly like that?” Harry asked, as Ron dove gracefully towards the ground and pulled up rather sharply. “I’ve always been this good. It was that bloody Comet of mine that mucked about with my flying.” ‘Yeah right’ Harry thought to himself. Ginny seemed to be flying pretty well even on the ‘bloody Comet’ as Ron had put it. In fact both Ginny and Ron appeared to be very accomplished flyers. He remembered the letter he had received only a short while ago from Professor McGonagall. ‘There’s a position open on the team’. Fred and George had obviously noticed their siblings’ abilities and flew directly over to Harry.

“Happy Birthday Harry,” said George. “Yeah and er, congratulations for becoming team captain,” mumbled Fred, as if he were disappointed about something. “Thanks you guys,” replied Harry, “But just because I’m captain doesn’t mean I’ll let you get away with more than Oliver did. You guys are going to have to give me a lot of advice you know.”

“Sure Boss!”

“Hey! Don’t go calling me that; I’m Harry, just Harry. Remember that.”

The twins laughed and sped off towards their younger brother. Harry noticed that the only person who didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves happened to be the person that caused his heart to flutter and his stomach to lurch whenever he saw her. Hermione was very busy just trying to stay on her broom, her hands gripping the broom so hard the whites of her knuckles were showing. As he gently urged the Firebolt towards her, a sudden gust of wind blew upwards and caught Hermione off guard. Without thinking Harry was by her side in an instant, holding her hand to steady her.

“Th-thanks Harry,” her voice hardly above a whisper. The moment she looked up however, Harry felt as if he had been given an electric shock, his skin tingled, his stomach – for the third time that day – lurched. If their hands had not been linked Hermione would be the one saving Harry from the pull of gravity.

“Are you sure you want to be up here with us? I mean if you’re not comfortable with flying, you don’t have to do it.”

“No, no I can manage. I think I’ll just hover a little closer to the ground.”

Harry looked down at his hands and noticed that he hadn’t released his hold on Hermione’s hand. So as to not make her knowledgeable of this fact, he faked a wobble, let go of her hand quickly and placed it on the handle of his broom.

Some time later, as the sun was slowly lowering itself below the horizon, Harry and his friends wandered lazily back towards the house.

“You were brilliant up there Ginny! Who knows, you might make the team this year,” whispered Harry into Ginny’s ear. He didn’t want Ron to hear in case he got jealous, again.

“You really think so Harry?”

“Of course I do! You’re a natural up there and you know it. Ron’s just being Ron when he said it was the Comet’s fault he used to fly badly. You were on the Comet and you flew better than he did on his Nimbus.”

“You know Harry, I always liked you because you were famous for defeating You-Know-Who. But now that I know you I like you even more.” With this said Ginny raised herself on tiptoes and tenderly kissed Harry’s cheek causing his face to turn a shade of red much the same as Ginny’s hair. Hermione, who was looking much better now her feet were on solid ground, saw this and a scowl darkened her face. Luckily she reigned her anger in before anyone noticed.

A familiar sight greeted Harry as they neared the house. The tables, earlier covered in copious amounts of food, now flew through the air gracefully. Occasionally they zoomed away from each other only to return to each other with a loud crack. Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley’s had their wands out and were directing the tables in their deadly air ballet. A wide grin appeared on Harry’s face as he raced towards the spectacle, Charlie’s table losing one of its legs in a daring manoeuvre that unfortunately ended in its defeat just as he reached Bill.

“Happy Birthday Harry, good to see you again,” chortled Bill and Charlie together. They were breathing heavily as they magicked the legs back onto their respective tables. Charlie’s table was extremely battered but with a wave of his wand was restored to its former glory.

“Hey Harry, do you want to try this? Its good fun you know. I want to practice against someone who won’t beat me every time I do it.” The last comment was obviously aimed at Bill, because Bill looked as if he were trying not to burst out in laughter.

“Er, sure,” replied Harry, uncertain of what to do. “You’re gonna have to tell me how to do it though, I’ve never played with flying tables before.”

“Well all you have to do,” said Bill, recovering from his bout of giggles, his dragon’s hide leather jacket gleaming in the golden rays of diminishing sunlight, “is to use a simple levitating spell, like Wingardium Leviosa for example. When both tables are in the air, all you have to do is use your wand to direct your table's movements. Here I’ll show you.”

Bill raised his wand muttered an incantation under his breath and aimed at the table he had used moments earlier. Steadily it rose into the air and hovered, motionless. As Bill moved his wand, the table copied his movements exactly.

“Do you want to try now Harry?” said Bill as he lowered the table to the ground. Charlie meanwhile was raising his table back into the air and sending it flying through the air as if it were a Quidditch player zooming around a pitch.

“Here goes nothing. Wingardium Leviosa!” The table rose unsteadily but the higher Harry raised it the more balanced it became.

“Right now Harry all you have to do is move your wand and the table will move as well.”

Gradually Harry managed to get his table to perform a slow, lingering loop. After a few more minutes practice Harry felt ready enough to pit his skills against Charlie’s. Harry imagined he must look more confident than he was feeling, because as he looked around all he saw were smiles.

‘Good Luck Harry’ he thought to himself. Raising his wand he directed the table to fly in a succession of ever widening circles. Charlie’s table meanwhile looked as if it were a bull eyeing a matador. Harry could have sworn he saw one of its back legs bend backwards as if roughing up the imaginary ground.

Just then he looked around and stared directly into the eyes of Hermione. She averted her gaze quickly and gasped. While Harry had been distracted his table had done something unexpected. 20 feet above the ground Harry’s table was chasing Charlie’s, which seemed to be trailing its back 2 legs. Only splinters connected them.

‘What just happened?’ he thought. He was interrupted by his momentary disbelief from the loud bang that occurred as a result of Charlie’s table breaking in half.

“Wow Harry, you’re better at this than I thought!” laughed Charlie. With a flick of his wand the table was restored and floated gently towards the ground. Harry, completely dumbfounded by the recent events, followed suit, his table setting down mere seconds later.

“That was an impressive display you two put on there, although I reckon you wouldn’t have beaten me Harry!”

Harry turned around quickly, eyes widening in shock. Within a few short bounds Harry had come face to face with his godfather.

“Sirius, what are you doing here? What if the Ministry of Magic come rou-” Harry couldn’t finish his sentence as Sirius Black had wrapped his godson in a tight hug.

“Don’t worry Harry. Arthur kindly told the Ministry that as it was his day off he didn’t want the Ministry to contact him at all, and Dumbledore placed some charms around The Burrow. No dementors are coming anywhere near here. Besides Harry, I’ve missed too many of your birthday’s and I thought that it was time to break from that tradition. From now on every birthday you’ll be seeing me.”

Harry was too pleased to see his godfather that he didn’t notice the tears of joy streaming down his face. Harry returned the hug with perhaps slightly less force but the same amount of love.

“It’s so good to see you Sirius.”

“Hey knock it off with the crying, you’ll ruin my new robes!” he laughed jokingly, pulling back from Harry and holding both his shoulders. “Come on inside. It’s time for your presents to see the light of day, or should that be the light of the moon?”

As Sirius said this Harry looked at the sky and noticed that it had grown a decidedly darker shade of blue, there were no longer any golden bars of sunlight reaching through the trees. A cool breeze ruffled Harry’s hair.

Once inside the main room of the house Harry could see a rather large pile of multicoloured boxes piled carefully in a corner. On closer inspection some of the wrapping papers had moving pictures, others had bands of constantly changing colours.

“Our presents are upstairs Harry,” whispered George. Fred sidled over and spoke quietly into his other ear, “We don’t want Mum to see what we’ve got for you. She’d kill us if she found out.”

“Uh, OK,” replied Harry.

When everyone had gathered Harry turned around and looked into the eyes of everyone present, his eyes lingering perhaps a little longer on Hermione’s, before coming to rest on Dumbledore’s who’s light blue eyes twinkled in the light.

“Er… I really don’t know how to say this but, I just want to thank every one of you here. You guys are more of a family to me than the Dursleys could ever be. This is probably the best birthday I’ve ever had,” glancing at Sirius he quickly added, “to the best of my memory, and I got to share it with the people I love.” At this Molly started to weep gently, a small smile betraying her happiness at these words. Sirius just looked at Harry with a look in his eyes that Harry had only ever seen once, in the only photo Harry had of him, at his parents wedding. Molly, Ginny and Hermione all came over to him and gave him hugs, tears of joy glistening their eyes.

Looking briefly over the pile of boxes in front of him Harry decided to start with the smallest and to work his way upwards. Carefully removing the paper (covered in images of a black dog waving it’s tail – a large pawprint decided for Harry who the present was from) he pulled out a box that weighed more than he expected. Easing the lid off and placing it on the table beside him he heard Molly Weasley gasp quietly. She was staring at the contents of the box as if she had just seen a ghost. Arthur Weasley looked much the same. Returning his gaze to the box he gently lifted out a pocket watch of the purest gold Harry had ever seen in his life. He turned it over in his hands and nearly dropped the precious item when he saw the inscription on the back.

‘Harry James Potter,

Born at 5:09 AM on the 31st July 198#

To Lily and James Potter’

Harry looked up immediately into Sirius’s warm black eyes. ‘Thank you’ he mouthed, unable to make a sound. “That watch was one of the few things I was able to find after… Anyway it was so small I was able to place an invisibility charm on it before I was taken to Azkaban. If I hadn’t the dementors probably would have destroyed it or something similar. I’ve kept that with me for fourteen years now, waiting for the right time to hand it over to you Harry. It is a very special watch so you better take care of it. The chain is made from the tail hair of a baby unicorn and has an unbreakable charm over it. Once you place it over you’re head nothing alive will be able to remove it from you. I’ll tell you more about it soon, don’t want to keep you from opening your other presents.” Sirius turned away quickly and walked into the kitchen. With a glance at Harry, Dumbledore followed. A few seconds later the pair returned, Dumbledore’s hand laid across Sirius’ shoulder.

Harry’s next present came as no surprise to him. Molly had yet again knitted Harry a jumper, this time however it was black with the image of a red and gold bird emblazoned across the chest. A phoenix. “Thanks Mrs. Weasley.”

The next present proved to be a mystery to Harry. Unsure what to expect Harry had picked up what appeared to be a blank sheet of parchment, the same proportions as the Marauders Map (perhaps the most valuable aid to rule breaking Harry had next to his dad’s old invisibility cloak). Looking up at Sirius he asked “What’s this all about then?”

“It’s from Remus and me and I’ve got one word for you Harry, ‘Marauders’,” replied Sirius. He gained looks of disbelief from Fred, George, Ron and Hermione, but Molly and Arthur were gazing at Sirius with dawning recognition.

“Marauders, did you just say?” asked Arthur, “You can’t be talking about…?” Harry turned to the elder Weasley’s. “What do you know about the Marauders?”

“What do we know about them? Only that we were friends with them when we were at Hogwarts. James and Lily, Sirius here, Kimberly Ward, Remus Lupin, Michelle Rinier, Peter Pettigrew, and Leslie Parsons. We were four years above them and they did everything together. They used to look up to us I seem to remember. Always getting into trouble and we were the ones who helped them out of it.”

“You knew my parents when you were at school?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Of course we did dear, how could we not. Your parents were probably the brightest and best students in the school. Lily was easily better at charms in her first year than most seventh years, and James…Well everything came easily to James. I mean he was doing advanced magic by the time he was in his third year,” Molly said.

A single tear was falling down Sirius’ face. He was obviously remembering times gone by with Harry’s parents. Harry sometimes forgot that he wasn’t the only one who missed them. “So Sirius,” Harry attempted to bring Sirius away from those memories (he didn’t want his godfather to break down), “all I’ve got to do is to say the phrase have I.”

“You could say that. You might want to say ‘hi’ first.”

“Okay…” Harry picked up the parchment and laid it across the table. Picking up his wand he conjured up a quill and some ink.

Dipping the feather into the ink he quickly wrote on the parchment ‘Hello, my name is Harry Potter’ and waited patiently. The ink disappeared into the parchment and was replaced by a line of text that read ‘Hello Harry Potter, I am called Prongs, and these are my friends Padfoot, Moony and Wormtail. What do you wish to talk to us about?’

Shocked momentarily by the name of the person who had responded, Harry started to write but quickly realised there was no ink on the quill. Harry was shocked because of one thing. When Harry’s parents were at school, they were part of a group of Gryffindor students who called themselves the Marauders. James, Harry’s dad, had been a best friend with three of those students. One of those friends was called Remus Lupin and had harboured a dark secret. Remus was a werewolf and James had discovered this. In order to help their friend the Marauders had spent 3 years learning how to transform themselves into animals that would be able to keep him company while he was in his changed state; in short the Marauders had managed to become illegal Animagi.

Sirius was able to transform himself into a large black dog, and so was called Padfoot, Peter Pettigrew became a rat and took on the name Wormtail and Remus was given the nickname Moony because of his unfortunate predicament. What shocked Harry was that the one who had assumed the name of Prongs, and could morph into a large stag, was none other than James Potter, Harry’s father. No one but the Marauders had known this until Harry’s third year at Hogwarts when Harry had discovered that Sirius was his godfather. In fact the only people who did know of the Marauders secret were those standing in the room at that very moment. Only one other, to Harry’s knowledge, knew of this fact. Severus Snape.

Remembering the ink this time Harry wrote more. ‘Hello Prongs, I was wondering if you could tell me what this document is. It was given to me as a present from Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.’

Again the text faded only to be replaced. ‘How do you know Sirius and Remus?’.

‘They’re my friends,’ Harry hesitated before deciding to continue, ‘and they knew my parents, Lily and James.’

‘Not to be rude and all but how can Lily and I be your parents? We’ve only just left school.’

‘This parchment was written just after you left school? If this is like the Marauders Map then you are the memory of an 18-year old James Potter and I was born quite awhile after you and Lily left school. That’s why you don’t know me.’

‘I’m gonna let Padfoot talk to you while I think about what you just said.’ The parchment went blank for a minute or two. Harry waited patiently for Padfoot to appear. “That’s quite a conversation you’re having there Harry, care to inform us about it?” asked Sirius politely. “I’m talking with my dad,” replied Harry quietly, “and I’m just about to talk with an 18-year old version of you.”

“Oh.”

‘Hello Harry Potter, Prongs informs me that you wish to know about this sacred document. What’s the password?’

“What?” Harry cried aloud.

“What is it Harry?” asked Ron.

“Padfoot just asked me for the password. Is there a password Sirius?”

“Don’t ask me, I can barely remember writing the map let alone that thing. As far as I know you’ll have to convince me, I mean Padfoot, that you’re worthy enough to see what it holds.” Again, dipping the quill into the ink Harry began to write. ‘There is no password. This is just a test to see if I am worthy enough to see what this parchment holds. Padfoot if I am worthy enough to see the contents of the Marauders Map wouldn’t I be worthy also for this document?’ Harry’s words disappeared almost as quickly as he wrote them down and a single word replaced them.

‘Maybe.’

“Maybe? Maybe? What’s that supposed to mean?”

‘Alright Harry Potter, it is the duty of Moony and I to allow you access to this sacred item. Moony, if you would do the honours. Certainly Padfoot. Do you Harry Potter so solemnly swear that you are up to no good?’ Taking his wand Harry tapped the document and repeated the words of Moony, “I so solemnly swear I am up to no good.”

‘Congratulations Harry Potter, you have been granted access to a most scared artefact of magic, so pure and precious it contains knowledge that cannot be found in written lore.’ With this the writing disappeared once more. In its place at the top edge of the parchment 8 words appeared. ‘The Marauders Guide To Curses and Dark Arts.’ This was quickly followed by ‘Here you will find knowledge of every curse, hex and form of Dark Magic known to wizarding kind.’ With that boxes quickly appeared, dissecting the parchment into sections. Each section contained a title, for example ‘Potions’, ‘Creatures’. ‘The Unforgivable Curses’ in particular caught Harry’s eye.

Harry decided that he would look more closely at this later. He had already spent too much time over it tonight. “Mischief managed” he spoke and with a tap from his wand the writing vanished. All bar 2 short words.

‘Goodbye Harry.’

‘Goodbye dad’ Harry thought to himself.

Harry wandered back over to his pile of presents and noticed a large box covered in wrapping paper with images of dragons. Hungarian Horntails if Harry guessed correctly. ‘This must be Hagrid’s present.’ Carefully loosening one end, Harry slid the box out of the paper. Slowly, he lifted the lid and looked inside. What he saw amazed him. Pulling the cloak out Harry looked at it in complete awe. “That’s made from the hide of a Hungarian Horntail Harry,” breathed Charlie. Charlie, who had worked with dragons since he left Hogwarts, obviously knew what he was talking about. “What’s that image on the right shoulder Harry?” asked Hermione.

“I believe, Hermione, that it is a phoenix,” Dumbledore replied unexpectedly. Hermione blushed furiously. She, unlike Harry was unused to the headmaster calling her by her first name. “Why would Hagrid send me a dragons hide cloak with an image of a phoenix on it?”

“Because that is not all he sent you Harry. Look at the box.”

Amazingly it seemed Hagrid had given him more. Reaching into the box (‘surely it must have a charm on it to hold all this stuff’ he thought) Harry pulled out a pair of boots, trousers, a surprisingly light pullover, gloves and a jacket all made from the same material as the cloak. As Harry pulled each item out he noticed the same image of a phoenix on each one.

“What does this mean though Professor?”

“That I cannot say at this moment. All I can tell you now is that when you are ready you will know the answer. Please think no more on it tonight.”

Looking at his newly acquired pocket watch, Harry was startled to find that he had opened only 3 presents in an hour. He wondered heavily whether anyone else had noticed the time he was spending. Harry picked up the next package. He knew immediately it was from Ron because, like his mother, the present was usually the same each year. But that was okay because Harry loved Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and Chocolate Frogs.He knew Ron loved to give him these because Harry always shared them with him too.

The next gift was from Hermione. Harry opened a very meticulously wrapped box and slid the lid off.Inside was a large, leather bound book with Strategies written on the front in block letters.When he opened it he saw the first page was labelled Chasers, and it was filled with people in Quidditch robes, of all different heights and weights.This went on for three pages, and then there were two pages of beaters and a page of seekers.The next few pages contained different Quidditch manoeuvres and explanations for each of them.When he got to the end, there was a Quidditch field spread out over two pages, but it was completely empty of players. There were two bludgers, a quaffle and a snitch off to the side.He looked up at Hermione, not wanting to insult her, but not quite sure how to use the book. She looked at him in amusement, as if she had expected this and moved closer to him, pulling out her wand.

“Watch,” she said.She took her wand and quickly touched the tip of it to three of the chasers, two beaters, and a seeker. Then she did the same thing all over again.When she flipped to the last page, it was now showing two full Quidditch teams on their brooms in the air.The bottom of the left page said Team A and the right said Team B. “Now, touch your wand to Team A, then pick out a manoeuvre you want to use, then give it to Ron,” she said, “You do the same for team B,” she continued, looking at Ron. Harry and Ron did as they were told, then flipped to the back of the book again. An actual game was playing out and the teams were performing the moves both of them had chosen. “You can use it to see what the plays will look like ahead of time, and see what defences work best,” Harry said, figuring it out.This was fantastic!He looked up at Hermione grinning broadly.

“Thank you!” he said happily.She smiled back at him, sending shivers racing up and down his spine. “Glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it!Do you know how much this will help when we’re practicing this year?It’s great!” Harry said excitedly.He gingerly placed the book on the table and picked up another present.

He pulled the lid off the tiny box and peered inside; suddenly a flash of gold flew out of the box, and hovered in front of him.Harry gasped as he saw it was a golden snitch.He stared at it in amazement until suddenly it zoomed across the room Harry stood up to go after it but before he could take a step, Ginny plucked it from the air, and handed it to him. “Look at that, I beat you to the snitch,” she said playfully. He just beamed at her. This was so wonderful. He wouldn’t have to practice with apples or rocks any longer; he had his own snitch.

“How did you…?” Harry began, but Ginny interrupted him. “Dad, Charlie, Percy and Bill aren’t the only ones in this house who have job’s you know.”

“How did you know what I was going to say?”

“Because it was obvious. We’re poor and snitches cost a lot of money, so therefore you were gonna ask me how I could afford it. See, I’m not as dumb as Ron, Harry.” She said, sending a teasing look towards her brother. Smiling, Harry replied, “I never said you were Ginny. I actually want to ask you where you got it. I’ve been to Quality Quidditch Supplies and I’ve never seen them display any snitches before.”

“Oh, I’m not going to tell you Harry Potter. You’ll have to find out for yourself.” A playful glint appeared in her eyes as she said this.

‘Oh my God. First I start having feelings for Hermione and now I’m flirting with Ginny. What’s happening to me?’ Harry thought, realising the moment he finished that he already knew the answer. A strong voice at the back of his mind replied quickly. ‘You’re growing up. Fast.’

On the pretext of wanting to open his final present, Harry broke eye contact with Ginny, who just smiled and sat down, throwing the snitch into the air and catching it every so often before it’s wings could unfurl again. Harry turned back towards the pile, or rather the one remaining item. Harry bent over and picked up the last package. Harry quickly unravelled the paper, marvelling at the weight of this last present. Harry placed it on the table and looked at Dumbledore.

“Er… Professor, not that I’m ungrateful, because I’m not you know, but why have you given me a pensieve?”

“Harry, last year you experienced many things. Things that no man alive, let alone someone as young as fourteen, should face. As I once explained to you, a pensieve is used to pull out extraneous thoughts and store them in a way that will allow you to ponder over them in a more, how shall I say, logical manner,” responded the wiser man. “This will allow you to separate your thoughts so that they will overwhelm you no longer.” Looking Harry directly in the eyes, Dumbledore continued, “Now that you have received your gifts I believe that it is time for Sirius and I to leave you. The spells are in place, are they not Arthur?”

“Oh yes Albus, Alastor and I performed them the moment you told us Harry would be staying.”

“Then it is safe for me to leave. Molly I wish to thank you for a most wonderful lunch, and again Happy Birthday Harry. We will see each other again before you return to Hogwarts. Come Sirius, say your goodbyes and we will be off.”

Rushing over to Harry, Sirius once again pulled him into a crushing hug. This time Harry didn’t care. “Thank you for everything Sirius, I mean that. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a dad, you know that don’t you?”

“Hey, and you’re like a son to me Harry. Like Albus said, we’ll see you before you go back to Hogwarts; and stop with the crying alright, you’ll get me started again,” Sirius chuckled. To Harry it sounded false as if Sirius were trying to cover his true feelings. The moment passed however and the pair stood apart. “Goodbye Sirius.”
“Goodbye Harry.” And with that both his godfather and his headmaster Disapparated.

3. Old Friends and New Faces

Standard Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are the plot and any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.

Chapter Three – Old Friends and New Faces

Harry awoke to find a pair of wide watery eyes watching him. “Dobby! I told you never to do that again. Poke me in the side next time or something!” Harry never reacted well to finding someone standing over him first thing in the morning. “Dobby is sorry sir, but Dobby only wanted to apologise to Harry Potter for missing his birthday celebration and wished to give him his present,” said the elf whilst holding up a hastily wrapped package. ‘Not socks again!’ thought Harry to himself. To Dobby he merely said, “Thanks Dobby, you shouldn’t have.”

“But Dobby should have sir! Dobby cannot, not give Harry Potter a present. Dobby is forever in Harry Potter’s debt for freeing him from his family.”

“Dobby, it’s just an expression. It means thank you.” Dobby was obviously unaccustomed to being talked to nicely. Who wouldn’t be if they used to be a slave for one of the most horrible wizarding families, the Malfoy’s? Large tears welled in the elf’s eyes, but Dobby managed not to start bawling, like he had done two years ago standing in Dudley’s second bedroom, back at Privet Drive. “Harry Potter is still as generous to Dobby as he always was!”

“Of course I am Dobby, you’re my friend,” replied Harry, realising for the first time that what he had said was entirely true. Dobby was Harry’s friend.

Ten minutes later Harry was sitting in the kitchen downstairs eating scrambled eggs and toast, Dobby standing in the chair beside him, explaining the real reason he was at the Burrow. “Master Dumbledore gave Dobby a very important job. He said I was no longer needed to work in the kitchens, but to do something for him that Dobby has always wanted to do.”

“What’s that then Dobby?” mumbled Harry, halfway through a slice of thickly buttered toast. “Master Dumbledore asked Dobby to tend to Harry Potter’s needs sir, and to always protect him. He said Harry Potter sir, that Dobby would be working for Harry Potter but would still get paid by Master Dumbledore. You is Dobby’s new master sir!” decreed Dobby proudly, standing straight backed and looking at Harry in awe.

“Wha…? You mean you work for me now?” asked Harry, ambivalence creeping into his gut. On the one hand Harry was extremely pleased that Dobby would be helping him all the time. On the other hand however, doubt left a cold feeling in the pit of Harry’s stomach. Almost every time Dobby had tried to “help” him, something bad had happened to him. Like the time Dobby had enchanted a bludger, the whole event culminating in the loss of all the bones within Harry’s right arm. Admittedly the real culprit for that particular malady had been none other than Gilderoy Lockhart, the biggest fraud in the whole wizarding world, but the fact remained that if it hadn’t been for Dobby his arm would never have been broken in the first place.

“Of course Dobby works for Harry Potter sir. Dobby will not let his Masters down, no sir!”

“Er, I’m not sure what to say Dobby,” replied Harry, uncertainty slithering into his voice. Dobby was too busy beaming up at Harry to notice this.

Suddenly there was a loud pop which Harry immediately recognised as the sound of someone apparating close by. “Hello Harry, I see Dobby has prepared breakfast for you.”

“Dobby takes his duties seriously Master Dumbledore, you knows that!”

“Yes Dobby I do, if it is not too much trouble could you prepare some pancakes with a light drizzling of maple syrup,” said Dumbledore quietly. Upon seeing Harry’s quizzical expression he explained, “One of my favourite meals, I once tried them in Canada many years ago, since then I have never missed a single breakfast.” Harry knew Dumbledore had had a sweet tooth ever since his first year when the headmaster had visited him in the hospital wing. Even his password to his office was usually the name of some obscure sweet that happened to take Dumbledore’s fancy. “I believe that Sirius will be joining us shortly but first,” mumbled Dumbledore, “food.” Harry smiled, Dumbledore never failed to find some way to make Harry feel better, no matter how happy he was.

Then came another pop, louder than the first. Harry’s jaw dropped to the floor. “Hello Harry, it’s been quite awhile since last we talked.” Remus Lupin, in Harry’s opinion the greatest Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher he had ever known, was standing in front of the kitchen sink, looking as dishevelled as ever. Harry noticed a few extra grey hairs beginning to show at his temples.

“Remus!” Harry nearly bowled his father’s friend over as he scrambled towards him, enveloping the taller man in a tight hug. “Wow, it’s good to see you too,” Remus managed to squeeze out, sounding delighted. “What about me then Harry, or doesn’t your godfather deserve a hug also?” chuckled Sirius, his long black mane waving about his head. “Of course you do, it’s just I haven’t seen Remus in over a year. I kinda think he deserves the hug more than you, or are you just trying to hog your godson all to yourself?” Harry asked wickedly, a playful glint to his green eyes. “Not at all Harry, I just think you should share yourself out a bit more, most of your hugs go out to Molly, Ginny and Hermione.” Harry had almost forgotten Sirius’ sense of humour, humour that made him seem as if he were still a sixteen year old, but the mention of Ginny and Hermione sent the blood rushing to his face.

Stepping over towards the window in order to escape the stares of his parents’ best friends, he had to duck suddenly to avoid being hit in the face by what can only be described as a ball of flying feathers. Recognising the owl, for that is what it was, as Errol the Weasley’s family owl, Harry stooped low to carefully cradle him and placed him on the kitchen table. Pouring a small droplet of water from a nearby jug into Errol’s beak, the dilapidated bird woke up with a pathetic screech and attempted to stand upright. Failing miserably at this, Harry decided to help him by propping him up on his perch only to stop before he’d even raised a hand. Tied to Errol’s leg was a letter. A letter addressed to Albus Dumbledore.

“Er, Professor Dumbledore sir, Errol has just delivered a letter addressed to you.”

“Ah, I was beginning to wonder when that poor bird would return. I sent him off day’s ago when last I was here.” Seeing the confused looks the three wizards around him were sporting, Dumbledore continued, “As you all know last month after Voldemort’s return and the parting of the ways between Mr. Fudge and myself, I asked certain people to perform dangerous missions for the safety of our world. Young Sirius here completed his task far quicker than the others. Needless to say, this year at Hogwarts we are without two much-needed professors.”

Over the next five minutes the headmaster explained how he had sent messages to two people whom he knew quite well, and trusted implicitly. Both people it turned out had graduated from Hogwarts but both leaving England for overseas, one returning to her native Canada (‘That explains why Dumbledore likes pancakes and maple syrup’ thought Harry) while the other had relocated to Philadelphia taking on a job perfectly suited to her talents.

“Wait a minute,” both Sirius and Remus asked, “You can’t be talking about Kim and Chelle, can you?”

Dumbledore answered, a familiar twinkle in his eyes, “Indeed I am my esteemed friend’s. Your classmates will be returning to Hogwarts, and Harry and his fellow students will have the pleasure of being taught by them. They are perhaps the most qualified people in their fields of expertise other than Severus and Hagrid themselves.”

Not long after finishing his pancakes and thanking Dobby, Albus Disapparated, returning to Hogwarts. Harry, Remus and Sirius spent the next hour talking about what his new professors would be like. Whenever either of them mentioned Kimberly Ward Sirius’ eyes glazed over and he appeared to be in a world of his own, a huge boyish grin spreading across his face from ear to ear. Remus was much the same whenever they mentioned Michelle Rinier. It was the same glazed look that Harry had seen plastered across his friend Ron’s face whenever he had glimpsed Fleur Delacour last year. Fleur was an extremely attractive 18-year old witch from Beauxbatons in France, a kind of foreign version of Hogwarts. Miss Delacour also happened to be part Veela and so caused the hearts of men around her to flutter, much like any beautiful woman would.

Harry had the distinct feeling that his two companions were remembering times gone by, and more likely than that, remembering lost loves. Harry didn’t dare ask if this were true though, instead intending to change the subject. Before Harry could even open his mouth though, the Weasley family finally decided to wake up and repopulate the lower floor of their house.

A few days later, Harry found himself covered in sweat and shaking furiously. Placing his glasses on his nose, he was mortified to find that the world refused to focus and stop spinning. Outside the window in Ron’s bedroom Harry could still determine that it was nighttimes, mostly due to the fact that a huge white semi-circular blob floated dead centre beyond the glass. Removing his bed covers Harry stood unsteadily and gradually half walked half stumbled towards the bathroom. The moment he reached for the door handle his head began to hurt. Forcing himself over in front of the mirror Harry nearly fainted. His scar was emanating a glorious golden light that grew in brightness, bathing the room in warmth. Harry refocused his eyes on the mirror and again was shocked to see something else different about his appearance. His eyes changed colour from their usual emerald brilliance to a shade of blue so deep they were almost black and he appeared to grow several inches. He found himself staring at a reflection that was not his own.

The sight looked oddly familiar though Harry couldn’t place where from. Harry slowly closed his eyes for the golden light was now extremely bright. He felt a wave of tiredness break over him then, making him unsure whether or not he had actually heard something. Recognition came to Harry then. He had heard it only twice before in his life, but knew what it was instantly. Phoenix song. Again the tiredness fell over Harry, but he resisted, wanting desperately to hear all of the song. A third time he felt the tiredness, this time however it was too much for him.

By the morning he had found himself getting out of bed and rushing downstairs to eat the breakfast Dobby had kindly prepared for him. Harry had forgotten about the previous night’s event completely.

Early on the morning of August the 12th, Harry and Ron rushed downstairs, fully clothed and their Hogwarts cloaks wrapped around their necks. Today they were all travelling to Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies. Sirius was also coming but was going to apparate there into an alleyway behind Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, before transforming into Padfoot. He didn’t want to let Harry out of his sight, knowing that although over a month and a half had passed without so much as a murmur of Voldemort’s name, Sirius didn’t want to take any chances.

“These books are going to cost a bloody fortune mum!” said Ron looking over his book list. Going to Diagon Alley was always a nice experience for Harry, but for the Weasley’s it meant even more money would be leaving their vault in Gringott's. Harry had inherited a vast amount of money from his parents and would have willingly shared it all with the Weasley’s, but for some reason unknown to Harry, they had always declined his offers of financial help. This always made Harry feel extremely guilty whenever he went to vault 687, the huge pile of gold, silver and bronze coins wider than Harry was tall never seemed to diminish no matter how much Harry spent. Harry wished his friends would accept his money.

Sirius was the first to leave; throwing a quick glance at Harry that seemed to scream ‘don’t do anything stupid unless I’m around to save you’. Soon after, Harry was reunited with ‘Snuffles’ and sat down to eat a complimentary ice cream.

That was the nice thing about Florean Fortescue. A little over two years ago, after Harry had ran away from the Dursley’s, Cornelius Fudge had managed to find him and to procure him a room at The Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer holidays. Everyday Harry would enter Diagon Alley and roam around, wandering from shop to shop. Florean had seen Harry every day and had offered to keep the young boy company, as it was extremely boring for a thirteen year old with no one to talk but a snowy owl. Talking with Florean had not only brought a sense of well being back to Harry, he’d also helped him with his summer homework from Hogwarts. As such spending many lunches with him discussing the finer points of a Mint-flavoured Triple Choc Chip Challenge, Harry had formed a sort of bond with the portly gentleman. Now every time Harry visited Diagon Alley he was always given free delights.

A little later on, after returning from Gringott’s with their money bags heavier and their vaults decidedly emptier (except Harry’s of course!) Hermione, Ron, Harry and Snuffles said goodbye to the other members of the Weasley clan. The first shop they walked past was one Harry never missed a chance at looking in. Quality Quidditch Supplies. Snuffles’ ears picked up when they neared the front window. “Bloody hell Harry, two years it’s been out and still no-ones built a better model! The Quidditch Cup’s ours again!” exclaimed a clearly delighted Ron. Snuffles’ tail was wagging so fast it looked like someone had taken a metronome and over wound it.

There in the window was The Firebolt; still the best racing broom in the whole of the wizarding world, and Harry had owned one ever since his third year at Hogwarts, thanks to Sirius.

Harry was ecstatic. Not only was he the Seeker and recently crowned Captain of his house Quidditch team, he was also the proud owner of an international standard broom, he had been given his very own Golden Snitch, and lastly he now owned a book that would allow him to plan ahead all the teams strategies without leaving the ground.

Looking past the glowing broom Harry peered further into the shop, mentally browsing through the products on offer. Seeing a pair of new Seeker gloves that he thought would go nicely with his snitch, he stopped abruptly when his gaze wandered upon a very pretty face. A face that Harry had dreaded seeing again, not because of whom it was but because of the memories it stirred within him. Memories he had tried so hard to forget over the past month and a half.

A pair of expressionless grey eyes moved lazily into his vision, an image of a boy just over two years older than himself floating aimlessly in front of him. Tears started to well up at the corners of his eyes. Hermione noticed and was about to ask what was wrong when she saw who Harry had been looking at. Cho Chang.

If it were possible (Harry didn’t know or care) Hermione’s eyes would have blazed with barely controlled anger. Harry was too busy wiping the salty mist away from his emerald eyes to notice this before Hermione relaxed. ‘Why am I getting angry with Cho, just because I saw Harry looking at her? Or maybe it’s because he almost cried when he looked at her?’ thought Hermione. She didn’t know what to believe, and found she didn’t actually care about it. Turning to Harry she placed a hand gently on his arm, “Hey Harry lets go to Zonko’s, see what new ideas they’ve come up with.”

“Good idea Hermione,” replied Ron. He too had noticed Harry gazing at Cho. “Come on Harry, what d’you say?” Harry was beyond words and simply nodded his agreement. The trio, followed closely by Snuffles at Harry’s side, wandered towards an old building with a sign that was so battered and bruised you could hardly see the name. Obviously most of the inventions within were first tested on the outside of the building.

Pushing themselves past twelve elderly witches gathered directly in front of the entrance, Harry and his friends managed to squeeze themselves into the joke shop. The walls were overflowing with dozens of items of weird and wonderful descriptions. As soon as they looked at one thing another caught their eye. The customers in the shop gave Snuffles a wide berth, as he continued to beat his tail from side to side like a whirling dervish. His eyes were brighter than Harry had ever seen. Harry realised at that point that he was more mature than his godfather who had two-dozen more years of experience. Sirius had the mind and maturity a young boy trapped in the body of a man who could turn himself into a dog.

“Hey Harry! Ron! Hermione!” At the end of one particularly long aisle were 3 people Harry had never met outside of Hogwarts or the Quidditch World Cup last year. Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom sauntered their way past a stand of fake broomsticks labelled in sand-coloured writing ‘Black Hawk Down’, and stood in front of Harry and his friends.

“How are you Harry?” asked Neville. He’d grown an inch since last Harry had seen him. Harry also noticed that Neville seemed to be less nervous outside of school than in. ‘Although maybe that’s got more to do with our letter’s saying we’ve got a new Potions teacher’ thought Harry. “Are the Muggles treating you any better yet?” wondered Dean. “I’m doing great guys. I don’t have to worry about the Dursley's for another year; I’m staying with Ron.”

Seamus spoke up then. “Hope Quidditch is back on this year. I mean the Tri-Wizard Tournament was brilliant but it can’t beat Quidditch. I mean look at the World Cup last year; that was amazing wasn’t it, what with Ireland being World Champions now.” (He said this with pride positively flowing from his open mouth).

At the mention of the tournament Harry looked at his feet but quickly turned to Ron with a smile in his eyes at the mention of Quidditch. Ron nearly burst out laughing, before Hermione punched him in the arm. It was obvious that the only people who knew of Harry’s appointment as Gryffindor captain were the teachers, the team, and Harry’s closest friends; his family.

“Did I miss something?” Seamus asked quizzically.

Later that day Ron was whisked away by Fred and George, each grabbed an arm and were dragging him towards a familiar building, the shop looked suspiciously like Madam Malkins’, while Ron shouted over his shoulder, “I’ll meet you back at the Leaky Cauldron…”

Harry was now alone with Snuffles and Hermione. “So Hermione where d’you want to go?” asked Harry, already knowing the answer before she opened her mouth. In fact he had already started inching in the general direction when she answered, “Flourish & Blotts-” she began. “‘Where else?’” finished Harry, imitating her voice as best he could, earning himself a playful punch on the arm.

As they neared the doorway Harry could hear faint voices from within. “…What do you need more jokes for, you’ve already got more pranks than Zonko’s stock in a year!” said the muffled voice of a boy. “Because Jonathan, ‘Because’!” replied an equally muffled female voice. Harry was about to open the door one-armed (he was carrying a whole bunch of practical jokes from Zonko’s in his left arm) when the door opened abruptly and out stepped a tall dark haired boy and a slightly shorter dark haired girl. Both appeared old enough to be sixth years and were wearing glasses. The boy was still looking at the girl beside him and so didn’t notice poor Harry right in front of him until the girl screamed, “Look out Jonathan!” and he collided painfully with Harry.

“Here, let me pick up those things for you,” said the longhaired girl, stooping over and gathering some of Harry’s items. Without a single person noticing she surreptitiously hid a few of them in the pockets of her robes. Looking over her shoulder she spoke to the other boy, “Jonathan, I knew you had bad eyesight but I was pretty sure you could see things right in front of your face!”

Although Harry had just been knocked unceremoniously to the floor, he had to cover his obvious laugh with a cough that sounded more false than one of Professor Trelawny’s predictions of Harry’s death. The girl, it seemed, had a sense of humour to rival Sirius’.

“Er, I’m truly sorry about that. If there’s anything I can do t-” began Jonathan. “Yeah, you can help me up. The ground’s not exactly the most comfortable place to lie down on.” Jonathan, with a sheepish look upon his face, held out an arm towards Harry who gratefully took it. As Harry stood up he saw the sixth years face properly for the first time. What he saw shocked him.

He didn’t know the reason, but Jonathan looked extremely familiar, the deep blue eyes and dark hair. If Harry didn’t know any better he’d have said he was standing face to face with Tom Riddle. There were subtle differences though, his hair was styled more like Harry’s and his face was slightly thinner. Also the fact that Tom Riddle hadn’t needed to wear glasses discredited this assumption. The person in front of him had warmth in his eyes that Harry felt sure he’d seen before. A memory was edging into his conscious mind but wouldn’t surface; a feeling that he could see a golden light, hear a familiar deep voice. Harry suddenly felt tired.

“Whoa there!” said Jonathan, catching Harry’s arm again as he nearly fell back to the floor, “I didn’t run into you that hard. Did I?” the last question he aimed at the girl beside him. “Well sometimes you don’t know your own strength Jonathan,” said the girl, a teasing look in her eyes.

“No, it wasn’t that, I just suddenly felt tired that’s all. Must’ve been a long day,” he lied, straightening up quickly and causing his arm to loosen from Jonathan’s grip.

“Hey, wait a minute. You’re Harry Potter aren’t you? You’re the reason my House hasn’t won the school Championship for the past four years!” exclaimed the girl, her voice rising in pitch with obvious anger.

“Clara, as I keep telling you Harry’s not the only reason why Slytherin keep losing. It’s mostly the fault of a certain individual who shall remain nameless,” Jonathan coughed loudly at this point, a cough that sounded remarkably like ‘Malfoy!’ and continued talking. “And the fact that you’re all a bunch of…” he stopped suddenly because Clara was looking him square in the eyes with a face that practically screamed ‘You finish that sentence and it’ll be the last thing you do!’ Jonathan quickly changed his mind. “…Lovely people?” he replied timidly, staring Clara deeply in the eyes. In an instant the icy demeanour she had just had melted, as she wrapped her arms around Jonathan’s neck and pulled him into a deep embrace.

Not wanting to see where this was leading Harry said “Goodbye!” and hurriedly pulled Hermione and Snuffles into the surprisingly quiet bookshop.

“What was all that about?” asked Harry, completely puzzled. “I don’t know Harry. I was too busy staring at Jonathan. He looks familiar but I don’t know where from. I mean I know he’s a Gryffindor prefect and all, but I mean his face just looks really familiar,” replied Hermione. Snuffles made a low growling noise from the back of his throat. “Do you recognise him Snuffles?” a quick shake of the head revealed his answer. “Okay does he look familiar then?” a short bark told Harry what he wanted to know. Sirius also felt Jonathan looked familiar but like Hermione and himself, his godfather was unable to place where from.

“Wait a minute, I just realised something else. You said he was a Gryffindor didn’t you Hermione?” She nodded. “Well what on Earth was he doing walking about with a Slytherin for?!” asked Harry, barely able to constrain his utter disbelief at the older students.

“Not all Slytherin’s are bad Harry, that’s just being prejudiced. If Jonathan can see past her house then why can’t you?” She knew it was a stupid question to ask before she’d opened her mouth, but the words poured unbidden nonetheless. Of course Harry was prejudiced against the Slytherin’s. Lord Voldemort himself had been a Slytherin and had turned out to be the last surviving descendant of one of four original Hogwarts founders, Salazar Slytherin. Lastly, but not least, Draco and Lucius Malfoy were another reason for Harry’s hatred for all things serpentine.

Harry turned to stare at Hermione then, his emerald eyes ablaze with an inner fire that seemed to radiate an indefinable sense of power through every line on his face. It was the kind of look that Harry had seen Dumbledore wear only twice before, and both times within the same day, the day of the Third Task. Immediately with the resurfacing of that memory the fire in his eyes died and he turned away, not wanting Hermione of all people to see the pained expression on his face. She laid a hand on his shoulder and turned him around, pulling him into a tight hug. “I’m sorry Harry, I know I shouldn’t have said that, but I was just trying to make a point.”

“I know and I shouldn’t have gotten angry at you, it’s just really hard for me to think of anyone who could be sorted into that house as having good qualities.”

“Why don’t we forget about it then? Come on lets go pick up the books on our prefect lists.” Pulling out his letter, Harry became confused. ‘Why would we need more books just because we’re prefects?’ thought Harry. He didn’t have long to ponder this as Hermione had grabbed his arm and was dragging him past shelves and shelves of books. Harry looked more closely at the letter when they had stopped moving.

You will be required to read the following items before starting your duties. Some are books that will give you an insight into how prefects of years gone by operated others will help you to decide what ways of dealing with rule breaking you might use.

‘Troublesome Students and How To Deal With Them Now Your Not One of Them’ by Percy Rankster

‘What Punishments Can You Give?’ by Diggory Tentions

‘My Life As A Prefect’ by Pontius R. Emmel-Fect

Looking up from his letter, Harry saw three unwelcome people stalking towards them from the opposite end of the aisle.

“If it isn’t the mudblood! And look, Scarhead! I thought you’d be in Azkaban after what you did to Ced-”

Suddenly the voice stopped, mainly because Sirius had started to advance on the owner, his teeth bared and his hackles raised. A low growl escaped his throat. “Snuffles, no! Come back here!”

“Wha… What is that thing Potter?” faltered Draco Malfoy, a look of fear in his eyes. Too soon for Harry, the son of a death eater regained his momentary loss of courage in time to spew out, “Yet another protector for you is it? What, are you so weak you need a dog to fight your battles for you?” before Harry had to grab the nape of Snuffles’ neck hard to prevent him from mauling Draco then and there. There was a bloodthirsty look in his eyes that disappeared before Harry could see.

The blond-haired boy backed up slowly. His two gormless bodyguards remained rooted to the spot, as if their shoes had been glued to the floor. “You should have that thing put down Potter if you can’t keep it controlled properly. Come on Crabbe. Goyle. We’re leaving,” sneered Draco, eyeing Sirius warily he spun round and stormed away. Crabbe and Goyle were too stupid to notice their master’s disappearance and actually moved towards Harry.

In an instant they were unconscious on the floor, Harry unable to keep his hold on Snuffles. His godfather hadn’t done anything more than jump at them, causing the poor imitation’s of trolls to trip backwards over their cloaks and knock their heads hard on the floor.

Both Hermione and Harry had creased up with laughter and Snuffles was waving his tail so fast it was a blur.

Back at the Leaky Cauldron Ron was sitting down with a glazed look in his eye and a smile on his lips, “Crabbe and Goyle unconscious. That’s just like the time Professor Moody turned Malfoy into the amazing bouncing ferret.” An image of Draco as a pure white ferret bouncing ten feet in the air and hitting a stone floor repeatedly, brought a smile to Harry’s lips also.

“Harry, do you mind putting that memory into your pensieve so that I can see it again and again?” asked Ron suddenly. Not wanting to think about his pensieve, Harry quickly changed the subject. Ron, still with the glazed look in his eyes didn’t notice Harry’s deflection of the question he asked.

“So where did Fred and George spirit you off to?”

“What? Oh that, no Fred and George took me to Madam Malkins and bought me some new dress robes. Hang on a sec, I’ll go and get them,” said Ron, standing up. As he started moving towards where Mr. And Mrs. Weasley were sitting, Hermione spoke up, “What, you’re going to show them off in front of the whole pub?”

Ron blushed a shade of red so deep he looked like a radish with freckles. “Oops,” he mumbled. “I think I’ll wait til we get back home then.”

Stepping out of the fireplace a short time later Harry was struck by the sound of laughter, as Sirius had fallen over onto the sofa, unable to stop himself from giggling. “The look in their eyes Harry!” he managed to spurt out between hearty guffaws, “Priceless!”.

Ron rushed upstairs shouting behind him, “I’m gonna go try on my new dress robes, everyone wait where you are!”

Looking over to Fred and George, Harry saw a look of pride in their eyes. Noticing Harry staring at them George whispered into his ear, “He still thinks we paid for it with Bagman’s money Harry.” Fred continued, “Don’t worry though, we didn’t spend that much on the broom and robes, in fact we got the broom second hand off of a friend for only one hundred and fifty galleons.”

Harry suppressed a smile at this. He did wonder who the friend was that could afford to sell a Nimbus 2001 for less than the five hundred galleons they cost first-hand. He voiced this thought to the twins.

“Jonathan Clift. Seems he was given it for Christmas, and kept it because he didn’t want to insult his family. He’s scared of heights and can barely walk up the stair’s at Hogwarts without some sort of charm on him.”

Harry almost burst out with laughter, like Sirius had done, at the thought of Jonathan having to charm himself every time he had to climb a set of stairs. At that point, Ron clambered down the staircase to the tune of the twins whistling the bridal march. Molly shot them a withering stare that shut them up just as Ron came into to view. He was wearing robes of similar cut to Harry’s. The only difference being that Ron’s were about six inches longer and were a dark navy in colour.

“Oh they look lovely dear! How did you afford those, they must have cost more money than you’ve saved up. Wait a minute, have you been accepting money from Harry, Ronald Weasley!” shouted his mother. Red splotches were forming on her cheeks as she bellowed.

“No Mum!” Ron shouted back. “Fred and George bought it with the money they got back from Ludo Bagman, didn’t you guys?” He shot them a pleading look, which fortunately Molly didn’t witness, as she had rounded on the twins.

“Yep, we sure did. Got our money back from Bagman a week after school finished. Seems he managed to find some money he’d stored away and paid off everyone he owed money to. The goblins nearly caught him for forgetting the interest. Very clever those goblins aren’t they Bill?”

Harry had to admit that although the twins didn’t get too many O.W.L’s they were still quick on their feet when it came to excuses and shifting attention from themselves.
Harry fell asleep that night thoroughly exhausted but content. That lasted until the nightmare began and Harry awoke again with sweat pouring down his brow. The strangest thing was though Harry had just awoken from it, he could not remember a single detail about the nightmare. He knew it was different from usual because his scar was not aching. Eventually he fell asleep once more, a single thought resting on his mind. ‘What does it mean?’

4. Another Riddle

Mr. J Clift Normal Mr. J Clift 1 2 2003-08-07T21:57:00Z 2003-08-07T21:59:00Z 9 5162 23748 Private 329 85 36138 9.2720 120 1152x882

Standard Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are the plot and any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.

Chapter Four – Another Riddle

Early on the morning that Harry and his friends were to return to Hogwarts, Harry was the first to awaken. In fact he had always been the first to leave the comfort of slumber, ever since his birthday. He used to get up at 6 o'clock in the morning, pull his invisibility cloak over his head and sneak into Ginny and Hermione's room. He used to stand there watching the two girls in his life sleep peacefully. Hermione always had her nose scrunched up in a way that made Harry's heart flutter, and Ginny looked like a sleeping angel.

Before they stirred Harry crept silently downstairs into the kitchen. There he found Dobby already up and about preparing Harry's breakfast. "Dobby how come you always have food ready for me when I wake up? I mean how do you know when I'm gonna get up?" he asked the elf politely. "Dobby knows when Master Harry is awake sir because Dobby is an elf and you is Dobby's master. It is the way of house-elves Master Harry to be magically linked to their masters. Dobby knows this too well after his last family. Bad wizards they were!"

"I know they are Dobby, you don't have to tell me how bad they are because I know first-hand. And Dobby," replied Harry, "stop calling me master. You're my friend so call me Harry, like my other friends do." "Yes Mast- err, - Harry." Suddenly Dobby walked over to the kettle brought it level with his eyes and started to bash his head on it, causing himself to screech loudly with pain. "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby! Mustn't say Master anymore!"

Harry, with years of Seeker enhanced reflexes, saw what Dobby was about to do before he'd even started to move. Reaching the elf just after he'd hit himself in the head for the third time, Harry whisked the kettle from the elf's hands. "Dobby you've got to stop doing that! You don't have to keep punishing yourself like this."

"Dobby knows this sir, but sometimes Dobby forgets he works for a good wizard now. Dobby thanks Harry Potter very much for reminding him."

'Well, at least he's stopped calling me Master Harry,' he thought to himself. After eating some pancakes (Harry had taken a liking to them much the same as Dumbledore) Harry set to work carefully packing his trunk with all the things that he would need for the coming year. He paused for a while, debating whether or not he should bring the pensieve and the dragons hide clothes, eventually deciding to bring them with him. 'Just in case' he told himself.

The last thing he packed was the present he had received from Remus and Sirius. Wondering what wonderful knowledge it held Harry took his wand, tapped the parchment and said "I so solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Immediately words spilled onto the page. Harry picked up his wand and tapped the section that read 'Practical Hexes.' Like every other time Harry had done this over the past month the parchment was wiped of all words except for the title of the section, which reappeared at the top. Below this were the twenty-six letters of the alphabet and a box with the words 'What curse do you wish?' beside it. Reaching into his trunk and pulling out his quill and a bottle of ink, Harry wrote into the box.

'I wish to find a curse that will cause the cursed to turn into a ferret every time a single word is said.'

A few seconds later a short paragraph appeared; details on how to perform the curse properly, how to defend against it, and an example of how it worked. At the end of the text was the name Padfoot. It seemed that the Marauder's had managed to do almost every curse they'd written about. They'd even managed to create photo of their unlucky victims. More often than not the curses signed off with a note by Padfoot, such as the one Harry had just read about, showed how the curse worked on one particular wizard by the name of Severus Snape.

Hours had passed when Harry found himself pushing his trolley with his trunk and Hedwig's cage towards the barrier separating Platforms Nine and Ten. With Ron by his side, Harry casually walked towards the wall, and was busy staring at a pigeon that had just collided head first into a train window when he stepped through and found himself staring at a red steam engine that Harry always associated with one thing. Home.

Saying goodbye to Molly and Arthur, Harry got onto the train and went to his usual compartment. As he was about to put his trunk into the luggage rack the catch came undone and the lid opened. Luckily nothing fell out, although Harry did notice the cloak from Hagrid on top. Harry felt the hair rise on the back of his neck and decided quickly that he would wear his present underneath his school robes. He was just pulling his school robes on when Hermione and Ron came in followed closely by a cat the size of small tiger and a large black dog. The dog lazily wandered into the compartment jumped onto Harry's seat and fell asleep.

"What's Snuffles doing here? I thought he was supposed to stay at the Burrow until I get to Hogwarts?" he asked, not really expecting an answer. Snuffles just snored in his sleep. "Oh, didn't you see? Professor Dumbledore apparated onto the platform and came over to us. You must have already been on the train. He told Snuffles to go with you everywhere this year," said Hermione.

"What, another protector? He already told Dobby to watch over me, now Snuffles!" exclaimed Harry. He was tired of people trying to wrap him in cotton wool. If he could face the most powerful dark wizard of modern times and survive not once but on three separate occasions, then he should think that he could look after himself at school for another year. It wasn't as if he was utterly defenceless, afterall he'd learnt more about curses in the past month thanks to his present from Remus than he learnt in a whole year with Professor Moody, or rather Barty Crouch Junior posing as Professor Moody.

"Hey! There's no need to get on your high horse with us Harry! Haven't you heard you're not supposed to shoot the messenger!" answered Ron, just as angrily.

"I'm sorry guys, its just you would think Dumbledore'd let me go one train journey without someone looking after me. I mean come on, Ron and me took a flying car to Hogwarts and nothing bad happened." Then again that wasn't entirely true, but Harry was too busy being angry to care.

"What! What the hell d'you mean 'nothing bad happened'? Muggles saw us, we crashed into the Whomping Willow, I broke my wand, and we nearly got expelled! If that's not 'bad' I don't know what is mate!" Ron was livid.

"You want bad? How about you're going around a maze looking for a trophy. When you get within walking distance of it you see your rival running for it. Suddenly your attacked by a giant spider and the next thing you know you've got a broken leg and your opponents standing over you with a wand in his hand after just stunning the spider! Then you both end up grabbing hold of the trophy only for it to turn out to be a portkey, which takes you to a graveyard. Next thing I know Cedric's laying spread-eagled on the ground deader than a dodo. I came face to face with the most powerful dark wizard of all time and he's reborn from the blood he took from my arm! Is that bad enough for you!" Harry was practically screaming. His face was red, his throat raw and tears were streaming buckets down his face.

Both Ron and Hermione were shocked. They had never seen Harry so angry before. In fact Harry had never been angrier in his life. What really scared his friends though was that Harry's voice had deepened and his eyes were glowing with an inner fire. The compartment had literally rumbled with the sound of Harry's voice. Snuffles still snored loudly - unaware of what had just happened - and Crookshanks was curled up in a corner, his paws over his head.

"Harry, wha - what did you do to your voice?" asked Hermione, shaking slightly. "What d'you mean? I didn't do anything to my voice, I just spoke," said Harry, his voice had returned to its usual level of quietness. Ron began, still quite shocked at Harry, "Yo - Your voice deepened Harry, and your eyes glowed. It was really weird."

Harry was mystified, 'What do they mean my voice deepened? I'm growing up aren't I? Of course my voice is going to deepen.' Eventually his anger dissipated, he couldn't stay angry for long when Hermione was around.

The rest of the journey passed without incident. Ginny and the twins joined the friend's just before lunch and remained for many games of exploding snap. The plump lady that always-brought food came rattling past the door, "Anything from the trolley dears?" she asked. After Harry had bought almost everything she left, travelling back up the train.

Later on, after Ginny had gone off to find her friends and Fred and George had long since disappeared, probably to play pranks on the Slytherins, a very pretty girl from Gryffindor came into the compartment. She had gold blonde curly hair that fell past her shoulders and hazel eyes like Hermione. Ron was dumbstruck, "Vicky! Hi, what are you doing back here?" Seeing the confused looks on Harry and Hermione's faces he whispered quickly, "I met her in Diagon Alley when Fred and George got me those robes."

"Hi Ron," said Vicky, in a surprisingly sultry voice "I've been looking for you all over the train."

Glancing quickly at Hermione, Harry mouthed 'I think we better leave these two alone.' Hermione picked up the drift immediately. "Hi Vicky, I'm Hermione and this is Harry. I'm really sorry we're not going to have the chance to talk more until we get to Hogwarts. Harry and I need to go up to the front of the train. We're prefects." Hermione said this while idly rubbing her badge and quickly grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him out into the corridor. Harry managed to quickly say, "Nice to meet you Vicky," before the door was shut in his face. Looking through the window Harry was glad he'd decided to leave when he did.

"Poor Snuffles, having to put up with that kind of thing in his presence," smirked Harry, knowing full well that his godfather wouldn't notice a thing unless the train blew up. "What about Crookshanks then?" Hermione asked the same smile in her voice.

The pair wandered briskly towards the front of the train, Hermione chatting idly about what she thought they'd be doing as prefects. Harry felt so at ease in Hermione's company that he was just basking in her presence, hardly taking notice of her words. Somehow, just being next to her made Harry feel content and happy, as if he didn't have a care in the world. He felt the troubles and bad memories of the past year just melt away. Harry had no idea what was happening to him, wasn't even sure if he wanted to admit to himself what he could be feeling.

All too soon for Harry, they'd reached the prefects compartment, guessing already who he'd find beyond the oak panelled door with the Hogwarts emblem inlaid in the centre. 'I'd bet my Firebolt that Malfoy's a prefect,' Harry thought to himself as he reached for the handle, 'Probably got Lucius to buy the governors. Again.'

"What are you doing here Potter! I knew you were the muggle-lover's favourite but I didn't think he'd be stupid enough to make you a prefect!" sneered a familiar voice as he stepped out of the corridor, Hermione by his side. 'I just won a bet,' thought Harry, 'against myself,' he remembered. A deep voice spoke up then, a voice he'd only heard once, in Diagon Alley almost three weeks ago. "Watch your mouth, Malfoy, unless of course you wish to find it attached to a Dementor!" laughed Jonathan Clift; looking resplendent in his Gryffindor robes. The girl, 'Clara was it?' thought Harry, was by his side giggling at Draco.

"Enough of this bickering," said another voice, "You know that Malfoy's a coward Jonathan. He'd never do anything to Harry. He'd be scared out of his wit's if Potter here actually accepted a duel with him." Turning to look at the speaker, Harry saw that it was none other than Roger Davies, the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain, wearing his robes, but instead of the familiar crest with a raven the shield of Hogwarts was on his breast. There just above the logo was a badge that read 'Head Boy.'

Without a single glance or snide comment, Harry noticed Malfoy and the other Fifth Year Slytherin prefect, Pansy Parkinson, stand up and sweep out of the compartment arm in arm. Turning back to Roger, Harry noticed, out of the corner of his eye, Jonathan placing his wand into his robe pocket. 'I wonder what he did to Malfoy?' thought Harry, smiling internally.

"Hi Roger," said Harry, "Mind if we join you?" "Not at all, come in and have a seat. Clara, would you mind budging up a bit so Hermione and Harry can sit down?" asked Roger politely.

"Sure, no problem. You can sit by me if you like Harry," she said, batting her eyelashes at him. Looking properly at her for the first time Harry found that she looked as familiar to him as Jonathan did. It wasn't as noticeable with her, obviously, but there was also a resemblance to Tom Riddle. 'What is it with me? Why do I keep thinking everyone looks like Tom Riddle?' Harry thought nervously to himself.

"Thanks," he muttered politely, sitting down quickly. Hermione sat down to his left and immediately entered a conversation with Roger about what the role of a prefect at Hogwarts might entail. Harry had switched off long ago, and was busy staring at Clara. In Harry's defence, she was staring back at him just as much. "I'm Harry, we met a few weeks ago. Outside Flourish & Blott's."

"Oh yes! Errr - I'm terribly sorry about what happened there, I have bad eyesight you see and I wasn't paying attention to where I was going so I really want to apologise for that," said Jonathan quickly. From the look on his face Harry could tell he really meant it. Holding his hand out for Harry to shake, Jonathan continued, "In the mix-up there we kind of didn't introduce ourselves properly. I'm Jonathan Clift, Gryffindor obviously, and this is my beautiful girlfriend, Clara Riddle from Slytherin."

Hermione let out a short gasp, only audible to Harry, as she was sitting quite close to him. Roger Davies had left a minute ago, 'Off to find some friends no doubt,' Harry surmised. He felt a nervous feeling creep into his body at the mention of Clara's surname however. 'Another Riddle? How can this be?' Harry asked himself. 'Tom was not the last Riddle,' said a voice at the back of his mind. It was the same strong voice he'd heard at Diagon Alley, the same deep mellifluous voice that was the only thing bar a golden light and the song of a phoenix he'd started remembering from the nights he'd had nightmares.

Hermione had also recognised the name of Riddle, afterall, Harry had told Ron and her everything about Voldemort that Professor Dumbledore had told him. As she wondered about the many possibilities for Clara sharing the same last name as the Dark Lord, she noticed the muscles on the back of Harry's neck tense. Hermione guessed - wrongly - that Harry was deeply shocked because of this fact alone. 'Not only has he just come to terms with Jonathan and Clara being together despite their houses, he's just been told her last name is one and the same as the man who murdered his parents,' Hermione thought.

To the outside world, and Hermione, Harry had merely paused a few seconds before replying "N-nice to meet you Clara, Jonathan." Inside, Harry was in turmoil. The momentary happiness he'd felt with Jonathan standing up to Malfoy and possibly cursing him, left him the instant Clara's name had passed the elder student's lips. Mostly, however, it was the voice in his mind that scared him. 'What does it mean?' He kept asking himself, but to no avail, as no answer was forthcoming.

Jonathan seemed to pick up on Harry's feelings, as he quickly changed the subject. "I hear congratulations are in order, Harry. I'd just like to say well done for becoming Quidditch captain. Your dad would be proud of you. Hell, all of Gryffindor'd be proud of you Harry. If you keep flying the way you do, and you're as good a captain as Oliver was, then we'll have the Quidditch Cup again this year!"

"Thanks Jonathan, that means a lot to me," said Harry, wondering just how Jonathan had found out. 'Must have talked to Fred and George, they are friends and all.'

"So that was the big secret you were keeping from me! You little snitch! Sorry Harry, no pun intended," spoke Clara, playfully knocking Jonathan in the arm. Jonathan caught Clara's hand brought it to his lips, kissed her fingers gently, and without taking his eyes from Clara, continued his conversation with Harry. "So how are things like staying with the Weasley's Harry? Fred and George are nightmares I can tell you." Again it seemed, Jonathan was reading Harry's thoughts. 'That's it' he said to himself, 'I'm not thinking another word.' Jonathan laughed quietly under his breath, which Harry barely noticed.

"Yeah they can be at times, but I love it at The Burrow. It sure beats staying with the Dursley's," said Harry, eliciting a giggle from Clara and a smirk from Jonathan. "I bet it does," said Jonathan, his deep blue eyes twinkling with an inner light. In some ways those eyes reminded Harry of Dumbledore, the twinkling and the warmth that flowed easily from them.

Hermione had also noticed Jonathan's eyes. To her they were like deep pools of light that sucked you in. She was swimming peaceably in them when the train suddenly lurched slightly on the tracks, jogging Hermione out of her semi-trance. "It was nice to talk with you Jonathan, Clara. Harry and I need to go back and get our things ready now," said Hermione. Looking out of the window pointedly, she continued "It's getting late, meaning we'll be arriving soon. Maybe we'll see each other at Hogwarts sometime." Standing on Harry's foot, she effectively brought his attention to the present, she got up and waited in the doorway for Harry to follow her.

"Yeah. I mean yeah, it was nice meeting you guys," Harry half-mumbled. "Nice to meet both of you properly," said Clara and Jonathan in unison. Waving goodbye Harry walked back along the empty corridor of the train, Hermione at his side, towards their compartment. They both were lost in thought, and with good reason considering all of the thing's that'd just happened to them.

As they neared their section of the train Harry landed flat on his back. A large black face with white teeth and huge black orbs for eyes was staring down at him. "Snuffles! Get off of me!" Harry nearly shouted. Snuffles just stayed where he was for a second before looking up and bounding away back up the corridor, the way he and Hermione had just travelled. Picking himself up Harry looked in the direction Snuffles had disappeared and laughed.

There, lying flat on their backs, were Crabbe and Goyle, their wands useless in their open hands. Again they had tripped over their own cloaks and knocked themselves out. The trip back to Hogwarts was getting better and better as the day wore on. "Thanks Snuffles," he called out, eventually reaching his initial destination.

Finding Ron asleep was one thing that Harry had gotten used to over the years as his friend. Finding him asleep with Vicky Ryan's head on his shoulder was quite another. Whispering, he quietly said to Hermione, "Do you think we should wake them?" Hermione just shook with silent laughter. She used her wand to gently lower all of their trunks from the overhead luggage trays. Crookshanks stirred lazily in the corner, his lanky ginger tail shivering slightly in the cool breeze from an open window. Intending to shut it Harry stood by the window and let the wind brush lightly against his face. Watching the landscape rush past in a tinted blue blur, he could just about see the lights shimmering in the windows of an ancient castle. An ancient castle that stood on a peninsula reaching out into a lake and surrounded by a dark and foreboding forest. At last Harry Potter had come home.

As the train pulled into the station Harry stepped off of the train into the cool night air. Sensing that something was about to happen Harry span around in time to catch Hermione in his outstretched arms. She fell heavily onto him and for the briefest of moments their lips brushed. For one instant the world stopped turning, this was the moment Harry had been waiting for, for as long as he'd known her. Harry could have sworn it was his imagination, but he thought Hermione had actually deepened the kiss. It was heaven on Earth. It was bliss. It was the most wonderful experience of his life.

It wasn't to be. The world began to spin again as Ron leaned out of the carriage and helped Vicky outside.

'Damn Ron! Why'd you have to come out right that moment?' thought Harry, glancing for a second at his friend. A flash of anger flowed through him and once again a fire came to his eyes, but Harry willed the anger away. Instantly he felt the chill as an icy gust coursed through the group of young wizards.

***

Hermione was just about to step outside when Crookshanks ran, bandy-legged, past her. She almost tripped and landed on her face, except someone caught her. As she fell she looked deeply into his emerald eyes and suddenly their lips met. Tiny bolts of electricity were running through her veins, and for a second she debated whether to deepen the kiss or not. Her body was working much quicker than her mind for once though, and before she knew it she was kissing Harry Potter, falling deeply for the 'boy-who-lived', her best friend.

To Hermione it felt as if time itself had broken. This was the moment she had been waiting for. Since she'd first laid eyes on him she'd known that somehow they were destined for each other. Their personalities fit together like a simple jigsaw puzzle; what Hermione lacked in sheer courage and bravery where all things were concerned, Harry made up for in endless bounds. What he needed was someone who knew him, and Hermione did. In that fleeting second Hermione knew every thought that was racing through his head. The pain of his parent's death; the joy at learning he was a wizard; meeting Ron; becoming Hermione's friend; the terror of Voldemort's rebirth; the guilt over Cedric's murder. All emotions left her then. She had shared an insight into the mind of her friend and was totally unprepared for the horror's he held locked within his mind.

The kiss ended far too soon for Hermione. At the moment she thought that Harry might respond in full, Ron stepped out of the carriage and helped Vicky with her luggage. Immediately both Harry and Hermione pulled away from each other but were unable to miss the looks in each others eyes. A mutual understanding flowed between them. Harry briefly turned his head towards Ron and for a second Hermione felt an aura of power surround him. She could feel the magic rolling from him in waves, feel his every cell bursting with internal power. In the blink of an eye the aura disappeared and he was back to being 'just Harry'.

***

"First Year's, this way please. Come on, fall in line there. Miss Jordan would you mind not standing so close to the tracks, wouldn't want you falling on them now," called a gruff voice that Harry didn't recognise. The girl in question stepped over towards the group of shivering children that were standing in front of a tall man, with brown hair so dark it was practically black. He had a short beard, close to his skin with flecks of white running through it. The man's face was covered in lines, the crows feet at his eyes were easily visible behind his spectacles. Harry noticed the man's eyes then and suddenly something in Harry clicked, 'Where have I seen those eyes before?'

Suddenly a tall sixth year strode into Harry's vision from the front of the train, a familiar girl on his arm. Jonathan and Clara walked towards the man taking over from Hagrid's usual role and gave him a brief hug. 'My God,' thought Harry, 'That must be Jonathan's dad.' Together with his son the bearded man walked over to the lake, the first years trailing along in their wake. Harry just watched as the young witches and wizards clambered into the boats with no oars, just watched as they soared across the unnaturally calm waters.

Just before turning away he saw in the corner of his vision the boat carrying Clara, Jonathan and his dad stop. One of the figures stood up and threw a large bundle into the watery depths, floating for a second before starting to sink as a pair of giant tentacles rose up to the surface. One slippery appendage pulled the bundle below the waves, the other reached towards the figure and shook its arm.

Thinking that this was a strange turn of events he moved his head to look closer, but what he saw didn't correlate with what he had seen a few seconds earlier. The boat was gone and there was no trace that the giant squid had ever been anywhere near the surface of the lake. 'Well that's different,' he thought silently.

Meanwhile Hermione had wandered off towards the horseless carriages, requisitioning one for herself, and made sure that all other students had been accounted for. Beckoning Harry to come over, he remembered that she had done something he had forgotten about. 'Make sure all students are accounted for before leaving the station,' Harry recalled from the list of duties McGonagall had sent with the letter. "Come on Harry, we don't want to miss the Sorting," called Hermione, a mysterious look in her eyes that Harry couldn't decipher.

'Maybe she didn't want that kiss,' thought Harry unhappily. Yet again Harry knew only that where his feelings were concerned, he had no idea what to do. 'Come on,' he encouraged himself, 'I've barely gotten over Cho choosing Cedric for the Yule Ball.' A pair of blank, grey eyes clouded his sight for a second before he willed them to disappear. He was getting better at doing this now. Barely two months had passed and he was starting to come to terms with Cedric's death.

'I know now that it wasn't my fault he died. It wasn't my fault that my parents, Mr. Crouch or Bertha Jorkins are no longer around. It all boils down to one man. One vile man undeserved of the title 'man'. It's all Voldemort's fault.'

Again Hermione beckoned for him to hurry. Stepping into the carriage he noticed that Ron and Vicky were sitting opposite each other and Hermione was talking animatedly to Vicky. "What's up mate? You look like someone stuck a wand up your nose," remarked Ron, referring to the incident in their first year where Harry had helped to stop a troll from killing Hermione by doing the only thing he could, sticking his wand up its nose.

"Don't worry Ron, it's nothing," lied Harry never taking his eyes away from Hermione's sensuous form. Why hadn't he noticed it before? He'd never believed it himself until the moment their lips had met. 'I think I'm in love with Hermione,' thought Harry, shocking himself that he'd finally admitted his deepest secret. Hermione stammered noticeably for a second, as if she'd just heard his thoughts, before continuing her conversation with Vicky.

"So Vicky, how did you meet Ron?" she asked politely, her beautiful lips shimmering in the light of the moon and the candles within the carriage. 'My God, she looks amazing.' Harry was trying to test a theory. He kept thinking of ways to compliment Hermione and tried to think only of that thought. His theory was working to a degree. Only the most beautiful forms of praise he could think of elicited a visible reaction from Hermione.

'Can she read my mind?' he asked himself. 'Only your most passionate thoughts. Your deepest feelings,' replied a voice from the deepest part of Harry's mind. Again the otherworldly tune of phoenix song resonated in Harry's mind. It was a good job that Vicky was now talking with Ron again because Hermione literally span around and faced Harry, an expression on her face that clearly radiated deep shock.

Leaning towards him she whispered, "Did you hear that voice Harry?" It was Harry's turn to be shocked. "You mean you heard the voice in my head as well?" he asked, the mist of confusion falling over him. "What do you mean, 'in your head'? I just heard a deep voice say something about thoughts and you had an expression on your face as if you heard it too."

"This is weird, Hermione. Seriously weird," said Harry, a strange feeling sweeping along his nerves, "I've been having nightmares for ages, they started about a week after my birthday I think. Up 'til recently, I haven't remembered anything about them, but now I keep having the feeling that there's a golden light, a deep voice keeps speaking to me and then I hear phoenix song. Over the past few days I've been hearing the voice while I'm awake. It answers my questions." Before Hermione opened her mouth Harry voiced the words he knew she was thinking. "I'll go see Dumbledore as soon as the sorting and the feast is over. Okay?"

"Alright Harry, you make sure you do that. In fact, do you mind if I came along with you?" she asked, trepidation slithering into her voice. Harry was always the brave one of the trio, that was obvious considering Ron's complete lack of steel when it came to spiders, but Hermione was usually cool and confident about approaching teachers. Not so when it came to the headmaster, however. Flashing a grin at her which sent tingles of electricity running through her veins again, Harry answered, "Of course you can. I need someone to hold my hand while I retell everything again."

Not long after, the carriage trundled past the gates and along the drive heralded by the statues of winged boars. There, a short distance away, were the doors to the only place Harry had ever called home.

Amazingly, although they'd been the last carriage to leave, they were the first to arrive. Walking through the grand doors, Harry, Hermione, Ron and Vicky stepped into the Entrance Hall.

5. Solaris

Mr. J Clift Normal Mr. J Clift 3 9 2003-08-07T22:17:00Z 2003-08-07T22:20:00Z 6 4376 24947 Private 207 49 30636 9.2720 120 1152x882 TextFit

Standard Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are: the plot and any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.

Chapter Five – Solaris

The Grand Hall shimmered with the light of a thousand candles, floating in mid air high above the four long tables. The enchanted ceiling gave the impression of a starry night sky, not a single cloud obscuring the breathtaking view. Four people strode towards the righter-most table, choosing to sit down halfway along its glorious length. The gleaming wood showed a conglomeration of light reflections. A few seconds after the group reached their destination a large black dog came bounding towards a door beside the staff table, slowing only enough to prevent itself from colliding headlong into it. It reached out a hairy paw and let itself into the small room that lay beyond.

Not long after this, a procession of teachers came sidling out of the room and casually wandered towards their seats, Harry recognised Professors Sprout and Flitwick conversing quietly as they always did at feast time. As the empty space in the hall dwindled, students finally passing through the doors, Harry was filled with a sense of foreboding. Recalling from the letter he had received on his birthday, there were 3 new teacher's this year instead of just the usual vacancy of Defence Against The Dark Arts. Both Hagrid and Professor Snape were on secret missions for Dumbledore and Harry could only guess at what they might now be doing.

'I wonder what the new teachers look like,' he thought silently. Gazing towards the staff table, he noticed that six seats were unoccupied. 'Well I know Dumbledore and McGonagall aren't here and there are 3 new teachers starting but who's the sixth seat belong to?'

His question remained unanswered as the headmaster stalked in. Two tall, attractive women and the man Harry had seen earlier, Jonathan's father, followed. The shorter of the women, who had lustrous, long brown hair, reached Hagrid's usual place, and pulled out her wand. She shrank the oversized chair down to a size she could safely sit on without her feet dangling over the edge. She pulled tight her blood red robes round her and gracefully lowered onto her seat. Looking around the hall she smiled, looking over the enamelled walls and the stained glass windows a distant look in her chocolate brown eyes.

While Harry had been openly staring at the woman another pair of eyes were watching him beadily. From a crack in the window near the Slytherin's table, a small rodent sat watching the boy who lived. His whiskers quivered, a glint of light bounced off a silvery object. The rat's front right paw held a silvery consistency, like a ghost of a real paw. In fact it was something magical, restoring what was needed to allow its master to be reborn. Watching the white-haired headmaster sit down at the head of the staff table, the rat decided to leave. It had gathered enough information that night. It too had noticed the black dog that had entered the room at the end of the hall. It too knew who the dog was.

Albus Dumbledore was conversing politely with Professor Sinistra when he sensed the essence of another wizard within the Great Hall. The presence was small and wavered, but it was there nonetheless. Preparing to use his mind to search out the location of the uninvited visitor he noticed a glimpse of something small and furry disappear through a cracked window. He did not see, however, the silvery paw. 'Strange.' He mused. Filing the event away in his memory, intending to visit the thought via his pensieve later that evening, he returned to his talk about the way the planets were aligning themselves. He always enjoyed the opinion of other fellow stargazers.

"Well I met Ron in Madam Malkin's. I was getting my robe length re-adjusted and in walked this tall handsome wizard that I'd never had a chance to meet properly before." Vicky was telling Harry and Hermione how she and Ron had discovered each other. Ron was confused however, as he asked Vicky, "Who was that then, I don't remember anyone like that coming in. It was just Fred, George and me." Laughing at Ron's stupidity, Vicky continued, "Well Fred was just the most gorgeous man I'd ever laid eyes on." Ron's jaw cracked off of the table. "I'm joking! God, maybe it would have been better if I'd talked with Fred that day!"

Harry and Hermione just shared a knowing glance, Harry keeping the gaze longer than Hermione, as she turned back to Ron and smiled mischievously. 'I love that smile,' thought Harry.

"Harry!" Someone was calling him. "Harry wake up, the Sorting's about to start," Ron was pulling on Harry's arm trying to get his attention. "Sorry Ron, just thinking about something."
"Whatever it was mate, it must have been good. The grin on your face; you could win Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile award with that.."

Interrupting the conversation, and silencing every person in the room, Minerva McGonagall led a group of quaking first-years towards the front of the Hall. Harry recognised a small black girl as the one Jonathan's father had called earlier. The Weasley twins' best friend Lee Jordan pointed out, "Ha, that's my little sister! She's been wanting to come here since I started. 'No Elyn, not until you're eleven' my parents always had to tell her."

Elyn Jordan was, apart from her looks, like Hermione in every way. As Hermione had done all those years ago, Elyn was pointing out to her fellow first year's that the ceiling was enchanted, reciting à la 'Hogwarts: A History'.

Stopping in front of the staff table, Professor McGonagall placed a three-legged stool on the floor and put a ragged old hat, clearly showing it's age, on top of it. The first-years stared at the dirty rag of a hat. So did all other occupants of the hall. For a fleeting moment, all was silent, not a sound was uttered. Suddenly a tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

Every autumn, young first-years arrive to try me on.
I'm the Hogwarts thinking cap, and will Sort you tonight.
I've had loads of time to think where you belong.
So put me on, don't be afraid, I will pick what's right!

Perhaps you will find your place among the mighty Gryffindor,
Where the daring and brave at heart can soar!
Although if you have a ready mind and will to learn,
Then you will find your kind in wise old Ravenclaw.

On the other hand, you may be suited in loyal Hufflepuff,
Among them are those who are patient and just.
If your real friends are those who are cunning and use any means,
Last of the Hogwarts four, you will be in sly Slytherin.

Now comes the end of my Sorting song, which house for you?
Be it Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin.
From these four I will choose.
So don't fret - hold tight. The Sorting begins tonight!

The Great Hall erupted in applause, the hat mumbling its thanks. Another year spent thinking up a song to sing. Professor McGonagall had unrolled a large scroll of parchment while everyone was clapping, and was now calling for silence.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the waiting first-years. "When the Hat announces your house you will go and sit at the appropriate table."

As McGonagall called out the names, quickly reaching the C's, Harry had turned back to the staff table and saw Jonathan's father in deep conversation with Professor Dumbledore. Occasionally one would nod towards the end of the hall or in the direction of the small study where Sirius currently resided while the Sorting Ceremony was continuing. Following Dumbledore's gaze Harry was amazed to discover 10 people at the end of the hall dressed in deep grey robes with hoods that masked their faces from view. They stood in two groups either side of the doors. Harry seriously doubted that any of the other students had noticed. Pausing long enough to cheer as "Jordan, Elyn" became a Gryffindor, Harry ignored the strange visitors.

Looking back towards the staff table Dumbledore caught his eye and nodded towards him, a smile on his lips and the sapphire eyes twinkling from the light of the enchanted ceiling. Harry grinned back, and continued to look at the gathered professor's. There was Professor Vector, Hermione's Arithmancy teacher. A few seats further on sat Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department her cool gaze flitting from student to student as each one sat on the stool and placed the Sorting Hat over their head.

The hat barely even brushed the head of one girl before shouting "SLYTHERIN!" amidst an almighty roar from the Slytherin table. It was the first new student into the house that night and McGonagall was busy reciting the R's by now. Gryffindor meanwhile had swelled its ranks almost to bursting point. Dumbledore even had to stand up and extend the length of the table just so more first-years could sit down.

Hufflepuff was the quietest of all the houses that night. They were all still in mourning for Cedric Diggory. A small band of Ravenclaw's also looked glum and downbeat. Among them was Cho Chang. Raising her head she stared directly into Harry's eyes, a single tear washed down her cheek and the corner of her mouth lifted almost imperceptibly. Harry's stomach lurched, making him want to look at anything other than the person staring at him but found he couldn't. He returned the smile, trying to make it as small and unnoticeable, so as to not rile the Slytherin's any more.

It wasn't the Slytherin's that were bothered by this chain of events, but rather two Gryffindors who happened to be sitting very close to Harry indeed. A dark scowl had befouled the beautiful features of Ginny Weasley as she looked towards the Ravenclaw Seeker.

Further up from the group of friends sat a sixth year prefect. His left hand was absently rubbing his temples, and he was concentrating very hard. It was more difficult than ever for Jonathan Clift to keep his barriers up. Emotions were fraught with excitement and anticipation and it didn't help matters that most of them were coming from the table he was sitting at. Suddenly a single dark thought broke through his defences and he gasped audibly above the noise. A few students around him heard, looked towards him and simply assumed that he had a terrible headache. How close to the truth yet so far from it. Jonathan's head didn't ache, it screamed, pounding away at his mind. This was the burden he carried. With great powers always came terrible burdens and great responsibilities, and Jonathan was no exception to this.

Harry felt a sharp pain increasing inside his head. It throbbed, occasionally it was mind-numbingly painful. He knew somehow that someone else was experiencing these pains but he didn't know who or why. Looking around the room he wrote to memory the image of Dumbledore rubbing his temples but stopped when he saw Jonathan with both hands covering his face, rubbing his temples furiously, while his eyes were closed tightly.

'What's wrong with him?' thought Harry, and, unsurprisingly the deep voice answered, followed soon after by phoenix song. 'He is being bombarded with the emotions and thoughts of the people around him.' Hermione turned around and looked at Harry in a way that made his heart flutter. "Did you hear that voice again Harry?" she asked.

"Of course I heard it. What I want to know is why you heard it as well," he replied, still thinking about what the voice had said. At times both Dumbledore and Jonathan had seemed to know what Harry had been thinking, and both of them were rubbing their temples furiously. Then it hit him. The voice had just said that Jonathan was being bombarded with the emotions and thoughts of the people around him. Professor Dumbledore and Jonathan must be mind-reader's.

Both Jonathan and the headmaster stared at Harry, shock registering clearly on their faces. The Sorting Hat pronounced Dominic Wroughton a Hufflepuff, thus ending the Sorting Ceremony with Professor McGonagall proceeding to remove the Hat and the three-legged stool from the Hall. Eventually she took her place by the headmaster's side.

Dumbledore rose and began to gaze briefly at every prentice-wizard in the large room. "The start of another year at Hogwarts. We welcome into our fold young first-years, their heads undoubtedly brimming with questions and other such things. After the feast I must ask that everyone present remain seated and listen to my words, failure to listen will result with the consideration of your suitability for studying at Hogwarts," a large gasp echoed around the Hall, as he continued, "On that note I have only two words to say to you all. Dig In."

"Finally!" said Fred, seizing his knife and fork with an unnatural fervour. A large rumble emanated from his abdominal region. As if by magic food appeared suddenly in copious quantities upon every available platter in the Hall. A pale head rose through the plate of Elyn Jordan, eliciting a scream "The Bloody Baron!" from her lips she scooted back away from the table. The gaunt image of a thin man with silver bloodstains across his robes rose fully above the table. The silent spectre floated towards Harry, his blank gaze penetrating through him, sending an icy shiver over his skin.

The Slytherin's house ghost hovered over Harry's succulent roast chicken, his gaze fixed on the Gryffindor. "Er…What do you want Mr. Baron?" asked Harry suddenly realising that he'd never actually seen the Baron this close before, much less heard him speak. A ragged wheezing sound burst from the spirit's mouth, quiet but still audible. "The Prophecy will be fulfilled." With that said the Baron zoomed off towards the Hufflepuff table, causing a pair of second-year girls to drop their plates with a loud clatter.

"What the hell was that all about?" asked a dumbfounded Ron, in his hand a half-forgotten chicken leg. Thinking he'd lost his appetite, Harry began to push his plate away when his stomach rumbled loudly, like Fred's had done a few moments ago. "I've no idea Ron," said Harry, a roast potato poised on the edge of his fork. "Something's going on Harry," whispered Hermione, "First you start hearing this voice and phoenix song and now the Baron actually speaks to someone. A Gryffindor no less." Thinking this over Harry came to the conclusion that he'd just have to talk with Dumbledore later that evening. He'd be alright, as long as Hermione was with him he didn't care what happened.

As the food quickly disappeared from the plates and filled empty stomachs, Dumbledore rose to his feet once more. For a split-second his gaze flicked towards Jonathan before looking towards the doors at the other end of the Great Hall. The loud hum of chattering students that had permeated the Hall, ceased almost at once, leaving only the buzz of silence. "So!" said Dumbledore, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Now that your stomachs are full, and we are well watered," (Hermione scowled again - she still hadn't gotten over having house-elves at Hogwarts), "I must ask for your attention."

"Firstly Mr. Filch, our caretaker, has asked me to inform you that once again the list of forbidden objects within the castle has been lengthened. No longer will Frizzing Whizbee's, Canary Creams, Cockroach Clusters," (a scowl formed on Dumbledore's face at this), "and a multitude of items under the collective name Wizard Wheezes. The list now comprises a total of five hundred and seventy-three, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office should anybody wish to check it." Again the corners of Dumbledore's mouth twitched.

The headmaster continued, "As ever, I must remind you all that the Forest is out-of-bounds to all students as is the village of Hogsmeade to those below fourth year." A sharp intake of breath could be heard from every person in third year as they realised that their chance to visit the wizarding village had just been taken from them. "The reason for this is, for the benefit of our younger students, due to the recent rebirth of Lord Voldemort."

At least half of the first-years fainted at the sound of The Dark Lord's name, uttered so casually by the silver-haired wizard. Two of the few that showed no change in expression were Elyn Jordan and Dominic Wroughton. They had looks of fierce determination upon their bright faces. Harry let his gaze travel around the Hall, mentally recording each of the students' reaction's.

He noted that Jonathan had a look of cold fury in every line of his young face. A sense of power radiated from Jonathan, as though a burning heat was emanating from him. It was the same feeling of power that Harry had seen coming from Dumbledore at the end of last year, when Barty Crouch Junior had taken Harry up to the DADA office. He had nearly been murdered that day and Dumbledore had blasted the door to splinters, knocking the death eater to the floor unconscious, with a simple stunning spell.

Harry had understood why Dumbledore was the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared, and from that point onwards Harry had seen the professor in a new light. Jonathan, it seemed, was capable of the same power as the professor. If that were true then Jonathan must surely be a very powerful wizard indeed.

The headmaster continued. "The Ministry of Magic did not wish me to tell you at the end of last year that he had returned. They still refuse to believe that he has returned. First-years, it is possible that your parents also will be horrified that I have told you this - either because they also refuse to believe that Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you, young as you are." It was the same speech he had given at the Leaving feast, except he hadn't mentioned either Harry or Cedric this time. "As some of the older students will no doubt know, I believe that truth is generally preferable to lies. Any attempt to believe that Voldemort has not returned would be an insult to the memory of Cedric Diggory and to the one person among you who has the courage to stand up and fight Voldemort, Harry Potter." Harry just stared at Dumbledore, determined not to let his gaze slip and meet the eyes of every other student as they looked at him with mixed expressions and quiet murmurs. Eventually everyone returned to Dumbledore.

"As many of you know, Harry lost his parents to Voldemort when he was only a year old. Yet Harry does not live in fear of him. He has been attacked and tortured by Voldemort on two successive occasions since he began at Hogwarts. Yet Harry does not live in pain. You all like Harry must not live in fear for your lives, instead you must live with the knowledge that by learning all you can whilst here at Hogwarts, you will one day be in a position to prevent other's like Voldemort from causing such destruction. I must now openly apologise to Harry for reminding him of such memories. All of you raise your glasses. To Harry."

When Dumbledore had said 'All of you,' he had been looking directly at Draco Malfoy, who squirmed visibly in his seat. Cowering under the fierce gaze of the silver-haired wizard, Draco too raised his glass, but uttered not a single word.

Harry's cheeks burned a fierce red, but seeing Draco's expression an insane grin suddenly lit up his features. Harry just winked at Draco and returned his gaze to Dumbledore, who had remained standing.

"Now that you have all been fore-warned, it is my grave duty to inform you all that there will now be a curfew at night to prevent any mishaps from occurring. No student is to be found outside of their respective common room after 8pm unless accompanied by a prefect or a teacher. There will be no exceptions to this rule, and anyone found breaking it will have their privileges within the castle

revoked. Their head of house will decide on the appropriate form of action."

Pausing for a few seconds, Dumbledore looked weary, his shoulders were drooping low and his eyes had lost their usual twinkle. "Onto brighter things now I believe. As most of you are aware," (Dumbledore looked at a few students from each table), "Last year we had to postpone the usual Inter-house Quidditch Championship. This year it has returned and I believe that Gryffindor will be the defending champions." A loud cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table then, more extensive in volume due to the recent overfilling of its ranks. A cheer so loud the ceiling shook and the face of almost every Slytherin darkened. 'Yes!' thought Harry excitedly.

With a single cough, the Hall quietened immediately. "Ahem…Lastly, it is my pleasure to welcome 3 new professors to Hogwarts. Many of you will be saddened to know that our Care of Magical Creatures professor, Hagrid, is unable to attend this term as he is currently elsewhere on Ministry matters. In his place I am delighted to announce Professor Ward," said Dumbledore, pointing towards the woman in blood red robes. "Professor Ward is an extremely qualified witch and has worked with many dangerous and magical creatures in her career. Quite recently she has recovered from a bout with a Hydra in which I am happy to say she won." Dumbledore looked towards the woman seated in Hagrid's usual place and smiled benignly at her, as he began to give a round of applause. As if on cue the other teachers followed suit, eventually every person in the Hall was clapping their newest professor.

"Next we have a someone here who is extremely qualified in the arts of Potion making, who will be covering for Professor Snape in his absence this year. Welcome Professor Rinier!" The taller of the two women that had followed Dumbledore into the Hall now caught Harry's attention. This was the woman to whom Remus had been very close when they were at Hogwarts. Gazing into her mysterious eyes Harry could definitely tell what had attracted Remus to this enchanting woman. There was a Gothic look to her with some sort of European twist. Harry couldn't place his finger on where she came from but it made her look all the more exotic and alluring. Her long hair was black as night but shone with wild red highlights, her eyes were steel grey with a hint of hazel. She wore robes as dark as her hair but with a forest green lining.

Harry was mesmerised. Something was going on inside of him that he seriously wasn't sure of. He had started to find older women attractive and he kept flirting with his best friend and his other best friend's sister. 'Hormones. It must be hormones, afterall, I'm growing up,' he thought to himself after he'd managed to break his gaze away from Professor Rinier. He was vaguely aware that Dumbledore had begun to talk again.

"…this year is no exception. Here is your new Defence Against The Dark Arts Teacher, Solaris Clift." A ripple of surprise flowed through the gathered wizards. Obviously Solaris Clift was famous in the wizarding world for some reason that Harry, being cruelly confined to the Muggle world during the summer holidays, had never heard.

"Solaris, as many of you know is the head Auror for the Ministry of Magic and has been responsible for the filling of many of Azkaban's cells. He is more than capable of performing the duties required of a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Now, as he is a respected and well valued member of the Ministry, I ask of you to treat him with the same level of respect that you hold me in. Solaris, I believe it is time to allow you to speak for yourself." Indicating the younger man, Dumbledore sat down, a look of profound tiredness in his eyes that clearly showed the strain he was under.

"Thank you Albus," muttered Solaris, his face showing just as much strain as Dumbledore's. "As Albus so kindly pointed out I am the Head Auror at the Ministry and therefore it is not only my duty to teach you valuable defence tactics but also to provide you all with protection. May I introduce 10 of my best aurors to you who will be protecting Hogwarts all year. Most of you will probably have not noticed them as you entered the Hall, this will be the same for any potential intruder. They have all been trained in the art of dealing with the dark forces and will not hesitate to prevent anything that they feel comes under the category of Dark Magic. Therefore I must second Albus' decision to have a curfew. Anyone caught out of bounds or acting suspiciously will be apprehended and brought directly to me. Thank you for listening." Solaris sat down and a quiet buzz of chatter suddenly whipped around the room.

One by one the teacher's stood and began to leave, small bands of older students following them. Eventually Some of the prefects began to lead their first-years to the common rooms. Jonathan Clift stood up and casually wandered over to the staff table and a short conversation between Dumbledore, Solaris and himself occurred. Harry, not being either a mind-reader or very capable at lip-reading, didn't catch a single word. Seeing Hermione stand up he realised that it was time for them to fulfil some of their duties. Hermione quickly glanced at Harry, and in a flash of rapport Harry realised that he needed to talk with Dumbledore.

For the countless time, Dumbledore had yet again appeared to read Harry's mind, for at that very moment he was striding towards Harry, Solaris and Jonathan by his side.

"Harry, something tells me that you wish to speak with me. I must first however allow you to perform your duties as a prefect. Jonathan here, being an older student, will help you to see all first-years to your common room. Once you have addressed them you three will then come to my office."

Harry, unsure of what to do decided to follow Hermione's lead, as she quickly spoke in a commanding voice to all of the many first-years before them. "First-years, follow me." Harry closely shadowed Hermione's every step, making sure he was visible to the first-years yet still able to keep up with Hermione. Jonathan on the other hand hung back, looking after the stragglers that were too far from Harry and Hermione to hear their words.

After leading the vast group of chattering children, Harry, Hermione and Jonathan found themselves standing in front of a portrait of a rather plump woman. The gold writing on the plaque situated at the bottom of her frame read 'The Fat Lady'. Elyn Jordan was talking loudly saying to the students around her how All the portraits could talk and that you needed passwords to get past some of them.

"Password?" asked the Fat Lady, scaring a few pupils out of their insane chattering. Harry looked wildly towards Hermione. While Harry had been talking with Jonathan and Clara, he realised he had not heard what any of the passwords were.

"Phineas Nigellus," spoke a deep voice, before Hermione had even had a chance to open her mouth. Jonathan was meanwhile striding through the hole behind the portrait and into the Common Room. Harry ended up being the last through the portrait. He heard the latch click shut behind him. Determined to do at least one thing right he strode over to the staircase that led to the dormitories, Hermione by his side. Jonathan merely sat down in a comfy armchair close to the fire and began to stare into its flickering depths as if divining some kind of knowledge from them.

"This is the Gryffindor Common Room. Here you will spend most of your time outside of lessons, it will be like the main room of your houses back home. All notices pertaining to events in and around the school can be found on the noticeboard on the wall over there," Harry said, pointing towards the wall with the Common Room entrance within it.

"It's late now, and I'm sure you all want to unpack. Girls dormitories are up these spiral staircases and to your left, boys are down and to your right. It's best if you get an early nights sleep as you will all need to be in The Great Hall for breakfast where you will be given your timetables for the year," continued Hermione.

As the wide-eyed young witches and wizards wandered lazily up to their homes for the next nine months, Jonathan stood up abruptly. A look of relief evident upon his face. Using his wand he placed a charm on the door that led to the dormitories, preventing them from being opened except by a counter-curse that only Jonathan would be able to perform.

"Just in-case some of the first-years get any ideas about leaving the safety of the Tower," he spoke quietly, almost muttering to himself. "Mind you it's usually the older students that do that kind of thing." In the light of the candles and the fire, Jonathan's eyes had a misty look to them. There was also a small, but noticeable, grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "Anyway, best get you two off to see Al- Professor Dumbledore then." Jonathan spared a quick glance at his companions. Neither had detected his slight. 'Must remember to call him Professor while I'm here, it's taken me five years to do it and I still muck up occasionally.'

'Try harder then,' said a deep mellifluous voice at the back of Jonathan's mind. He was also fed up with hearing that voice. 'Isn't it bad enough I have the same dream every single night?' he asked, knowing no answer would be forthcoming.

A short while after all this had occurred the three prefects found themselves standing in front of a particularly ugly-looking stone gargoyle. Raising his hands in front of him Jonathan muttered, "Maple Syrup," and the gruesome gargoyle leapt aside, revealing a spiral stairway that rose steadily upwards.

Stepping off of the steps at the top Jonathan knocked politely on the large oak door in front of him. Jonathan noticed that the knocker was no longer a gryffin but that of a phoenix with its wings spread wide. 'That's odd,' he mused. Just then the door swung inwards, and Dumbledore's office lay beyond.

"Hello Dad," he said. There, ensconced in a plush red armchair sat Solaris Clift, idly twiddling his thumbs. "Hello Jonathan."

6. Author’s Note - 1

Mr. J Clift Normal Mr. J Clift 2 5 2003-09-02T01:13:00Z 2003-09-02T01:13:00Z 2 412 2350 Private 19 4 2885 9.2720 120 1152x882 Print 75

Author’s Note:

To all the readers and reviewers of this story :-

Thank you all so much for taking the time to notice my modest little work, it truly means a lot to me. For all of you who are wondering why I haven’t updated this story in almost a month, it’s because I haven’t quite finished Chapter 6 just yet.

Yours in Fellowship,

Jon Clift

To appease your thirst for story, here is a little teaser for the next Chapter.

~ ~ ~

Standard Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are: the plot and any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.

Chapter Six - The Stone In The Lake

"Please, sit down," said Dumbledore. Waving his wand three identical armchairs spun and fell gently to the floor near the desk with a dull thunk. The trio of Gryffindors quickly moved towards the chairs and sat down, unsure whether they would have to speak first. Dumbledore merely stroked the golden feathers upon Fawkes the phoenix's head. Eventually he returned to his usual place, on the opposite side of the desk from the students. Staring over steepled fingers and half-moon spectacles he began to speak when Harry, Hermione and Jonathan had sat down. "Now that we are all comfortable, what is it you wished to tell me Harry?"

Feeling nervous now that he was about to tell his headmaster about the dreams, Harry replied. "Well sir, I've been having these dreams." Jonathan looked up sharply at Harry, a confused look upon his face. Harry, not noticing this, continued. "I keep waking up from them shivering and shaking. All I can remember is a golden light, a deep voice and phoenix song."

Dumbledore merely smiled and said, "Please continue Harry." Jonathan and Solaris, however, shared a quick uncertain look. Finally taking note of the strange exchanges between father and son, Harry faltered. "Er…Well, the voice also talks to me when I question something. You know, like when I think to myself, 'Where is everybody?' the voice answers."

"Indeed," said Solaris. "Albus, you know what this means?" He shot an inquiring look at the headmaster. Jonathan also looked to Dumbledore but his gaze kept flickering to his father, as if holding a mental conversation with him. Eventually after what felt like hours but was in fact only a minute or two, Dumbledore answered.

~ ~ ~

Hope you liked this little hint of what is to come – I hope to complete the chapter very soon, and post it on here not long afterwards. Thanks once again for your interest in this.

7. The Stone In The Lake

Author's Note:

In this chapter there is a section that will seem remarkably similar to a scene in Order Of The Phoenix. That is all it is - remarkably similar. The words and context are different (as is the meaning to the story).

This has been posted on the Warner Brothers Harry Potter Message Boards on www.harrypotter.com (which J.K. Rowling reads - the boards, not necessarily my story (Although that would be nice)) and I have had no complaints about plagiarism (because there is nothing to complain about) from anyone.

Please feel free to rate, review and give me your opinions about anything I have written. I appreciate feedback greatly.

This will be the last update for quite awhile, as I have only just finished this chapter today, and have not yet begun to write Chapter 7.

All I can say about the next chapter, is that it shall be called "Chapter Seven - A Flame In Time".

Yours in Fellowship

Jon Clift, The Author

Standard Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are the plot and any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.

Chapter Six - The Stone In The Lake

“Please, sit down,” said Dumbledore. Waving his wand three identical armchairs spun and fell gently to the floor near the desk with a dull thunk. The trio of Gryffindors quickly moved towards the chairs and sat down, unsure whether they would have to speak first. Dumbledore merely stroked the golden feathers upon Fawkes the phoenix's head. Eventually he returned to his usual place, on the opposite side of the desk from the students. Staring over steepled fingers and half-moon spectacles he began to speak when Harry, Hermione and Jonathan had sat down. “Now that we are all comfortable, what is it you wished to tell me Harry?”

Feeling nervous now that he was about to tell his headmaster about the dreams, Harry replied. “Well sir, I've been having these dreams.” Jonathan looked up sharply at Harry, a confused look upon his face. Harry, not noticing this, continued. “I keep waking up from them shivering and shaking. All I can remember is a golden light, a deep voice and phoenix song.”

Dumbledore merely smiled and said, “Please continue Harry.” Jonathan and Solaris, however, shared a quick uncertain look. Finally taking note of the strange exchanges between father and son, Harry faltered. “Er…Well, the voice also talks to me when I question something. You know, like when I think to myself, `Where is everybody?' the voice answers.”

“Indeed,” said Solaris. “Albus, you know what this means?” He shot an inquiring look at the headmaster. Jonathan also looked to Dumbledore but his gaze kept flickering to his father, as if holding a mental conversation with him. Eventually after what felt like hours but was in fact only a minute or two, Dumbledore answered.

“I am afraid to say Solaris, that I do. Harry, what you have been experiencing must remain a secret from the other students. Saying that however I am drawn to the fact that Miss Granger is also here with you. Am I to assume, then, that you also have been experiencing the same events as Harry, Hermione?”

Hermione quivered, yet again the headmaster had called her by her first name. This was going to take some getting used to. Nervously, she replied. “I-I haven't been having the nightmares or the pain. I-I started hearing the voice in the carriages while we were riding to Hogwarts. I heard it say something about thoughts. I looked at Harry, who had an expression on his face that made me think he'd heard it as well and asked him what it was. Now for some reason, every time Harry hears it, so do I.”

“Most unexpected this is. Hmmm…I wonder…” mused Dumbledore. Solaris suddenly turned to the headmaster. “We cannot allow students to hear voices in their heads. We must teach them Occlumency as soon as possible.”

“Solaris, you jump to conclusions too quickly. A dangerous trait, I hasten to add, for an Auror to have. We will wait a while longer to see whether these dreams develop into something. If we find that they do, then, and only then, shall I consider Occlumency. Unless treated with the utmost care and dedication a student runs a much higher risk after lessons than before. Harry, as tomorrow is Sunday, I suggest you meet with Professor McGonagall to discuss the coming Academic year in more detail. It is late now, and I should think you would like some rest. As to tonight's events, there is not much more we can do except to wait and see.” Taking a deep breath, almost suppressing a yawn Dumbledore continued. “Solaris, would you be so kind as to escort Miss Granger and Mr Potter to their Common Room. I would like a quiet word with Jonathan.”

Harry and Hermione stood up. With a flick of Solaris' wand their armchairs vanished, the chintz fading from view in seconds. “Goodnight Professor, goodnight Jonathan.”

Sometime later, Harry and Hermione were sitting side-by side upon the leather couch in front of the fire. Both were silent, a myriad of thoughts racing through their teenage minds. Harry was starting to be grateful he'd brought his pensieve with him, he decided he'd be using it tonight.

Harry gazed into the dying embers of the fire, the cooling blaze almost hypnotic. Looking at his pocket watch - his heart skipping a beat each time he read the inscription - Harry realised with a start that it was very late.

“Hermione,” he started to whisper, “We better get up to bed.” He looked at his best friend and smiled softly. She had fallen asleep, her head resting on Harry's shoulder. It felt so natural that he hadn't noticed. He couldn't move now. Besides there was no possibility of getting Hermione into her dormitory without waking her up: something Harry definitely was against doing; Hermione always looked so peaceful, so beautiful when sleeping.

Harry conjured up a large quilt, using his wand to levitate it over Hermione and himself. He again looked at the watch that had been created, just for him. A silent tear rolled down his cheek. `Why did he have to kill you, mum? Why you, dad?'

He fell into a troubled sleep.

He was running. He was running down a strange corridor, with no windows and only one door at the far end. He reached for the handle… Suddenly a hundred dementors were gliding across the grounds towards him. The gut-wrenching feeling of his mother dying before him threatened to overwhelm him. “Expecto Patronum!” The silver stag flew from his wand, it's antlers spearing the closest of the foul creatures… A cold hand caught Harry's shoulder, the dementors and the stag vanishing instantly. The long fingers traced a maddening pattern across his face, resting briefly upon his scar, which proceeded to scream with agony. Through gritted teeth and half-shut eyes, Harry looked into the face of the man that had been haunting his nightmares for almost four years. Harry suddenly found himself consumed by a golden light.

“Hello Harry,” spoke a deep, almost mellifluous voice. There was a faint accent Harry couldn't place. He opened his eyes and found himself in a cavernous chamber. Before him, through giant columns, lay a scene of complete beauty. Waterways running in perfect straightness, multitudes of luscious greenery hanging over brilliant-white walls.

In the distance he could see small figures congregating. Circling above, scarlet and golden swan-sized birds. If Harry didn't know any better he'd swear this was paradise. Turning away from this scene of utter perfection, Harry inspected his surroundings. His eyes swept up and up, the roof high above him. There were hundreds of elaborate designs and intricate patterns, all carved into the very stone of the ceiling. Along the walls were statues of a tall figure, interspersed with smaller figurines of birds, wings outstretched. Behind each bird-statue grew palm trees. High up, in the branches, rested nests. Harry recognised, somehow, that they were made from the cassia bark. `What is this place?' he thought to himself.

“You are in Heliopolis, Harry. As it once was.”

Harry span around, but was unable to establish the location of the voice. It was as if the being from whence it came were outside of the dream, simply showing Harry the events, acting like a narrator.

“You are beginning to realize your significance to this world, Harry. I am here to help you Comprehend.”

The golden radiance engulfed him once more, the phoenix song mounting to a crescendo, soothing his restless mind. One last image rested in his mind still: that of a great stone, with mysterious runes and an image of a man beneath a bird. It flickered momentarily in his consciousness before fading. Harry dreamed no more that night.

* * *

“Please, come in Mr Potter.” Minerva McGonagall was sitting behind her desk, her hair tied atop her head into its typical taut chignon. Her square spectacles rested on the tip of her nose, as if she had been looking closely at a piece of parchment and straightening swiftly. Harry knew things akin to that. Afterall it had happened to him numerous times before.

“Now, there are a great many things we have got to discuss this year, not least of which the strategies you plan to implement now you are team Captain. First of all I must inform you that you will have many responsibilities this year. In addition to Captainship occupying your time, you also have to prepare for your O.W.L's, while ensuring you perform your duties as a prefect effectively. I must express my regret for making you a little nervous Mr Potter, however you do need to know what you're up against this year.”

Now that he had just had it laid out before him like a tapestry, Harry suddenly felt a fluttering sensation enter his gut. What right did faeries have, flying in his stomach like that? Whilst trying to ignore the rogue faeries, Harry replied. “Thank you for telling me Professor. Uh-Is there more you wanted to discuss, only I didn't think that was all you'd have to say to me.”

“Quite right Mr Potter, you are correct. Please sit down, this will take a little while longer than you had perhaps anticipated,” she said, pushing her spectacles back up her nose as she carefully rearranged some parchments on the desk with her free hand. Looking down, Harry noticed, albeit upside-down, a copy of the Daily Prophet. Smiling up at him was an image of Sirius. He must have appeared shocked for McGonagall looked at him with a quizzical expression, “Are you all right Mr Potter? You look like you've seen a manticore.”

Thinking that McGonagall didn't know the truth about Sirius, Harry answered, “I-It's Sirius Black, Professor. It looks like the Ministry think he's in Tibet.” McGonagall simply looked down at the newspaper and tutted loudly. “They think Sirius Black is in Tibet? Looks like Kingsley's doing his job perfectly.”

“What? Er-I mean, pardon Professor?” asked Harry, clearly puzzled at McGonagall's reply.

“Harry, I know about Sirius being your Godfather. I also know about his staying in the castle, as your protector. Professor Dumbledore informed me about his, circumstances, not long after the Third Task a few months ago,” seeing Harry's confusion she continued, “Perhaps it would be best if Sirius and Professor Dumbledore explain. Now is there a possibility, perchance, of our actually discussing the coming year?”

“Sorry Professor, it's just, well, I didn't know you knew about Sirius. I mean, after the Third Task Professor Dumbledore sent you off to get Hagrid and Madame Maxime. At the time I thought that was just a diversion to allow Dumbledore to introduce Sirius to everyone else in the Hospital Wi-”

McGonagall silenced Harry with a look. In a hushed whisper she spoke, “Mr Potter, would you kindly desist in continuing this conversation. Who knows what would happen if another student or member of staff decided they needed to talk to me urgently?”

Feeling rather stupid at his actions, Harry felt his cheeks burn red, and stared at his feet. The tiny movement of a golden snitch on his left sock caught his attention. The socks were Harry's birthday present from Dobby, and he hadn't been able to build up the courage to tear down Dobby's joy at seeing him wear his presents.

By the time McGonagall had finished talking with Harry, his stomach had begun to growl very loudly indeed. “Goodbye Professor,” he muttered, closing the door behind him. On the other side of the door McGonagall was sitting with a tight-lipped smile. `I hope he can cope with all that will be happening this year,' she thought silently to herself.

Harry, meanwhile, was busily rushing to the Great Hall, his empty stomach emitting strange gurgling sounds that seemed to demand `Feed me.' Almost flying down the steps to the Hall, Harry nearly collided with a smaller figure. Dodging out of the way just in time, he stopped abruptly nonetheless. “Cho?” he asked the raven-haired girl.

Looking up, as if noticing his presence for the first time, Cho Chang gazed steadily into Harry's eyes. “H-hi H-h-harry,” she spurted out. Tears were streaming freely, black eyeliner merging with the rosy-pink of her cheeks.

Harry, unsure of what to do, stomach performing its customary lurch, asked more urgently, “What's wrong Cho? Why are you crying?”

A fierce sob burst from her, despite her attempts to bite the flow (and her lip). She turned away briefly, before silently chiding herself and returned her gaze to Harry's emerald eyes.

“I-it's nothing, nothing at all,” she said. Harry, once again showing his lack of experience with women, began to speak. “Oh, OK then. I'll just go get some foo-” but Cho was already talking over him, not noticing his short statement.

“Do you want to go get something to eat? I'm starving.” She did something then, something she'd never done before. Grabbing Harry's hand she strode off in the direction of the Hall doors, pulling Harry along in her wake.

The Hall itself was rather empty. Most students obviously outside in the grounds, enjoying the last of the summer sun before the cool autumn winds blew in. Cho was striding purposely over to the Gryffindor table.

Despite Cho's obvious attempts to get Harry alone, they ate in silence. Cho's long, black curtain of hair obscured her from view. Harry was quite happy at not having to look into those eyes, to see the hurt and pain within. `She blames me for Cedric's death. But why does she seem happy to see me all the time?' Waiting for the now consistent sound of phoenix song and the deep voice, Harry was startled by the fact that nothing happened. He just kept staring at his plate, occasionally picking up a piece of golden toast.

When all that was left on their plates were a few stray crumbs, Cho turned to face Harry. He began to get a queer sensation in his heart, not entirely unpleasant - it gave a jolt that seemed to send it flying into his throat. “H-Harry, how did he die? I mean why did he die? He was a seventh year; he should have known a lot of things that would have saved him, wouldn't he?” asked Cho, her voice half-way between a sob and curiosity. Harry's heart sank past its usual place and settled somewhere around his navel. He should have seen this coming. She wanted to talk about Cedric.

“He did know all sorts of things. He wouldn't have gotten to the middle of that maze if he didn't,” Harry said heavily. “The thing is, if Voldemort wants you dead, there's not much you can do about it.” Cho hiccoughed at the sound of Voldemort's name, but stared at Harry resolutely, unflinching. “You survived when you were nothing more than a baby,” she said quietly.

Harry began to feel a burning hand clasp his heart. Anger was running through his veins instead of blood. “Yeah well, I dunno why, and no-one else does. It's not as if I'm proud of it. My parents died and I didn't, big deal.” He started to get up from the table but Cho laid a hand on his arm, restraining him lightly.

“Don't go!” She was beginning to hiccough and sound tearful again. “Stupid of me… I'm really sorry for getting upset like this… I didn't mean to…” Again she hiccoughed, something she was doing quite regularly now. Cho looked remarkably pretty, even when her eyes were red and puffy, eyeliner merging with the colour of her cheeks. Harry felt dejected. He would have been so pleased with a simple mention of the weather, or a conversation about Quidditch. Yes, that would have been so much more bearable than talk of Cedric Diggory.

“I know it must be terrible for you, me mentioning Cedric. You probably just want to forget all about it…” It was true, but Harry didn't want to sound heartless (especially considering his heart was being so openly displayed upon his sleeve). “I want to thank you, for bringing him back with you like that. I know it must have been frighteningly hard.” Harry wanted to scream `How could you possibly know how hard! You weren't the one duelling with him!' but his mouth remained unusually shut tight.

“It was really brave and noble of you,” she said, her gaze never once straying from Harry's. “Thanks,” he muttered. Without realising Harry found himself much closer to Cho, as if they had both been inching imperceptibly towards each other.

“I really like you Harry. I meant what I said before the Yule Ball last year, I really was sorry I couldn't say `yes'.” Harry felt a burning desire to get up and run from the Hall, but at the same time he found he couldn't move his legs at all.

His brain had shut down. It was as if he had been Stunned but for some unknown reason still able to witness the events around him. His arms, legs and brain felt paralysed. She was near enough now for Harry to count the tiny freckles across her nose. They were far too close. He could see every tear, clinging to her eyelashes…

* * *

Harry was busy stirring the powdered shell of a doxy into his cauldron when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle enter the classroom. He heard snippets of their conversation, but as the potion he was brewing required great concentration he was determined not to get distracted. Harry didn't want an old friend of his parents to see him in the same light as Snape did.

It was the first lesson on the Tuesday morning, Potions. Harry had hurried eagerly to the dungeons, anxious as to what the new Potions Master would be like. Upon reaching the large blackened door, Harry, Ron and Hermione had found a roll of parchment pinned to it. To All Students, it read:

Potions will now be taught upon the Seventh Floor, one room on past the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy.

This will remain the preferred room for Potions until Professor Snape returns from his vacation.

Signed,

Professor M. Rinier

Temporary Potions Mistress and Head of Slytherin House

As the trio had been the first to reach the dungeons from the Great Hall, `A first time for everything,' thought Harry, they had also been the first to arrive at the new classroom. Walking past a blank wall they had come across a large painting of an odd wizard who was trying to teach a group of mountain trolls ballet.

“…What kind of teacher moves the classroom and doesn't even tell the students in her house first? Lousy half-breed no doubt. It's like father always said, `Only a pure wizard has enough brains to master not only magic and speech, but the ability to hold a conversation as well.' Now that's something you don't hear Mudbloods do eh?” Crabbe and Goyle had their usual expression of complete bewilderment, but laughed heartily when Draco told them, “You're supposed to laugh you idiots.” Stalking into the classroom they found an empty bench and attempted to sit down.

“That will be ten points from Slytherin, for insulting other wizards within my lesson, and twenty points for insulting a teacher, in her presence no less. Sit down in front of my desk Mr Malfoy. Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle you will remain where you are.” Malfoy whirled around at the sound of the Professor's voice, but she was nowhere to be found. “I said sit in front of my desk Mr Malfoy, unless you fancy yourself helping Mr Filch polish the trophies for the next three nights.”

Reluctantly Malfoy, shuffled to the front of the classroom. All eyes were fixed upon their individual cauldrons, but furtive glances occurred often. Almost lazily, a vial of pale crimson liquid rose into the air. The lid flicked off and the contents of the vial were drained. After a few seconds a hazy figure began to phase into being, sitting down in the dark oak chair behind the front desk. Wearing robes of deepest green, Professor Rinier was sitting comfortably; a small hardly noticeable grin was tugging at her lips.

“And that students is how the Invisibility potion, and its antidote, work. With a little luck you all should have completed the first stages of your own potions. Your cauldrons should be emitting a pink smoke by now, and the potion should have the consistency of a strawberry milkshake.” Rinier had begun to walk between the benches, inspecting each of the cauldrons before whispering words of encouragement to the pupils. Passing by Neville's concoction her smile broadened. Harry saw this, and wondered why she would be smiling at Neville. Surely she couldn't enjoy seeing Neville go wrong again? Surely she couldn't be like Professor Snape had been?

Harry was once again shocked that day. Neville's cauldron was emitting smoke - pink smoke. “Ten points to Gryffindor! Each one of you has successfully completed stage one. I must ask that you scoop out nine vials of the potions, and carefully add a smidgen of ground sneezewort seeds. Once done, place the vials upon my desk.” Turning around, her robes flaring behind her, Professor Rinier returned to her desk.

* * *

“That was the best Potions lesson we've ever had!” Harry almost shouted. They were back in the Common Room, reflecting over the past two days worth of lessons. They had yet to have Divination, Care of Magical Creatures and Defence Against The Dark Arts. Their first lesson with the replacement for Hagrid would be just after lunch tomorrow. Harry couldn't wait. He was anxious to meet someone who had been described as `extremely qualified, almost as perfect for the position as Hagrid.'

“Did you see the look on Malfoy's face when she gave him a detention!” laughed Ron, his side almost splitting from the force of his giggling. Hermione was hovering near the fireplace, torn somewhere between amusement and anxiety. Some unseen battle seemed to be taking place inside of the bushy-haired witch. A few seconds later, the battle fought and won, Hermione's face broke into a steady grin as she decided to join the two boys' on the leather couch.

“I can't wait for Care of Magical Creatures, it'll be nice to learn something-” Hermione began, stopping herself as she gained two disproving looks from her friends. “Look I like Hagrid alright, it's just his choice of creatures do tend to be a bit, well, dangerous don't they? Don't tell me you don't know what I talking about.”

Harry stared at Hermione, a bemused expression on his face. He did know what she was talking about, afterall; he'd nearly been killed by one of Hagrid's “pets” before - namely a Blast Ended Skrewt (a cross between a fire crab and a manticore). Once again memories of the Third Task surfaced in Harry's mind: the giant Acromantula; the sphinx; Cedric. When Cedric's grey eyes floated into Harry's consciousness his mind sidestepped onto a different train of thought: Cho. He still hadn't told Hermione and Ron what had happened on Sunday; he wasn't sure he wanted to either.

“…ake up Harry! It's no use Hermione, he's gone again.” Ron was speaking again, standing in front of Harry waving his hand in front of Harry's face. “Harry, come on, stop thinking of Cho, it'll only get you thinking of Cedric and You-Know-Who again,” said Hermione, her hand holding Harry's forearm lightly.

Something she had just said brought his mind back to the present. “Wha…? Hey, how d'you know I was thinking about Cho?” he asked, slightly puzzled. Harry remembered back to a few nights ago, when Hermione had heard the voice speaking in his head. He remembered it saying Hermione could read some of his thoughts. Maybe that connection was somehow strengthening, because as far as Harry could recall, he wasn't thinking anything too passionate about Cho.

“Harry, I'm your friend. I know you like Cho and the only times I've seen you with that look on your face are when you've just won a Quidditch match or you've seen Cho. It's simple logic Harry.” Harry was a little suspicious of Hermione's answer, `She's not telling the truth,' he thought.

“Er, Harry. When are you gonna have the trials for the new Keeper? Not that I'm interested or anything but…” said Ron. Hermione glared beadily at him, the kind of look that, had it belonged to a basilisk, would have killed. “How can you talk about Quidditch at a time like this? Harry obviously needs…” Harry switched off; he was too used to Ron and Hermione's arguments to care now. He knew deep down that they were still friends; they just had a case of conflicting personalities.

Quietly slipping from Hermione's hold, he wandered over to the window, a cool breeze rustling the drapes. Behind him his best friends were unaware of the fact that the reason they were arguing had moved away from them. Gazing at the breathtaking view of the grounds, his eyes took in the red and gold leaves that were falling from the trees; the misty apparition of Hogsmeade in the distance, beyond the gates flanked by winged-boars. On the horizon, above the Forbidden Forest, he glimpsed what appeared to be a flying horse, galloping through the air. His mind didn't register the fact that the `horse' resembled a skeleton more than a living creature; it's scarlet eyes flashing hotly in the crimson sunset.

What Harry did see was a slimy tentacle rise out of the surface of the Lake, a large stone in its grasp. Shocked more than anything he leaned heavily against the icy coolness of the window pane, his glasses pressing deeply against the bridge of his nose. With a flash of fire, two remarkably scarlet plumaged birds appeared in mid-air above the tentacle. The phoenix's began to circle, and without knowing how he knew, Harry realised they were singing. From the placid water, a large eye broke the surface, followed quickly by more tentacles and a beak-like protrusion. The giant squid was talking to the fire-birds.

The strange aerial acrobatics the birds were performing ended, as they dove gracefully towards the squid. Proffering the tentacle with the stone, the squid began to sink below the waves once more. The phoenix's caught the stone between them, flew straight up and disappeared in a flash of golden fire.

“What the…?” he breathed incredulously. Was he sure he witnessed that? Or was it a figment of his imagination? `No,' he thought to himself, `it was real alright, I remember seeing the squid with a stone like that on Saturday night.' So it was real, but what did it mean? Harry was pretty sure that one phoenix had been none other than Dumbledore's own, Fawkes. Who owned the second then? He didn't know the answer to this and neither apparently did the voice, for it didn't enter his mind like it had previously done.

The sun had fallen heavily below the horizon now, the lingering traces of its warmth fading from the landscape. Gradually the night drew in, the sky became a blue darker than the depths of the lake. A solitary star shone down upon the world. Harry recognized it as the brightest star in the night sky, his Astronomy lessons finally finding a way through to his conscious mind. A small smile grew on his lips as he remembered the stars name. Sirius.

Harry wondered if that was what his godfather was named after. It was a strong possibility. From the deepest regions of his mind, he pulled out a memory of a History Of Magic lesson, one he'd thought he had slept through. Obviously he hadn't, but it must have felt like it.

Professor Binns had floated through the blackboard, much the same as he had done ever since he'd fallen asleep once in the staff-room, and woken up dead. Professor Binns had never been one for spontaneity, more of a stickler for rules and routines. As such it was surmised, by staff and students alike, that Binns had fallen asleep and woken up dead, simply not noticing that he was a ghost.

“Open your books to page 307. We are starting a new chapter today - The Importance of Names. As many of you know…” it was at that point that Harry had switched off. However, his interest peaked once more when he heard his godfather's name mentioned. Apparently Sirius was named far more appropriately than Harry could have thought possible. Sirius, the star, was also known as “The Dog Star” because of its location in the constellation of the “Great Dog”, Canis Major. Harry had inwardly smiled as he recalled how Sirius was able to turn himself into a large (or “great”) shaggy, black dog. Harry was impressed with his reasoning and, for the first time ever in a History of Magic lesson, he paid attention to Professor Binns.

A loud purring brought Harry back to the present. Looking down he saw a large, almost tiger-like gingery creature, rubbing itself against his legs. “Hello Crookshanks,” said Harry as he stooped down to scratch behind the cat's overly-large ears. An even louder, more contented purr reached Harry's ears.

Harry moved away from the window. He was unsure of the time, and of how long he had been standing by the window. What he did notice, was that Ron had vanished, presumably up to the boy's dormitories. Hermione was sitting in her usual armchair beside the fire, engrossed in a leather bound book. The flames flickered wildly, sending shimmering patterns of yellow and orange light upon his best friends face.

Once more Harry found himself smiling. He couldn't help himself. Whenever he saw her he felt weak at the knees. A warm, quite pleasant, sensation wound it's way throughout Harry's body. His skin tingled, as blood rushed to the surface, colour spreading idly across his face. Harry knew that he was flushed, his skin a much darker pink than before. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. Despite his efforts to flatten it down, a single lock of hair, directly in line with his scar, stood upright defying, all laws of gravity and common sense.

He stopped bothering. It was useless to fight with it, especially when he knew that he could never win, at least not without copious amounts of magical hair gel, such as Sleakeazy. Although Harry had seen first hand the wonders that particular potion could perform, he doubted anything less than a miracle, mixed with a lot of luck, and sprinkling of God-like fortune, could find a way to make his hair presentable. It was like trying to teach a paperclip to fetch you a mug of tea - pointless and absolutely never going to happen (even with magic, it is impossible to make a paperclip do something not on it's “to-do” list).

Then she looked up. It was impossible to tell what was worse for Harry: the feeling of his stomach doing a back-flip and triple twist…or turning the colour of a tomato…when Hermione smiled at him. What was it with that smile?

“Harry, are you alright?” The smile was replaced with a look of motherly concern as Hermione stood up and was quickly nose to chin with Harry. `He's a lot taller than I remember,' thought Hermione, noticing for the first time how much her best friend had actually grown over the summer.

“It's noth…well…actually…can I ask you something Hermione?” stuttered Harry uneasily. He gazed into her hazel eyes, looking for some sign of contemptuousness; to see if she would laugh in his face. The Boy-Who-Lived asking for something? She'd break into uncontrollable giggling…wait, what was he thinking? `This is Hermione, my best friend. She'd do anything for me - just like I'd do anything for her.'

Taking his hand in hers, in a surprising show of affection, Hermione pulled him over to the sofa, and sat down beside him. She now held both his hands in hers. Both Harry and Hermione marvelled at the warmth and softness of each others touch. The way their hands intertwined felt completely natural: as if they were made for each other.

“Harry…of course you can ask me. You know you can ask me anything,” said Hermione, the smile half-returning to her beautiful face.

“Um…well…It's hard to know where to start actually…” said Harry. At this point he would have ran a hand through his hair, in a manner that (had someone who had known his parents been there) would have been characterised as typical of James Potter. However, since no friends of his fathers were there, the comment remained unsaid. Also the fact that his hand was in Hermione's prevented the action from taking place - solely because Harry didn't want to let go.

Taking a long, deep breath he began. Starting with the dream that he had had on the first night back at Hogwarts - the dream where a disembodied voice had told him he was standing in a mythical, lost city. Hermione listened. Not once did she interrupt his recount of the past few days.

The one part Harry omitted, had been that day when he had come running out of McGonagall's office down to the Great Hall. He had skilfully avoided mentioning Cho entirely. He didn't want to think of her right now. The only word that came to mind when he thought of her now was “wet”. `Stop it, or Hermione will think you're hiding something,' he told himself.

Lastly he mentioned the odd aerial display outside the window, above the lake. The two phoenix, circling around before taking the large stone from the squid and vanishing in two bursts of golden flames.

“Well…Harry, you know what we need to do about this don't you?” asked Hermione, looking deeply into his emerald eyes.

“Go see Dumbledore?” Harry responded eagerly, earning a small reproachful look that vanished instantly.

“No Harry - we need to go to the Library. There'll be loads of books that we can look through to work this thing out. I mean there are hundreds of books that can help us work out that dream of yours alone. That thing about the phoenix just now… You're sure one of them was Fawkes? Yes, you said that… The way you said they circled before grabbing the stone… exactly like those birds in your dream… and that would fit perfectly with it being Heliopolis… I wonder…” Hermione was one of the few people Harry knew who could say so many things without needing to stop for breath.

Standing up, Hermione pulled Harry to his feet as well. “Harry, get your invisibility cloak and the map. Madam Pince will still be in the library but the books we need to find are in the Restricted Section - I know, I've had one of them out before. Don't look at me like that Harry Potter - I had a note from Professor Lupin.”

“Hermione…are you actually suggesting we break the rules?” asked Harry in a mocking tone. This was an opportunity not to miss, and poor old Ron was upstairs in the dormitory quite unable to witness it. `Ah well,' thought Harry, `At least it means I'm alone with Hermione.'

“Of course I'm not suggesting that Harry - we are going to do it.” Whatever wild and logical thoughts that were running through her head, Harry had no clue. Hermione's eyes glinted oddly in the firelight. It wasn't tears. Neither was it a twinkle - it was something else; something more. If now had been the first time he'd laid eyes upon her, he would be at a loss to tell her age. She looked both older and yet more the same age.

It is very difficult to describe with words the look upon Hermione Granger's face, and how she appeared to Harry. Another author, far more talented than I has attempted to do this, and (in my opinion) has succeeded far better than ever I could. If you ever get the chance to read “The Last Battle” by C. S. Lewis, then you shall know what I'm trying to tell you. Presently it takes time to describe such things, yet in reality the event is over long before the first word is written.

“Come on Harry, don't just stand there staring at me like a Marsh-Wiggle.”

Within minutes Harry and Hermione were trundling along to the library wing, the invisibility cloak stuffed in Harry's satchel, the Map held out in front of them. Hogwarts at night is an incredible sight to behold; a sight this author has had the pleasure of viewing countless times through the use of Imagination and Literature.

Because my Imagination is different from your own, I cannot begin to tell you about the wonderful shifting colours of the torchlight upon the obsidian blackness of the corridor walls, the stone paving. What I see, and what you see are two different things. However, what we both see, is only a shadow of the Real thing. Whatever beauty we may be blessed with knowing, it is only a shadow of it's true self. Magic can help you to see more of the Real that is beyond the shadow, but you and I will never truly know the Real in our lifetimes.

All this talking has once more taken me off the track of the story I am telling. Thus, whilst I have been rambling, Harry and Hermione had reached the library unhindered by the watchful gaze of Mrs. Norris and her Squib for a master, Argus Filch.

On the far side of the library, away from the torchlight and the eagle-eyes of the librarian, Madam Pince, Harry and Hermione hid behind a tall bookshelf. After checking for unwanted visitors with the help of the Marauders Map, Hermione wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around her and headed stealthily for the Restricted Section.

Harry meanwhile found the Hogwarts copy of “Quidditch Through The Ages,” which he'd skilfully hidden betwixt the musty covers of an ancient book on “The Uses of Gnome Spittle,” and another tome on “Why Leprechauns and Veela Don't Mix,” (something he wished the officials who ran the Quidditch World Cup had read before the Final last summer).

Wandering back to the open section of the library, the part with all the tables and chairs and quills and lanterns and other such items that students find highly boring but completely essential to their academic life, Harry sat down in his favourite chair. I say favourite chair, when actually I mean to say, the chair nearest to the doorway, and furthest from Madam Pince.

By the time Hermione began to return (very slowly due to the sheer number of books she was carrying beneath the cloak) Harry was reading the penultimate chapter of his book. He'd lost count of how many days he'd spent lost in it's pages, fully immersed in the recount of the history of the greatest game known to man (in his opinion). If Harry could put as much fervour into his studies as he did into learning about, and playing, Quidditch then he'd have given Hermione a run for her money.

In order to reach Harry in the quickest time, and without travelling more than she needed (or wanted) to, Hermione had to creep past a table where a lone sixth year student sat reading a huge novel. Hermione recognised it instantly, for she too had read that book - or rather those Chronicles - many, many times in her youth, before she'd ever had her letter from Hogwarts. Long before she'd known she was a witch the Chronicles had been a constant companion to her.

It brought a thrill to her heart that, even in the Wizarding world, her favourite book (not even Hogwarts: A History could compete with it) was still being read. She also recognised whom the book belonged to. `There are those eyes again,' she thought. Only this time there was a new light in them, as if simply reading brought out a hidden side to him.

“Nice cloak, Hermione,” whispered Jonathan Clift, his sky-blue eyes never leaving the pages of the great story. If it wasn't for the muscles she'd built up through all her years of carrying immense loads of books, she would have dropped the precious tomes and blown her cover to all. Keeping her voice as quiet as possible she spoke. “Wha…? Y-you can see me?”

“Of course I can. Why shouldn't I be able to see you? Oh… Sorry… You`re wondering how I can see you under that Invisibility Cloak… It's quite simple really. You remember who the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher is? Well, you see, he's my dad and he just happens to be the Head Auror for the Ministry of Magic. It means he knows a lot of things. Taught me how to recognise Invisibility Cloaks and to see through them years and years ago.”

Meanwhile, whilst Hermione had been utterly confounded by Jonathan's ability to see her under the Cloak, a fair-haired Gryffindor prefect had entered the library. Her golden locks hung loosely down her back, waving about as she strode towards the conversing students. Her eyes were of an azure so brilliant I cannot describe them with words. If it were possible to have the blood of stars within you, she would most definitely be the daughter of one.

“Who are you talking to Jon?” she asked. Her voice was as golden and as perfect as the rest of her. It was the kind of voice that could stir within you a feeling of joy at the first syllable, no matter what was said.

With a mind that worked faster than light, Jonathan looked up at her and smiled. “Hi there! I didn't see you come in - too busy reading passages from my book aloud. You can't help but love the Chronicles,” Jonathan suddenly looked at his watch and snapped the book shut tight. “Look at the time! I should have been half way through this Arithmancy homework by now… Professor Vector is going to throttle me!”

There was a strange flicker of an expression that lasted for less than a second as he stopped fussing about, and instead looked up into pools of azure. “Say, Leslie, you wouldn't mind joining me? Perhaps we can go over these Arithmancy notes again. You know, I never could get the hang of adding a third axes…”

Jonathan and Leslie had offered Hermione the perfect chance to slip away and rejoin Harry.

Sometime later, I don't know how long, Hermione sat open-mouthed, staring at a single passage in her book, her finger resting lightly beside the image of an ancient, but magnificent temple.

“Harry, I think I've found what we're looking for.”

8. A Flame In Time

A/N:

Though this chapter is not yet entirely finished, I’ve come to a point in it where I can feasibly stop for a second or two, and let you read. Sorry for the long wait, but ‘Life’ and other things have meant that it’s taken me quite some time to write this chapter. Thanks for all of the reviews and support everyone has given.

A special thank you must go to Leslie, whom this story is dedicated. Without her this chapter - this story - would not be possible. She is both my beta-reader, my Muse, Angel and Anam Cara.

Standard Disclaimer:

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Brothers, Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The only things owned by the author are any character's not previously mentioned in the Official Harry Potter books and the plot, all else are property of J.K Rowling and Warner Brothers Inc.

Chapter Seven – A Flame In Time

Whatever had possessed Harry to let Sirius (as Snuffles) join him for his first Care Of Magical Creatures lesson of the year he didn’t know. It had all started out innocently enough, with Snuffles accompanying Harry, Ron and Hermione out towards Hagrid’s hut, and the crowd of gathered students. Apparently there was some kind of demonstration, as many of the Gryffindor’s emitted “oohs,” and “ahh’s,” whilst the Slytherins remained unusually silent. The silence from them seemed almost audible. It was amazing how peaceful things could be when the Slytherins weren’t talking.

As the Trio approached, with Snuffles, a majority of the Slytherins recoiled from the display they were hiding from view. The closer they neared, the more they realised what was happening.

As Draco Malfoy took another step backwards, he afforded Harry a view of a very familiar crimson-feathered bird. Fawkes the phoenix was singing. Professor Kim Ward was talking,

“Phoenix song is magical; perhaps you’d guessed that,” she was saying. “The reason you Gryffindor’s are cheering so much and feeling so overly happy is because Fawkes’s voice has the ability to increase the courage in someone of pure heart and intentions.

However, while the lion-hearted among us seem to be enjoying this symphony (which I too am not immune) the sly, ambitious students among you appear to be fearful of it. It is true that while the song of a phoenix can increase courage and happiness within the pure of heart, the opposite can be said of those with hearts and minds impure.”

“But, why does it do this Professor? Why?” whined a visibly paling Pansy Parkinson. Her voice, though high usually, held a quivering pitch to it.

“A valid question, Ms. Parkinson; one I’m afraid I cannot tell the answer to. Sadly, the mystery of phoenix song is as elusive as the city from whence they came…” the professor trailed off. Hermione’s eyes had widened, and her mouth hung open, completing the look of a startled goldfish suffering from lockjaw.

“Great! First we have an incompetent oaf for a teacher who tries to kill us every lesson, and now his replacement doesn’t even know anything about what she’s supposed to be teaching!” snarled Draco, his pale, grey eyes glinting maliciously in the bright glare of the burning sun. Though autumn had officially arrived, it would be many weeks before the effects of the calmest season reached the Scottish Highlands this year.

Ward had barely parted her lips when Fawkes let loose a single shrill cry that pierced the tension (that had crept up slowly but surely) like a hot knife through melting butter. It appeared that the magnificent firebird had developed a spot of impatience to end the lesson, and a little anger towards certain students. He flashed a black gaze that drove a spike of fear into Draco’s heart.

In that single instant, the walls…no, the fortress that entrapped Draco’s heart fell down. Though the stare and song of the phoenix were not enough to melt the icy façade, they were enough to warm Draco to the core.

Something within him had broken; another twisted and turned before straightening, finally breathing new life, as if after being released from damnable torture.

The spell was burnt asunder through the magical effect of Fawkes’ song.

The crowd of students had fallen back, away from the keen eye of the phoenix. Though it was known that no phoenix had ever attacked anything, much less a human, they were notoriously hard to tame, and as such, many feared the ethereal creatures.

It was at this point that Harry, Ron, Hermione and Snuffles finally stood before the lesson.

Fawkes, upon immediately sensing Harry’s presence, flew towards him. While many others, including Gryffindor’s, would have scampered away, Harry remained stock-still.

Professor Ward swiftly regained the use of her voice and in short order re-collected all the scattered students. Most were still rather wary of Fawkes, but, since he’d taken perch upon Harry’s shoulder, they no longer overtly feared him. If Potter could stand to have a phoenix so close, then they mustn’t be all that terrible. At least this was the Slytherin’s viewpoint.

Draco Malfoy wisely kept his distance from Harry, and thus Fawkes. He was unsure of what had just happened to him, but he felt sure that something within him had been altered. It was both unsettling and uplifting. Despite his inner awakening, however, Draco’s personality was far too deeply entrenched to flip within the space of a few minutes.

Throughout the remainder of the lesson, Draco kept glancing furtively towards Fawkes; the uneasy feeling of being watched pervaded him. Not once, however, when Draco looked at Fawkes, did the bird return the favour.

Professor Ward, after finally restoring some sort of order to the class, had continued the lesson with eager fervour. Many were impressed with her apparent knowledge, and as such, even the Slytherin’s admitted that they’d learnt something.

In the last ten minutes or so of the lesson, something disastrous occurred. Snuffles, his tail taut, snout flaring, shot off in a blinding gallop through the students. Harry, busy keeping a close eye on his godfather, had set off after him shouting “Snuffles! Get back here!”

While Gryffindor’s scrambled away from the illegal Animagi, the Slytherin’s were less than fortunate (perhaps a deliberate intention of Snuffles). Pansy Parkinson fled the scene screaming blue murder, whilst Crabbe and Goyle repeated their usual stunt around Sirius: they ran headlong into each other, and were out cold within seconds.

Draco remained as cool-blooded as his namesake suggested. It marked a distinct difference in the young wizard’s behaviour. He (along with Fawkes and Professor Ward) alone noticed the direction in which Snuffles was leading Harry: The Forbidden Forest.

Snuffles, meanwhile was racing along, hardly caring or noticing anything around him. His mind was focused solely on a single thought: ‘I’ll kill you. I’ll Kill You. I’LL KILL YOU!”

His thoughts were perfectly understandable considering the repugnant creature he chased. There, ahead of him, darting through the bracken and the undergrowth…through the leaves and mulch…closer he came, his teeth within snarling distance, but not much more…

He ran at startling speed, his bounding gait almost too much for his godson to keep up with. Fortunately for Harry, the years of Quidditch had honed his leg muscles incredibly…or at least enough to keep him in a fit enough condition to run.

Deeper into black they ran; the tall, foreboding images of the trees blocking the blinding sun, pitching them into an eerie darkness, in the distance, the thunder of hooves could be heard, pounding mercilessly.

Harry was dimly aware of others following: Ron and Hermione most likely…there were more than just his two closest friends however. Professor Ward was also in as fit a state as Harry, for she was gradually gaining on the motley crew of Gryffindor’s and fugitive. At the instant Snuffles reached an enclosed clearing, Ward rounded a rogue tree, and so too, entered the said clearing.

“Harry…Potter…would you please tell me the meaning of letting your dog loose in one of my lessons?” she panted.

Harry didn’t reply, and with good reason. In the centre of the clearing stirred a tall, be-cloaked individual, features and wand masked masterfully. It couldn’t be…could it?

“Voldemort!”

The whole dynamic of the situation changed, as panic spread through Ward, Hermione and especially Ron. Harry grew fearful but proved his instincts; with one deft movement his wand had been transferred from back pocket to hand.

Several things happened at once, others a few seconds later. A small, furtive rodent sped its way towards the cloaked figure, and upon reaching it (for as yet no-one could discern its gender) transformed from his Animagus form to that of a squat, balding, repulsive man known as Peter Pettigrew.

As the Potters’ traitor returned to his natural form, the shrouded, mysterious entity drew its wand and took careful aim. Sirius too, appeared, and from a dark and often-used pocket, he retrieved a long, dark ebony wand.

“Stupefy!”

Wormtail ducked, narrowly avoiding the rain of claws as a shadowy creature intercepted the red light of the stunning spells. It found its feet immediately and focused on Sirius.

“Wraiths!” shrieked Professor Ward.

Within scant moments three blurry, hazy shapes had interposed themselves between Sirius, Professor Ward and the masked aggressor. The Wraith’s, as Ward had called them, were more like monstrous realizations of your deepest, darkest primal nightmares than living, and all too real, magical creatures.

If smoke and shadow were solid and breathing, then Wraiths would be the very incarnation. Though not transparent Sirius could see the outline of Wormtail through the Wraith opposing him.

He was mightily distracted from his main quarry by the flash of bone-white, finger-length claws, and the blaze of novae bright, crimson, slit-like eyes.

~*~

Unbeknownst to all, a lone, silvery centaur watched the unfolding events with an ardent curiosity most often found in young children upon their first encounter with a puffskein. This particular centaur’s name was C’Baoth, and, by his species’ standards, he was tall and willowy. His pelt bore the pigment of an adolescent unicorn, his flowing beard as devoid of colour as the fur of a Demiguise.

Were it not for his eyes, and if it had been a snowy vista, C’Baoth would be indistinguishable. As said, however, his eyes were unmistakably vivid depictions of sapphires burning with a cool fire in the twilight of the Forest.

Searing all to memory, C’Baoth looked intently onwards; the Wraiths closed in on the cornered wizards.

~*~

In the midst of the confusion instigated by Harry’s Godfather and his parents’ betrayer, no one had witnessed the fiery disappearance of a certain phoenix. Within the time it takes for a Golden Snitch to escape ones pursuit, Fawkes had left the edge of the Forest and reappeared in Dumbledore’s office.

A single billowy note informed the wizened headmaster of the events currently playing out not twelve dozen yards from the mortar wall’s of Hagrid’s Hut.

“Remus, I believe it prudent for you to meet with Harry once again,” said Dumbledore, a hint of uncertainty glimmered for a split second in his eyes.

The younger man, robed in grey, silver creeping past his ears from his temples, nodded gravely.

~*~

Time, as it so often did, crept along like an assassin on his final exam. Now, some might not understand this analogy, so it’s best to describe the steady crawl of moments as if time were racing a drunken snail. The snail quite obviously was winning.

The Wraiths were formidable opponents, and Sirius had to duck a speedy backhand at least once - from Professor Ward.

“Duck you idiot!”

Meanwhile, about six or eight yards away, a tree trembled. This was highly unusual, not least in the fact that this particular tree, being a simple oak, was in no way related to the Whomping Willow and should have remained, to a certain extent, stationary.

Similar in appearance to the masked figure, now facing off against the swiftest of the shadow creatures, a tallish image of a man stepped like a ghost from the height and safety of a drooping branch; his feet touched as lightly on the forest debris as a moonbeam on morning dew.

The slight motion sent a smattering of faint ripples athwart the body of his cloak, a cloak draped with aching purpose and precision across the broad torso of the man. The cloak released a pent-up breath, and slithered soundlessly to the ground.

~*~

Remus Lupin crossed the threshold of the Forest at a dead sprint. Body accustomed to a more graceful form of movement than many others, he all but soared over the muddy earth and decaying leaves. From what he had garnered from Fawkes’ message, Harry and his friends were in very serious danger.

The Wraiths, though certainly eerie and ill-omened beings, were not the main focus of Remus’s worry. He knew Kim Ward, if given enough time, would be able to deal with them – after all, she was a very talented witch, and knew her chosen field rather well indeed. Sirius, he knew, could undoubtedly handle himself, and many others, in a fight.

Hermione was a quick-witted student, and would almost surely discover the Wraiths’ weakness prior to Ron and Harry. Ron… Remus willed his feet to travel faster, if only to find Ron, and escape the definite wrath of Molly if anything occurred to her youngest son.

Harry – the boy had been through so much already… was Fate focusing on him too intently? Remus knew not the workings of that capricious of mistresses, but he was quite capable of recalling Harry’s prowess at defensive (and offensive) magic. The son of his dearly departed friends would endure until at least before the O.W.L’s, of that Remus was confident.

What bothered Remus about the circumstances was that if he knew Peter half as well as he thought he did, it would be a cert that the turncoat would not be alone, or for very long. Voldemort would never send Wormtail anywhere without also providing (quite necessary) assistance.

~*~

Draco Malfoy arrived in that glen, in that glade, almost tripping over the gnarled root of a beech, in time to see the raging battle among what common sense (after over-ruling the other five) told him were figments of his imagination and his mortal enemies.

Thus, distracted as he was by the intense struggle between man and beast, he did not notice the creeping shadow of inky blackness slither its way ravenously towards the closest prey. It just happened that Draco was to be the unwitting first victim.

Hermione Granger, eyes as keen as a hawk’s, shook with what could either be dread or a kind of vivid courage. Despite reacting faster than a Golden Snidget, she reached Draco almost too late.

I shall not go into the ache and agony Draco suffered whilst languidly being smothered by the Living Shroud, for it was very brief and ended long before the end of this snippet.

Hermione’s Patronus had grappled with the Lethifold, and was gaily chasing it this way and that. Had the two manifestations of Light and Dark been but a tad different, they would have resembled a small, but vicious terrier snapping at the quickly escaping heels of a tabby.

No amount of fancy literature could change the fact that the two were in all accuracy a silver otter bouncing along after a wave of wafer-thin obscurity.

Harry and Ron were left to face Wormtail alone.

Would the squirmy rodent escape their grasp once more? Would Sirius and Professor Ward be victorious over their assailants? What would the mysterious figure, which Harry had believed to be Voldemort, do next after the inevitable defeat of the Wraiths?

Most importantly, would they notice the strange man who boldly strode towards them?

~*~

This was Ron’s chance; the perfect opportunity to capture Wormtail and, by doing so, proving his worth and achieving place as a famous wizard. If he could just stun Wormtail, and then bring him to Professor Dumbledore… he’d be the one to clear Sirius’ name… he’d be the one people looked upon as the one who returned an innocent man to the world… as the one who had captured You-Know-Who’s right hand man… proof that Harry had not been lying, or mad, those short months past…

He often felt overlooked when in Harry and Hermione’s company; who would notice “just another Weasley,” when the brightest witch Hogwarts – no, the world, had ever seen, and The-Boy-Who-Lived were such prominent figures? It was his time to step out from their collective shadows, stand out from the crowd. Even Ginny, he felt, had more fame and respect than he.

His fear of the situation momentarily lain aside in the flood of possible futures, Ron scurried towards Wormtail, with the intention of using surprise to bowl him over, and so gain the upper hand. He leapt upon the unsuspecting wizard with a ferocity borne of countless years unknowing of “Scabbers’s” true identity. Sleeping with a rat that turned out to be a disreputable man could do dangerous things to the mind of a fifteen-year old boy.

Harry hung back, somehow sensing, though not comprehending fully what it was his friend had to do.

In the ever-changing whirlwind of moving bodies and blinding spell-lights, Harry stood as if he were the eye of a storm. To his left he could see Hermione extending a timid hand for Draco to take. A surge of emotions ripped through him at the thought of Draco touching his Hermione… Just when did she become his Hermione? What made him think– diving just in time, he avoided falling victim to a vicious swipe. What were these creatures? Why were they attacking and most importantly, why were there only three of them?

Sirius was having similar questions and doubts, though, luckily for him, fighting off one of the beasts prevented his detective instincts from kicking in. He simply wanted the Wraith to be someplace else, preferably as far from life as possible. He spared a glance at Professor Ward; her Wraith was slowly wilting under the force of a barrage of unusual spells. Her lips were little more than thin scars marking her face, and there was no mistaking the look of complete concentration and focus in her jaw and eyes.

Despite almost slipping on a loose patch of damp soil, an image of Kim Ward from score and four years previous gracefully waltzed into his thoughts. In his minds-eye, Sirius could see her precious eyes, sweet as dark chocolate; her lustrous hair he could once more feel in his fingertips…

…This was not the best of times to mourn memories of a happier existence. This was a time for surviving, for winning, and he’d be damned if a shadow would be the death of Sirius Black.

Harry, meanwhile, sent curse after hex at any Wraith that came too close for comfort. The spells barely slowed them down, but most did deter them slightly, allowing one of the adults to regain their crimson attention.

Something didn’t feel quite right. Harry’s back squirmed as if a thousand hungry eyes were fixing him in their ravenous gaze. It wasn’t so much the thought of the eyes themselves, but rather what they belonged to that made his stomach leave its usual place and hide somewhere in his throat.

Feet rooted to the spot, he span around on the loose undergrowth but could see nothing save for trees and a darkness caused by the sun’s rays purposely taking a wide detour around the canopy.

The hand that gripped his shoulder like a vice he noticed was not particularly spider-like, as he’d feared it might be. Nor was there any blinding, searing pain in his scar. A voice whispered words of sound advice Harry couldn’t help but follow. The man he had first believed to be Voldemort had dispatched with the Wraith he’d been battling.

The other masked figure chose that instant to make his move. From a detached perspective enjoyed by owls and dust motes, it is possible to see, or at least glimpse, at the detailed strategy that had been put into effect. This strange man had tactics, and had set up an elaborate game of chess; his ultimate goal was checkmate, with Harry as the fallen king.

Fortunately there were not one but three masters of that noble pastime in the Forest that day. One had been mentioned, another grappled with Wormtail and the third stood like a human shield before Harry. The dark knight had been played and now it was the turn of the white rook.

Behind Harry and his protector, the voice of Sirius called out, “Bout time you made it here, Moony. You’ve missed most of the fun.” With one final blast from his wand, the Wraith that had focused its slit-like gaze upon him caught the hint and sped quickly in the opposing direction. In seconds it had been lost to the shadowy realms between the tall trees.

The balance of power had shifted – no longer were the odds stacked heavily against Harry and his friends. Only Wormtail, the black knight and the final– no, Ward had now defeated her adversary, for it lay withered and crumpled at her feet.

Just as Ron believed Wormtail to be subdued, just as Ron’s wand readied to aim the stunning spell, Wormtail transformed and flew for the edge of the clearing. Hermione, and Draco (now semi-recovered from his ordeal), chased after him. Ron, his longer stride serving him well, joined the rat-chase.

Now was the time for the Queen’s Gambit. The Lethifold, thought defeated by Hermione’s Patronus, reappeared and caught Sirius off-guard. Both Lupin and Ward instantly let loose their guardians, freeing Sirius, and killing the Living Shroud.

This sacrifice, this distraction, was all that was needed.

Harry felt himself lift from the ground as if caught in some invisible giant’s hand.

Curses and such whipped cross the clearing; vermilion and verdant light splintered aged bark. Faster than the speed of sight, the two masked men fought. It was clearly evident one was going to lose, sooner or later.

The stronger of the two combatants neatly sidestepped a stunning spell, which instead caught Kim Ward full in the chest; Sirius whisked her off to edge of the glade, in his arms.

Even as Lupin entered the fray, Harry realised that this was not a fight they would win. Steeling himself, he tried to move his wand-arm and found, quite surprisingly, little resistance. Carefully aiming, Harry summoned the dark man’s wand. Unfortunately, the forest floor wasn’t the softest of surfaces – he’d be nursing a nasty bruise for a good few weeks.

Without apparent defences, the dark man appeared to flee; Harry had never seen a diversionary technique work so well away from broomsticks. In one swift motion, the wand in Harry’s hand went sailing from his grasp, and the forest rang from the force of the ‘BANG!’ marking a Disapparation. Or, rather, what they all thought to be one – in actual fact, Wormtail had just Apparated to his friend’s side.

Lupin, Harry and his brief protector, all scrambled towards the centre of the clearing, all trying to aim impediment jinxes and stunning spells at the balding man and his tall friend. The air, still bearing the brunt of a warm summer, crackled and twanged and there came a heavy taste of tin.

Suddenly, as the trio of wizards came within a dozen feet, beams of blue light lanced out from the dark man’s fingertips, bathing them all in an eerie twilight far removed from the thin, wispy sunlight that filtered down through thick leaves. The streams of blue light were misty and actinic; the sort of light a blue moon often cast on foggy nights and windswept moors.

Harry’s hair leapt even further from his head so that he looked like an ambulant, black dandelion. Writhing firesnakes of magic crackled across his skin as he stepped nearer to the centre of the maelstrom.

Against the indigo backdrop, brown and black shapes briefly formed pools of darkness, before the blue light, shapes, and the dark man all vanished in a silent explosion.

~*~

A/N

More soon…