Harry Potter dreaded spending the summer holidays with his aunt and uncle at Number Four Privet Drive and often spent the majority of time in his room writing letters to his friends from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger. In this case, he was writing his recently discovered godfather, Sirius Black:
Dear Sirius
Thanks for the letter, and for sending me the Firebolt. I actually got your letter on the Express, so no; I hadn't reached the Dursleys yet. I'm there now, and yes, I'm fine. My aunt and uncle are too busy comforting Dudley about his new diet to bother me much, and I rather like it that way. I know you can't tell me where you are, but I hope you're doing all right.
Say hello to Buckbeak for me!
—Harry
PS Crookshanks didn't try to mutilate the owl you sent for Ron. He's taking this as a good sign.
The thirteen-going-on-fourteen-year-old wizard signed his name with a flourish of his quill, and called for his owl, Hedwig, who had spent the morning swooping in and out of Harry's open window. The fact that his magic-hating relatives had allowed even that much could only be attributed to a moment of brilliant the beginning of summer holidays, Harry had "let slip" that had Sirius (whose escape from Azkaban had been so unprecedented even the Muggle news had seen fit to broadcast it) was likely to check up on him now and again. The Dursleys had been horrified, and Aunt Petunia had nearly collapsed with the effort of supporting her massive son when he 's last encounter with the Wizarding world (or rather, with Hagrid) had not gone well at all.
Hedwig swooped in, and landed on top of Harry's desk, her amber eyes flickering to him as he laughed at the memory. "Hey, Hedwig," he chuckled, getting up to stroke her feathers. "Fancy taking this letter to Sirius for me?" He tied the note to her leg. Hedwig hooted softly and gave him an affectionate nip before making her exit.
What a shock it would be to the Dursleys when he left this place five whole weeks ahead of schedule to enjoy one of the biggest events to hit Wizarding Britain: The Quidditch World Cup. What excuse would they make to the neighbors? They'd probably say that St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys (the school cooked up to explain Harry's long-term absences) was having a summer boot camp to whip any of the exceptional miscreants into shape.
Then again, he doubted they would bother to make an excuse for him at all because Harry and his relatives had one thing in common: An intense mutual loathing.
He had supposed before he had met the Weasleys, that that was the way all families treated each other. but Molly Weasley was the polar opposite of Aunt Petunia and Harry was glad for it.
Very glad for it, he amended, when Aunt Petunia's shrill voice cut through his thoughts.
"Well, get down here!" Petunia shrieked again.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he grumbled, getting off of the unmade bed. His pace was deliberately slow as he made for the landing.
"Did I tell you to take your time?" Petunia growled when he finally reached the bottom.
Harry shrugged, not taking the bait. "You wanted something?"
She sniffed. "I suppose you could say that."
Harry waited, "Yes?"
"Well, you certainly aren't going to laze around the house all summer, so I've come up with something for you to do."
"All right?" said Harry, a feeling of curious dread in the pit of his stomach.
"Don't interrupt!" his aunt snapped. "You're going to help that old bat Figg clean her house, and weed her garden, and whatever else she needs you to do. Lord knows the entire dump needs sorting out."
Harry tried not to snort. As if his aunt knew anything about cleaning, when he was essentially the family's maid.
Merlin if Sirius found that out. He almost shivered on his relatives' behalf.
Almost.
"Well, go on," Petunia snapped, shaking him out of the daze. "Get out of here!"
Harry was only too happy to do so.
Elderly Mrs. Figg stepped into his line of vision as he came up her driveway. She hadn't babysat him in years, and her face was more lined with age, but Harry recognized her immediately by the cat hairs on her clothing.
"Good, you're here, come in, Harry." Her voice was rushed, but not unpleasant as she led him through the foyer and into the dining room.
"Where do you want to start?"
Arabella Figg gave him a small smile, "Oh, you didn't really think we were cleaning this place, did you?"
"We're not?"
"Come, Harry, I had to say something suitable, or that miserable aunt of yours wouldn't let you out, and it's immensely important that you go."
"Go where? Why is it so important?"
"I can't tell you that, you'll have to ask Albus. He'll be able to explain it far better than I could."
"Albus?" Harry repeated. "How do you know Dumble—?"
"A story for a later time. For now, we have to hurry." She took a flowerpot off of her table and Harry saw that it was not filled with soil—
"Mrs. Figg, is that Floo powder?"
She nodded briskly. "Normally, it's against Wizarding law to connect a Muggle fireplace to the Floo network, but Arthur has connections in the Ministry. I assume you've traveled this way before?"
"Um yes," said Harry. "Not very successfully. Where are we going?"
"The Burrow," Mrs. Figg hollering stepping into the green flames and disappearing.
Harry followed, becoming more and more confused
Sirius Black stomped down the stairs and into the kitchen of his family's ancestral home, feeling thoroughly disgruntled. And why wouldn't he be? The person who was truly responsible for the death of Sirius's best friend, James, and James's wife, Lily had escaped, leaving Sirius, who was innocent of their murders, to live his life on the run. As far as Sirius knew, his best mate's in-laws were bullying his godson (the only person who kept him sane during those miserable years in Azkaban) at this very moment and there was absolutely nothing Sirius could do about it
"Probably thinks I bloody abandoned him," Sirius muttered thinking of the promise he had made Harry when the first met. It was truly his greatest wish that Harry would live with him in Grimmauld Place. He had had every intention of keeping his word and would have if Peter hadn't transformed into the bloody rat he was.
Sirius laid his head in his hands preparing for another long, lonely day. Well, not altogether lonely, he amended, as the mutterings of Walburga Black's dear demented house-elf reached his ears—but Kreacher wasn't the most pleasant company.
"The ungrateful brat is back in the House he betrayed. Oh, what would my poor Mistress think…what would she say to old Kreacher?" It was with an ill grace that he placed a bowl of porridge in front of Sirius, who didn't bother to thank him.
"Godric knows I'm not here willingly," he mumbled. "Blasted Dumbledore!"
"I guess I already have the answer to my 'how are you doing' question," came a voice that was far too cheerful for Sirius's liking.
"What d'ya want?" he grumbled, without looking up.
"Wotcher, cousin," a young pink-haired woman laughed stepping out of the kitchen fireplace. ("As filthy as her Mudblood father")
"Shut up, Kreacher, before I strangle you!" Sirius was about to make good on the threat, but he stubbed his toe on the table leg instead. Not that it mattered, because the house-elf had already gone.
"Merlin, Nymphie, what are you doing here?"
Nymphadora Tonks grimaced, "Don't call me Nymphie, Sirius! I've been Tonks since I was ten-years-old. Honestly, can you imagine an Auror named Nymphie?"
"You're an Auror now?" Sirius asked. He was pretty sure his paranoid coot of a father had made it so none of the Ministry would be able to get into Grimmauld Place.
Tonks nodded. "Just qualified a month ago."
"Figures they'd send my bloody cousin to arrest me, even if she is a rookie! How did you get in here anyway? Your mother was disowned!"
A shadow of hurt came over the woman's face. "Sirius, I'm not here to arrest you. I'm here to help you."
He sighed. "Nymph—Tonks, it would take a bloody miracle for a blind fool like Fudge to believe I'm innocent."
"We've got one!" she grinned. "Dumbledore's found books in his office. There are seven books, one for each of your godson's years at Hogwarts."
"My godson," Sirius mused. "But Harry's only thirteen. So some of these books…they're from the future, are they?"
"Seems like it," Tonks shrugged. " One of them is called Book Five "
Sirius paled. "That's bound to mean another war."
"If there is another war, I bet the information in these future books will help us, and Dumbledore has persuaded Fudge to reconsider your fugitive status based on the evidence they present." Sirius did not smile.
He couldn't bring himself to hope Fudge would believe that easily, no matter what a bloody book said. Tonks seemed to sense this because she said,
"He insisted on sending a Ministry official to hear the reading, so I volunteered. We're reading at Arthur Weasley's place. Sirius, where are you going?"
He returned, panting and clutching something in his hand. "I had to dig this up, a two-way mirror. I have the other one, so if Harry's there we'll be to talk to one another."
"Wicked!" Tonks breathed as she grabbed some Floo Powder. "Oh, and Sirius?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't do anything rash."
Arthur Weasley was reciting the same explanation to the crowd assembled at The Burrow, which consisted of not only Harry and Mrs. Figg but also Mrs. Weasley, the four youngest Weasley children, Hermione, Lupin, McGonagall and Dumbledore
"So, these books," Harry stammered. "Are about me…my life?"
Dumbledore smiled. "Yes, my dear boy, it appears that way."
"N—n—no. We're not reading them!"
"Harry?" Remus raised his eyebrows in concern. "What's the matter?"
"Well, it's a bit weird reading books about your own life, isn't it?" mused Fred, with a reassuring smile in Harry's direction. "On the other hand, we didn't know you very well your first year..."
"Or your second year…" added George.
"So this should be interesting," the twins finished together.
"I quite agree," said Remus, rifling through the stack of books on the kitchen table.
"What do we know about these books anyway?" Harry pressed "For all we know, they could be cursed or…or something!"
Ginny stumbled over her own feet thinking of the diary, or perhaps she had stumbled over Tonks, who grabbed folds of the younger girl's robe to prevent her own tripping as she stepped out of the Weasleys' grate. "Sorry 'bout that," she chirped getting to her feet. "And sorry I'm late," she added to Dumbledore. "He was a bit stubborn."
"Quite all right," he replied nodded to her. "To answer your question, Harry, I have performed a series of Dark Detection spells and can assure all of you that the books hold no curse. If you need more assurance, we do have an Auror in our midst. "
"Er… that won't be necessary, sir."
"So this is Harry," Tonks moved forward to shake his hand. "Wotcher."
"Um, hello."
"Don't worry," Remus said, chuckling slightly, "Tonks' mum is Sirius's cousin, Andromeda, and Tonks can—in her capacity as an Auror—give evidence to free him."
"That's good," Harry sighed. "I've been worried about Sirius."
"You don't need to worry about me, pup," came his godfather's voice.
Several in the room jumped.
"Brilliant!" breathed Remus looking at the mirror in Tonks' hand, and then, noticing Harry's confusion, he added, "Sirius and James invented those at Hogwarts."
"So we could talk during separate detentions," Sirius explained.
McGonagall huffed, but Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling. "That is an ingenious bit of magic, Mr. Black. Would you like to begin our reading, Arabella?"