A/N Sorry it's short. This is my first fic. Please review/flame/whatever. Oh, and I know where this fic is going, btw. (and no, it's not anywhere nasty like a horse's rear end, heavy twincest or SB/RL/JP action). Harry's twin comes in later.

Disclaimer: Don't own nuthin'. JK Rowling, Bloomsburg, Warner Bros and others own all. I ain't making money outta this, either. Oh, this is an amalgamation of my fav fics (eventually). As such, nothing is original. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, &tc.

Chapter 1 - Post

Harry glanced up at the owl heading towards him. It wasn't Hedwig; she was out, delivering the every-third-day letter to Dumbledore, Moody et al, reassuring them of his continued survival.

No, it was something else entirely. The bird swooped in, dropped a thick, brown letter, and soared out the window again before he could react.

Harry put down the book he had been reading and headed to the window, staring out. He couldn't see anything. The bird was already gone. Now he examined the brown envelope. Harry had become a lot warier these past few weeks.

As soon as he had returned from school, he had made a resolution, and followed it with dogged Gryffindor determination. In his isolation at the Dursleys, free from outside stimuli, his grieving mind had decided that, in all reality, he had only himself to blame for Sirius' death.

Who had run off to the Ministry without a second thought? Without a moment's logic? He'd blundered right into it, hadn't even thought of the mirror, or Snape, or even checking on Sirius until Hermione suggested it. He'd gotten Sirius killed as a result. It could have been worse. He could have got his friends killed too.

Now, he decided that he wouldn't let this happen again. He'd make sure he'd be able to fight Voldermort next time, and he wouldn't stumble into a trap blindly. He'd get his revenge, on Voldermort, on Bellatrix, and on all the Death Eaters for what they'd done.

He'd stayed in his room most of the holidays so far, rarely venturing out. The Dursleys hadn't bothered him. These days (after the Dementors) Dudley was an unusually sensitive boy, who listened to Sudanese Water Music, and dried flowers, and asked Harry 'if he, you know, wanted to talk.' Harry had declined, politely, although giving Dudley a few encouraging words. He personally thought that a cowed Dudley Dursley was something unnatural and wrong in the order of things, and it disturbed him how great a power the Dementors had.

So now, he bent over to pick up this letter, and he was wary. He'd read through a lot of defence books already. One, given him by Remus, had a particular emphasis on the dark arts, and not all negative towards it, either.

It couldn't be his owls, not this early, nor any birthday greetings. His friends had all been advised to keep their post to him minimal, as information leakage could be dire. Or so he'd been told in their last letters to him, three weeks ago.

So what? Was it dark magic? Maybe someone trying to hex him. You could send all kinds of curses in the mail – Howlers were on the lighter side of such things, in fact. Perhaps –

He ran a finger along the edge of the envelope, almost stroking it. Suddenly, in the quiet of the night, he heard a faint scratching. It was coming from within the envelope. There was an insidious hiss, and Harry's mind jolted with realisation. He dropped the envelope like a hot coal, and leapt back, but it was too late.

The thing's hissing exploded in a rush of smoke. Brown shreds flew about the room. Harry brought his wand up as something materialised in the centre of the room. Oh great. A curse was one thing. A curse couldn't hit you unless you tried to open the envelope. Hexes could be avoided, you only had to shove the post under a brick, the bed, or toss it on the fire.

But a golem was another thing. The giant clay thing swung its heavy head to look at him. Its eyes caught his; they gleamed. Roughly shaped limbs tensed. Its shoulders shifted, potter's wheels in fast forward. Slime, wet, muddy slime, dripped over its lips.

Harry held up his wand. It was useless. Magic was obsolete against the great skin (clay? Soil?) of the golem.

It moved towards him slowly. Harry backed up, but it didn't matter. The golem didn't need to rush. It was between him and the door.

The only way to truly destroy a golem, Harry knew –

It sprung at him, and Harry dived and rolled sideways over his bed. A gash opened up on his arm, where its claws had caught him.

- Was to bury it – seal it in a cave somewhere or smash it to bits, and make sure those bits were on different sides of the world.

He could send curses at the ceiling he supposed, make it collapse on the golem. But that would probably kill him too.

The golem again charged at him. Stalling, Harry levitated a cupboard, and smashed it over the thing. Unfortunately, this would only temporarily stop it, and the Dursleys hadn't been very generous in the way of furniture for Harry's room.

He looked around, thought of jumping out the window. If only he had his broom. It was propped elegantly against the window... unreachable.

"Accio!"

The golem lunged as the broomstick flew through the air, at it, not Harry, as it took him a second to realise. The broomstick narrowly avoided being smashed to pieces, and clattered back to its place by the window.

The golem rounded on harry. Its eyes had a red sheen. It moved in for the kill.

Nervously, harry took a step back.

And realised he was up against a corner... Between a rock – er – clay and a hard place.

His wand hand grew sweaty. He fantasised about apparating away, wandless magic whisking him to safety.

Sadly, wandless magic doesn't just happen when you make a wish for it.

"Stupefy. STUPEFY!" Harry tried helplessly.

How was it going to kill him? Oh, of course, the thing ripped your eyes out. He'd read it in the Curse book.

"Expelliarmus. Er – impedimento!"

Come on, what was a spell that would have an effect on the creature? Burning, freezing... almost everything that worked usually on living things didn't work on this creauture of dust and clay. But it was living. Oh yes, alive enough to kill.

What spell?

It came to him.

Harry held up his wand, and in a biting voice, snapped, "Avada Kedavra!"

The Death Curse. Only requirements for it to be effective were the State of living.

The life force of the golem went away, perhaps behind a black veil, or perhaps behind a brighter curtain, where the kiln burns too hot. Even for clay.

Harry was surprised it worked. Even more surprised that he wasn't currently contemplating sucking unicorn blood or drinking snake's milk.

In fact, murder was, in some cases, the reasonable thing to do. Harry shook his head, disgusted at the coldness of this impartial Slytherin logic. He took a step forward, departing from reasonable thought.

For one, he should have realised that a clay sculpture, leaning forward in a Death Lunge, is going to obey the laws of gravity eventually. It landed right on top of him, and first green spots, then gentle yellow and purple waves, and finally, irrevocable darkness embraced him.

Please PLEASE review! I know it's short, I know that a golem-mail is unreasonable, but I didn't want a genie.