Harry Potter and the Glorious Scythe
Chapter 1 » The Hidden World Of Me
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July the sixth was not a happy day at the Dursley house. The horrible freak nephew had returned to the pleasantness of Privet Drive, and the boy was quickly ushered into the house before any of the neighbours could see that there was another person living there.
The boy's name was Harry Potter, and he was certainly no stranger to being thrust quickly through the front door by his panicked uncle, so he knew the routine. Grab the trunk before anyone can think to lock it in the cupboard, drag it upstairs, dash into the spare bedroom before Dudley can block the way, and lock the door.
Realising he had forgotten something, Harry put his face near the keyhole and yelled out a hurried hello to the family.
He was done.
The boy placed Hedwig's cage on the chest of drawers, and slipped over to the window. It was still quite bright outside, as it was early evening; he unlocked the window and opened it a little, enough to allow a bizarrely coloured bird to sidle in.
"You're not going to be able to stay here," Harry whispered to it, hoping none of the Dursleys were hovering outside the door. "They think Hedwig's bad enough, and at least she looks normal and stays in a cage most of the holidays. Have you got anywhere else you can go for a while?"
Ajax ruffled his feathers and strutted across the windowsill. "Oh? Where am I meant to stay? A bloody bird-house? Nah, I'll live outside. Best hang around anyway, in case you get yourself into any more trouble."
Harry rolled his eyes. "What trouble can I get into here? Except for if I refuse to paint the fence," he added, grumbling.
The bird fixed a beady eye on him. "I'd say you're in more trouble than before. You've got a whole host of loonies after you now - a few Death Eaters that didn't get caught and don't know their precious Dark Lord wasn't all that dark; the Five would be pretty happy to get their hands on you; we don't have a clue where that damn daemon got to - and knowing your luck, the house'll prob'ly fall down on you as soon as you're alone."
"We can only hope," Harry snapped tiredly, collapsing backwards onto the bed. "Fine, hang around the street. Just don't let yourself be seen, or we'll have the RSPB and every birdwatcher in the country up here."
Ajax looked (if a bird could do so) a little insulted. "I know better than to show my ruddy plumage off everywhere," he croaked snippily. "You just concentrate on worrying about your exam scores, and I'll handle the sneaking around."
The boy groaned. "Exams! I completely forgot about them. Do you know when we'll be getting the marks?"
"I'm not a bloody calendar," Ajax said pointedly. "Using my amazing powers of prophecy - i.e, my common sense - I guess they'd probably come with the letter for next term."
He twisted his head round to pick a loose feather from his wing. "Well, I'd best be off. Have to find a nice, dry place to hide out in, y'know, since no-one wants me here. I'll see you around; you'll probably be shoved outside to do the gardening, won't you?"
Harry fixed him with a glare. "Get out then. I'll probably have to make the dinner in a moment."
"Don't forget to study Techno-Magic," the magpie said amusedly, as it turned and sauntered out the window.
The boy glared harder, and stopped once Ajax was out of sight. "Looks like it's just you and me, Hedwig," he yawned, glancing at the cooped-up bird.
"Boy! Get down here and make your cousin his supper!"
He raised an eyebrow at the sympathetic bird. "Then again..." he sighed, shoving himself off the stiff bed and making a half-hearted attempt to smooth his hair down before heading out into the landing.
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Aunt Petunia had given Harry a startled look as he appeared in the kitchen, which seemed to be the most major reaction to the dramatic changes he had undergone while at Hogwarts. Taller, better-built (and fed), glasses gone and hair looking as though it had been carefully styled to look deliberately scruffy rather than - well, looking just plain scruffy.
Uncle Vernon had merely given a disgusted snort when he had seen Harry at the train-station; probably attributing the changes to some magic - and had not mentioned it. Even Dudley, sitting at the table and looking decidedly stroppy about something barely gave Harry a second glance. This was quite unusual, as usually the Dursleys' son was only too happy to size up possible opponents and bullying targets.
"Duddy's going to have a quick supper - there's a programme he wants to watch and he's only allowed to eat at the table," Aunt Petunia snapped out briskly as she poured milk into a glass in front of 'Duddy'. "And it had better be a healthy supper, too. The dietician said -"
"She's not a dietician!" Dudley screeched out, slamming him fork down like a four year-old, his three chins wobbling furiously. "She's an 'educational supervisor'," he mocked, "why don't you just admit it?"
Petunia froze. The milk spilled over the top of the glass, but only Harry noticed.
"Diddy-dumpkins," she cooed¸ eyes darting nervously over to Harry and back, "I thought we agreed not to use that title?"
Dudley screwed his face up and managed to spit words out. "YOU agreed. DAD agreed. I didn't. I don't care what she says, or what Smeltings says, I'm not a trouble-maker, I'm not fat, and I didn't mess up the computer system. Why won't anyone believe me!"
Harry pursed his lips to prevent a smirk from forming, and rifled through the kitchen cupboards. His Aunt obviously wasn't happy about her little baby's referral to an 'educational supervisor', whatever that was - probably a polite term for the professionals who turned young 'failures of the school-system' into decent members of society. She'd certainly have her work cut out with Dudley.
Oh, and of course, Harry had been the one to sabotage the Smeltings computers, and by the sound of it, Dudley was either in serious trouble or had been expelled. To be honest, he hadn't thought anything would come of it - he had thought the teachers would realise Dudley was too thick to do any more with the system than play computer games. On the other hand, they had probably been looking for a reason to get rid of him.
Behind him, Petunia murmured demands not to show himself up in front of 'the Boy' into Dudley's ear, while she mopped up the spilled milk with a paper towel. Harry didn't know what Dudley was doing because at that moment, Vernon Dursley squeezed his overlarge bulk into the kitchen and dropped himself down into one of the chairs.
"What are you making, boy?" he boomed, completely ignorant of the scene that was in its finishing stages. Harry coughed out the names of a few dishes they had the ingredients for and started preparing the meal. He didn't know what good healthy food was going to do for Dudley, if he was going to immediately waddle into the lounge and watch TV for the next few hours; he had, admittedly, lost a bit of weight since Harry saw him last, but he was still rather wider than he was tall.
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It turned out, however, that Dudley wasn't just going to eat healthily and spend the rest of his time slumped in front of a screen. The next day, as Uncle Vernon went out to a pub lunch with some colleagues and Aunt Petunia disappeared to some kind of women's club, both Harry and Dudley were turned out of the house to take care of the garden. Harry had a sneaky suspicion that his aunt and uncle had left solely so that they wouldn't be tempted to let Dudley goof off if he whined too much.
Whilst Harry was to manage the far end of the garden, Dudley took care of the half closest to the house; and 'woe betide either of you if your half isn't done by the time we're both home,' Vernon had snorted, moustache bristling. And then, 'Well, Dudley, at least try to get your part half-way done - since it's your first time, and all.'
Harry scoffed at the memory as he tugged up the last of the weeds from his side of the garden, and stood back to admire it. Grass? Cut to a standard length, with no bald patches. Flowers? Healthy, fertilised and watered, and sitting proudly in their beds. Bird feeder? Full with nuts and seeds. Stone path? Cleared of dirt and bird droppings. Bushes? Completely devoid of snails, slugs and herbivorous insects.
Voila!
He glanced over to Dudley's side and shook his head. The panting boy was sheltering under a tree, taking a breather. The lawn, half-mowed was a complete contrast to Harry's almost-perfect side.
"Need a hand?" Harry queried, feeling a little sorry for his tormentor. This task must have been a complete shock for Dudley; and admittedly, he could hardly be expected to finish half of the huge garden in a few hours when he had no experience and no idea what to do.
He picked up the hedge-trimmer and started clipping the particularly obvious branches on Dudley's side. "You finish off the lawn, pond and path, and I'll do the hedge and flower beds for you," he offered generously.
Dudley watched him in surprise, his breathing a little easier. "You've already done your side," he wheezed.
Harry shrugged, continuing lopping off the branches. "Yeah, well, we're locked out of the house until they come back. What am I meant to do? Sit around and look at cloud formations? Look, you're already mostly done with the lawn - just finish the last bit off, and then have another break. We've still got a good hour and a half to go."
Dudley stared a while longer, before following Harry's suggestion and starting the lawnmower up.
As Harry clipped, he listened and watched out for Ajax, but there was no appearance of the impertinent bird. Perhaps the lazy fowl was lurking in someone's rafters, or hiding in a tree; scavenging for scraps and or darting down and terrifying some poor cat out of its nine lives.
Where was Levina, as well? She had promised that Harry would make his sword in September, when he returned to Hogwarts, and he had nearly two long, long months until then. Was she still at Hogwarts? Where did the teachers live during the holidays anyway - did she have her own house? Was she staying at a hotel or inn somewhere, perhaps the Leaky Cauldron?
Harry frowned. He should have asked her whether she would be in contact with him during the holidays. It was too late now (unless Ajax had some way of talking to her), but it didn't really matter. For now, all he wanted to do was carry on the pretence of a normal life and keep studying Techno-Magic and fighting - and of course, keep praying he would pass all his exams.
He knew he would, of course; how could he not, thanks to his Illusionist level, the Canusabeo potion - the results should due any day now, in fact - and the rods? It would be practically impossible for him to fail any of his OWLs, though he wasn't holding quite as much hope out for his E-Levels; no-one had been expected to pass them, anyway.
Finishing the hedge by snipping off an errant branch that poked just a few centimetres out, Harry noticed Dudley had finished mowing, and was now hosing down the path to remove the ingrained mud. It was amazing what the most unlikely of people could do if you gave them a shove in the right direction.
By the time Petunia was back, the garden was all but finished, and it was easily completed before Vernon returned. For that reason, Harry was excused chores for the rest of the day, and slipped up to his room to dig the morning issue of The Daily Prophet out from under the bed.
Most of it was filled with continuing celebrations of the 'Dark Lord's' demise, interviews with Aurors, the Minister and the adoring public (Harry was only too happy that his address being unknown, he was spared the fan-mail), some articles on the Muggle scientific world's mystification and amazement at the recent and unexplained spontaneous eclipse, and various articles on law reforms and current Ministry projects.
The funeral for Lucius Malfoy and the other dead Death Eaters had been delayed, because the Aurors were refusing to hand over the bodies for some unknown reason. Most of the injured Death Eaters were out of St Mungos, and one of the trials had already started.
On the twenty-seventh page, a small article tucked away on the top right corner shattered Harry's happy mood.
Daemon and Summoner Loose In Britain?
A furore at an undisclosed Ministry location has had Aurors and Unspeakables in an uproar. The reason? A Daemon-Summoner, the same who attempted to murder Harry Potter and murdered Hogwarts teacher Professor Sybil Trelawney last year, has escaped from a secure Ministry holding.
Worse, this shocking incident came about not through lax security or an honest security mistake, but by a break-out by the daemon that she illegally Summoned last September.
The daemon, which had been missing, presumed dead, rescued Miss Leone Nikastal, 15, in a violent two-hour long attack yesterday night, beginning at around eleven PM.
Professional daemon expert and hunter Embeller Adoric, 42, reassures us that, "This 'rescue' was not the result of an intelligent plan - daemons are cunning, certainly, but have no more intelligence than that of a wild animal, except for some mental communication with their Summoner and understanding of his or her orders. I suspect that the daemon, separated from its mistress, instinctively set out to find her, and this terrible event was its way of reaching her."
A terrible event indeed; though it could have been worse. Four Aurors are seriously wounded, and one Unspeakable, but the toll could have been much higher. All are currently in serious but stable condition at St Mungos.
The Ministry refused to comment, except to say they were happy that 'certain organisations' would be responsible for the capture of Miss Nikastal very soon'. They declined to give any information as to why Unspeakables are taking such a large part in the search and investigation into the occurrence...
It continued in the same vein, reassuring readers that both would be captured soon, that there was little to no danger - but Harry knew better. Leone on the loose again was the last thing he wanted at the moment, and Levina held the Myrrh Cage.
Harry flung the paper down and opened the window a crack. No-one was around.
"Ajax!" he hissed, looking round again. "Ajax! Are you here?"
He was - Harry heard the bird's voice croaking lazily down from the roof-tiles above him. "What?"
"That bloody daemon's still on the loose, and now Leone's with it," Harry snapped. "Now get in here before someone sees me talking to myself."
The magpie snorted as he ducked down to the window-ledge and sauntered in. "Someone's in a good mood. Not you, though. So what's the problem? You're protected here, aren't you?"
Harry looked at him pointedly. "Not everyone else is. Do you know where Levina is?"
Ajax shrugged. "I'm not a bloody Finder. Why?"
"She's got the Myrrh Cage," Harry sighed, falling back onto his bed and staring at the ceiling. "And let's face it, the Unspeakables didn't do a great job of getting the daemon captured last time."
"So you watch to catch it yourself?"
"Maybe not," admitted Harry. "I just want to know whether it's - well, feasible."
"Check the laptop," yawned the bird. "That tells you a bunch'a spells and stuff, doesn't it?"
Harry paused, before doing as Ajax suggested and bringing the computer onto his lap. "Good idea," he allowed as it turned on. "Okay - do you think they'll have a spell on that in the Beginner section?"
"I don't know," Ajax said, frustrated - though whether that was at Harry, or the extremely splintery windowsill the bird was standing on, Harry wasn't sure. "If it isn't, have a look back through your mind. See if it was in one of those books about daemons you read."
"It isn't in any of them," Harry scowled. "I think imprisoning spells are in the next volume." He typed a few words into the Search bar and waited for the results, before grinning up at Ajax. "There's some better spells here than imprisoning; what do you think of spells that'll channel the daemon through the Myrrh Cage and back to wherever it came from? Completely banish it! There's two spells for that."
He frowned as he studied the pair. "One of them's no good; we need the Myrrh Cage in our possession. The second one's okay, though."
Ajax hopped closer. "What do you need?"
"What do we need," Harry corrected. "Okay, this is all pretty specific - we need a mirror with a frame made of onyx; the name of the daemon; the name of someone who currently holds a Myrrh Cage; a bunch of other little ingredients, candles and the like - oh," he added dubiously, "and we need the blood of a Phoenix, Dementor or Lethifold."
"You can get the mirror in Diagon Alley," Ajax said promptly. "We know the names of the daemon and Levina, and you've probably got the rest of the ingredients; you can just turn into a Phoenix to get some blood."
Harry pulled a face. "Yeah, probably. Can't say I'm too happy about it, though. I've had enough my blood outside my body this year, thank you very much."
Ajax shrugged. "Well, you need the ingredients to make it work. So, I guess we're going daemon-hunting?"
"Don't be daft," Harry grinned widely, turning the screen a little so the bird could see it. "Very few people could actually use this spell, thanks to their needing to know the name of the daemon, but if they did, this one would be the first choice. You don't even have to be near the daemon for it to work."
"Homing in on the daemon through its name?" Ajax elaborated, impressed. "Okay, that might work. A lot less dangerous, as well. When are you going to get the mirror?"
Harry switched the laptop off and slid it under the bed. "Sometime after my birthday, I suppose. Then I can get my books and school stuff at the same time. I doubt I'll be going to the Weasleys this year - not with Ginny..." He shrugged, wordlessly. What more needed to be said?
Hedwig hooted sleepily in her cage, and Harry yawned as well. He'd worked on about three quarters of the garden, after all, and he would probably be sent out to do more chores tomorrow.
"I wonder where Wormtail is," he said suddenly. "He wasn't with Voldemort at the Forbidden Forest - or at least, I didn't see him. Maybe he legged it?"
Ajax seemed to realise this was a rhetorical question, because he didn't volunteer an answer.
Harry frowned. "I never even gave it any thought. First there was the fight, and then all the deaths to deal with, and everything just sort of... slipped my mind. I mean, if he was caught or killed, they'd have reported it, wouldn't they? I mean, it's pretty big, a supposedly dead hero turning out to be a living Death Eater, isn't it?"
He stared harder at the whitewashed ceiling, as though it would spew the answers out at him. "I dunno. If he wasn't with Voldie, where was he? And where is he now?" He scowled. "If he's another manipulator in the Resistance, I swear I'm going to give Dumbledore a good thumping..." He trailed off.
"Way to respect your elders," Ajax joked cheerfully. "Just ask - or better yet, demand to know - when you get back to Hogwarts. Why waste time with it now? The Ministry's secretly led by the Resistance, and they know Sirius is innocent, so it's not as if they're going to bother trying to capture him."
Harry shrugged. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Still, it's a bit of a puzzler."
"What, and disappearing dragons and armour-suited mystery-men aren't?" Ajax sniped. "Come off it. Just forget all about it for now, and concentrate on praying for good exam scores."
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Harry was right in his prediction - he was assigned more chores the next day, and the day after, and the day after that - in fact, by the end of the week, the house was about as tidy as it was possible to get; not to mention that the garden furniture had been dragged out of the Summer House and freshly painted, the garage cleared out, and several new shelves put up in Dudley's room for his latest gadgets and toys to rest on.
From eavesdropping on snippets of conversation between the other members of the household, Harry soon discovered that Dudley had not been expelled (apparently there was a 'three strikes and you're out' policy at Smeltings), but had been suspended for the beginning month of next term, probably to make sure that all his free time was spent trying to catch up on his subjects, and he had been ordered to spend a year seeing the 'educational supervisor' and wayward-student reformer, Mrs Clarkson.
This weekly meeting was kept a 'secret' from Harry, despite the fact that it was painfully obvious where Petunia's ickle Diddy-kins disappeared off to for two hours on Friday. Apparently the Dursleys didn't want him to know about it; they were too ashamed and horrified to let the 'freak-boy' know that their perfect little pumpkin had screwed up so badly.
Harry celebrated his family's beat-down by reading the most recent letters from Ron and Hermione (who were faring extremely well, considering their recent dilemmas), Sirius and Remus, and memorising several hundred pages worth of information on Basilisks from the laptop, via the Inforod.
The monthly letter from Gringotts had also arrived - including interest, he had just over nineteen and a half million pounds in the bank at the end of last month, which was nearly eight million Galleons. It would have been much more, but Harry had bought his incredible new broom several months ago for eight-hundred thousand Galleons - and he'd only flown it a few times since.
He was more interested in the letters from his friends and Godfather, though, especially the titbits of information that came with them.
'Apparently Embeller Adoric has been signed up for Defence teacher this year, though I don't know if that's true...' Hermione admitted.
Remus, however, hinted that; 'Dumbledore's apparently planning to hire a Vampire for the DADA position, or so Hogsmeade rumour has it...'
Harry had no idea how both could be true - unless Adoric had been turned into a Vampire recently - so it seemed that rumours were quite widespread in the Wizarding world recently, and the idea of a cursed job had again risen to prevalence thanks to the demise of Professor Figg the previous year. (Her house had been sold, Harry had noted interestedly; it now belonged to a young couple who seemed to be quite pleased to find themselves so high on the property ladder at their age - especially with the current housing-shortage crisis.)
He was thankful that Ron had even out-and-out stated that he didn't blame anyone but Voldemort for Ginny's demise; Harry had been slightly fearful that Ron, shocked into not thinking logically, might have blamed him for his sister's death, but this apparently wasn't the case.
Hermione had received her results the morning she had written the letter to Harry, though she was too nervous to open them at the moment - Harry immediately wrote back demanding she open them at once, reassuring her that there was no reason for her to worry, and suggesting the trio meet in Diagon Alley.
The three agreed on a date - Tuesday the thirteenth of August - to meet in the Leaky Cauldron, by which time all would have received their results and decided upon the NEWTs to take over the next two years.
The next two weeks and a half were a cheery, lazy blur of unimportant events for Harry. Letters and chores, exercises and studying, 'reading' the laptop and conversations with Ajax, pondering the unresolved mysteries of the previous school year... There was no homework this year, as the teachers didn't know what the results were, or what classes the students would choose for NEWTs.
Finally however, on the thirtieth of July, Harry couldn't sleep. He would turn sixteen at midnight (another year? Wouldn't that mean another Annumagus form?) and - if the previous years' timing were anything to go by - at this time would come not only his birthday presents, but also the letters from Hogwarts.
For this reason, he couldn't have slept even if he had wanted to. The window was wide open, and he was shivering in a ratty old dressing-gown and slippers (hand-me-downs from Dudley) swearing to buy himself proper, fitting clothes in Muggle London.
Finally, his watch cheerily buzzed to let him know that midnight had arrived, and he was now a year older - and as he pressed one of the side-buttons to stop the quietly humming alarm, he managed to catch the sound of near-silent owls gliding outside the house.
The first one entered almost regally, perching grandly on his bedpost, followed by a pair of slightly less imperious owls, who decided the covers would be a better place to land. A small parade of them followed - more than Harry usually had, that was certain - but they were quiet (apart from Pigwidgeon who was still as giddily mad as ever - Harry quickly slipped his parcel off and half-tossed him out the window before he woke the Dursleys).
"All right," Harry hissed as loud as he dared, glancing about at the twelve or so birds and wondering who on Earth they were all from. "Look, just - just line up in the order you came in, all right? I'm not going to be able to write all the replies out tonight, so you'll just have to go home once I'm taken everything off you, and I'll write in the morning. Okay?"
The owls shuffled into a vague semblance of a queue, some hooting indignantly at this request, and Harry started untying the letters and packages from the birds and placing them on the bed. As he did so, the birds that he stripped of their burdens turned and beat their way to and out of the window.
When the last one had gone, Harry looked over the parcels and letters on the bed and sighed. He'd leave the Hogwarts letter and the Ministry of Magic's letter until last - the Ministry's would presumably include the results of his OWLs, and the confirmation of his coming-of-age as a Wizard.
The first thing he opened was a package, wrapped in plain brown paper. The letter was actually inside the wrapping - as well as a thick, rectangular box. He slit the envelope open, and pulled out the paper inside.
Harry
If you've still got the dagger I gave you as a Christmas present last year, you'll love these. They're part of a matching set, so if you could find it in your heart not to lose them, I'd be very grateful. All you have to do to recall them is hold out your hand and tell them to come.
I'm sure you can learn how to use them, but we'll start practicing once we're back at Hogwarts.
Happy sixteenth,
Levina
"Well, that's short and to the point," Harry muttered amusedly. When 'we' got back to Hogwarts? Obviously she wasn't at Hogwarts right now then, so he had no idea how to contact her. Stupid of him to send the owl away before he knew who it was from.
He hefted the box over to him - it was surprisingly light - and opened it. The first thing that he noticed was the smell of fresh, clean leather, polished to a shine. Inside the box were a pair of sheathes, each with a strap. One of them was for his forearm, another for his ankle, he saw immediately.
In each was what appeared to be a small dagger, a miniature (less bejewelled) version of the one he had already. But as he pulled the first one out and saw how long the handle was, and how strangely balanced it felt, he guessed what it was.
A throwing knife! It would take a lot of training to use these - to bring them quickly out, to aim correctly, to actually throw it properly in the first place - but he didn't care. After all, learning how to wield a sword was hard work, and he had done that.
Harry put the gifts and letter to one side, and continued on to the rest. Sirius was next; he had sent a letter that was much like the ones he had been sending before, except now it congratulated him on reaching sixteen, warned him not to try Apparating before he got his license, and sounded possibly more jubilant than Harry could remember. He had also sent two books - 'Practical Geomancy' and 'Extinct Magical Creatures'.
Ron had sent a letter and a large box of what appeared to be an expensive stationary and writing set, filled with quills from beautiful and exotic birds, reams of paper, different-coloured inks - Harry suspected this was a hint of the awful loads of writing they were going to be doing over the next two years.
Hermione had sent (surprisingly) some Muggle novels, which looked quite interesting. There was also a textbook on physics for some reason, though Harry understood why when he read her letter, which scolded him for focusing on the Magical world and ignoring the Muggle. She had also listed her OWL scores - as Ron had also done - but Harry decided to come back to those parts after reading his own results. Hermione certainly seemed excited about hers, at least.
The rest of the Weasley family had sent the next present - a huge box filed with food. It seemed that they were listening to Ron's frequent reports though, for instead of sweets and cakes, it was filled with healthy juices and foods. Harry knew that most Wizarding food was spelled to keep it preserved and fresh, but even then he had no idea how he was meant to finish it off within even a couple of months.
Remus had sent a card, and a gift voucher for fifty Galleons to be spent in Madame Malkins' store. Hagrid had sent - probably in a nod to Harry's now (in)famous transformation - a phoenix figurine, carved out of a slick red wood that Harry didn't recognise.
There was a gift from Dumbledore as well, though he had at least had the decency not to write a letter - just a card wishing Harry a happy sixteenth. It was the first time Harry had received a present from the headmaster; the Invisibility Cloak hardly counted, as that was an heirloom. Dumbledore had sent a handheld Foe Glass; at the moment, no-one could be seen in it.
There were just four more to go now, but Harry knew who three were from. The school seal on one, the Ministry on another, and Gringotts on a third. He opened the Gringotts one, wondering what it was about; after all, he'd already received his monthly statement.
It wasn't a statement; it was a letter informing him that someone had applied to rent one of the buildings he owned; a house somewhere in London. Apparently several of the buildings were let out, but now that Harry was in charge, he would have to give his acceptance or refusal to all requests. Harry groaned in despair as he put the letter down. Well, at least he didn't have to take care of mortgages.
The next letter was the one that didn't have a seal on it. When he opened it however, he wished he still didn't know who it was from.
Dear Mr Potter
It is with great regret ('Could you be any more sarcastic?' thought Harry) that I write to inform you that, having reached the age of sixteen, you've been drafted. Congratulations, new member of the Resistance!
All seriousness aside, you are now officially old enough to join, and frankly, there was never any chance that the Phoenix was going to remain a separate entity. Sorry kiddo, you're in for life. Luckily for you, that may not be very long, knowing your little escapades.
On the bright side, you get paid as you're technically staff. No holidays, but you do get great healthcare.
Your first cheque's in the post.
Lord Abyssay
Harry wondered vaguely whether the Resistance had any computers, and decided that if they had, he was going to give them a little surprise.
For now though, these... people... who had decided to run his life were going to be put as far out of his mind as possible. This was his birthday, and he was damned if he wasn't going to enjoy it!
He turned to the school letter.
It was a lot longer than the years before - basically a glorified list of 'if you're taking this subject for NEWTs, you'll need these, if you're taking this subject, you'll need that. Having no idea what subjects he could take until he'd found out his scores, Harry opened the final, bulging letter.