HARRY POTTER
AND THE FORTRESS OF SPIRITS
Disclaimer: (I do know it's a big one, by the way) I do not own Harry Potter or any of the previously-known characters from the first five books. I have not copyrighted this, so feel free to borrow ideas, just not the story exactly, please. If any parts of this story seem to come from others (except the ones by JKR), it is coincidence. Any parts of this story that reflect on real people, living or dead, is purely coincidence, etc. I'll get to work now. . . .
Harry lay on the floor panting hard and fast. He looked up. A man in a long black cloak was pointing a wand at Harry's forehead.
"Give me the prophecy!" the man shouted.
A sharp pained seared across the lightning scar on his forehead, which was now sharply in view, a dangerous shade of red.
"I don't have it! It smashed a long time ago!" Harry tried to yell back, but only a harsh rasp emitted from his voice.
"Fine, watch your godfather die then," said the man cruelly. Harry watched in horror as his godfather, Sirius Black fell through a tattered black veil and disappeared. Harry blacked out.
He awoke some minutes later in a dark, empty room . . . no, not empty. Someone was sitting in the corner of the room . . . talking to himself . . . no he was holding something. Harry moved closer to see what it was, when—
"Harry Potter!" Harry woke up abruptly, covered in sweat. Just a dream, he told himself, just a dream. This is what happens when you see something like that a few weeks earlier. But the second part of the dream, he asked, what was that? Before he could devote any time to this question, his aunt, Petunia, called again from the stairs. Harry returned it with an, "I'm coming, I'm coming," He got dressed and lumbered down bad-temperedly. Ever since Harry had arrived at number four Privet Drive he had been in a horrible mood. This was mainly because his only relatives, the Dursleys, his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and enormous cousin Dudley, inhabited it, and they had always, and continued, to treat Harry like a dog that had just jumped out of a dumpster full of toxic waste.
Because Harry Potter was a very unusual boy. He had all the problems of an average teenager, like school (where almost everybody had thought him a liar until a few weeks ago), homework (lots of that, particularly a very nasty piece of Transfiguration work he had to do over the holidays), his friends, Ron, and Hermione (with whom he had started to fight with more and more often, and they had broken contact for a week until Hermione had written a letter of apology), but he also happened to be an underage wizard with the fate of the world resting on his shoulders. . . .
A prophecy had been made almost seventeen years ago, foretelling Harry's birth. The prophecy had said that he would have to kill the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, or be killed by him, because 'neither could live while the other survived'. . . .
This prophecy had been revealed to Harry a little over a month ago, after Harry had been lured to the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic by Voldemort himself, culminating in his godfather's death.
Harry had almost gone mad with grief (when he came back from the death of his god-father he had almost destroyed the headmaster's office) and though the past few weeks he had been able to control himself, his temper had not been improved by this at all. It was all he could do to wait another week and a half for his birthday, when his friend Ron and his father be taking him from the Dursleys.
He ambled into the kitchen to see his three least favorite people in the Muggle world: his cousin Dudley, who was impossible to miss, due to the fact that he was as round as he was tall and the K-Mart at which Aunt Petunia did her shopping didn't stock clothes big enough for him anymore; his Uncle Vernon, who was big, beefy, sported an enormous and very bushy moustache, who's girth Dudley had inherited; and his bony, horse-faced Aunt Petunia, who spent much of her life squinting with her beady eyes into the many windows of the neighborhood. "Fix breakfast now boy, I'm going to work early." Uncle Vernon barked as way of greeting. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," replied Harry mechanically. "Get the mail," snapped Aunt Petunia, who was not a morning person. Harry complied. Breakfast passed uneventfully and Harry went back upstairs to his room after he finished it. The Dursleys were not halfway through theirs yet; his had been several times smaller and, therefore, quicker than theirs, and he walked into his room and sat down on his bed. The Daily Prophet, Britain's wizarding world's most popular newspaper, (though Harry's opinion of it had not been helped by the fact that they had been slandering and dirtying his name for over a year, and had denied doing it just last week) was due any minute; Harry took out a Knut from his desk drawer and put it down on the desk. Sure enough, the Daily Prophet was delivered two minutes later. Harry gave the owl a Knut and as it flew away, Harry glanced down at the headline:
FUDGE ON PROBATION BY THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC AND A HEARING IN AUGUST
Yesterday afternoon, writes James Crosby, Cornelius Fudge stood
before the Wizengamot charged for the affairs regarding He-Who-Must-
Not-Be-Named. Fudge and his office have all been brought under the
court's scrutiny regarding this and why they didn't listen to the
You-Know-Who reports from the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus
Dumbledore, and his witness, Harry Potter. (see sec. D, pp. 2-4)
Currently, the undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores J. Umbridge,
has been sacked, while the junior assistant, Percival I. Weasley
has resigned his post. The private assistant to the Minister, James
Groves, has been put on probation by the Wizengamot.
Weasley has announced that he is sorry for what he said about his
family and a certain letter written to his brother, Ronald Weasley.
(see section C, pp 4-5)
The court meeting has still not finished, and will resume this
afternoon again. It is expected to take over a month until the
final verdict for Cornelius Fudge.
Election booths are already being set up by Magical Maintenance in
the Ministry of Magic building on the second floor. The
International Confederation of Wizards has already begun a search
for a new candidate to represent them in Great Britain and Abroad.
Meanwhile, the Ministry of Magic has just finished delivering its
new safety pamphlets, which tells how to repel dementors, how to
duel, and how to resist mind spells and curses. It also includes a
list of known Death Eaters.
More are being printed in other languages for France, Turkey, the
Middle East, and Japan. They are expected to be finished sometime
this month.
According to the Daily Prophet reporter, Johannes Belliflew, Fudge
has been acting very strangely. Yesterday Fudge was rumored to be
speaking to two Goblins from Gringotts, who had been fired for
unconfirmed robbery of a high-security, level-nine vault.
Mrs. D. Callswell expresses her concern, "'If Fudge is really
meeting with these goblins then there may be something that Fudge
is planning with Gringotts. Fudge may be trying to steal gold to
bribe the judge of his hearing, Sir David W. Barden, a judge with a
dark past of back-room dealings. Though he seems to have repented,
maybe Fudge is breaking into the back of his mind with some gold.'
"
Madame A. Bones, the head of the Law Enforcement Dept. disagrees
with this view, though.
"'If Fudge would be giving bribes to official judges, he would
jeopardize his position forever, and anyway, what would he gain by
trying to bribe one judge, if he will lose the majority?"
When asked about the rumors of goblins, Madame Bones answered that
she does not know whether the rumors are true, and declined further
comment.
The hearing is denied to the public, and the only people present
will be the judges, plaintiffs, defendants, and witnesses called
before the hearing.
However, there will be one hearing open to the public sometime in
August, the Wizengamot has reported, in the Quidditch World Cup
Stadium, which is being used for its size.
Harry walked over to his bed happily and sat down. This was the best piece of news he had heard in a long time. Harry gazed at the window absentmindedly, and suddenly an owl swooped down. He opened the window and jumped back just in time as the owl, a brown screech, flew in and landed on the bed. It was from Hogwarts. It read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the
first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from Kings Cross station,
platform nine and three quarters, at eleven o'clock.
Also note that your O.W.L. grades have come from the examiners. They
are as follows:
1. Astronomy 073-A
Mr. Potter showed skill at the written exam, only making a few
mistakes, but had a drastic practical one due to the fact that he
wasn't paying attention to the exam and focusing on other things.
He has not been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Astronomy. That wasn't so bad, Harry thought. After all, he had had much more pressing things on his mind, and he couldn't care less that he hadn't been accepted. He wouldn't have gone to the O.W.L. class even if he had been. He went back to his letter,
1. Charms 092-E
Mr. Potter showed great skill at his practical Charms O.W.L., only
making a few slight mistakes which were quickly rectified. He also
had a great written exam, defining hard and complex charms with
ease. He has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Charms. Harry's heart leapt at that, and he thought one down, three to go. If he passed Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions . . . well, if he passed Potions, then he passed everything.
1. Defense Against the Dark Arts 110-O
Mr. Potter showed amazing talent and skill at his Defense Against
the Dark Arts examinations, both practical and written.
Particularly, he performed well above the level of an average fifth
year in the practical and scored a perfect O.W.L., with a bonus
because of a Patronus Charm, earning him the highest-ever score
held at Hogwarts for the past seven hundred years. He has been
accepted into Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Yes!" yelled Harry, punching the air. "Shut up, boy!" yelled Aunt Petunia from the kitchen.
Harry rolled his eyes and continued.
1. Divination 026-D
Mr. Potter has absolutely no skill at Divination. His exam was
abysmal. He particularly had trouble with the crystal ball, finally
trying to make up something to see in it. He has not been accepted
into N.E.W.T. level Divination. Surprise, surprise, thought Harry sarcastically, the whole class is so pointless that it could be used for detention from other classes. Harry was not perturbed in the least by this news. He had expected it, and he was rather happy that he could now drop it. He went back to the parchment,
1. Herbology 085-E
Mr. Potter showed average skill in this subject, with a written
exam score of eighty four percent and a practical one of eighty
six. He showed some talent in the definitions of many plants, but
was unable to control some of them in the practical exam,
sustaining a few bites and scratches from various plants.
Nonetheless, Mr. Potter has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level
Herbology. Harry thought about this one for a bit. He knew that Herbology could come in handy during Auror training for making potions; Hermione had lectured him about it last year. He went back to the sheet.
1. Potions 087-E
Mr. Potter showed average skill in his practical exam, brewing his
potion so that it would invigorate a person enough for about an
hour and a half, but his written exam was very poorly done, except
for the effects of the Polyjuice Potion and a few others. Mr.
Potter has not been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Potions. Harry's heart dropped down to somewhere near his waistline. He was not accepted into the N.E.W.T. level Potions . . . his chances of becoming an Auror had just been dashed. He went back to his sheet angrily, knowing that it didn't really matter so much anymore. . . .
1. Transfiguration 088-E
Mr. Potter showed above average skill in this area, Transfigurating
and Vanishing exceptionally well, though missing a few questions on
his written O.W.L. Mr. Potter has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level
Transfiguration.
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry was angry. He could not become an Auror. . . . He tried not imagining Ron and Hermione's expressions of pity and sorrow when they would here it. At least there's no more Snape . . . he thought miserably.
Harry decided to go downstairs again and find some lunch in the fridge. He entered the kitchen to the sound of Dudley's new television. It had to be his fourth or fifth at least; there were three smashed ones in his bedroom, one which Dudley had stuck his foot through when his favorite show had been canceled, another which he had hurled a Harry listened with half an ear until the news hit him.
". . . and it seems that there has been yet another freak attack on a small village in northern England called Little Hangleton. Two men were discovered unblemished, though unmistakably dead last night at midnight.
"Strange activity has been going in that region for the past few nights. Three houses were broken into and searched, though nothing of value was taken. The weird thing about these break-ins is, Jim," said one reporter to the second, "that the locks on the doors were not forced, no windows broken, or anything that occurs in normal break-ins.
"Also in southeast Wales, a small town called Bridgetown was hit by the as- of-yet-unknown terrorists, who targeted the church of the town and burnt it together with the hundred and fifty congregants gathered there. Most of them were killed and seventeen were wounded, one severely in the head, who muttered something about a crack and red light, but officials do not know what to make of this except that he must have been delusional. . . .
"Another three reports in southern Scotland, this time. The first one, in a small shopping center, in the cinema, an eyewitness claims to have seen a flash of light and then all the lights blew, and by the time they came back on there was nobody there.
"Another report just came in fifteen minutes ago from north-east France, in a small town called — er — anyway, a similar story came out — the flashes of light and nobody there and no forced doors.
"The Prime Minister issued a warning to people, actually agreed on unanimously by Parliament (probably the first time ever) that people should avoid public spaces such as malls and cinemas until the threat is cleared. And now to Fred McAllen on the weather . . ."
So Voldemort had started killing Muggles, thought Harry dully. The wizarding world had finally realized that he had indeed come back, something they had been in denial of for over a year, so Voldemort had nothing to lose by continuing the reign of terror he had inflicted upon the magical world more than twenty five years ago.
That afternoon, Uncle Vernon did something Harry had never seen him do. He smiled at Harry and asked in the most polite voice Harry had ever heard him use, "Harry, Dudley and I are going to the theater to see an act, want to come, son?"
Not knowing why Uncle Vernon was doing this, but playing it nicely with him, Harry answered, "Okay, but when are we leaving?"
"Tonight, half past nine," answered Uncle Vernon with a smile.
Bemused, but none the less slightly pleased, Harry went to his room and sat down by his desk. He knew that London was only a few hours flight for Hedwig, and if he sent a quick letter he might just be able to get the answer tonight.
Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Mr. Weasley,
I'm fine right now, though I wish I could come to you guys now. By the way, a strange thing just happened: my uncle invited me to the theater tonight, and I want to know if I can go or not. I'm not exactly sure why they are taking me anyway; it's not in the Dursleys' nature to be normal or kind to the Potters. Please send Hedwig back with a reply A.S.A.P. because the play starts at ten and we are leaving at nine thirty. Say hello to Ron and Hermione from me if they're there.
Harry
Harry folded the letter, tied it to Hedwig's leg, whispered, "As fat as you can, okay Hedwig?" and let her through the open window. He did not know why, but suddenly going to the theater had seemed very important and he really wanted to go. He felt his scar suddenly give a small throb but disregarded it. It didn't seem very important, only going to the play did. . . . Hedwig returned at a quarter to nine, her wings trailing behind her, and her breath coming very short, which was probably because she had just flown full speed all the way to London and back. He gave her some water and looked over the letter quickly. It read:
Harry,
Dumbledore says it's fine and you can go, but he asked if you are feeling all right for some reason. He also said to bring your wand just in case. There have been no attacks in the Little Whinging area as far as we can see, which is quite a lot, and Voldemort is very systematic; he won't go out of a certain path to attack, so Dumbledore says you can go and bring your wand. Harry, I mean this, bring your wand with you everywhere you go, even the bathroom. Always have it on or near you in case of anything out of the ordinary. The Ministry has relinquished the Decree of Underage Wizardry, section C, which talks about the use of a wand. You are allowed to use it in emergencies without a problem. Hope you have a good time tonight.
Lupin and Tonks
Ps. Moody and Arthur are not here, but Ron and Hermione are, and they say to have a good time and they really miss you.
Harry smiled slightly at the letter, but his heart gave great bounds of joy— he could go.
At nine fifteen, Uncle Vernon came up to Harry's room in a dark suit and tie and asked in the politest tone Harry had ever heard him use if he was ready to go yet. Uncle Vernon said that he was taking them to the act because he had once been an actor in this very play many years ago.
They got into Uncle Vernon's brand new car, a Mercedes, and drove to the theater, which was fifteen minutes away. Harry checked that his wand was in his back pocket, which it was, and he settled into the comfortable car seat upon which he was lounging on.
Uncle Vernon parked the car in an almost full parking lot, and Harry and Dudley stepped out. Dudley remarked that Harry was looking nice, the nicest thing he had ever said to Harry in his entire life. Harry wondered vaguely why the Dursleys were suddenly being so nice to him.
They got tickets at a booth that hung up a "Sold out" sign when they left, and Harry and the Dursleys walked into the theater. They were five minutes early and slow, boring music was droning in from hidden microphones.
The play began, and it was so exciting, that Harry, quite caught up in the action of it, almost forgot that the Dursleys were even there with him.
The actors of the play were superb and performed such amazing stunts that Harry doubted he would be able to do even with magic.
Near the end of the play, five of the performers stood in a line, and three more jumped from springboards, flipping and back-flipping alternatively, landed on the fives' outstretched arms, and one more actor stood on a see- saw, was shot up by three men onto the top of the three, and someone passed him a tall pole with a seat on the top. The top actor took hold of it firmly, and another man was punted up by the see-saw, into the seat. The crowd went wild, but suddenly the middle actor on the bottom sneezed and dropped. The whole pyramid tumbled down in a cloud of dust. A fan went on and cleared it away, and Harry's jaw dropped— the actors had landed in a pyramid on the floor, with the pole balancing—
"I have to go to the restroom, Dad," said Dudley suddenly. Harry spun around in his seat, a little unnerved at the sudden sound. "Where is it, Dad?"
"We'll find it together, okay?" said Uncle Vernon, with a strange sort of smile. "Stay here, Harry, we'll be right back,"
Harry nodded and Dudley and Uncle Vernon left. Suddenly a few things happened at once. A jet of light, like a laser, shot at the overhead lights of the theater, plunging it into darkness; several people screamed; Harry felt a severe burning in his scar, before something cold hit him over the head crashing him off his chair, unconscious. . . .
* * *
AND THE FORTRESS OF SPIRITS
Disclaimer: (I do know it's a big one, by the way) I do not own Harry Potter or any of the previously-known characters from the first five books. I have not copyrighted this, so feel free to borrow ideas, just not the story exactly, please. If any parts of this story seem to come from others (except the ones by JKR), it is coincidence. Any parts of this story that reflect on real people, living or dead, is purely coincidence, etc. I'll get to work now. . . .
Harry lay on the floor panting hard and fast. He looked up. A man in a long black cloak was pointing a wand at Harry's forehead.
"Give me the prophecy!" the man shouted.
A sharp pained seared across the lightning scar on his forehead, which was now sharply in view, a dangerous shade of red.
"I don't have it! It smashed a long time ago!" Harry tried to yell back, but only a harsh rasp emitted from his voice.
"Fine, watch your godfather die then," said the man cruelly. Harry watched in horror as his godfather, Sirius Black fell through a tattered black veil and disappeared. Harry blacked out.
He awoke some minutes later in a dark, empty room . . . no, not empty. Someone was sitting in the corner of the room . . . talking to himself . . . no he was holding something. Harry moved closer to see what it was, when—
"Harry Potter!" Harry woke up abruptly, covered in sweat. Just a dream, he told himself, just a dream. This is what happens when you see something like that a few weeks earlier. But the second part of the dream, he asked, what was that? Before he could devote any time to this question, his aunt, Petunia, called again from the stairs. Harry returned it with an, "I'm coming, I'm coming," He got dressed and lumbered down bad-temperedly. Ever since Harry had arrived at number four Privet Drive he had been in a horrible mood. This was mainly because his only relatives, the Dursleys, his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and enormous cousin Dudley, inhabited it, and they had always, and continued, to treat Harry like a dog that had just jumped out of a dumpster full of toxic waste.
Because Harry Potter was a very unusual boy. He had all the problems of an average teenager, like school (where almost everybody had thought him a liar until a few weeks ago), homework (lots of that, particularly a very nasty piece of Transfiguration work he had to do over the holidays), his friends, Ron, and Hermione (with whom he had started to fight with more and more often, and they had broken contact for a week until Hermione had written a letter of apology), but he also happened to be an underage wizard with the fate of the world resting on his shoulders. . . .
A prophecy had been made almost seventeen years ago, foretelling Harry's birth. The prophecy had said that he would have to kill the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, or be killed by him, because 'neither could live while the other survived'. . . .
This prophecy had been revealed to Harry a little over a month ago, after Harry had been lured to the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic by Voldemort himself, culminating in his godfather's death.
Harry had almost gone mad with grief (when he came back from the death of his god-father he had almost destroyed the headmaster's office) and though the past few weeks he had been able to control himself, his temper had not been improved by this at all. It was all he could do to wait another week and a half for his birthday, when his friend Ron and his father be taking him from the Dursleys.
He ambled into the kitchen to see his three least favorite people in the Muggle world: his cousin Dudley, who was impossible to miss, due to the fact that he was as round as he was tall and the K-Mart at which Aunt Petunia did her shopping didn't stock clothes big enough for him anymore; his Uncle Vernon, who was big, beefy, sported an enormous and very bushy moustache, who's girth Dudley had inherited; and his bony, horse-faced Aunt Petunia, who spent much of her life squinting with her beady eyes into the many windows of the neighborhood. "Fix breakfast now boy, I'm going to work early." Uncle Vernon barked as way of greeting. "Yes, Uncle Vernon," replied Harry mechanically. "Get the mail," snapped Aunt Petunia, who was not a morning person. Harry complied. Breakfast passed uneventfully and Harry went back upstairs to his room after he finished it. The Dursleys were not halfway through theirs yet; his had been several times smaller and, therefore, quicker than theirs, and he walked into his room and sat down on his bed. The Daily Prophet, Britain's wizarding world's most popular newspaper, (though Harry's opinion of it had not been helped by the fact that they had been slandering and dirtying his name for over a year, and had denied doing it just last week) was due any minute; Harry took out a Knut from his desk drawer and put it down on the desk. Sure enough, the Daily Prophet was delivered two minutes later. Harry gave the owl a Knut and as it flew away, Harry glanced down at the headline:
FUDGE ON PROBATION BY THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC AND A HEARING IN AUGUST
Yesterday afternoon, writes James Crosby, Cornelius Fudge stood
before the Wizengamot charged for the affairs regarding He-Who-Must-
Not-Be-Named. Fudge and his office have all been brought under the
court's scrutiny regarding this and why they didn't listen to the
You-Know-Who reports from the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus
Dumbledore, and his witness, Harry Potter. (see sec. D, pp. 2-4)
Currently, the undersecretary to the Minister, Dolores J. Umbridge,
has been sacked, while the junior assistant, Percival I. Weasley
has resigned his post. The private assistant to the Minister, James
Groves, has been put on probation by the Wizengamot.
Weasley has announced that he is sorry for what he said about his
family and a certain letter written to his brother, Ronald Weasley.
(see section C, pp 4-5)
The court meeting has still not finished, and will resume this
afternoon again. It is expected to take over a month until the
final verdict for Cornelius Fudge.
Election booths are already being set up by Magical Maintenance in
the Ministry of Magic building on the second floor. The
International Confederation of Wizards has already begun a search
for a new candidate to represent them in Great Britain and Abroad.
Meanwhile, the Ministry of Magic has just finished delivering its
new safety pamphlets, which tells how to repel dementors, how to
duel, and how to resist mind spells and curses. It also includes a
list of known Death Eaters.
More are being printed in other languages for France, Turkey, the
Middle East, and Japan. They are expected to be finished sometime
this month.
According to the Daily Prophet reporter, Johannes Belliflew, Fudge
has been acting very strangely. Yesterday Fudge was rumored to be
speaking to two Goblins from Gringotts, who had been fired for
unconfirmed robbery of a high-security, level-nine vault.
Mrs. D. Callswell expresses her concern, "'If Fudge is really
meeting with these goblins then there may be something that Fudge
is planning with Gringotts. Fudge may be trying to steal gold to
bribe the judge of his hearing, Sir David W. Barden, a judge with a
dark past of back-room dealings. Though he seems to have repented,
maybe Fudge is breaking into the back of his mind with some gold.'
"
Madame A. Bones, the head of the Law Enforcement Dept. disagrees
with this view, though.
"'If Fudge would be giving bribes to official judges, he would
jeopardize his position forever, and anyway, what would he gain by
trying to bribe one judge, if he will lose the majority?"
When asked about the rumors of goblins, Madame Bones answered that
she does not know whether the rumors are true, and declined further
comment.
The hearing is denied to the public, and the only people present
will be the judges, plaintiffs, defendants, and witnesses called
before the hearing.
However, there will be one hearing open to the public sometime in
August, the Wizengamot has reported, in the Quidditch World Cup
Stadium, which is being used for its size.
Harry walked over to his bed happily and sat down. This was the best piece of news he had heard in a long time. Harry gazed at the window absentmindedly, and suddenly an owl swooped down. He opened the window and jumped back just in time as the owl, a brown screech, flew in and landed on the bed. It was from Hogwarts. It read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the
first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from Kings Cross station,
platform nine and three quarters, at eleven o'clock.
Also note that your O.W.L. grades have come from the examiners. They
are as follows:
1. Astronomy 073-A
Mr. Potter showed skill at the written exam, only making a few
mistakes, but had a drastic practical one due to the fact that he
wasn't paying attention to the exam and focusing on other things.
He has not been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Astronomy. That wasn't so bad, Harry thought. After all, he had had much more pressing things on his mind, and he couldn't care less that he hadn't been accepted. He wouldn't have gone to the O.W.L. class even if he had been. He went back to his letter,
1. Charms 092-E
Mr. Potter showed great skill at his practical Charms O.W.L., only
making a few slight mistakes which were quickly rectified. He also
had a great written exam, defining hard and complex charms with
ease. He has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Charms. Harry's heart leapt at that, and he thought one down, three to go. If he passed Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions . . . well, if he passed Potions, then he passed everything.
1. Defense Against the Dark Arts 110-O
Mr. Potter showed amazing talent and skill at his Defense Against
the Dark Arts examinations, both practical and written.
Particularly, he performed well above the level of an average fifth
year in the practical and scored a perfect O.W.L., with a bonus
because of a Patronus Charm, earning him the highest-ever score
held at Hogwarts for the past seven hundred years. He has been
accepted into Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts. "Yes!" yelled Harry, punching the air. "Shut up, boy!" yelled Aunt Petunia from the kitchen.
Harry rolled his eyes and continued.
1. Divination 026-D
Mr. Potter has absolutely no skill at Divination. His exam was
abysmal. He particularly had trouble with the crystal ball, finally
trying to make up something to see in it. He has not been accepted
into N.E.W.T. level Divination. Surprise, surprise, thought Harry sarcastically, the whole class is so pointless that it could be used for detention from other classes. Harry was not perturbed in the least by this news. He had expected it, and he was rather happy that he could now drop it. He went back to the parchment,
1. Herbology 085-E
Mr. Potter showed average skill in this subject, with a written
exam score of eighty four percent and a practical one of eighty
six. He showed some talent in the definitions of many plants, but
was unable to control some of them in the practical exam,
sustaining a few bites and scratches from various plants.
Nonetheless, Mr. Potter has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level
Herbology. Harry thought about this one for a bit. He knew that Herbology could come in handy during Auror training for making potions; Hermione had lectured him about it last year. He went back to the sheet.
1. Potions 087-E
Mr. Potter showed average skill in his practical exam, brewing his
potion so that it would invigorate a person enough for about an
hour and a half, but his written exam was very poorly done, except
for the effects of the Polyjuice Potion and a few others. Mr.
Potter has not been accepted into N.E.W.T. level Potions. Harry's heart dropped down to somewhere near his waistline. He was not accepted into the N.E.W.T. level Potions . . . his chances of becoming an Auror had just been dashed. He went back to his sheet angrily, knowing that it didn't really matter so much anymore. . . .
1. Transfiguration 088-E
Mr. Potter showed above average skill in this area, Transfigurating
and Vanishing exceptionally well, though missing a few questions on
his written O.W.L. Mr. Potter has been accepted into N.E.W.T. level
Transfiguration.
Professor Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry was angry. He could not become an Auror. . . . He tried not imagining Ron and Hermione's expressions of pity and sorrow when they would here it. At least there's no more Snape . . . he thought miserably.
Harry decided to go downstairs again and find some lunch in the fridge. He entered the kitchen to the sound of Dudley's new television. It had to be his fourth or fifth at least; there were three smashed ones in his bedroom, one which Dudley had stuck his foot through when his favorite show had been canceled, another which he had hurled a Harry listened with half an ear until the news hit him.
". . . and it seems that there has been yet another freak attack on a small village in northern England called Little Hangleton. Two men were discovered unblemished, though unmistakably dead last night at midnight.
"Strange activity has been going in that region for the past few nights. Three houses were broken into and searched, though nothing of value was taken. The weird thing about these break-ins is, Jim," said one reporter to the second, "that the locks on the doors were not forced, no windows broken, or anything that occurs in normal break-ins.
"Also in southeast Wales, a small town called Bridgetown was hit by the as- of-yet-unknown terrorists, who targeted the church of the town and burnt it together with the hundred and fifty congregants gathered there. Most of them were killed and seventeen were wounded, one severely in the head, who muttered something about a crack and red light, but officials do not know what to make of this except that he must have been delusional. . . .
"Another three reports in southern Scotland, this time. The first one, in a small shopping center, in the cinema, an eyewitness claims to have seen a flash of light and then all the lights blew, and by the time they came back on there was nobody there.
"Another report just came in fifteen minutes ago from north-east France, in a small town called — er — anyway, a similar story came out — the flashes of light and nobody there and no forced doors.
"The Prime Minister issued a warning to people, actually agreed on unanimously by Parliament (probably the first time ever) that people should avoid public spaces such as malls and cinemas until the threat is cleared. And now to Fred McAllen on the weather . . ."
So Voldemort had started killing Muggles, thought Harry dully. The wizarding world had finally realized that he had indeed come back, something they had been in denial of for over a year, so Voldemort had nothing to lose by continuing the reign of terror he had inflicted upon the magical world more than twenty five years ago.
That afternoon, Uncle Vernon did something Harry had never seen him do. He smiled at Harry and asked in the most polite voice Harry had ever heard him use, "Harry, Dudley and I are going to the theater to see an act, want to come, son?"
Not knowing why Uncle Vernon was doing this, but playing it nicely with him, Harry answered, "Okay, but when are we leaving?"
"Tonight, half past nine," answered Uncle Vernon with a smile.
Bemused, but none the less slightly pleased, Harry went to his room and sat down by his desk. He knew that London was only a few hours flight for Hedwig, and if he sent a quick letter he might just be able to get the answer tonight.
Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Mr. Weasley,
I'm fine right now, though I wish I could come to you guys now. By the way, a strange thing just happened: my uncle invited me to the theater tonight, and I want to know if I can go or not. I'm not exactly sure why they are taking me anyway; it's not in the Dursleys' nature to be normal or kind to the Potters. Please send Hedwig back with a reply A.S.A.P. because the play starts at ten and we are leaving at nine thirty. Say hello to Ron and Hermione from me if they're there.
Harry
Harry folded the letter, tied it to Hedwig's leg, whispered, "As fat as you can, okay Hedwig?" and let her through the open window. He did not know why, but suddenly going to the theater had seemed very important and he really wanted to go. He felt his scar suddenly give a small throb but disregarded it. It didn't seem very important, only going to the play did. . . . Hedwig returned at a quarter to nine, her wings trailing behind her, and her breath coming very short, which was probably because she had just flown full speed all the way to London and back. He gave her some water and looked over the letter quickly. It read:
Harry,
Dumbledore says it's fine and you can go, but he asked if you are feeling all right for some reason. He also said to bring your wand just in case. There have been no attacks in the Little Whinging area as far as we can see, which is quite a lot, and Voldemort is very systematic; he won't go out of a certain path to attack, so Dumbledore says you can go and bring your wand. Harry, I mean this, bring your wand with you everywhere you go, even the bathroom. Always have it on or near you in case of anything out of the ordinary. The Ministry has relinquished the Decree of Underage Wizardry, section C, which talks about the use of a wand. You are allowed to use it in emergencies without a problem. Hope you have a good time tonight.
Lupin and Tonks
Ps. Moody and Arthur are not here, but Ron and Hermione are, and they say to have a good time and they really miss you.
Harry smiled slightly at the letter, but his heart gave great bounds of joy— he could go.
At nine fifteen, Uncle Vernon came up to Harry's room in a dark suit and tie and asked in the politest tone Harry had ever heard him use if he was ready to go yet. Uncle Vernon said that he was taking them to the act because he had once been an actor in this very play many years ago.
They got into Uncle Vernon's brand new car, a Mercedes, and drove to the theater, which was fifteen minutes away. Harry checked that his wand was in his back pocket, which it was, and he settled into the comfortable car seat upon which he was lounging on.
Uncle Vernon parked the car in an almost full parking lot, and Harry and Dudley stepped out. Dudley remarked that Harry was looking nice, the nicest thing he had ever said to Harry in his entire life. Harry wondered vaguely why the Dursleys were suddenly being so nice to him.
They got tickets at a booth that hung up a "Sold out" sign when they left, and Harry and the Dursleys walked into the theater. They were five minutes early and slow, boring music was droning in from hidden microphones.
The play began, and it was so exciting, that Harry, quite caught up in the action of it, almost forgot that the Dursleys were even there with him.
The actors of the play were superb and performed such amazing stunts that Harry doubted he would be able to do even with magic.
Near the end of the play, five of the performers stood in a line, and three more jumped from springboards, flipping and back-flipping alternatively, landed on the fives' outstretched arms, and one more actor stood on a see- saw, was shot up by three men onto the top of the three, and someone passed him a tall pole with a seat on the top. The top actor took hold of it firmly, and another man was punted up by the see-saw, into the seat. The crowd went wild, but suddenly the middle actor on the bottom sneezed and dropped. The whole pyramid tumbled down in a cloud of dust. A fan went on and cleared it away, and Harry's jaw dropped— the actors had landed in a pyramid on the floor, with the pole balancing—
"I have to go to the restroom, Dad," said Dudley suddenly. Harry spun around in his seat, a little unnerved at the sudden sound. "Where is it, Dad?"
"We'll find it together, okay?" said Uncle Vernon, with a strange sort of smile. "Stay here, Harry, we'll be right back,"
Harry nodded and Dudley and Uncle Vernon left. Suddenly a few things happened at once. A jet of light, like a laser, shot at the overhead lights of the theater, plunging it into darkness; several people screamed; Harry felt a severe burning in his scar, before something cold hit him over the head crashing him off his chair, unconscious. . . .
* * *