First chapter redone. I'll explain in the last one, if people start reading from this one. T'was a bitch of a past few months...
The middle of summer. The turning point between the end of one school year and the beginning of another. The summer had been a hot one in England, a heat-wave again beating down on the country leaving behind scorching days which withered lawns everywhere brown. The nights came as a welcome relief, the temperature dropping to a much more comfortable level, allowing people to sleep well in their beds. Well, most people that is.
A small house on Privet Drive, in the suburb of Little Whinging, located in Surrey, was home to four people. Vernon Dursley, a manager at the drill firm Grunnings, his wife Petunia Dursley nee Evans, housewife, and their son Dudley Dursley, Junior Heavyweight Inter-school Boxing Champion of the Southeast. The fourth person was barely ever acknowledged, let alone mentioned, by the rest of the house. Indeed, he was commonly believed to spend most of the year at a school known as St. Brutus School For Incurably Criminal Boys by the community. His name was Harry Potter, the orphaned son of Petunia's sister Lily Potter nee Evans and James Potter, and he spent most of the year, not at St. Brutus like his family claimed, but rather at one of the most prestigious schools for magic in the world, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he had recently completed his fifth year and would soon be entering his sixth.
That didn't quite explain why Harry was currently sitting in his bedroom, the smallest in the house, staring out the window at the stars sparkling in the night sky. It was nearly midnight, after all. Most people would be long asleep. He'd done the same thing, night after night, ever since he'd arrived back home from Hogwarts earlier that month. In previous years he was up, desperately trying to complete his school work without the Dursley's noticing, seeing as how they somewhat… disapproved of magic, even going so far as to lock his school things in the cupboard under the stairs, the small space that up until shortly before Harry's eleventh birthday had acted as his bedroom. This year, he didn't have any school work to complete, due to having just taking his OWLs, or Ordinary Wizarding Levels, and not having selected his courses for his sixth and seventh years, the NEWTs(Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests).
The only other remaining possible reason that would seem apparent to anyone without any knowledge of Harry, beyond what was just stated, would be that he was waiting for his birthday. It was July 30th. He turned sixteen tomorrow. Or in about fifteen minutes. But this also wasn't right. True, Harry had been awake every midnight before his birthday for a few years now, but this year it was different somehow. He wasn't scanning the horizon for the forms of approaching owls. He was merely looking up into the nights sky, scanning across the canvas of stars, not looking for much in particular.
No matter how he tried, his eyes kept coming back to one star. The Dog Star, as it was sometimes referred to as. Sirius. The name of his godfather. His godfather, who had died coming to Harry's rescue, because Harry had believed that he needed rescuing. The image, along with the painful tugging of his heart, leapt through his mind again. Sirius, mildly insulting his cousin, the deranged Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange, taunting her, only to be struck by a spell and to fall back, helpless, through the Veil in the Ministry of Magic's Department of Mysteries. The look of fear and shock on his face as he toppled backwards…
Harry shook himself again. It wasn't doing him any good to keep thinking about it like that. He'd almost sent himself catatonic in the first week he'd been back at Privet Drive, his guilt continually building up and crashing in on itself. Several times he'd woken up, gasping for breath, barely stopping himself from screaming out Sirius's name, huge great sobs wracking his body. The only thing he'd manage to do for that first week had been eat and send his message to the Order of the Phoenix every third day, telling them that all was fine with him and the Dursley's. He had just lain in bed, unmoving, visiting the toilet briefly, only once changing his clothes in the whole week, when he had accidentally split his inkpot all over his shirt when sending one of the letters off to his protectors.
He'd been snapped out of that state when Remus Lupin, a friend of both Sirius and Harry's parents from Hogwarts, had come to visit him, slightly concerned with the state of the messages Harry had sent. They had been hastily scribbled down, saying little more than he was fine, and that another letter would follow in three days. Remus had guessed, and correctly to, that Harry was not coping with his godfather's death. Finding Harry in the state he did, he'd launched into a fierce telling off, which Harry still could vividly remember. After all, it wasn't often one had a concerned but annoyed werewolf telling you off.
Flashback"Harry, Sirius's death is not your fault! Stop blaming it on yourself, and blame the people who actually carried out the act!" he'd said sternly. Harry had looked up blankly from his bed. Who else did Remus think was responsible? Harry had been the one to just go charging into the Department of Mysteries, he hadn't even thought of the mirror that Sirius had given him for Christmas. He didn't listen to Hermione, who had been firmly against him going there. Not only that, but he'd dragged her, along with Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna, with him into the trap that Voldemort had set for him – that in of itself being a whole new reason why it was his fault, with his refusal to learn Occlumency from Snape. He'd just as good as sent the curse at Sirius himself. Never mind the fact that it was Bellatrix who had done the deed. Harry began to speak but before he could get even one word out, Remus had interrupted him, leaning down to grip Harry's shoulder.
"It was not your fault Harry! It was Bellatrix, it was Voldemort, they are the two at fault. Merlin, Harry, Sirius is more at fault then you! He was chafing to get out of that house, he totally disregarded the risks involved in coming to the Department. And the way he was duelling! It was practically inviting his own death! He was acting far to cocky for his own good, like he was invincible. Harry, that house drove him crazy, made him reckless. If it wasn't coming to you at the Department, I can guarantee it would have been something else. It is not your fault, cub."
Harry's eyes had widened at the last sentence Remus had said. He looked up at him, actually focusing on Remus's face. Harry had lost his godfather, but this man… he'd lost one of his best friends, one of the few people to stick with him when they discovered he was a werewolf, one of his best friends since he was eleven. In truth, Harry was the only thing that connected him back to those days. The only surviving friend was the traitor Wormtail, or Peter Pettigrew. Remus was the last Marauder. If Remus didn't blame Harry for Sirius's death… well, then Harry might not be as totally responsible as he felt. He knew he wasn't completely free of responsibility for his death, that there was things he could have done differently that would have kept Sirius away from the Department of Mysteries, but the whole thing did not hang over his head, on his shoulders.
Remus was still looking at him intently, his eyes bright with concern for the boy in front of him. Harry nodded slowly. "Professor… sir… I understand. I'm still at fault, somewhere in all of this, but… it wasn't largely my own fault. I understand that…" Harry said, looking into his eyes. He reached out a hand, which Remus readily gripped. "I'm sorry, sir, for worrying you so much. And also… for playing a part in sending Sirius to his death…now, you're the last one left. That is something I never want to experience…"
Harry had closed his eyes and turned his head away from Remus as he finished speaking, and so was taken by surprise when he was grabbed up into a hug. He broke down almost immediately, crying for the man who they had both recently just lost. Rocking him gently while Harry sobbed into his shoulder, Remus too had tears slowly running down his face. After awhile the two separated, wiping their eyes and moving slightly apart from each other, Harry looking down the bed at his feet while Remus kept his eyes on Harry's face.
"Well, Harry, I'm going to leave now. I wish I could stay longer, but I've got some things to do for Dumbledore today. I'll come by occasionally during the next few weeks, just to visit and check up on you." Remus stood up, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair. He was dressed in slightly shabby muggle clothing, much the same quality as his wizarding clothing. "Oh, and cub?" Harry looked at him, wondering what Remus was going to ask, raising an eyebrow in silent question. "Don't call me Professor. Call me Remus or Moony. I haven't been a professor for years now, and last year at headquarters it was kind of odd for everyone to be calling me Professor. Not to mention it allowed Padfoot any number of sly jokes at my expense." Remus said, eyes closed with a faintly saddened grin on his face. He opened his eyes, and looked back down at Harry.
"Okay… Remus. I'll see you next time. Just give me a second, I'll see you to the door."
End FlashbackThe rest of the month had passed Harry by rather quickly. After Remus had left, he'd thrown himself into cleaning his room up. After that, he'd showered and changed his clothes, unpacked some of his trunk and set himself to work. He'd come down for dinner with the Dursley's that night, and had come across something which had made the next few weeks seem almost… surreal.
FlashbackHarry had made his way down the stairs, feeling better than he had in weeks, and quietly made his way into the kitchen. It wasn't quite time for dinner yet, Aunt Petunia still being in the middle of cooking, so he had wandered over to ask if he could help. Almost shrieking from shock when she heard him ask the question from behind her, she turned around and eyed him up and down. For a second Harry was certain he saw concern in her eyes, but… but that just wasn't possible. This was Petunia Dursley. One of the family who had made his life a living hell for ten years. She'd sneered at him in her usual fashion, and told him to set the table. Harry had done so, and then sat down and waited for dinner to be ready.
Five minutes later, Uncle Vernon had walked in carrying the evening paper. He jerked back upon seeing his nephew, going to bellow before recalling the crowd at the station the week before, and the threats that had been made. He had settled for allowing his face to purple, before sitting himself down and hiding behind the newspaper.
Not long after that, Petunia had called out for Dudley to come down to dinner, and set the plates down on the table. Dudley was still on a diet, albeit a completely different one from the last year. Now that he was the Junior Heavyweight Interschool Boxing Champion for the second year running, he'd been allowed to eat more normal foods, rather then the stuff Uncle Vernon had dubbed 'rabbit-food' a few years before. Harry heard him thumping down the stairs, but was shocked at the change he'd undergone.
He was no longer the… 'quivering pile of lard', as one of the twins had described him during the summer of fourth year. Harry hadn't noticed all too much at the station or the ride back to Privet Drive, but Dudley had lost most of his fat. He was still absolutely massive, that was true, but now most of it looked to be muscle, hard compact muscle at that. He'd glanced at Harry sitting at the table, and quietly took his spot, keeping his eyes down and focusing on the food that was soon placed in front of him.
The dinner had passed quickly and quietly, and soon Dudley and Vernon left the table, Dudley heading back to his room while Vernon moved into the living room to watch the television. Harry got up, and began to pick up the plates and cutlery. He'd just turned to go place them in the sink when his aunt spoke to him.
"What are you doing, boy?" she asked, staring at him suspiciously. Harry placed his load next to the sink carefully before turning back to her. He locked eyes with her briefly, before he opened his mouth to speak.
"I need something to do, Aunt Petunia. I'll do some of the housework this summer, for the time I'm here at least. I need to keep occupied during the day, and it's the least I can do. Don't worry about the others, I'll tell them I volunteered. Just… don't expect me to do everything. That, I won't do."
After Harry's speech, a gamut of emotions flitted across Petunia's face. Harry broke his gaze away from hers, turning back to the sink. He started to fill the sink with hot water, to do the washing up, when he heard the scraping of the chair behind him. He waited for his aunt to speak, but no words came. After the sink had filled up, he looked back to her. She was still staring at him, and only seemed to snap out of whatever state she was in when Harry's eyes came back into contact with hers. She'd nodded slowly, before leaving the kitchen.
Harry shook his head. "Another weird moment in this supposedly normal house…"
End FlashbackSince then, he'd mainly worked outside. He'd gone over the garden, trying to save whatever of the plants he could, and had surprised himself with the success of his efforts. Obviously, a lot more of Herbology had sunk in then he'd thought. That thought had brought a smile to Harry's face, but made his mind turn towards his OWL results, which he thought he should have gotten by now. He'd asked about them the last time Remus had turned up, almost a week ago, but had been told that there had been complications, and that most results were delayed for anywhere up to three weeks. When he'd tried to press for more information, Remus had shrugged, muttering under his breath something that had suspiciously sounded like "Interfering bitch".
Harry had let it go then, there was nothing he could do about it for now at least. He'd kept his work going in the yard, and when he was in his room he obsessed over his textbooks. In a month he'd re-read all of them, going right back to first-year, especially focusing on his Defence texts. From those Harry had taken copious amounts of notes, taking every single spell that was in them and placing them into a list he had created. As he'd worked through Charms and Transfiguration, he'd placed the occasional spell from those two subjects onto the list as well - after all, one never knew what could happen during a fight.
If he wasn't working outside, or in his room, Harry tended to sit under one of the trees in the backyard, and attempt to meditate. This was a part of his attempts to learn Occlumency, after his spectacular failure last year. Remus had brought him a book about it that Dumbledore had lent him, which described the basics of the skill. With this basic understanding of what Snape had attempted to drive into his head, he'd begun the job of erecting his mental wards. Harry still sniggered on occasion when he thought about that description of the defences. After all, he was considered to be crazy by someone all the time, and deserving of being locked up in a mental ward.
After three weeks of trying this, Harry knew he was nowhere near a Master Occlumens. That would take years and years of training. But what little he had managed to grasp at this point in time had managed to reduce the near-constant stinging from his scar to completely subside. This had buoyed him a bit, but not enough to make him belief that he would be capable of blocking, let alone repelling, a fully-fledged Legilimens attack, either through the bond or even directly. He continued to work on it whenever he had the time, and always before he fell asleep. It was beginning to become second nature to Harry to spend at least a half-hour every evening working to 'clear his mind'.
Harry had already done his exercises for the night, and now was just waiting to fall asleep. He glanced back across at the clock, and noted that it was now after midnight. He'd lost himself in the memories of the past month, and lost track of time. Oh well, he thought to himself, might as well stay awake. The birthday owls will soon be here. He looked back at the sky, this time scanning the horizon for owls. Surely enough, he soon caught sight of a number of them heading towards his house. He opened his window up wide, and prepared a quantity of owl treats, just as the first of the owls glided in, led by his own Hedwig, and all laden down with packages. Most settled down onto any available surface, except for one energetic fluff-ball, which proceeded to zip around the room twittering like mad.
Groaning, Harry jumped around the room trying to catch the manic owl, called by its owner Pig. Using his Seeker skills, he managed the fact quickly, but not before knocking his legs on the edge of his bed twice. Taking the letter and the small package off the tiny owl, he quickly said, "I'll send a response with Hedwig, go back home!" and flung the owl out the window, where it dropped briefly before taking off, disappearing off into the horizon. He really hated the ritual that he'd taken to call Catch-The-Pig. The little owl was a menace, and was far too energetic for the time of the night that he usually showed up.
He quickly removed the other owls of their packages and letters, thanked them, gave them owl treats, and told them responses would be sent with Hedwig, who remained in her own cage, drinking from her water-bowl. The other owls left, and Harry went to close his window, only to stumble back away from it as more owls zoomed in, dropped off letters, and zoomed out. Harry could only look on bewildered from his position on the floor as a small mountain of letters piled up onto his bed. Finally, the owls stopped coming, and he stood up. Checking that no more owls were incoming, he closed his window and turned to his bed. Staring at the letters, Harry wished there was some way for him to tell what they were, and if any were dangerous. Cautiously he picked one up, holding it with his fingertips, and carefully opened it up. Nothing came bubbling out, no curse or jinx flew at him, so he looked inside. Only a piece of parchment was there, so he carefully brought it out and unfolded it.
Soon Harry was laughing at his own paranoid actions. It was a letter from one of the members of the D.A, Ernie Macmillan. He quickly went through the rest of them, and found that they were all from D.A. members, all wishing him a happy birthday, and the fifth and seventh years saying thanks for him helping get the top marks that most had got for Defence Against The Dark Arts in their OWLs and NEWTs. No-one had scored less then an E, most had scored at least one O, in DADA, and most ended up getting boosted marks in Charms as a bonus. The news brought a kind of frown to Harry's face, even though he was happy to have had such a positive effect on their results, he still hadn't gotten his own. Still, Harry sat down and wrote out a list of those who had written to him, to write back thanking and congratulating them. Then he went to his other presents.
He'd gotten a few DADA books, some from the Order members who'd been his escort last year, and ones he'd seen a lot around Grimmauld Place, such as Kingsley Shacklebolt, one from Neville, a book that had caught his eye almost six years ago when he first came to Diagon Alley, Curses and Counter-Curses by Vindictus Viridian (a book which Harry planned to put to good use, and was very thankful for), Auror training manuals from Moody and Tonks (with a message that said not to let it be known that he had them – it was illegal for civilians to own copies), and A Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts from Hermione (which, like Hermione had told him years ago, had a section dedicated to his toppling of Voldemort from power as a baby).
Ron had sent him a box of sugar-quills and chocolate frogs, along with a long rambling letter about his summer so far, and the chances of the Chudley Cannons in this years Quidditch Cup, one of several such letters to date. Fred and George had sent him a box that contained all manner of goods from their shop, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, mainly in the category of items that were not yet available to the general public – or at least, that's what the letter said. Harry carefully placed the box in his trunk, lifting it using one of Dudley's cast-off shirts. The rest of the Weasley family (except, of course, for Percy, who still hadn't made peace with his family) had all combined together to get him a watch, something that he hadn't had since the Second Task of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. The letter accompanying it said that it had several special features, and that Bill had added on another one, that he'd explain to him next time he saw him. Grabbing the next present, he opened the letter that came with it first, and froze after reading the first line.
Harry. This was supposed to be from both myself and Sirius… it just doesn't seem right not to give it to you. Also, there are two others, one from myself, one that Sirius had had wrapped since Christmas. Remember, it isn't your fault. He wouldn't want you to mourn him so much. And I get the feeling, with the gift we got for you, you won't be moping about much either. Have some fun with it!
Hesitating briefly, he went back over the letter a few times, then the ones from the rest of the presents, before he managed to regain himself enough to open up the package. Three books fell out, one another DADA book, an in-depth look at magical combat on a large-scale, the other two bound in rather simple leather. Pulling the slightly larger one to him, he opened to the first page to reveal… absolutely nothing. He was about to start flipping his way through the pages when he saw a piece of loose parchment stuck in the near the binding. Pulling it out, he quickly read it.
By our most solemn motto, make yourself known to us, to see if you are worthy of the treasures that lie within…
Eyebrow lifted, Harry grabbed his wand and tapped the book, whispering, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." He watched as the book began to fill in with ink, exactly like how the Marauders Map worked. The first page was a title page, the words "The Marauders Guide" showing up in intricate lettering, before it disappeared to be replaced by a block of writing.
Welcome purveyor of mischief, to this, the Marauders Guide. Within these pages can be found the compilation of pranks and other such tricks, all taken from our seven years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. We the Marauders, Padfoot, Moony and Prongs, again extend our welcomes, and encourage you to use this book to the fullest extent possible.
Harry watched as this text disappeared, to be replaced by some more. Hey Prongs Jnr., congratulations on turning sixteen. Hopefully, I'll be able to be with you to read through this, if Dumbledore agrees to take you away from your relatives place. If I'm not, and your feeling impatient, I'll explain about it now. Basically, it's a record of all the pranks we played through seven years of Hogwarts, complete with instructions on how to perform them such as wand movements and incantations and potions ingredients and recipes. And some come with photos, to show the effect on the victim. Use them, if you feel like it. You need to relax a bit, and nothing like a bit of mischief to loosen one up a bit! Harry laughed softly at this. You might have noticed we changed the introduction slightly… Moony and myself both agreed it was for the best. Now, get to enjoying it Pronglet! Padfoot
The letter disappeared, and Harry flicked through the pages idly, noting several interesting curses, hexes and jinxes that would be good to use on Malfoy the next time he got obnoxious, and the accompanying photos, which sealed the deal in Harry's mind. Next person to annoy me, gets one of these… or one of those… maybe one of them ones…He finished flicking through the book, continuing to note down things he might want to use in his head. Tapping the book, he muttered, "Mischief managed", and set it down, picking up the other book.
It too was empty. Taking a guess, he again tapped his wand to the book and said the password. Honestly, with a motto like that, do they think they were fooling any-
Harry sat gaping in shock at the title of the book in his hands. This book, this was the book of adolescent wizarding male legend, especially among Hogwarts students. He held in his hands the Holy Grail. It was the Young Wizard's Handbook. Thought to be a myth, it was whispered about in the dorm, bathroom or locker room. Filled with the wisdom of young wizards through the ages, and all focused on one thing.
Witches.
Harry had heard Dean and Seamus talking about it on a few occasions in the dorm back at Gryffindor Tower. Fred and George had begun an interesting discourse into whether or not it actually existed after a Quidditch practice one evening. They said Bill had once been told by a seventh year when he was in second that it had been available for hiring by a pair of industrious students who had since left the school. That was the closest anyone he'd ever heard talk about it had gotten. Well, once he'd heard a Hufflepuff claim to have a copy, but he quickly changed his story after being swamped by the male population of all four houses in fourth year and up wanting a look at it, a few years ago.
But he had in his hands an actual copy! Sitting there in a daze, he carefully placed the rest of his presents on the floor, and began to read, until he fell asleep a few hours later. All the time, his thought's echoed one thing. What a cool godfather. And at the same time, tears slowly trickled down his cheeks.