The Book of M

By Leda Medea

Disclaimer: These stories are based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No funding is received for the publication of this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: I'm probably going to write this story at my own leisure, so don't get mad at me for infrequent updates…it's no fun if you're made to do the story yano. But I do hope you enjoy the story and stick with me! Constructive criticism is appreciated, as are loving reviews. :) No flamers please; I'm not a professional writer, and this story is just the product of my bored mind and too many snow days. Well, enjoy! :)

It was June 22, 1996; one of the hottest days of the year, in Harry Potter's opinion. Not that his opinion mattered much around this neighborhood, anyways. Here in Surrey, Harry was considered a hooligan, a nuisance, and a common criminal, due to his family's lie that Harry attended St. Brutus's School for Incurably Criminal Boys. He was also portrayed to be a pickpocket, and a bully to small children. That was fine with Harry; all the more reason for people to stay away from him. All he did when they got too close was kill them, anyways…

Harry sighed, and wiped the sweat from his eyes. Weeding Aunt Petunia's garden was one of his most hated chores; some of them Harry thought he was allergic to, and by the time he got done with the garden, he would find himself wheezing and coughing all the way back to his room. He was lucky there were only a few weeds there today, otherwise he might pass out from the weeds and heat combined.

After he weeded the garden, Harry was expected to wash Vernon's new company car (they had given it to him as a benefit for selling the most drills), take the trash bins to the community dumpster, and chop the tomatoes for tonight's dinner (Petunia hated getting the tomato juice on her hands, said it messed with her expensive hand cream).

To Harry's intense surprise, he found that the didn't mind the chores as much as he had in years past. In fact, he found them relaxing, and as a way to get away from his thoughts of Sirius.

Sirius Black had been Harry's godfather since the boy's birth, but Harry hadn't known until his third year at Hogwarts. Before that time, he hadn't even known the man's name, let alone that the man was his godfather. They had met in the Shrieking Shack in Hogsmeade, at a time where Harry believed Sirius to be a murderer hunting for Harry's blood. As it happened, not only did Sirius not want to kill him; he wanted to avenge the death of Harry's parents, James and Lily, and take Harry to live with him as soon as he had his freedom. Sadly, this had not been meant to be; Sirius's means of redemption, Peter Pettigrew's confession, vanished when the little rat got away from his captors. During the next few years, Harry had only briefly seen and talked to his godfather, but it had been enough to make Harry ache for more.

Now, though, Harry knew he would never be able to live with Sirius as he should, as he wanted to. Sirius was dead, and Harry, however indirectly, had caused it. He had killed his godfather, because of his own foolishness. If only he had not believed his vision! If only he had waited, had done something differently…

Harry regretted his unwise decisions that night full heartedly, and wanted to be able to bring Sirius back from beyond the veil more than anything. He knew Sirius couldn't resurface from the veil - that much had been obvious. But he vowed to never endanger anyone like he had Sirius again.

Now, all Harry had to remember his godfather with was a broken mirror and the explosive pain that gripped his heart as he remembered the broken man's face. It was enough to make him cry out, and suddenly he found himself kneeling in the kitchen, on his hands and knees. He shook his head and resolutely stood up, continuing to dice the tomatoes.

"Potter."

Harry whipped around to face his Aunt, putting down his knife cautiously. Usually, his aunt reserved that tone of voice when she was trying to be pleasant (and failing exceedingly) to him. He nodded.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"

She ran a hand through her perfectly kept hair. "If you are up to it, you may sit in on dinner tonight. I have a little more food than I need for the three of us, and the boys don't prefer leftovers…"

Harry frowned. Was Petunia actually asking him to have a meal with them? Usually during the summer holidays, he was ignored totally, and resorted to just taking a portion of food for himself to his room on the second floor.

"I…sure, Aunt Petunia…"

She clasped her hands together, as if trying to hold herself back from canceling her offer. "Good, then. Wash up, now, I don't want your dirty hands all over my fine china."

Harry agreed, put the knife in the sink, and walked up the stairs to wash his hands. How strange…maybe Dumbledore had said something to his Aunt? Harry didn't think so, for some reason. So why was Petunia being so civil? Surely after what had happened to her 'Diddy Dinkydums' last year, she wouldn't exactly be jumping at the chance to make Harry happy… He shook his hands out and dried them on the towel. Whatever was in store for him at dinner, Harry made a promise to himself not to blow his temper. These days, Harry understood exactly the importance of the wards on the Dursley home; knowing what he did now of the prophecy, he didn't want to put anyone in danger, and the Dursley home was the safest place for him to be. He almost didn't want to leave the Dursley's anymore, for fear of what would happen once he did. He sighed, and walked back down to the dinner table, where Dudley, Vernon, and Aunt Petunia were seated. He did a double take as he saw that they were all waiting for him to sit down before they started eating. Harry nodded to them and sat in the fourth chair at the dining table, right across from Dudley.

Aunt Petunia, chatty as usual, started off the dinner conversation.

"Vernon, dear, tell us about your day at the office."

Harry's uncle swelled with pride at the reminder of his job at Grunning's. With a simering smile on his face, he answered, "Ah yes, Grunning's is doing quite well, what with all the drills we've been selling lately. The summer's our busiest season, you know; what with everyone buying decks and such for their summer holidays, drills are selling something fierce."

Dudley, as usual, didn't pay any attention to his parents chatter; it seemed that he had gotten over his scare last summer for the most part, as he was now cutting visciously into his Salisbury steak. So much for the school's diet, Harry thought, cutting back a smile.

"That's wonderful, dear! I'm sure Grunning's couldn't do anything without you."

"Yes, well, not everyone has the talent required to sell the most drills of the season. It's very hard work, you see, what with the connections required to make a dent in the public…"

Harry tuned out the rest of the conversation in favor of eating his meal. Surely he would not be involved in the conversation; whatever had inspired Petunia to include him in the meal was not so giving when it came to conversation. Harry was grateful; he didn't know a thing about Vernon's company. And he sure as hell didn't want to flatter the man about selling drills, for goodness's sake…

The rest of the meal passed by quickly, with Harry not saying anything during the course of conversation. Once the meal was done, and he was about to excuse himself, Aunt Petunia told him he was welcome to tomorrow's meal, too, if he was so inclined. He shot her a surprised look, but agreed. Who would reject an offer of food at the Dursley household?

Once he was safely back in his room, thoughts of what happened at the Ministry plagued him once again. He couldn't help but want to be ready for the next time something like this happened; for it was sure to happen, as it had during almost every year of his Hogwarts schooling. Harry wanted to start learning how to be more efficient in battle, so he could be more assured of himself when facing Voldemort. Surely his luck couldn't hold out forever…

Harry awoke the next morning to a bright flash. He quickly sat up in bed, putting on his glasses and trying to take in his surroundings; the window was closed, as was his trunk and dresser; his clothes were strewn around the room as usual; Hedwig was in her cage, looking towards a corner of the room…

Harry's eyes widened further when he spotted the large, golden phoenix on top of his desk. It trilled a note, seeming to say 'You're safe, it's alright.' He approached it cautiously, nonetheless, and saw that it held a not-so-small package in its beak. He reached for it slowly, and the beard gave it to him, trilling again. This time, Harry got the feeling that the bird was laughing at him.

Turning back to the package, Harry noticed that it was wrapped in an almost translucent type of glossy paper, with a blue ribbon holding it together. He undid the ribbon, and the paper fell away to reveal a book.

'Magic by M.'

That was all the cover said. Harry turned the book over, and inspected all of its hard cover; nothing else was written on the dark blue leather cover, except for a tiny phoenix insignia at the bottom right corner of the back cover. Looking curiously at the bird, Harry opened the book to its first page.

'An Introduction to Magic by M.

This book makes itself known only to those who are in desperate need of what it holds inside its pages. Let its wisdom become yours, let its pages guide you through. It will be enough; have hope, and good luck to you. This book is now yours for as long as you require.

- M.'

What the…? Harry flipped through the book, and saw nothing but the first chapter. He frowned, and then, strangely enough, a side note appeared. 'You may only see one chapter at a time, for you must master them all. –M.'

Harry shrugged, but put the book down to attend to the phoenix. He smiled at it, scratched its head, and said softly, "Hm, I don't assume you have a name, do you?"

The phoenix voiced its thoughts again, conveying the fact that Harry would figure it out in time. He laughed. "Alright. What should I call you in the meantime? Phoenix?"

The bird nodded its head, and Harry said, "Phoenix it is, then."

Harry re-opened his book, and started in on the first chapter, 'Chapter One – Understanding Magic.'

A/N : Woohoo! How'd you like the prologue? I'm hoping you did. If you have any suggestions, they're welcome, and if you really want to see something in the story, tell me ASAP. I've got the plot all worked out, but I could probably add something in. Just remember, I don't do slash, sorry. :) Review please! :D

Love Leda Medea.