Title: Proven Innocent
Author: SassySarcasm
Rating: T
Pairings: Trio-friendship
Warnings: Language, Violence
Summary: Harry is finally fed up with the school turning on him every other year and takes drastic measures to ensure that everyone knows what REALLY happened, enter Hermione and her knowledge of old magic and who knows what can happen.
Disclaimer: This story is 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 money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: AND heres chapter one! I'm posting this really soon after the prologue because, well, the prologue is shortish and doesn't really give you a good idea about how this is going to be written and this should do that! Don't expect updates this soon all the time, I'm gonna try to get a chapter up a week. ENJOY!
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"To read a writer is for me not merely to get an idea of what he says, but to go off with him and travel in his company."
- Andre Gide
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Hermione flipped through her transfiguration text book as she waited for Harry to come down from his dorm so they could head to breakfast.
For all that she was the girl she almost always beat him to the common room, the only time she didn't was when he had early morning Quidditch practice.
"Morning 'Mione." Harry mumbled sleepily as he stumbled, half fell down the tower stairs.
Startled from her reading, Hermione looked up at her friend. He didn't look like he'd slept much, if at all.
His hair was even messier than normal, his tie was loose around his neck, and he had circles under his eyes which were duller today.
"More nightmares?" she guessed as she stood and tried to sling her heavy bag over her shoulder.
She barely made it halfway through the movement before Harry, even in his half asleep state, managed to swipe it from her grip and sling it over his shoulder next to his own bag.
Hermione huffed and prepared to lecture him about how being female didn't mean she couldn't carry her own bag when she saw something that caught her attention much more thoroughly.
The hand that was adjusting his and her bags' strap on Harry's shoulder was bandaged with what looked like a blood stain.
"Harry!" she cried, grabbing his hand, "What did you do to your hand?"
She turned his hand over in her grip, trying to judge what was wrong with it without removing his bandage.
As she stared at his obviously injured and bandaged hand, she felt as if she should know how it happened. But she didn't.
Harry too, stared at his hand, just as confused. He tried to remember what he had done last night but he only had a vague memory of doing homework with Hermione in the common room, which was weird because these days they did most of their homework in the library.
"I… I don't remember." He said finally, voice as lost as his thoughts.
On the other hand, Hermione had already moved past the why and how and had a spiel about lying and being more careful on the tip of her tongue, only to cut herself off when she looked up and caught sight of her best friend's face.
He was paler than before and his eyes were unfocused and confused. She knew him well enough, had seen him lie to teachers and others so often, that she could tell when he was faking confusion. He wasn't
"You really don't know do you?" she asked, beginning to feel concerned.
Harry, however, didn't seem to share in her concern. He shook his head as if to clear it, and took his hand back, heading towards the portrait hole. "I'm hungry, let's head to breakfast."
She was left with no choice but to follow him, because he had all her books slung over his shoulder.
But she had no intention of forgetting about his hand. She would just wait till he was least expecting it, and then she'd make him talk to her about it.
After all he couldn't really forget how he injured his hand right?
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As had become customary the Great Hall quieted as soon as Harry walked in. He struggled to keep a straight face as he walked towards the Gryffindor table.
Only Hermione's comforting presence at his side enabled him to keep hold of his temper. It just wasn't fair, he didn't even like being the center of attention and when something finally came along that was more interesting than him, something happened to put him in the spotlight again.
Hermione had called it Irony.
Harry was pretty sure he hated irony.
"Just ignore them," Hermione advised as they sat at the table. They were sitting away from where they usually would.
Before everything had happened they would have been sitting with Ron over by Dean, Seamus, Lavender and Parvati. Now they were sitting by Neville (Who was sitting across from Hermione) and the Quidditch team.
George and Fred made kissy faces at the pair when they saw them. Hermione and Harry though were thoroughly used to their antics and only exchanged exasperated looks before turning to their food.
It was hard for Harry to concentrate on eating when he could feel everyone staring at him. The problem was compounded by the fact that it wasn't just Hogwarts now. Beauxbaton and Durmstrang were here too, and staring just as much.
Today the Beauxbaton students sitting at the Ravenclaw table, whereas the majority of the Durmstrang students were at the Slytherin table.
Harry strongly suspected that the visiting schools were purposefully avoiding the tables where one of the Hogwarts' champions sat regularly. Cedric had the Hufflepuff table and Harry had the Gryffindor table.
The hall, seeing that he wasn't doing anything more interesting than eating, turned back to their food and quieted by a considerable amount.
Breakfast was going as normal until around the time where some students got up to head to class early or to grab something before class.
Viktor Krum and some of his fellow Durmstrang friends had almost made it out of the Great Hall when the large doors slammed shut with a bang.
"Vat is this?" Viktor demanded, half suspecting that he was being pranked again. As an opponent to Hogwarts and one of Harry's rivals, he had been targeted for many pranks by the twins.
Everyone looked around confused as the windows too slammed shut and even the doors that lead to separate side rooms slammed shut.
Pandemonium struck.
Students everywhere were talking, while teachers were at once trying to calm them down AND figure out what was going on.
Harry feeling annoyed, pulled out his wand and set off several loud bangs.
It effectively made everyone quiet down, and Harry (Hand throbbing from gripping his wand too hard) sighed gustily.
"Honestly, you'd think the world was ending instead of just some doors and windows shutting." He muttered as he sat back down.
He'd spoken quietly, but his voice carried through the room.
Hermione laughed softly and nudged his shoulder affectionately.
Harry grinned at her, ignoring the glare Ron was sending his way. He could have been over there with them if he had wanted to. It was his own fault he wasn't.
Coming back to themselves everyone returned to their seats.
Dumbledore finally stood up and appeared to be about to make an announcement, perhaps to explain what had just happened, when two books fell from the ceiling to land in front of him.
Instead of erupting into chaos like last time, everyone stared silently instead.
Eyes twinkling, Dumbledore picked up the first book and examined it.
"Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban." He read aloud, secretly enjoying the range of reactions he got.
Harry groaned and beat his head against the table.
Hermione tried to make him stop.
Ron turned green.
Malfoy and his Slytherin buddies looked disgusted.
The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were curious.
And finally the visiting schools just looked confused.
"This is an intriguing turn of events." Dumbledore stated, smiling genially at the hall, "And since it seems we're stuck in here for now, perhaps we should read these books."
Horrified, Harry looked up at the Headmaster, "You can't be serious!" he exclaimed, dreading the thought of reading a book about himself.
Dumbledore merely chuckled, "It seems we have nothing else to do." He replied gently, "I think I would like to read first."
He opened the book with a flourish and flipped to the start of the first chapter.
Clearing his throat he began:
Chapter One: Owl Post
Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways.
"Hear that George? Harry's Unusual!" Fred said to his twin, pitching his voice to be sure everyone heard.
"Highly unusual, Fred!" George replied with just as much drama.
Harry groaned and considered hexing them.
For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of the year.
"Why?" Katie asked, sending their seeker a concerned look.
Shrugging, Harry refused to answer.
For another, he really wanted to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night.
Harry shook his head, cutting off anyone and everyone who was about to ask why. He didn't feel like explaining.
And he also happened to be a wizard.
It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight in one hand and a large leather-bound book ( A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot) propped against the pillow.
Hermione smiled, "I do that too" she shared, "Though not for school work. I usually do it when my parents want me to go to sleep but I want to finish my book…" she trailed off sheepishly.
Laughing, Harry looped his arm around her shoulders affectionately.
Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write this essay, "Witch Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless – Discuss."
"We had that one too!" The twins chorused, unnerving those who didn't know them. It always surprised people when they talked at the same time.
The quill paused at the top of a likely-looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight closer to the book, and read:
Non-Magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognizing it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real with or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burned so much that she allowed herself to be caught no less than forty seven time in various disguises.
"British vizards are veird," commented one of the Durmstrang students from where he sat by the Slytherin Quidditch team.
Many of the Hogwarts students glared at him, but he was a larger boy and shrugged it off undaunted.
Harry, however, laughed, "At the time I agreed."
Harry put the quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his ink bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill into it, and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill on their way to the bathroom, he'd probably find himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.
"What!" McGonagall exploded to her feet, "Tell me you read that wrong Albus." She demanded, pale as she remembered the day she spent watching that family.
She dearly hoped she was wrong.
Albus shook his head, "It does say that."
Grasping straws, McGonagall turned to Harry, "They wouldn't have really done that, would they?"
He shrugged, unconcerned, "It doesn't matter, they didn't catch me anyways." He told her, motioning for Dumbledore to continue.
No one had ever listened to him before when he tried to explain how the Dursleys were, he was done trying to make them listen.
Hermione grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze.
The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and their son, Dudley, were Harry's only living relatives.
"That's not true!" Malfoy exclaimed, before blushing when he realized everyone had heard and turned to look at him.
Sighing he explained, "Your grandmother on your dad's side was born a Black, making us something of cousins, though a couple times removed."
Harry stared, "I didn't know…"
Malfoy nodded, "I figured that out when you didn't want to get to know me." He pointed out dryly.
Suddenly Harry flashed back to how on the train that first year Malfoy had seemed much more interested once he knew Harry was THE Harry Potter.
At the time he thought it was just more 'boy-who-lived crap' but could this be the real reason?
They were muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude toward magic. Harry's dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof.
The teachers who had known the Potters looked mildly horrified.
"If you ever have questions you're free to ask me," McGonagall offered softly.
Harry smiled up at her, nodding.
Snape clenched his hands into fists; feeling sure that those stories would mostly be about James.
For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him.
"Oh, Harry" Hermione whispered, grasping his hand tighter.
The Weasleys, including Ron, looked angry.
"Your spending summer with us!" declared Ginny, to the approval of her brothers.
Harry smiled gratefully, though deep down he doubted Dumbledore would allow it.
To their fury, they had been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most they could do, however, was to lock away Harry's spellbooks, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of summer break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors.
"That eez 'orrible!" Fluer Delacour cried, "How will he learn anything?"
Many Ravenclaws voiced their agreement.
This separation from his spellbooks had been a real problem for Harry, because his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work.
"We would have understood and given you extra time if you had explained the situation." Professor Sprout explained kindly.
Harry nodded, somewhat doubtful that it would really work out that way. There was Snape to consider after all.
One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for Harry's least favorite teacher, Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry detention for a month.
Many of the Gryffindors who had personal experience with this side of Snape glared.
Harry had therefore seized his chance the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices so that the rest of the street would notice it too), -
"Zat iz very annoying!" Gabrielle Delacour declared, causing many of the older girls to smile at her indulgently.
"Oui, et ez." Her sister agreed, reaching over to fondly ruffle her hair.
-Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books, and hidden them in his bedroom.
"We taught him how to do that!" The twins declared proudly, puffing their chests out in a parody of Percy when he was acting pompous.
As long as he didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by night.
Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because he'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school vacation.
Ron, momentarily forgetting he was mad at Harry, leaned around Seamus so he could look at him, "Sorry about that again, Mate."
Too shocked to answer Harry just nodded, wondering briefly if maybe this would be a good thing after all.
Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry's best friends at Hogwarts, came from a family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things Harry didn't, but had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call.
"What's a fellyfone?" Tracey Davis, a Slytherin in Harry's year, asked.
Hermione sighed but volunteered the information nonetheless, "It's a device muggles use to communicate over distance. Kind of like a handheld floo call, though you can't see their face."
"Vernon Dursley speaking."
Harry, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as he heard Ron's voice answer.
"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I – WANT—TO –TALK—TO—HARRY-POTTER!"
Professor Burbage looked down at Weasley, "Might I suggest that you should have taken Muggle Studies, ?"
Ron's ears and everything attached, turned red in the fashion only Weasleys seemed to manage, and he nodded sheepishly.
Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm.
Harry laughed, remembering Vernon's face. It hadn't been funny then considering the circumstances… but now… well that was a different ball game altogether.
"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO ARE YOU?"
"RON-WEASLEY!" Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football field.
"I'M—A—FRIEND—OF—HARRY'S—FROM-SCHOOL-"
Uncle Vernon's small eyes swiveled around to Harry, who was rooted to the spot.
"THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!" he roared, now holding the receiver at arms' length, as though frightened it might explode. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!"
"Well that went well…" Cedric Diggroy murmured, surprised at Harry's Uncle's extreme reaction.
Ginny nodded in agreement. "I thought Ron was exaggerating," she told everyone glancing at her brother, "Guess not."
Wisely Ron held his tongue, and settled for glaring at his only sister. She was still cross with him over his betrayal of Harry and had already hexed him once; he had no desire for a repeat.
And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider.
The fight that followed had been one of the worst ever.
"For now…" Harry muttered, imagining the welcome he was going to get this summer. Last he saw had been trying to shrink Dudley's tongue after the twins had tricked him into eating one of their prank candies.
"HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE -PEOPLE LIKE YOU!" Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying Harry with spit.
Disgust seemed to be the general feeling throughout the hall as many girls gagged and even some of the boys looked nauseated.
Ron obviously realized that he'd gotten Harry into trouble because he hadn't called again. Harry's other best friend from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn't been in touch either.
Hermione smiled at being mentioned, "Sorry Harry. I didn't want to make things worse."
"I figured as much," Harry replied, tightening his grip around her shoulders in thanks.
He ignored the looks they were receiving with practice.
Hermione was his closest friend, and if he wanted to put his arm around her it wasn't anyone else's business but theirs.
Harry suspected that Ron had warned Hermione not to call, which was a pity, because Hermione, the cleverest witch in Harry's year, had muggle parents, knew perfectly well how to use a telephone, and would probably have had enough sense not to say that she went to Hogwarts.
"Of course I wouldn't say that," Hermione exclaimed, "You told us enough times that they hated magic."
"Do they really hate magic Potter?" Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff in their year, asked.
Sighing, Harry nodded, "I'm sure you'll see just how much in this book."
No one liked the sound of that.
So Harry had had no word from any of his wizarding friends for five long weeks, and this summer was turning out to be almost as bad as the last one.
"Really? As bad as-" George started.
"-Second year?" Fred finished, remembering the bars that had been on Harry's window and how hungry Harry had been.
Harry didn't answer.
The Weasleys exchanged looks. They were going to have to talk to their parents.
There was just one very small improvement—after swearing that he wouldn't use her to send letters to any of his friends, Harry had been allowed to let his owl, Hedwig, out at night.
"They don't let you write to your friends?" Cho Chang asked, aghast. She couldn't imagine a summer without writing to her friends and Cedric.
Harry just shrugged, unwilling to talk about it in front of everyone.
Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig made if she was locked in her cage all the time.
Harry finished writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused to listen again. The silence in the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, Dudley. It must be very late, Harry thought. His eyes were itching with tiredness. Perhaps he's finish this essay tomorrow night…
He replaced the top of the ink bottle; pulled an old pillowcase from under his bad; put the flashlight, A History of Magic, his essay, quill, and ink inside it; got out of bed; and hid the lot under a loose floorboard under his bed.
"That's a cool hiding place!" Dennis Creevy said enviously, "I wish I had a place like that in my room." He pouted.
The Gryffindors laughed and began to tease him affectionately.
Then he stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on his bedside table.
It was one o'clock in the morning. Harry's stomach gave a funny jolt. He had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour.
"Happy Birthday Harry!" the majority of the Great Hall chorused, making it feel like the whole room was vibrating.
Harry blushed, but managed to keep a somewhat straight face, "You know it's not really my birthday right?"
Yet another unusual thing about Harry was how little he looked forward to his birthdays. He had never received a birthday card in his life.
Harry groaned, and rested his head on Hermione's shoulder, burying his burning face in her hair. He did NOT want to see the looks of pity he knew were being directed in his direction.
Feeling protective, Hermione glared at anyone who dared to look at them for longer than five seconds.
The Dursleys had completely ignored his last two birthdays, and he had no reason to suppose they would remember this one.
Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig's large, empty cage, to the open window. He leaned on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on his face after a long time under the blankets.
Hoping that the book was done talking about his birthday, Harry lifted his head from Hermione's shoulder. He was relieved to see that everyone was focusing on the book.
"Thanks," he whispered, careful to be sure no one else heard.
She just smiled at him understandingly and snuggled closer to him.
Hedwig had been absent for two nights now. Harry wasn't worried about her; she'd been gone this long before. But he hoped she'd be back soon – she was the only living creature in this house who didn't flinch at the sight of him.
This time when everyone turned to look at him, Harry growled, "Enough! I don't want your pity! If I did I would have told you this on my own!"
Cowed, the majority of the school averted their gaze. Only those who knew him well kept looking, and he couldn't bring himself to glare at them.
Harry, though still rather small and skinny for his age, had grown a few inches over the last year.
"Finally taller than Hermione!" Harry commented, playfully poking Hermione's forehead.
Those around the pair laughed at Hermione's affronted face.
His jet-black hair, however, was just as it had always been – stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it.
Angelina Johnson, one of the chasers on the Gryffindor team, reached over and ruffled his hair, "For anyone else's standards it always looks like you just finished playing Quidditch, and when you've actually been playing…" she trailed off laughing.
Soon everyone followed suit.
Harry pouted, playing up his role as the baby and youngest on the team, before giving in and laughing too.
The eyes behind his glasses were bright green, and on his forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning.
Harry flattened his hair over his forehead, glaring at any and all who tried to get a look at it.
Of all the unusual things about Harry, this scar was the most extraordinary of all. It was not, as the Dursleys had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had killed Harry's parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died in a car crash.
There was an instant uproar after that particular line. Even the Slytherins were up in arms about it; unable to believe that Potter's own family had told him such a thing and had lied about something like that.
It would have gone on for much longer if Dumbledore hadn't set off several purple firecrackers, and gotten everyone under control.
"If I might continue?" Dumbledore asked, though everyone knew it wasn't a question.
They had been murdered, murdered by the most feared Dark wizard for a hundred years, Lord Voldemort.
The majority of the hall flinched; some of the first years even yelped or shrieked.
Harry rolled his eyes, glad that Hermione (Who still wouldn't say the name) had at least NOT flinched.
Harry had escaped from the same attack with nothing more than a scar on his forehead, where Voldemort's curse, instead of killing him, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive, Voldemort had fled…
But Harry had come face-to-face with him at Hogwarts.
"What?" was the general outcry from the student who hadn't already been in the know.
Harry looked down, he'd forgotten how many didn't know about all the things he'd been up to these past few years.
Many knew the rumors of what happened, but if there had been any rumors about him meeting Voldemort they were probably ignored and believed to be false.
"QUIET!" Dumbledore thundered, "Yes, Voldemort has been in the school some these past years, but you all were never in any danger. I saw to that."
His statement seemed to soothe everyone, as all the students settled back down.
Harry glared at the headmaster, knowing the man had lied.
Remembering their last meeting as he stood at the dark window, Harry had to admit he was lucky to even have reached his thirteenth birthday.
"Don't say that!" Hermione protested faintly, "Or think it!'
He scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring back to him with a dead mouse dangling from her beak, expecting praise. Gazing absently the rooftops, it was a few seconds before Harry realized what he was seeing.
Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided creature, and it was flapping in Harry's direction. He stood quite still, watching it sink lower and lower.
"Vat is it?" Krum wondered aloud, getting caught up in the reading.
Harry smiled good-naturedly, "You'll see."
For a split second he hesitated, his hand on the window latch, wondering whether to slam it shut. But then the bizarre creature soared over the street lamps of Privet Drive, and Harry, realizing what it was, leapt aside.
Through the window soared three owls, two of them holding up the third which appeared to be unconscious.
"Errol!" The Weasleys shouted.
They landed with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and the middle owl, which was large and grey, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large package tied to its legs.
Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once—his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family.
The Weasleys cheered.
Harry dashed to the bed, untied the cords around Errol's legs, took off the parcel, and then carried Errol to Hedwig's cage. Errol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp some water.
"I really am surprised he's still alive…" Ginny mused thoughtfully. She couldn't count how many times they had all thought he was done for.
Harry turned back to the remaining owls. One of them, the large snowy owl, was his own Hedwig. She, too, was carrying a parcel and looking extremely pleased with herself. She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he removed her burden, and then flew across the room to join Errol.
Harry smiled fondly; he really did love his owl.
Harry didn't recognize the third owl, a handsome tawny one, but he knew at once where it had come from, because in addition to a third package, it was carrying a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest.
"Your Hogwarts book list?" Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw, guessed.
Harry nodded.
"Zat ez very convenient." Fluer observed.
When Harry relieved this owl of its burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off through the window into the night.
Harry sat down on his bed and grabbed Errol's package, ripped off the brown paper, and discovered a present wrapped in gold, and his first ever birthday card.
Ron smiled, glad that he was the first one to ever give Harry a birthday card. It was only right after all, he had been his first friend.
He was conveniently forgetting that he and Harry weren't talking at the moment.
Fingers trembling slightly, he opened the envelope. Two pieces of paper fell out- a letter and a newspaper clipping.
The clipping had clearly come out of the wizarding newspaper the Daily Prophet, because the people in the black and white picture were moving. Harry picked up the clipping, smoothed it out, and read:
MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE
SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts
Office at the Ministry of Magic, had won the
Annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
A delighted told the Daily Prophet,
"We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday
In Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a
Curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding bank."
The Weasley family will be spending a month in
Egypt, returning for the start of the new school
Year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley
Children currently attend.
Harry scanned the moving Photograph, and a grin spread across his face as he saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously at him, standing in front of a large pyramid. Plump little ; tall, balding ; six sons; and one daughter, all (Though the black-and-white picture didn't show it) with flaming red hair.
"You really sent him the clipping?" Fred asked, giving Ron a funny look. He and George had been teasing Ron about telling everyone but they hadn't expected he really had.
Ron blushed, "He wouldn't have known otherwise, he doesn't order the Prophet." He pointed out fairly.
Right in the middle of the picture was Ron, tall and gangling, with his pet rat, Scabbers, on his shoulder and his arm around his little sister, Ginny.
Harry tensed at the mention of Wormtail, though only Hermione really noticed. She pressed closer, squeezing his hand in a silent show of support.
He squeezed back.
Harry couldn't think of anyone who deserved to win a large pile of gold more than the Weasleys, who were very nice and extremely poor.
All the Weasleys turned bright red, "Harry!"
He picked up Ron's letter and unfolded it.
Dear Harry,
Happy Birthday!
Look, I'm really sorry about the telephone call. I hope the Muggles didn't give you a hard time. I asked Dad, and he reckons I shouldn't have shouted.
It's amazing here in Egypt. Bill's taken us around all the tombs and you wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum wouldn't let Ginny come in the last on. There were all these mutant skeleton in there, of Muggles who'd broken in and grown extra heads and stuff.
I couldn't believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw. Seven hundred galleons! Most of it gone on this trip, but they're going to buy me new want for next year.
Harry remembered only too well the occasion when Ron's old wand had snapped. It had happened when the car the two of them had been flying to Hogwarts had crashed into a tree on the school grounds.
"You haff very bad luck, Potter." Krum told him, shaking his head in disbelief, and they weren't even through one chapter. If this was anything like other books this was still the recap section.
We'll be back about a week before term starts and we'll be going up to London to get my wand and our new books. Any chance of meeting you there?
Don't let the Muggles get you down!
Try and come to London,
Ron
P.S. Percy's Head Boy. He got the letter last week.
"You don't sound very happy about that," Marietta Edgecombe, one of Cho Chang's friends, pointed out.
Ron shrugged, "I wasn't."
Harry glanced at the photograph. Percy, who was in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, was looking particularly smug. He had pinned his Head Boy badge to the fez perched jauntily on top of his neat hair, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the Egyptian sun.
Harry now turned to his present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass spinning top. There was another note from Ron beneath it.
Harry - This is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there's someone untrustworthy around, it's supposed to light up and spin. Bill says it Rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn't reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn't realize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.
The twins turned and high-fived each other as the Quidditch team laughed and cheered for them. They had all been victims of the twins frequently and it was nice to hear about it happening to someone other than them.
Bye –
Ron
Harry put the Pocket Sneakoscope on his bedside table, where it stood quite still, balanced on its point, reflecting the luminous hands on his clock. He looked at it happily for a few seconds, then picked up the parcel Hedwig had brought.
Hermione smiled, "My turn!"
Inside this, too, there was a wrapped present, a card and a letter, this time from Hermione.
Dear Harry,
Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I do hope you're all right.
I'm on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know how I was going to send this to you – what if they'd opened it at customs?—But then Hedwig showed up! I think she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change. I bought your present by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I've been getting it delivered; it's so good to keep up with what's going on in the wizarding world). Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he's learning loads. I'm really jealous – the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.
There's some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I've rewritten my who History of Magic essay to include some of the things I've found out. I hope it's not too long – it's two rolls of parchment more that Professor Binns asked for.
It was Hermione's turn to hide her face in Harry's shoulder as everyone turned to stare at her in disbelief.
Ron says he's going to be in London in the last week of the holidays. Can you make it? Will your Aunt and Uncle let you come? I really hope you can. If not, I'll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September first
Love from,
Hermione
P.S. Ron says Percy's Head Boy. I'll bet Percy's really pleased. Ron doesn't seem too happy about it.
Harry laughed as he put Hermione's letter aside and picked up her present. It was very heavy. Knowing Hermione, he was sure it would be a large book of very difficult spells –
Those who knew Hermione nodded in agreement, secretly sure it was a book.
But it wasn't.
"Really?" Lavender asked, looking at Hermione, who was one of her dorm mates. She thought she'd had Hermione pegged.
Hermione shook her head, "It's really not a book." She told everyone, somewhat exasperated that everyone thought she was only capable of giving books as presents.
His heart gave a huge bound as he ripped back the paper and saw a sleek black leather case, with silver words stamped across it, reading Broomstick servicing kit.
"Wow, Hermione!" Harry whispered, unzipping the case to look inside.
Hermione smiled smugly, feeling vindicated, "I knew you'd appreciate it."
Amused, Harry nudged her, "You were right."
There was a large jar of Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip on your broom for long journeys and a Handbook of do-it-yourself Broomcare.
The many Quidditch enthusiasts (Barring Krum) sighed in envy.
Apart from his friends, the thing that Harry missed most about Hogwarts was Quidditch, the most popular sport in the magical world – highly dangerous, very exciting, and played on broomsticks.
This time ALL the Quidditch fans cheered.
Harry happened to be a very good Quidditch player; he had been the youngest person in a century to be picked for one of the Hogwarts House teams. One of Harry's most prized possessions was his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom.
Krum nodded thoughtfully, to be playing on an organized Quidditch team that young would be an advantage if you ever wanted to go pro. He'd have to see how the Potter boy flew; maybe he'd encourage him to go pro.
He needed a fresh challenge.
Harry put the leather case aside and picked up his last parcel. He recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leather, but before he could unwrap it properly, the parcel gave a strange quiver, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly - as though it had jaws.
The students who'd had Hagrid that year exchanged wary glances, could it be?
Harry froze. He knew that Hagrid would never send him anything dangerous on purpose, but then, Hagrid didn't have a normal person's view on what was dangerous.
"You got that right," Malfoy muttered.
Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders (Ron shuddered), buy vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin.
"There really was a dragon?" McGonagall asked faintly.
Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance with each other, than Malfoy, "Yes!" the three chorused.
Everyone stared at the strange occurrence.
Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand, and raised it over his head ready to strike.
"That's right, be ready, if that's what I think it is you'll need to be!" Neville muttered much to the amusement of those around him.
Neville had a healthy dislike for those books.
Then he seized the rest of the wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled.
And out fell - a book. Harry just had time to register its handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title The Monster Book of Monsters,
The past third years, now fourth years, who had been dreading just this event, groaned.
Before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled side-ways along the bed like some weird crab.
"uh-oh," Harry muttered.
The Book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room. Harry followed it stealthily. The book was hiding in the dark space under his desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast asleep, Harry got down on his hand and knees and reached for it.
By now everyone was on the edge of their seats as they listened.
"Ouch!"
The book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him, still scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himself forwards and managed to flatten it. Uncle Vernon gave a loud, sleepy grunt in the room next door.
Hedwig and Errol watched interestedly as Harry clamped the struggling book tightly in his arms, hurried to his chest of drawers, and pulled out a belt, which he bucjled tightly around it. The Monster Book shuddered angrily, but could no longer flap and snap, so Harry threw it down on the bed and snatched for Hagrid's card.
"I was hoping it would explain why I was just attacked by a book," Harry complained as he stared at the ceiling. He was ready for this to be over already, and he had a sinking feeling they'd only just begun.
Dear Harry,
Happy Birthday!
Think you might find this useful for next year.
Won't say no more here. Tell you when I see you.
Hope the Muggles are treating you right,
All the best,
Hagrid
It stuck Harry as ominous that Hagrud thought a bting book would come in useful, but he put Hagrid's card up next to Ron's and Hermione's, grinning more broadly than ever. Now there was only the letter from Hogwarts left.
Noticing that it was rather thicker than usual, Harry slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within, and read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King's Cross station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o'clock.
Third years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade on certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parents or guardian to sign.
A list of books for next year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form and looked at it, no longer grinning. It would be wonderful to visit Hogmeade on weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot here. But how on eath was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to sign the form.
He looked over at the alarm clock. It was now two o'clock in the morning.
Deciding that he'd worry about the Hogsmeade form when he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reach up to cross off another day on the chart he'd made for himself, counting down the days left until his return to Hogwarts. The he took off his glasses and lay down, eyes open, facing his three birthday cards.
Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt just like everyone else - glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday.
Dumbledore marked the page and shut the book, "That's the end of Chapter One, who would like to read next?"
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