Harry found for the first time that he was not feeling homesick for Hogwarts; although he looked forward to returning to the castle, he did not mind the wait. Staying with the Grangers had been his first ever taste of what a summer holiday should be like. So it was with some hesitation that he entered Diagon Alley with Hermione to do their final shopping. Getting books took twice as long as necessary, until Harry managed to drag Hermione out of there. Certain potion reagents were required as well, since they were rare and Hogwarts could not supply them to each fifth-year student. Back on the street, a well-known malicious voice called for his attention.
"Potter!" It never ceased to amaze Harry how Malfoy could make a name sound like an insult. He was of course flanked by his usual goons, otherwise he would never have dared any kind of confrontation.
"Malfoy," Harry retorted, speaking as softly as Malfoy had spoken loudly. "No paradise without serpents."
"It's going to end," Malfoy said smugly, apparently unfettered by Harry's stab. "All these years you've lorded over us, it's coming to an end. You're going to get what you deserve!"
Harry clenched his fists. It did not really matter what Malfoy said, his mere presence gave Harry an overpowering urge to beat him into a pulp, "Be careful you don't beat me to it," Harry said, his intense dislike for the blond boy showing in his voice. "You and your father; they still send dark wizards to Azkaban."
Whatever Malfoy's response to this would have been was unknown, for now Malfoy senior arrived and took a firm grip on his son's shoulders. "Come along, Draco, it is not seeming to argue like common rabble in the middle of the street," the tall wizard said with a look towards Harry and Hermione that made his thoughts about who was common rabble clear. With a final sneer, Malfoy turned to follow his father and Hermione sighed, though Harry could not tell whether of relief or despair.
"You shouldn't let him get to you," she admonished him.
"I can't help it, I see him, my eyes turn red," Harry muttered.
"What did he mean? His threats are usually not this vague," Hermione said contemplatively. Harry shrugged, having no interest in dwelling on Malfoy's words longer than necessary.
The next day was platform 9 3/4. There were some general reunions taking place all over the station, with Harry observing that not even Egyptian sun could tan Ron's skin. Mrs. Weasley fussed over him and noticed he seemed rather thin, sending a glare at the Grangers. Ginny gave him a hug, the twins slapped his back and soon he was busy exchanging holiday stories with the various people of his year.
This was the first year Harry felt he had any stories to bring to the table himself, and he enjoyed retelling the tale of Hermione's march into his relatives' house, leaving them all stumped. Hermione blushed, muttered something unintelligible and entered the train after having made her farewells to her parents. Realising he should as well, Harry approached them and thanked them yet again for the best summer holiday of his life. Mrs. Granger blushed just like her daughter, hugged him and told him he was always welcome. Mr. Granger, a man of few words, shook Harry's hand and repeated his wife's sentiments.
"You're a good lad, Harry, any time you need a place to stay," he said. Harry thanked them again, got his trunk on board with the help of assorted Weasleys and dropped down on his train seat. As always, as soon as he was on the Hogwarts Express, Harry could feel the anticipation tingle. He knew that now he was on his way home.
The train ride was uneventful. Having spent the last days with Hermione, Harry got caught up on the pyramids and Egyptian holidays. "We got you something," Ron mumbled with his mouth stuffed with chocolate. "From Egypt. Like a talisman," he said. Ginny poked him with her elbow, hissing that he was not supposed to tell what a gift was before it was unwrapped.
"We bought it at a local market. It was supposed to be magic, though I guess so long ago that it's dead," Ginny explained, placing it i his hands. Harry removed the paper around and saw a curious metal object, in the shape of an eye, on a leather string. Hermione, having not taken part of the conversation so far, could not resist snatching it from Harry's fingers to examine it.
"Hey, that's my gift!" Harry protested mockingly.
"Shush, you know I'll give it back," Hermione said, scrutinising it from every angle. "I wonder what this was..."
"Something to ward off evil, like an evil eye," Ron suggested, but a look from Hermione made it clear that this was a rather uneducated guess. Finally she placed it back into Harry's hands and he locked it around his neck.
"Thanks, it's great," Harry said, smiling at the Weasleys in front of him. He suspected it was mostly Ginny's idea, since she smiled back while Ron was busy unpacking his next chocolaty victim.
Finally the castle rose in the horizon. Before long, they were seated in the Great Hall, witnessing the sorting and enjoying the feast menu. Harry almost physically felt his tensions relax, and most of the evening's conversation flew past him. Eventually the evening ended, and they could retire to their dorms.
Harry scrupulously unpacked, placing his books in order on his shelf, clothes in drawers and his wand on the small pedestal he had been given once as a gift for that purpose. Hagrid's dragon scale found a place on a window sill, appropriately admired by the others when Harry explained what it was. When he took out Lupin's sneakoscope, however, it immediately went mad with all its gears and wheels spinning. Startled, Harry grabbed for his wand and spun around, seeing only the confused looks of his roommates.
"Either you're being hunted by every wizard in Britain, or that thing's broken," Seamus said dryly.
Ron nodded with a sage-like expression. "Definitely broken."
Harry picked it up in his hand, which only served to increase the frantic pace with which the scope worked. Everybody gathered around to look at it, one or two poked it with their wands, but nothing happened. The excitement died down, and Harry resorted to packing it back into his trunk, wrapped in layers of fabric, mostly socks. With the noise muffled, Harry removed his glasses, put on his sleeping wear and finally lay down in his bed. At the Dursleys he could lie awake for hours on end, but here he barely had time to close his eyes.
Waking early next morning, Harry found a roll of paper that contained the information of his classes. School, Harry thought, the snake of Hogwarts' paradise. Or well, homework; most of the classes taught useful magic and things Harry loved to learn. He just wished his evenings could be spent freely. Unfurling the paper, Harry noticed something wrong.
There were the mandatory classes, Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defence, Herbology, Astronomy and History of Magic. But his optional subjects were not the ones he had chosen. He still had Divination, but instead of Care of Magical Creatures, he now had Magical Theory. Harry could not even remember that subject as a possibility, as far as he knew it was restricted to sixth years, along with other advanced topics like Alchemy. A smaller note was attached to his paper. It simply read: For an explanation for your subjects, see the headmaster after class.
Harry went over and showed the note to Ron, who shrugged. "It's not like you'll miss Care of Magical Creatures," he pointed out. True enough, Harry admitted, he had only taken that class because none of the others seemed interesting and this at least pleased Hagrid. In fact, Harry had absolutely no interest in magical creatures, or how to care for them, but he was not sure what on earth Magical Theory would entail, if he would prefer that, or why he had even been admitted to that class.
Moving towards breakfast, the pair of friends was joined by their third musketeer in the common room. Harry told Hermione what he had told Ron, and true to her nature she did not dismiss it but immediately speculated why. "If the headmaster is to explain this to you, it stands to reason he ordered it, or at least consented to it. Otherwise the appropriate teacher or McGonagall would have done it," Hermione said, wondering. "Why would he care about your studies? Apart from whether you're doing well or not..."
"Should I be worried that the headmaster is taking this interest in me?" Harry asked, slightly unnerved. Dumbledore's letters were always brief and to the point, and rarely gave anything away about the man and his intentions.
"Well he did arrange for you to stay with us, so I don't imagine he dislikes you," Hermione argued.
"Or maybe that stay was an apology in advance," Ron countered. "Like he knew he was going to do you a bad turn when you returned to Hogwarts, so he wanted to do something nice for you first, soften the blow."
Harry shot Ron a glance, even more unnerved by what seemed like paranoid reasoning from his usually carefree friend. Of course, someone might be paranoid without necessarily being wrong.
Breakfast proceeded at its usual pace, with only Harry being distracted by the upcoming conversation with Dumbledore. It did not do him much good during classes either; Snape was happy to seize upon Harry's lack of attention and deduct points for a poorly brewed potion, much to Malfoy's delight. In Transfiguration, Harry's block of wood had the kind of resemblance to a chicken that he was reminded of a horror movie he had seen as a child, where a mad scientist had spliced a duck together with a frog.
Charms was better; Harry could not explain his fondness for Flitwick, but maybe it was because the man was so tiny and yet wielded such power through his wand. Despite this, and his obvious intellect that had made him head of Ravenclaw, he was enthusiastic about his students and his was the only class of the day where Harry performed well. Every class of History of Magic was sleep-inducing, but the slow minutes crawled even slower when Harry's mind was occupied by what would come after.
Finally it was done, and although Harry suspected he did not have to go straight to Dumbledore's office, he wanted an explanation. He agreed to meet up with Ron and Hermione later and then moved along the winding stairs and maze-like corridors that led to the headmaster's office. Outside, a statue in the shape of a gargoyle turned its head and looked at him with its empty eyes. Then, it moved aside, granting Harry passage.
Harry had wondered more than once what kind of magic it was; apparently, the statue was tuned to accept passage of certain people, like the headmaster, teachers, possibly prefects and such, and Harry obviously. Hermione had been made a prefect, to nobody's surprise; he wondered if this meant she was on the exclusive list too. Through the narrow passageway, Harry found himself in Dumbledore's office. Portraits lined the walls, countless objects and artefacts were stashed on every shelf. Harry had always been fascinated by Gryffindor's sword among these, having had a fascination with knights and dragon-slaying as a child.
And there was Fawkes, the phoenix. Harry had been in this office a couple of times before, mostly just to answer Dumbledore's questions about his home at the Dursleys, how he had found the transition into the magical world, if his fame bothered him etc. He had thus met Fawkes before, and the phoenix seemed to like him; it allowed him to pet it, anyway. And, Dumbledore had entrusted him, Harry's own wand was powered by one of Fawke's feathers, which meant Harry could not help but like the creature.
A door that Harry had never noticed before opened in the back of the room. Dumbledore stepped through and as soon as he had, the wall returned to once more being lined with shelves. Harry wondered if this was merely practical, or if Dumbledore preferred the door to remain hidden. Either way, the headmaster took a seat and offered Harry the same.
"Harry, I expect you are curious why I had the audacity to change your schedule without consulting you," Dumbledore began. Harry shrugged in what he thought was a confirming way, without being rude.
"I thought Magical Theory would be useful for you to take as a subject, far more than Care of Magical Creatures. Rest assured, Hagrid understands."
"If you say so, professor. I didn't realise you were so interested in my subjects," Harry tentatively said, offering an opening for an explanation. Dumbledore took a deep breath and exhaled.
"I know. Normally I would not, but things happened during the summer. I had hoped many years would pass still, but it was not to be. Still, I am glad you have at least had some years of preparation."
Harry straightened up. The tone in Dumbledore's voice was not to be mistaken. This was far more serious than merely academic choices. "It's a bit of a story, so forgive me. You remember what I told you about Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban only a few months ago. I know that Lupin told you about him and Black, and your father, and Pettigrew." Harry nodded stiffly, not too happy about the reminder of how his parents had been betrayed and murdered.
"Turns out we've been wrong. Well I have been told so, and I believe them. Black did not betray your parents. In fact, it was Pettigrew," Dumbledore said.
Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. "No... What?" A flood of feelings and conflicting thoughts rushed through his mind. He had despised Black as a murderer like anybody else, but with the added flavour of holding him responsible for his parents' death and his imprisonment with the Dursleys. To suddenly have to re-evaluate that... Harry's mind spun from the revelations.
"But Black was sent to Azkaban for the murders. He killed my parents, and Pettigrew too, and a dozen of innocent people!" Harry argued, not prepared to deal with this. Not long after Black had escaped from Azkaban, Dumbledore had sent Harry a letter to let Harry know, and to tell him that Dumbledore was dealing with the matter personally and Harry should not worry about Black.
Harry's first instinct had been to go after Black himself to hunt him down and drag him back to Azkaban; but as soon as Hermione had realised that, she had sensibly pointed out that a) If Harry left Hogwarts to go after Black, he wouldn't even know where to go, or how to get anywhere - he couldn't take the train, he couldn't apparate, and flying on a broomstick with no idea how to navigate would likely send him over the Atlantic Ocean, and b) Harry had no idea how to track Black; if the man could escape dementors and aurors at Azkaban, a 15-year old student would not be able to catch him. In the end Harry had agreed to not do anything if Hermione would just be quiet about it.
"I don't think Pettigrew is dead. My source tells me that he is capable of transforming into a rat; he faked his own death, framing Black in the process. And until recently, Pettigrew was here, still in the guise of the rat."
"Recently? And you trust your source?" Harry asked, still in turmoil. "Professor, are you sure about this? I've blamed Black ever since I was told about him, and what he did. Now you say he didn't do it..." Harry did not want to elaborate on what 'it' was.
"I trust my source, yes. All my investigations have confirmed his story. You will get to meet him eventually," Dumbledore promised, pausing his explanations. "I had the same reaction when first confronted with the truth. I did not wish to believe that an innocent man sat in Azkaban for 14 years, while the true culprit hid among us."
"But he killed Pettigrew," Harry said. "They found a piece of him. He got revenge, didn't he?" Harry realised that that must have been what Black was doing; like Harry, he had gone after the murderer to take his vengeance.
"They found a finger, Harry. But tell me something... I heard this from Arthur Weasley, but you can confirm it, I believe. Your friend Ron had a pet rat, did he not. A rat with a missing claw, who has now disappeared."
Harry frowned, thinking that the conversation had taken an odd turn and not sure why Dumbledore cared about Ron's pet. Until he remembered that all they had found of Pettigrew was a finger. "Are you saying..."
"I am afraid so. These last years, Pettigrew has been in perfect position to spy on you, and do the bidding of Voldemort. I suspect the only reason he has not tried to kill you was because Voldemort was not in power, and they, whomever they may be, either needed you for a reason or Pettigrew was biding his time."
"But... he, you-know-who," Harry flinched at the mention of the name, "he was destroyed. I don't mean to sound pompous, but I'm proof of that. This is proof of that!" Harry said, pointing to his scar. Dumbledore shook his head.
"Voldemort went to extensive lengths to protect his life force. I am still in the process of dealing with it," the aged wizard said with a glance towards a shelf nearby. Harry followed his gaze and saw a few items scattered, but Dumbledore snapped his attention back.
"Pettigrew's disappearance means either that he realised he was found out, or he had a more important task to fulfil; a task given by Voldemort, who must then have found his way back from the brink of death. I suspect both is the case. I do have many informants, and this is the image they have painted for me. The reason I am telling you this, and why I changed your schedule, is to prepare you. Magical Theory might teach you things you will need; and I can't guarantee you will be able to return to Hogwarts in your sixth year." This left a visible shock on Harry's face. Not return? Why not? Dumbledore hastened to explain.
"Voldemort will have one ambition above all. He wants to destroy you, Harry, you are the primary obstacle to all his plans. I will shelter you as long as I can, prepare you as best I can, but at some point, you will be on your own." Dumbledore looked at Harry with those blue eyes that could not be scrutinised, but in turn seemed to analyse and dissect everything they encountered.
"Forgive me for being so blunt. But you have to know what awaits you, if you are to stand a chance. While you are at Hogwarts, I don't think he will dare move against you, not while I am present. But as Pettigrew has proven, his reach is long. Trust your closest friends, Harry, trust me and your teachers, but be ever vigilant," Dumbledore said in an echo of Moody's motto.
"I've kept you long enough," Dumbledore said, breaking the tension that had been building for a while. "Time you went to dinner," the headmaster said, and although food was the furthest thing from Harry's mind, he got up and left the office.
Outside, he stopped to arrange his thoughts. He was not sure what had made the biggest impact. Black, whom he had hated for years, had not deserved it. Scabbers, a fat, old rat was in fact Pettigrew, spy and servant of Voldemort. And he was returning. Like everybody else in the wizard world, Harry had assumed he was dead and gone. There had been not a single whisper of his return for 14 years. Dumbledore had suspected though, Harry realised, if he had understood correctly that the old wizard had not been idle.
As much as he disliked both how all these news had been dumped on him, and Dumbledore simply using his authority to change Harry's schedule without his knowledge, Harry knew that such were of less importance. If it were true, and Harry had to assume it was, what mattered was Voldemort's return. He had to prepare for this, his every moment and his every thought. Any advantage he could gain, any training he could do, any preparations he could make. Whatever happened, Harry swore to himself, he would be ready. Voldemort had undoubtedly learned since their first encounter, where a helpless baby had defeated him. Harry would learn as well.