Chapter Two
The Letter



Harry Potter sat at the dinner table of Number Four Privet Drive quietly eating his dinner. He stared thoughtfully out of the window, watching the sunset in the distance until...

"BOY!" his uncle roared at him from across the table. "You acknowledge me when I speak to you!"

Harry was jolted out of his daydreams and turned to stare at his uncle.

Vernon Dursley was a large, beefy man. He had small beady eyes and his dark, slightly graying hair and bushy mustache did little to hide the ever-present scowl on his face.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, "I..."

But Uncle Vernon overrode him. "You're going to Mrs. Figg's house tomorrow morning to help her clean up. She needed help and it's about time someone put your lazy rear to work. You've done absolutely nothing this summer except sit up in that room of yours, working on nothing else but that ruddy schoolwork."

"Okay," said Harry, standing up, "but since I'll be busy tomorrow, I better write that letter to Sirius tonight then..." he trailed of.

Uncle Vernon's eyes widened slightly and there was no mistaking the gasp that escaped from his aunt's lips.

Aunt Petunia was a scrawny woman with a face very resemblant of a horse's. She sat there now with her eyes wide, her mouth open, and both hands to her face.

Even his massive cousin Dudley began to look nervously back and forth between Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Dudley was Harry's age but at least three times his size. His porky face was topped with thick, blond hair and his meaty lips were now trembling.

These were the effects that a simple mention of Sirius Black had on Harry's only living relatives.

Sirius Black was Harry's godfather. He was also a convicted murder on the run, which Harry had made sure the Dursleys were well-aware of. He kept in contact with Sirius by writing him letters and letting him know how he was doing. He had conveniently "forgotten" to mention to the Dursleys that Sirius was also innocent.

"Well," sputtered Uncle Vernon, "if you have schoolwork you have to do, then I'll just tell Mrs. Figg you can't do it..." Uncle Vernon was now looking extremely flustered and his mustache was twitching nervously.

"Oh, no," said Harry calmly. "I'll do it. I mean after all, you already told her I would. I've been bored anyway." He quickly turned and left the kitchen before any of the Dursleys could see the broad smile that now stretched across his face.

Harry quickly bounded up the stairs, in a considerably lighter mood, and opened the door to his bedroom. His room could not have been a sharper contrast to the rest of the dull, orderly, and utterly boring Number 4 Privet Drive.

A large, white snowy owl sat beside her cage on Harry's desk, looking up and hooting softly at Harry in greeting. A ver fine, well-cared for, and expensive-looking broomstick lay on his bedspread surrounded by the contents of his broomstick servicing kit. The floor was littered with large books with names such as Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century, Dragons: Monsters or Pets?, and A Guide to Quidditch in England. There were posters above his bed of players dressed in orange robes on flying broomsticks that actually zoomed around in the pictures. But none of these things seemed strange or unnatural to Harry. Harry Potter was a wizard.

Harry walked over to his bed and began to put his broomstick servicing kit away.

The broomstick was one of Harry's most prized possessions. It was a Firebolt, the best broomstick in the world and had been a gift from Sirius. Hedwig, Harry's owl, watched him gather up his schoolbooks from the floor and stuff them into the trunk at the foot of his bed.

Still grinning about the Dursleys' reactions to the mention of Sirius, Harry sat down at his desk and pulled out a quill and fresh roll of parchment. It was about time that Harry should write to Sirius anyway, but before he could begin, there was a tap at the window and Harry saw a brown barn owl with a letter clutched in its beak, hovering outside.

Again, this might have seemed strange and shocking to a Muggle (an unmagical person) but not to a witch or wizard. The wizarding world used Owl Post as a means of communication. Most witches or wizards either owned or had access to an owl which would deliver letters for them.

Harry hurried to the window and flung it open. The owl swooped in and landed on his bed. Harry took the letter from its beak and began to open it. The letter inside had been written in a hasty scrawl that Harry recognized immediately.



Harry-
Although I don't like to worry you about things you can't control, matters have changed. Last night one of Voldemort's Death Eaters showed up near Privet Drive. Luckily the protection that Dumbledore has put in place around you stopped him before he could reach you. Even though no harm was done, I am telling you this, Harry, because you must keep your eyes open even at the Dursleys'. If there's ever the slightest hint of danger or you see anything unusual, let me know.
Voldemort has been very busy these past few months and I fear dark times are ahead. But Dumbledore and the rest of us are working hard against him. I'll rest easier when you're back in the wizarding world in a few weeks, but until then, be careful.
Sirius



Harry looked up and saw that the barn owl was sitting beside Hedwig now and was helping itself to her water. Hedwig was staring distastefully at the other owl as it carelessly splashed water out of the bowl.

A Death Eater here on Privet Drive? Harry's mind thought wildly. The possibility didn't even seem real. He just couldn't picture one of Lord Voldemort's supporters walking past the neat, organized houses lining Privet Drive. Especially in their long, dark hooded robes and faceless masks. Harry shook the image away quickly. It was oddly unsettling. But...

...The air was suddenly full of the swishing of cloaks. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every shadowy space, wizards were appearing. All of them hooded and masked. And one by one they moved forward...

Harry forced himself to snap out of the flashback and found that he had gone suddenly cold and was trembling slightly.

It had only been a couple months since that terrible night in the graveyard. The night Harry had been unexpectedly transported from the safety of the school to that horrible, deathly place...The night Harry had seen a fellow Hogwarts student murdered first-hand...The night Harry had seen Lord Voldemort rise again...The night Harry had barely escaped alive.

Harry still shuddered at the memory and continued to wake up in the middle of the night, sweating and shaking, as nightmares of large, poisonous snakes; high, cold laughs; blinding, green lights; and the cold, dead eyes of Cedric Diggory haunted him in his sleep.

Harry sat there on his bed, trembling, staring at his pale reflection in the wardrobe mirror. A young man of fifteen with unruly black hair, round glasses, bright green eyes, and a peculiar lightning-shaped scar on his forehead stared back at him. It wasn't easy for Harry to think of Lord Voldemort, especially considering that the Dark Lord was the reason Harry no longer had any parents.

Harry had been a year old when Voldemort had showed up one night at the Potters' house. The Dark Lord had been steadily gaining power for eleven years and was at the peak of his reign of terror. One of Harry's father's closest friends betrayed their location to Voldemort, and the Dark Lord arrived at Godric's Hollow on Halloween night. Voldemort forced his entrance and as Harry's mother, Lily, tried to flee with the baby Harry, James Potter, Harry's father, bravely tried to fend off the Dark Lord. Voldemort killed him and proceeded to to go after Harry and his mother. Lily refused to hand Harry over to the him, so Voldemort killed her. But the evil wizard, who had murdered countless witches and wizards in the past decade, performed the killing curse upon the baby Harry only to have it rebound back upon himself. Clinging to life with his powers destroyed, Voldemort fled. Little Harry was left only with the lightning-shaped scar upon his forehead, the mark of the failed curse, but Voldemort had been defeated, the eleven-year reign of terror ended, and Harry Potter was famous.

Harry examined his scar in the mirror, running his finger over it gently. He had also discovered in the past four years that his scar would burn as though it were on fire whenever Voldemort was near or feeling particularly murderous. It had ached several times over the past few weeks, which Harry had only come to expect with the return of the Dark Lord...

...Then, through the mist in front of him, he saw, with an icy surge of terror, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rising slowly from inside the cauldron...

Again, Harry forced the memory away, taking a deep breath.

Just this past year, toward the end of Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry had witnessed Lord Voldemort's return. An international competition between two other magical schools had taken place at Hogwarts during the year. One champion from each school was selected to represent their school in the tournament. Harry's name, unknowingly to him, was entered by one of Voldemort's undercover Death Eaters and he was selected along with Cedric Diggory to rpresent Hogwarts. The four champions made their way through the rigorous tasks until the third task, a maze filled with an assortment of magical creatures and curses. Cedric and Harry both reached the Triwizard Cup in the center of the maze, but as they touched the it, they were whisked away to an eerie graveyard only to find Wormtail, loyal servant to Lord Voldemort, waiting for them along with the feeble and powerless Dark Lord. Cedric was immediately murdered and Wormtail instantly began the ceremony of restoring Voldemort to his body. Using the bones of Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord's Muggle father, Wormtail's flesh, and Harry's blood, Voldemort was returned to full strength. But had escaped, only to arrive back at Hogwarts to a crowd of shocked, disbelieving students and teachers, unable to believe the Dark Lord was back. Only a select few could be convinced: Albus Dumbledore, the wise, noble, and well-respected Hogwarts headmaster being one of them. When it became clear that Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, did not believe Harry's tale and would do nothing to fight against Voldemort, for fear of destroying the wizard community's hard-earned but fragile peace, Dumbledore immediately took up the fight with the help of his few, loyal supporters. And so the war, thought to be over fourteen years ago, had begun anew...

But Harry, forced to live with the Dursleys over the summers, was isolated from the magical world and knew little of what was going on. The only news he received was what was passed on to him through letters from his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger; the friendly half-giant Hogwarts gamekeeper, Hagrid; or Sirius.

But being isolated from everything also had its advantages. Not having to face the reality that the most powerful Dark Wizard ever known was on the loose and gaining power everyday, being one of them. Not to say that Harry didn't wonder and worry about his friends, but since the Dursleys refused to discuss or even acknowledge the existence of magic, it made the wizarding world and its troubles seem much more distant and less real.

But that didn't make the problems go away, Harry thought to himself as he glanced over at his bedside clock. Surprised at how late it was and remembering he had to get up early the next morning, he took off his glasses and climbed into bed. Sirius' letter will have to wait, he suddenly remembered. Trying to force all thoughts of Voldemort and his Death Eaters out of mind, Harry rolled over and closed his eyes. But it was still a long time before he finally drifted off to an uneasy sleep.