Harry Potter and the Phoenix's Resurrection

A/N : All right… sorry it took so long. Went through a serious block. It's really sucky, and I know it, don't hesitate to tell me that in a review. And some reviewers said that my previous chapters are too short… Is this long enough for you?

Disclaimer : I do not own any of J.K. Rowlings' stuff. All I own is the plot. You must be an idiot if you don't know that, because I've been posting the same thing over and over in my previous chapters. -__-;

Chapter 5 : The Cupboard Under The Stairs

Harry relentlessly questioned Mrs Figg over the next few days, but to no avail. It was plain that the old woman simply would not tell him anything, and whenever he posed a trick question on her, she was too careful to let anything slip. Finally, it seemed that she had had enough.

            'Harry, I'm not telling you anything more, and that's final,' she said irritably one day, after five days' dose of Harry's tireless questioning. 'If I've told you once, I've told you a million times: By Dumbledore's orders, I'm not supposed to discuss these things with you.'

            Harry had reluctantly stopped bombarding her with questions after that. It brought back much peace in the little house, and surprisingly he found that he felt much better if he didn't think about these troubles anyway.

            The rest of July passed without any strange happenings – that is, anything that was even stranger than usual – and Harry soon got used to his new temporary home. He didn't quite like it, perhaps – it wasn't as special or interesting as someplace like Hogwarts – but he somewhat felt at home. The creaking doors, the sunk bed mattress and the hung oil lamps threatening to drop down any time were just a few of the new everyday sights and sounds he experienced. He was beginning to grow attached to this place – he almost dreaded September the first to come too soon. 

Hedwig rather liked the new surroundings. Harry could see why – the Dursleys' house, no matter how neat and clean and prim it was, always seemed hostile to him. On the other hand, Mrs Figg's house, with its chipped walls and doors falling into disrepair, was cosy – homely but homelike, as Harry liked to call it. Besides, Hedwig was allowed to fly indoors – she never got to do that in the Dursleys'. Incidentally, she was smart enough not to relieve herself inside the house. Moody seemed to be growing fond of her.

'Owls are good creatures, they are, but yours is exceptionally smart,' he said to Harry once. 'Alert, them things are, always on the watch. Could do well with one meself.'

The old man was, in fact, interested in a few of Harry's things. He practically squealed with delight when he saw Harry's miniature Sneakoscope that Ron Weasley had bought for him from Egypt, and his normal eye bulged out to be almost as big as the magical one when he saw The Monster Book of Monsters, strapped tightly and stuffed at the bottom of the trunk.

'Brilliant,' he muttered to himself, eyeing the rough sharp edges of the book. It turned out that Moody wasn't completely obsessed with fighting the Dark Arts, as Harry thought before. He was also interested in magical creatures, much like Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper and Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Harry shuddered to think of the retired Auror as Hagrid's future assistant – goodness knows what the two sadistic minds could think of to bring to class.

            Mrs Figg, on the other hand, was altogether different from Moody. She was careful, though not to the point of being paranoid, and didn't like having to do with anything morbid. She was a cheery old woman, always coming up with new ideas for decorating the house and strange recipes to cook for dinner. The holly wreath on the TV screen was only one of her latest inspirations. She was already planning to hang Easter eggs by the front door and paint the walls in a black and white cowhide pattern.

            Forgetting her 'unique' ways, she could also be caring and understanding. She treated Harry like a grandson, but at the same time, she somehow always managed to read his adolescent mind. She knew the right words to say, at the right time, with the right tone.

            Harry was thoroughly content being in the care of the two eccentric people. He stayed up late at night, no longer questioning things that now seemed to hardly concern him, but wondering whether he had felt the same security and comfort during the one short year he had spent with his parents fourteen years ago.

~***~

In the morning of July the thirty-first, Harry was awakened by an impatient nipping at his ear.

            'What is it, Hedwig?' he muttered sleepily.

            Hedwig hooted persistently and pulled at his ear. At last he gave in, and sat up in his bed. As a usual early morning routine, he groped around for his glasses and put them on. Slowly his hazy vision cleared.

            Hedwig was bearing two small parcels on her legs as well as an envelope in her beak. It seemed that she hadn't just brought mail, though; it looked like she had brought some new friends as well. Behind her were three owls, perched on the windowsill except for one, which was twittering and zooming around the room tirelessly. The hyperactive one was unmistakably Ron Weasley's owl, Pigwidgeon. There was a large barn owl which he didn't recognise, and next to it was an eagle owl, wearing a funny-looking collar which bore the Hogwarts crest.

            Harry decided to relieve the Hogwarts owl of its burden first – he supposed that it had elsewhere to go, more mail to deliver. Deftly he loosened the envelope from its leg; the owl fluffed up its feathers importantly and tore away into the morning sky.

            The envelope was a bit heavier than usual. He opened it. Inside were four pieces of parchment, folded up carefully so that each would fit snugly inside the slim envelope. Two of them were the usual Hogwarts letter, reminding him of the new term on September the first, and the book list. He saw that he needed his dress robes for this year yet again, and he couldn't help but groan. He could remember only too clearly how he had struggled to "dance" while Parvati Patil had steered him around the dance floor during the Yule Ball.

            The next piece of parchment was slightly thicker than the normal one. It read:

Dear Mr H. Potter,

            We are pleased to inform you that you have been chosen to be a Prefect. Election of Prefects was done by the entire Hogwarts Staff during the summer. This is not only a responsibility, but also a great privilege to any student. Please keep this document carefully, as it is very important and will be added to your school records after you graduate.

            THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT MR HARRY POTTER HAS BEEN ELECTED A PREFECT. SHOULD ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WHICH PROVE OTHERWISE ARISE, THIS CERTIFICATE IS TO BE SOUGHT FOR EVIDENCE.

            If you have any violent objections on your election, please approach either the Headmaster or the Deputy Headmistress by the end of the first week of school.

Yours truly,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School

            For a moment, Harry just gaped at the parchment, ignoring everything else going on around him. He had been chosen to be a Prefect. He had been chosen to be a Prefect. He never expected anything more ironic. It took him some time to get over his shock. By that time, the other owls were already getting impatient, even Pig.

            Harry was aware of the eyes staring at him expectantly to hurry it up, and quickly scanned through the last bit of parchment. It was a note from a fellow Gryffindor Quidditch team player.

Hey Harry,

            Hope you're enjoying your summer. I don't know if you've ever thought of this before, but we have a slight problem with our team. We lack one player, as well as a captain. An even bigger problem is that all the Chasers and Fred and George are graduating this year. So we decided to have a short meeting on the first day back to talk about this. I wanted to just hold a try-out for the Keeper position and reserves, but Katie insisted on talking it out first. So see you at midnight in the Gryffindor common room on September the 1st.

Angelina

Oliver Wood, the former Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, had graduated from Hogwarts the year before last. Even as he hastily folded the parchments back into the envelope, Harry couldn't help wondering who was going to end up as the captain this year.

            Next Harry walked up to the barn owl, and untied the piece of parchment from its leg. It flapped its wings slightly, and stood still, waiting for Harry to read the letter and write a reply to the sender.

            The parchment was old and tattered. Harry unrolled it and read:

Dear Harry,

            I hope you're enjoying your stay with Mrs Figg and Moody. Mrs Figg used to be my teacher at Hogwarts, and I have to say that she wasn't very fond of me. She should be treating you well, though. You've been keeping an eye out for anything suspicious as I told you to, I hope? You're safe while you're with those two ex-Aurors, but you still have to watch out for yourself.

            I have much to tell you, but little I can say in a letter. All I can say is that I'm travelling with Hagrid and his new friend out of the country. I'm sure you know why I can't tell you my whereabouts. Just remember that you have enough things to worry about besides my well-being. Who knows, you might even see me sooner than you think, if Dumbledore allows it.

            It's not a very good idea for you to go out too much this year, Harry. I know you hate this, but you SHOULDN'T GO WANDERING OFF ALONE. You can go anywhere you want – anywhere SAFE – as long as you're with someone else, except if the someone else is someone like a Malfoy. I know I made a few wrong assumptions last year, and so did Dumbledore, but you should know better than to trust anyone connected to the Death Eaters.

            And lastly, keep practising those nifty spells and curses you learned for the Triwizard Tournament last year, especially Disarming. You might also want to learn how to fend off the Cruciatus Curse – it's almost entirely impossible, but there is a way, if you seek help from the right person.

            Yes, I know that I'm basically repeating what I've been telling you all summer. Yes, I know you're tired of this, and yes, I know you think that these safety measures aren't really necessary. But since James had to get himself murdered and throw all his fatherly responsibilities to me, it's only part of my job as a godfather to tell you all this. Yes, over and over again, if I have to.

Keep your eyes open,
Sirius

P.S. Happy Birthday! Enclosed is a little birthday gift. It's quite a useful gadget to have.

Harry unrolled the bottom of the parchment, and out came a small and shiny metallic thing. It was a pin. He didn't see how a little pin could help him with anything, but appreciated the gift anyway. 'You can go,' he said to the barn owl. 'I'll send Hedwig with the reply; I don't feel like writing now anyway.' And with that the owl flew off.

            Harry went forward to unload Hedwig's burden next, but Pig kept circling his head and hooting incessantly, urging him to open his package first. After a slight debate with Hedwig's unappreciative staring eyes, Harry relented and grabbed Pig by the tail-feathers.

            'You know,' he grumbled as he struggled to remove the small grubby package from Pig's leg, 'if you're really so eager to deliver me my mail, the least you could do is keep still.' Pig, of course, being an owl and all, did not understand a single word of this, and kept on hooting and twittering up and down excitedly. Finally Harry was able to untie the package and quickly tore off the brown wrapping.

            It was, as he had suspected, a present from Ron. However, it wasn't anything that he would expect from Ron – it was a book, quite a thick one at that. Silver letterings and fancy twirls around the corners were engraved upon the blue leather-bound book. 1995/1996's Potential O.W.L. Examination Questions And How To Answer Them, Harry read.

            Of course, Harry thought, wondering why he had been so stupid. For a moment there, he thought Ron had given him a book full of O.W.L. practice exam papers. He gave a soft whoop of delight, thinking of how he could ever repay his friend. With this book, he thought, he wouldn't need to slave over all his schoolbooks – all he had to do was read through this one book, memorise the answers and just pour them all out on the exam day…

            Then something else on the book cover caught his attention. It was a tiny silver button, and below it, written in block letters, was: IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, PUSH BUTTON. Harry tried pushing it, and suddenly the button contracted into the book cover along with the engraved book title, as though the gleaming silverish things were drowning in a smooth blue quicksand. Then, a few moments later, the book burped out the title back, but now it read The Adventures of Barbara Knolls. When he flipped it open, the book instantly turned back into the model exam answers. 'Brilliant,' he muttered, impressed.

            Harry now opened the book, and a piece of parchment fluttered down onto the floor. On it, in an untidy scribble, was a short note from Ron:

Hullo Harry,

            Happy Birthday! Dad told us all that you're staying with old Mrs Figg. I've met her once before, and she's a tad off her rockers, if you ask me, rather like Dumbledore. Well, you know what, Harry? I think we'll all have to turn bonkers too one day, because it seems like the most trustworthy people in the wizarding world aren't very sensible.

            Anyway, I hope you like the book. It's very useful, I've got my own copy. And get this – it updates itself every year, so when you're finished with it you can pass it on to a lucky fifth-year-to-be. I got mine from Fred and George, who got it from Charlie. Bill, Percy and Mum and Dad don't even know of its existence. I thought that you might find it more practical than, say, Potions lessons, so I got you a copy. We'll have to make sure that Hermione doesn't get hold of it, though.

            I don't know why, but Fred and George have been extra nice to me lately. Just two days ago they bought me a new dress robes, and even invited me to hang out with them and Lee Jordan at Zonko's as a little bonus. I haven't got a clue what it is they want from me.

Harry couldn't help being reminded of the thousand Galleons he had given to the Weasley twins at the end of the last school term. He never regretted his decision to part with the huge sum of money, and now he felt momentarily proud about it as someone else was enjoying so much from it, and that someone else was his best friend.

            I'll tell you more about everything, if we meet in Diagon Alley or something. If not, I'll meet you at Platform 9 ¾ and talk to you there. Oh, and if you hear anything important from Snuffles, owl Hermione and me right away!

Ron

            Harry put aside both his new book and the note, then went over to the desk at the corner of the room where a few rolls of parchment lay. He tore off a bit of parchment, and quickly scribbled a note.

Hey Ron,

            Thanks for the book. I think it just saved my life, and my O.W.L. results. Guess what? I've been elected as a Prefect. Can you believe it? Snuffles owled me today. He said that he's out of the country with Hagrid and Madame Maxime, one of last year's Triwizard Tournament judges, in case you've forgotten. I'll tell you more later.

Harry

He hastily folded the note, then tied it to Pig's leg, who kept suspiciously still, and later took off without making any loud hoots as he usually did. Perhaps he was in the mood to act civilised. Hedwig, not wanting to wait any longer, flew over to Harry, landed on his shoulder and tugged at him, urging him to quickly open the parcels.

            'All right, all right, just hold on a while,' he said, quickly securing a dead knot. Pig somehow became hyperactive again, did a couple of somersaults and took off into the late morning.

            Harry untied both parcels from Hedwig's leg, and, having had the burden taken off her, she stumbled over to her cage and perched there, resting. He looked at the two parcels. One was bigger than the other, and the smaller one was not wrapped with the usual grubby brown paper, but with a shiny colourful wrapper. Harry decided to open this one first, and tore off the wrapping carefully.

            As he peeled off the last bit of wrapper, a thin card slipped out. It said:

Dear Harry,

            Happy fifteenth birthday! Hedwig came back at dawn from her night flight, and we decided to leave your present with her while we go to town to get your cake. Hope you enjoy a good year ahead, even with all the Dark things going on right about this time. And we hope you like the present. It never hurts to keep your best weapon in good condition.

Love,
Mrs Figg and Mad-Eye

He couldn't remember the last time he had a birthday party, or even just a short dinner to celebrate his birthday. Perhaps he had had none at all. He had gotten cake for his birthday before, but he never had the chance to share it with anyone. Usually he had to keep it all to himself, as the Dursleys weren't really worth sharing anything with, except misery perhaps.

            Harry shook the thought out of his mind and looked at his present. It was a toolbox, with a large label stuck onto it which said Wand Servicing Kit, and below that, a few testimonials ("The Broomstick Servicing Kit is yesterday's news… now it's time to clean up your wand!" – Jim Malberry, manager of a cauldron company; "Wonderfully amazing! One scrub and even the deepest scratch is gone!" – Monica Dovey, homemaker). He lifted the latch and opened the toolbox. Inside were several brushes in different sizes, files, a bottle of cleaning solution and a tub of wood polish. There was also a small clawhammer which he supposed could be used to dismantle the wand, although he couldn't figure out why anyone would want to do that. 

            He put that aside, and weighed the other parcel in his hand. It was reasonably big and quite heavy. So far, he had received presents from Ron, Sirius and a joint present from Mrs Figg and Moody. That left – Hermione and Hagrid. But Hagrid was away with Sirius, busy running the errand for Dumbledore. It must be from Hermione. Knowing her, Harry thought that it must be a book, and opened the parcel with much less excitement than before.

            The thin brown paper gave way quickly to reveal something shiny inside. As it turned out, Harry was half-right. It was a book, but not the sort of book that he was expecting. The book cover was a blinding metallic violet, and the words (shiny gold lettering plastered over the cover) said: Knock Knock – A Vast Collection Of Jokes For Anyone, At Anytime, Anywhere.

            Hermione. Jokes. The words didn't go too right together. At first Harry was just numb with disbelief, but soon worry washed over him. Maybe Hermione had accidentally knocked her head against something and lost all sense of proper, no-time-for-this-nonsense thoughts. Nevertheless, he opened the book, searching for a card or a note. He found a small card, slipped among the pages, which said:

Happy Birthday Harry,

            I assume that you've been STUDYING HARD and SERIOUSLY preparing for your O.W.L.s, so I assume that you must be under stress. That led me to assume that you might like this book, just to lighten your mind when it gets a bit fogged up with all those things we have to learn. Of course my assumptions may be wrong, and knowing you, they most probably are, but I'm sure you'll still like the book anyway. It's worth going over for a few laughs, or at least a cringe or two at some of the really corny jokes.

Hermione

Harry chuckled to himself and wondered whether he was supposed to feel guilty after reading this, and start poring over his books. But it was his birthday, and his O.W.L.s were months away. He couldn't quite find the need to worry so much.

Dismissing the random thought out of his mind, Harry gathered all his newly-gotten birthday cards and presents, arranged them neatly at the side of his bed and for a few seconds looked at the colourful display. For a moment even the sleepy Hedwig stirred, and glanced at it with an eye half-opened in slight interest. As he went to the bathroom to wash his face, he heard the front door slam shut, and didn't need to hear the cries of "WE'RE HOME!" and "Where's my birthday boy?" to know that Mrs Figg and Moody were back.

~***~

It was probably the best birthday he had ever had. Mrs Figg conjured up bright neon-coloured streamers and stringed them up against the wall, and lit fifteen candles on his birthday cake in a symmetrical pattern. Moody gladly volunteered to check if any of Harry's presents were hexed (they weren't) before they started the short birthday celebration.

They started by singing him a birthday song, which wasn't a very pleasant moment. They only stopped when the windows just seemed to be on the verge of cracking. Harry then blew his fifteen candles and, not knowing what to wish for, simply wished that the coming year would go fine for him. (Which wasn't very likely.) Before he could get hold of the bread knife to cut the cake, though, Moody was already fighting to make sure that the cake was safe. It turned out to be just like any other cake, with no tricks in it whatsoever, but by the time Moody had finished his spot-check, the cake was no longer fit to for any human being to eat. Hedwig happily nibbled on the smushed remains of the chocolate cake while Mrs Figg kept glaring daggers at Moody. Moody glanced shiftily at the wall.

In the end, Harry helped Mrs Figg to bake chocolate cupcakes so they could have something sweet on his birthday. Moody insisted on checking the ingredients, but one glare from Mrs Figg made him relent. She insisted that Moody had ruined the whole day, but Harry reassured them both that he was having a magnificent time.

'Really,' he persisted, looking into Mrs Figg's doubtful face. 'This is the best birthday I've ever had. Presents … a cake… well, the cake got messed up but that's besides the point. And these cupcakes aren't half that bad.' He bit into one of the chocolate cupcakes convincingly. Moody grinned, half sheepishly, half with relief.

'Well, I suppose it doesn't matter how perfect the day is, as long as you enjoy yourself,' Mrs Figg sighed, smiling. 'And you have to admit, these cupcakes are rather tasty. I must bake a bit more from now on. There's something crispy in it… I can't quite tell what, but it tastes really good.'

At this, Moody spoke up. He looked proud, as though he had accomplished something other than falsely accusing innocent bystanders. 'I, um, added broken eggshells while you weren't looking,' he smiled toothily. 'Nothing like eggshells to bring out the taste of chocolate. My grandmother always used those as a secret ingredient, and she's the best baker I know. Tasty, ain't it? Ain't it?' He looked expectantly at the other two, but both Mrs Figg and Harry were already desperately trying to choke out the half-chewed cupcake in their mouths, a look of utter disgust on their faces.

~***~

It was well halfway into the hot afternoon. Mrs Figg had spent the last two hours in the bathroom, trying her best to vomit out the bits of eggshells stuck in her throat. Harry had tried to do the same thing, but after a few minutes, he felt even sicker than before, and reluctantly let the mush slide down his throat. Moody had finished the rest of the cupcakes without the slightest sign of sickness coming over him.

            At about four, Moody said that he had to go to the Ministry for an "urgent business". The house seemed suspiciously quiet and empty after he left.

            There was nothing much to do, so Harry sullenly turned on the television and watched a very boring Muggle news report. About the boring stock market.

            'Hey, Harry,' said a voice that he recognised to be Mrs Figg's. (Who else could it be, she was the only other person in the house.) 'Now that Moody's gone… I have something to show you.'

            He looked up, and saw Mrs Figg walking towards the couch. She looked rather pale, but otherwise completely fine. She beckoned him to follow her. Obediently, he switched off the television and followed her to the stairway.

            But she wasn't going upstairs. Instead, she walked towards the little store cupboard under the stairs, and Harry felt himself twitch. I must be dreaming, he thought. This can't be. No, he was being ridiculous. Mrs Figg wouldn't put him in the cupboard. The whole idea was simply incredulous. For some reason, Uncle Vernon's porky face suddenly seemed to materialise in front of him, and he felt a shudder creep up his spine.

            'Why are you looking so darn terrified?' she asked him, looking genuinely confused. 'What's wrong? All I want to do is show you this.'

            She opened the cupboard door, with much difficulty and a lot of creaking, and Harry felt himself thrown back because of the brightness of the daylight suddenly shining through the opening. What's going on? The cupboard doorway was like a window – a window that let him see the world outside. He had seen a lot of magical things, but never one so peculiar.

            People. He saw people – in different-coloured cloaks and hats. Some were carrying broomsticks, some what looked like wands… And shops. Little stores that crowded the sides of the walkway.

            Harry looked in wonder from the view, to Mrs Figg, and back to the walkway again, his mouth dropped open.

            'Yes, Harry,' Mrs Figg grinned, 'you're looking at the street of Diagon Alley.'