Writer's note: all the characters and locations related to the work of J. K. Rowling are purely subjects I used as a background. I'm not her and they are not mine, but this "fiction based on her own fiction" is, from start to finish, from my own head (in many ways, trying to complement her for the outstanding piece of work). This is my first idea of a book, anyway, it took a while to translate thoughts into words. The following events take place during the sixth year of Harry at Hogwarts. Everything that came to pass in the first five books of the series can be applied as background story. The complete tale should have at least 14 chapters (from my original plan). I repeat: THIS IS A FICTION BASED IN A FICTION. Hope that you enjoy it.
CHAPTER I: A new beginning
The rain was pouring down at Privet Drive. For nearly three weeks that was what everyone was expecting. The intense heat waves have been creating darker and darker clouds that, at that moment, lost their will to float around. The grass of the gardens, as dry as it gets, surely seemed to appreciate the moment. And at number 4, at the same street, a second-floor window appears to reveal someone else enjoying the water, as it begins to create small lakes wherever it lands.
The boy at the window gives a small grin. 'It's been a while...' he says between his teeth. He's not quite sure why, but the rain has a calming effect over him. He plays a bit with his own hair, allowing a small lightning-shaped scar he carries in his forehead to be seen.
Harry Potter gets up and walks towards his wardrobe. At its door, he stares at a man-size mirror hanging in the inside. His deep-green eyes meet his reflection trough his spectacles. He's not so sure he likes what he sees. Truth be said, he's changed. During the last three weeks he spent with the Dursleys (the closest thing he now has to a "family"), Harry has dedicated himself to many things he normally wouldn't. Exercising was a good example. Although Quidditch could be considered an amazing session of bodywork, flying in a broom was not an option at the moment. Also, he discovered, taking the body to exhaustion made him sleep easier... and even better, without dreaming.
He figured his magical blood must've been acting as a "catalyst" for it, as well. After all, half of the injuries he suffered in life would have made a Muggle into pieces. And he was there, intact. With these weeks of simple, but progressive series of exercises, he already could see his body a bit different. He certainly didn't wish to become a mountain of muscles... he just wanted to get tired enough to throw himself in bed and wake up only the other day. Getting a bit stronger was, in his conception, a "side-effect". Undesirable, by the way...
This was one of his changes. He gave a great deal of attention as well to his school material. He looked at his desk, with all his books and notes organized, from his first school day till the last term. He was also revising many subjects (he found himself even reviewing potion formulas, one of the things he hated the most). He actually discovered, surprised, a great distraction on doing this. 'So, Hermione, found your secret at last', he thought to himself, laughing. Everything else, his clothes, personal possessions, have been carefully placed inside the wardrobe and his school trunk. He didn't know whether he liked his room like that, but he had to admit that it looked like someone was actually living in it, and that was progress.
But the most significant change was about the people he was living with: Harry decided that, as long as he had to live there for a certain period of the year, he would try to act politely with his uncle and aunt (but not his cousin; that would be "way" too much). Not that they weren't being nice; since the last time they went to pick him up from the school train, 'something' seemed to have changed (maybe their lives being threatened by some wizards did the trick...). Life was easier, he had to admit, and that was what made him take one of the most sadder decisions of his life: writing to his friends and saying he would spend the rest of the holidays with his "family" (it actually wounded him to say that). The Dursleys were obviously intrigued (actually, "intrigued" was a soft expression to their states of mind): 'What are you up to, boy? Staying here? I thought you had friends...' his uncle Vernon spitted out, the day Harry announced his decision (he said loads of other stuff, but they flew from one ear to another when they reached Harry). They were convinced in the end: the prospect of not having to meet any wizards blasting trough the room at any minute during the summer seemed to calm their minds a lot.
He didn't expect his friends to understand the situation any better: even because Harry was being extremely lazy about talking to them: he promised he would write from three to three days, what by the way, he actually was doing.... from three to three days, he wrote a couple of lines, saying he was fine, he was treated well... and that was pretty much it. No questions made, no answers given. He even asked his friends not to call him from telephones. Harry had his reasons for it; none that they could possibly wonder (well, maybe a few...), but he would need time to explain them... until then, he just hoped that they would understand and respect his wishes. Not that they didn't complain: Hermione, for an example, had given him immediate answer, and not in the fraternal tone she always seemed to use:
"How can you say that? Staying with them? Look Harry, if these lacks of information you've been giving me and Ron are a way to payback for last holidays, fine, we got the joke! And it ain't funny! We had our reasons (as you better have yours!), and we are really worried. I mean, they couldn't force you to stay there (which would be the only reasonable explanation), and you can't possibly want to hang in there... ah, you know what! That's fine. Stay. Maybe we can meet at Diagon Alley (last week free, will you?). And try to write with more 'content' before the term begins, ok?" Sincerely, Hermione
Ron's letter was a lot different. Although a bit upset, he must have seen Harry's intentions right trough (he was always amazed with this "wisdom moments" of his friend). He said he would miss someone to talk about Quidditch (since everyone around seemed to be way too busy...), but that 'they would meet when they would meet'. He also said he'd go to Diagon Alley at the last week of the holidays. Harry's heart sank. He knew they would kill him for it, but he already had other plans. And the brown owl standing in his window confirmed his thoughts.
Harry, at the end of the last term, made a secret requirement for Prof. Minerva (the only one he thought that would understand; or at least, listen): he asked that, as soon as she had her hands in his OWL results, she sent him an owl from the school, also containing an earlier sent list of sixth year material (that was supposed to come way later), so that he could 'speed things up' during the holidays. The professor, obviously a bit stunned (not to say distrustful), took a thought about the idea and (Harry could swear it!) gave him a "very" small smile before accepting it: 'But don't you think this will become usual!' she warned him, her severe tone rising again. Harry remembered that day really well. That was when many of the twisted thoughts in his head began to line up (or something remotely like that). By that time, he was thinking about staying a bit longer in the Dursleys already. 'It's a necessary evil', he said to himself. 'They'll get it, sooner or later'. He walked to the window and retrieved the letter from the owl's leg. Even with the rain, the package was completely clean. 'Impervius spell, probably.' He watched as the owl spread her wings and disappeared again in the cloudy afternoon sky. He began to read in no time:
Harry Potter,
As you kindly required me, here are your OWL test results. I must say I'm quite impressed... seems like Auror carrier won't be such a dead-end track as Ms. Umbridge might have believed... You'll find the material list for this year in the attached parchment. I hope you have a good holiday, and be aware that this year's term will begin... well, I believe you know the rest. And take some care, will you Potter?
Prof. Minerva McGonagall
Astronomy: E
Herbology: E
Care of Magical Creatures: E
Potions: O ('the analyzer must've got easy on me... although it was a rough exam...')
Transfiguration: E ('Professor Minerva must have liked this...')
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O (with complements from the evaluation board...'Wow!')
History of Magic: P ('I never finished that anyway...)
Divination: A ('even pretending, I went well... will I have to keep doing it?')
Charms: E
Harry felt a great satisfaction... he went better than he could have ever dreamed! According to the list, he would need a basic spellbook, like in any other year, from Miranda Goshawk, only. The rest of the classes did not require a thing. Smiling a bit, he quickly made an inventory of other things he might need to get before the term. His plan already in mind, he went down to the first-floor as his aunt Petunia called him for dinner (he ate before them, but didn't care at all; preferred it that way, actually). Later, he went up, rested a while and started some pull-ups (he was using a bar installed at the top of his door, originally bought for Dudley, but unused for obvious reasons...). When he couldn't take it anymore, he took out his clothes and fell asleep in seconds. He, once more, didn't dream. The exercises and the Occlumency practice (that he decided to get serious about...) were finally kicking in.
Harry woke up way early the next morning (the first rays of light were bursting trough the thin morning air, although the sun would take a bit longer to rise) and proceeded as he planned. He took a shower, made himself a quick breakfast (it was a Saturday; the Dursleys were still heavily asleep; and even if they weren't, they had installed sound-proof doors in their rooms... Hedwig, at last, could make her concerts in Harry's bedroom and no one but him cared anymore) and went back to his bedroom. He filled a backpack with his clothes (he folded clothes for his aunt all his life; 'It actually works', he thought, as everything went in without a problem.). He brushed his teeth very quiet and went down. Left a note at the door and got out on the street, heading to the only other house he knew in the neighborhood. Waiting already up for him was Mrs. Figg.
'Hello, Harry. Come in, come in.' She said, quickly opening the door. 'I got the message from your owl last night, and let me say, what a beautiful owl indeed!' She was very different from the Mrs. Figg he once knew. He went to visit her a few times this summer, still pretending to the Dursleys he hated being there, that she had required his help so he had to go. The truth was that, even with the fact that she was a Squib, it was good having someone around that knew his world, that was up to the news. She kept going: 'Are you sure you want to do this, dear? It seems a bit risky.'
'Nothing to worry, Mrs. Figg. Believe me. I'm not going to do anything crazy. I just need to do some shopping. But I need your hearth to get to the Alley. That, of course, if it's alright with you', he added. She was, actually a very nice old lady (when she had the screws in the right places, anyway... Harry remembered like if it was the day before: when Mundungus Fletcher abandoned his watch over Harry - as he should be right about now as well; Harry didn't know how far Dumbledore's watch over him was still like, and Mrs. Figg didn't discuss that with him - she acted like a crazy old hag; fortunately, she wasn't like that at all times). She smiled with her answer: 'If my kid had your manners... but that's another story, long and boring. I suppose that it wouldn't be a problem if you went to the Diagon Alley. After all, no one's going to try anything there... and don't worry,' she blinked, before Harry even made the request: 'I'll keep it of my reports till you're back. But just in case, one of my cats will follow you from distance, so it won't bother you, and I'm not open for negotiations!' They both laughed; Harry found out (a bit shocked with himself) that he was extremely glad to have her around. She made his existence in Privet Drive quite bearable sometimes.
She walked him to the hearth. The sun was almost getting up at that time of the morning.
'I left a note at the Dursleys saying I'd be here. If they call... tell that I went to the market for you or something like that.'
'Good thinking.' She gave him two apples ('In case you get hungry!') and extended a bit of Floo Powder to his hand.
'Guess I'll see you later. Thanks for everything, Mrs. Figg.' Peter, the cat, was already at his side.
'No problem, Potter. Don't take too long, will ya?' 'I won't'. He looked at her one last second and said loudly: 'Diagon Alley!'
He didn't misspell it this time. With the cool flames around him, he felt everything twist for a second, before he was at an enlightened room, extremely large, with at least eight or nine other empty hearths. He noticed that there was no dust in his clothes; Raising his eyes, he read the golden sign at the door a few steps ahead:
"Diagon Alley Entrance. If you appeared here, all the other hearths in the Alley were occupied or blocked at the time. But you're surely at the right place. Please step trough and have a nice day!
He opened the door, and found himself out of a building close to the Leaky Cauldron. Even at this time of the morning, and at the middle of the holidays, there was still a considerable crowd walking around the streets, as the stores were opening their doors. Harry held his backpack in one shoulder, ate a piece of apple and turned to the yellow-eyed cat aside him.
'Well, Peter - he said smiling - what do you say?'
The cat made a high jump, aiming the top of a trash can - then a large box, another one even larger - and then he found himself up in the roof of a house, from where Harry heard him purring, staring at him. He didn't seem up to small talk. Harry smiled again.
'What a bodyguard!'. He ate another piece of apple and started to walk, losing himself in the street...
CHAPTER I: A new beginning
The rain was pouring down at Privet Drive. For nearly three weeks that was what everyone was expecting. The intense heat waves have been creating darker and darker clouds that, at that moment, lost their will to float around. The grass of the gardens, as dry as it gets, surely seemed to appreciate the moment. And at number 4, at the same street, a second-floor window appears to reveal someone else enjoying the water, as it begins to create small lakes wherever it lands.
The boy at the window gives a small grin. 'It's been a while...' he says between his teeth. He's not quite sure why, but the rain has a calming effect over him. He plays a bit with his own hair, allowing a small lightning-shaped scar he carries in his forehead to be seen.
Harry Potter gets up and walks towards his wardrobe. At its door, he stares at a man-size mirror hanging in the inside. His deep-green eyes meet his reflection trough his spectacles. He's not so sure he likes what he sees. Truth be said, he's changed. During the last three weeks he spent with the Dursleys (the closest thing he now has to a "family"), Harry has dedicated himself to many things he normally wouldn't. Exercising was a good example. Although Quidditch could be considered an amazing session of bodywork, flying in a broom was not an option at the moment. Also, he discovered, taking the body to exhaustion made him sleep easier... and even better, without dreaming.
He figured his magical blood must've been acting as a "catalyst" for it, as well. After all, half of the injuries he suffered in life would have made a Muggle into pieces. And he was there, intact. With these weeks of simple, but progressive series of exercises, he already could see his body a bit different. He certainly didn't wish to become a mountain of muscles... he just wanted to get tired enough to throw himself in bed and wake up only the other day. Getting a bit stronger was, in his conception, a "side-effect". Undesirable, by the way...
This was one of his changes. He gave a great deal of attention as well to his school material. He looked at his desk, with all his books and notes organized, from his first school day till the last term. He was also revising many subjects (he found himself even reviewing potion formulas, one of the things he hated the most). He actually discovered, surprised, a great distraction on doing this. 'So, Hermione, found your secret at last', he thought to himself, laughing. Everything else, his clothes, personal possessions, have been carefully placed inside the wardrobe and his school trunk. He didn't know whether he liked his room like that, but he had to admit that it looked like someone was actually living in it, and that was progress.
But the most significant change was about the people he was living with: Harry decided that, as long as he had to live there for a certain period of the year, he would try to act politely with his uncle and aunt (but not his cousin; that would be "way" too much). Not that they weren't being nice; since the last time they went to pick him up from the school train, 'something' seemed to have changed (maybe their lives being threatened by some wizards did the trick...). Life was easier, he had to admit, and that was what made him take one of the most sadder decisions of his life: writing to his friends and saying he would spend the rest of the holidays with his "family" (it actually wounded him to say that). The Dursleys were obviously intrigued (actually, "intrigued" was a soft expression to their states of mind): 'What are you up to, boy? Staying here? I thought you had friends...' his uncle Vernon spitted out, the day Harry announced his decision (he said loads of other stuff, but they flew from one ear to another when they reached Harry). They were convinced in the end: the prospect of not having to meet any wizards blasting trough the room at any minute during the summer seemed to calm their minds a lot.
He didn't expect his friends to understand the situation any better: even because Harry was being extremely lazy about talking to them: he promised he would write from three to three days, what by the way, he actually was doing.... from three to three days, he wrote a couple of lines, saying he was fine, he was treated well... and that was pretty much it. No questions made, no answers given. He even asked his friends not to call him from telephones. Harry had his reasons for it; none that they could possibly wonder (well, maybe a few...), but he would need time to explain them... until then, he just hoped that they would understand and respect his wishes. Not that they didn't complain: Hermione, for an example, had given him immediate answer, and not in the fraternal tone she always seemed to use:
"How can you say that? Staying with them? Look Harry, if these lacks of information you've been giving me and Ron are a way to payback for last holidays, fine, we got the joke! And it ain't funny! We had our reasons (as you better have yours!), and we are really worried. I mean, they couldn't force you to stay there (which would be the only reasonable explanation), and you can't possibly want to hang in there... ah, you know what! That's fine. Stay. Maybe we can meet at Diagon Alley (last week free, will you?). And try to write with more 'content' before the term begins, ok?" Sincerely, Hermione
Ron's letter was a lot different. Although a bit upset, he must have seen Harry's intentions right trough (he was always amazed with this "wisdom moments" of his friend). He said he would miss someone to talk about Quidditch (since everyone around seemed to be way too busy...), but that 'they would meet when they would meet'. He also said he'd go to Diagon Alley at the last week of the holidays. Harry's heart sank. He knew they would kill him for it, but he already had other plans. And the brown owl standing in his window confirmed his thoughts.
Harry, at the end of the last term, made a secret requirement for Prof. Minerva (the only one he thought that would understand; or at least, listen): he asked that, as soon as she had her hands in his OWL results, she sent him an owl from the school, also containing an earlier sent list of sixth year material (that was supposed to come way later), so that he could 'speed things up' during the holidays. The professor, obviously a bit stunned (not to say distrustful), took a thought about the idea and (Harry could swear it!) gave him a "very" small smile before accepting it: 'But don't you think this will become usual!' she warned him, her severe tone rising again. Harry remembered that day really well. That was when many of the twisted thoughts in his head began to line up (or something remotely like that). By that time, he was thinking about staying a bit longer in the Dursleys already. 'It's a necessary evil', he said to himself. 'They'll get it, sooner or later'. He walked to the window and retrieved the letter from the owl's leg. Even with the rain, the package was completely clean. 'Impervius spell, probably.' He watched as the owl spread her wings and disappeared again in the cloudy afternoon sky. He began to read in no time:
Harry Potter,
As you kindly required me, here are your OWL test results. I must say I'm quite impressed... seems like Auror carrier won't be such a dead-end track as Ms. Umbridge might have believed... You'll find the material list for this year in the attached parchment. I hope you have a good holiday, and be aware that this year's term will begin... well, I believe you know the rest. And take some care, will you Potter?
Prof. Minerva McGonagall
Astronomy: E
Herbology: E
Care of Magical Creatures: E
Potions: O ('the analyzer must've got easy on me... although it was a rough exam...')
Transfiguration: E ('Professor Minerva must have liked this...')
Defense Against the Dark Arts: O (with complements from the evaluation board...'Wow!')
History of Magic: P ('I never finished that anyway...)
Divination: A ('even pretending, I went well... will I have to keep doing it?')
Charms: E
Harry felt a great satisfaction... he went better than he could have ever dreamed! According to the list, he would need a basic spellbook, like in any other year, from Miranda Goshawk, only. The rest of the classes did not require a thing. Smiling a bit, he quickly made an inventory of other things he might need to get before the term. His plan already in mind, he went down to the first-floor as his aunt Petunia called him for dinner (he ate before them, but didn't care at all; preferred it that way, actually). Later, he went up, rested a while and started some pull-ups (he was using a bar installed at the top of his door, originally bought for Dudley, but unused for obvious reasons...). When he couldn't take it anymore, he took out his clothes and fell asleep in seconds. He, once more, didn't dream. The exercises and the Occlumency practice (that he decided to get serious about...) were finally kicking in.
Harry woke up way early the next morning (the first rays of light were bursting trough the thin morning air, although the sun would take a bit longer to rise) and proceeded as he planned. He took a shower, made himself a quick breakfast (it was a Saturday; the Dursleys were still heavily asleep; and even if they weren't, they had installed sound-proof doors in their rooms... Hedwig, at last, could make her concerts in Harry's bedroom and no one but him cared anymore) and went back to his bedroom. He filled a backpack with his clothes (he folded clothes for his aunt all his life; 'It actually works', he thought, as everything went in without a problem.). He brushed his teeth very quiet and went down. Left a note at the door and got out on the street, heading to the only other house he knew in the neighborhood. Waiting already up for him was Mrs. Figg.
'Hello, Harry. Come in, come in.' She said, quickly opening the door. 'I got the message from your owl last night, and let me say, what a beautiful owl indeed!' She was very different from the Mrs. Figg he once knew. He went to visit her a few times this summer, still pretending to the Dursleys he hated being there, that she had required his help so he had to go. The truth was that, even with the fact that she was a Squib, it was good having someone around that knew his world, that was up to the news. She kept going: 'Are you sure you want to do this, dear? It seems a bit risky.'
'Nothing to worry, Mrs. Figg. Believe me. I'm not going to do anything crazy. I just need to do some shopping. But I need your hearth to get to the Alley. That, of course, if it's alright with you', he added. She was, actually a very nice old lady (when she had the screws in the right places, anyway... Harry remembered like if it was the day before: when Mundungus Fletcher abandoned his watch over Harry - as he should be right about now as well; Harry didn't know how far Dumbledore's watch over him was still like, and Mrs. Figg didn't discuss that with him - she acted like a crazy old hag; fortunately, she wasn't like that at all times). She smiled with her answer: 'If my kid had your manners... but that's another story, long and boring. I suppose that it wouldn't be a problem if you went to the Diagon Alley. After all, no one's going to try anything there... and don't worry,' she blinked, before Harry even made the request: 'I'll keep it of my reports till you're back. But just in case, one of my cats will follow you from distance, so it won't bother you, and I'm not open for negotiations!' They both laughed; Harry found out (a bit shocked with himself) that he was extremely glad to have her around. She made his existence in Privet Drive quite bearable sometimes.
She walked him to the hearth. The sun was almost getting up at that time of the morning.
'I left a note at the Dursleys saying I'd be here. If they call... tell that I went to the market for you or something like that.'
'Good thinking.' She gave him two apples ('In case you get hungry!') and extended a bit of Floo Powder to his hand.
'Guess I'll see you later. Thanks for everything, Mrs. Figg.' Peter, the cat, was already at his side.
'No problem, Potter. Don't take too long, will ya?' 'I won't'. He looked at her one last second and said loudly: 'Diagon Alley!'
He didn't misspell it this time. With the cool flames around him, he felt everything twist for a second, before he was at an enlightened room, extremely large, with at least eight or nine other empty hearths. He noticed that there was no dust in his clothes; Raising his eyes, he read the golden sign at the door a few steps ahead:
"Diagon Alley Entrance. If you appeared here, all the other hearths in the Alley were occupied or blocked at the time. But you're surely at the right place. Please step trough and have a nice day!
He opened the door, and found himself out of a building close to the Leaky Cauldron. Even at this time of the morning, and at the middle of the holidays, there was still a considerable crowd walking around the streets, as the stores were opening their doors. Harry held his backpack in one shoulder, ate a piece of apple and turned to the yellow-eyed cat aside him.
'Well, Peter - he said smiling - what do you say?'
The cat made a high jump, aiming the top of a trash can - then a large box, another one even larger - and then he found himself up in the roof of a house, from where Harry heard him purring, staring at him. He didn't seem up to small talk. Harry smiled again.
'What a bodyguard!'. He ate another piece of apple and started to walk, losing himself in the street...
