The characters and background of original ideas of this series is from the
mind of and owned by J.K. Rowling. However, this particular take off, or
spin if you will, is owned and copy written by me (© L.E.A., 2003).
Chapter 1 Penny Poppington
It had been a sweltering summer in all of Britain, and the heat's oppressive presence had been cemented on nearly all of the residents of Privet Drive. Wilted grass carpeted the perfectly square front yards of all the identical homes lining the street. The various shades of grass were an indicator of who lived where. Soggy, faded grass covered the lawns of those who tried desperately to hide the pitiful vitality of their landscaping with excessive watering. New seed was lay down upon the lawns of those trying to disguise the bald spots littering the grass, a small reminder of how merciless children at play were. And in front of Four, Privet Drive, the full body imprint of a sixteen year old boy decorated the lawn.
On this day, the creator of this imprint was stretched out upon it, looking up at the endlessly bright sky. The Boy Who Lived was savoring a moment of quiet, a rare thing for him at the Dursley household. It had been nearly three whole months since he had left Hogwarts, and Harry Potter was just as eager to return as he had been the day he left. It wasn't as though he was eager to get back to the loads of parchment he received in History of Magic, or that he was excited to start on a new year of Potions (far from it, actually). He just needed something distracting to preoccupy his mind. The freedom of the summer did have its costs.
He rolled over onto his left side, trying to displace the hunger he felt deep in his belly. It would have been easy to go upstairs and grab a Jumping Frog from his trunk, but such action was a threat to the peace and quiet. He glanced over at the long shadow that was cast on the lawn next door. His first thought was of Lord Voldemort, whom he had once more thwarted in his efforts of domination, this time by destroying the record of the prophecy that intertwined their fates. Voldemort had been on Harry's mind all summer. The thought that Voldemort was out there, gaining more follower again, being aided by his faithful Death Eaters, threatened his peace of mind everyday. The Daily Prophet, which he now received daily, thanks in part to Mad-Eye Moody's threats against Uncle Vernon, had no news of Voldemort's true whereabouts. There had even been a section in the newspaper where people could report suspected-sightings. Harry knew that was basically a joke. The only people who had any idea as to Voldemort's location were positioned at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and belonged to the Order of the Phoenix.
Harry closed his eyes for a mere moment when a shrill cry erupted into the air.
"Where is that boy? How is it that he manages to sneak off right when there's work to be done? When I find him I'll-"
Aunt Petunia need not say any more. Harry had already arisen at the sound of her voice and made his way into the living room.
"I'm right here, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, trying to stifle a yawn.
"Where have you been? Lollying off I suppose. Why are the ungrateful ones so lazy as well? Continually a disgrace."
Harry, who had grown several inches and was thus several inches taller than his aunt looked down at her. "There's no doubt that you'll try and work it out of me now, is there?"
His aunt made a sound that resembled a stifled snort. She handed him the vacuum cleaner, and a bottle of ammonia. "Get to work, "she said disdainfully. "We have a guest coming for dinner."
"Really!" Harry said his voice full of sarcastic excitement. "Who's the lucky caller today?"
"Penelope Poppington, so don't do anything rash or vile. That means no, well, you know what that means." Aunt Petunia's face lit up for a short moment. "It's so fitting that my little Duddykins is such a lady's man. Penny is the perfect match for him." Aunt Petunia's gaze focused in on Harry. "So don't you go and screw it up then."
It took all of Harry's energy not to grown. Penny Poppington was his cousin Dudley's girlfriend. It had been an amazing revelation that Dudley had even found a girlfriend. Thicker than an elephant and not nearly as smart, Dudley was not exactly what Harry thought girls went for. Dudley was burly and beefy from the wrestling that he partook in, but still remained at medium height, making him perennially resemble something short of a beach ball. Harry didn't understand who could actually be attracted to Dudley. That is, until he first saw Penny Poppington.
Firstly, Penny was a female version of Dudley, from almost any aspect. She had the same dirty blond hair, pudgy, smashed face and hefty body. The ground practically vibrated when she walked. She had a small group of girls she hung around with, all smaller, and they were all willing to cackle stupidly when she did something Penny felt was amusing or when she wished them to do her bidding.
Secondly, Penny acted just like Dudley. She was known in the local academy for slugging, punching, kicking, bullying and despising anyone she felt was "due for it". She ate like a bear, devouring lunch after lunch belonging to her victims. And she was spoiled beyond belief by her rich parents. So Harry was not looking forward to dinner at all, and later that night, the feeling had not lifted after the first, second or third courses of dinner.
So far Penny had been wise enough not to ask Harry anything. That did not last long.
"Mrs. Dursley, you are a splendid chef," Penny said between mouthfuls of food. She glanced over at Harry. "I bet you take things like your aunt's hospitality for granted, don't you, Harry?"
Aunt Petunia was practically beaming with her rabbit-teeth smile. "Please Penny, call me Petunia."
Penny smiled artificially and continued.
"Dudley has told me quite a bit about you Harry. You're an orphan, and your parents went and killed themselves in some dreadful accident. You are incredibly violent and strange, so you have no friends, which is fitting. And you happen to look as though a cat dragged you out of the trash, untidy and unkempt as you are. I don't understand why Petunia and Vernon have taken care of you."
Harry could tell her exactly why he was left in the care of the Dursley every summer, but he didn't want to risk giving Aunt Petunia a heart attack. At least, not at that very moment.
Harry stabbed at the remaining bit of chicken on his plate. "You must have me all figured out then, Penny," Harry said through clenched teeth.
That fat smile stayed on Penny's face. "I pride myself on knowing everything."
"Do you?" Harry asked. It was an open invitation, but Uncle Vernon changed the subject.
"Do you play any sports Harry?" Penny asked, after a long discussion of how well Dudley had done in his last match. "She eyed him carefully. "Well, I suppose not, you haven't got meat enough to hold you against an opponent in anything."
Harry was tempted to tell her that he had faced an opponent far more dangerous than any she could have imagined, and that his lanky figure had stood up to him multiple times, but he knew that would simply anger his aunt and uncle.
"No I don't play-". Harry's mouth curved into a deceptive smile. "Actually, at my school, I do play a sport. Everyone in my school plays it. It's called Fittest. "
"And how does that work Harry?" his Uncle Vernon asked, his eyes darting nervously between his wife, son and his nephew.
"Well, we all gather in on a pitch and basically tackle each other, but the objective is to injure anyone in anyway you can. Braking bones is effective, but some people kick, bite or use weapons. It's rather enthralling, and only about 10 people die a year."
Dudley looked at his corpulent girlfriend. "Penny, um, why don't you just ignore him? He's disturbed, he doesn't know what-".
"Harry, where do you attend school?" Penny finally asked, after a long, gaping silence.
"St. Brutus's School for Criminally Incurable Boys." Harry said, smiling saccharinely around the table, just as Penny had done.
Aunt Petunia opened her mouth to utter a word, but stopped when everyone heard the distinct sound of an owl hooting. Harry looked down at the watch that he had found amongst Dudley's discarded belongings.
"Well, look at the time!" Harry gathered his table settings and put them in the sink. "I've got terrible summer reading to finish. Nice seeing you again Penny." Before anyone could object, Harry had climbed the stairs into his new room, the attic space.
There before him sat a brown barn owl with a letter tied to itself leg. As the barn owl and Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, chatted animatedly, Harry untied the letter from the owl's leg. It took a bit of Hedwig's water, gave a dignified, content hoot and flew out of the open window. Harry watched the owl fade into the sunset before looking down at the letter.
It was from Sirius.
Chapter 2
The Converselope
Harry was virtually knocked off of his feet. He shakily reached backwards and grabbed his bed. Sinking into the covers, the feelings inside of him descended in a similar manner.
Harry's godfather had been the greatest joy in his life. To finally have family, to have someone with whom he belonged, had been the greatest comfort in the world. Despite never knowing where he was, Harry could always get an owl to and from Sirius, a word of advice or encouragement.
But now Sirius was dead, killed by his vile cousin Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry was left an orphan once more, and now with burdens of the nightmares of Sirius's death. The dreams played over in his head like a horror film: Sirius's expressionless, lifeless body falling off of the dais, never to be seen again, Bellatrix's hysterical laughter, the anger fueling inside of him, and faintly in the distance, Voldemort's cackle and his mother's cry.
And this is why Harry tried to preoccupy himself around the clock
And that is why Sirius's letter remained unopened in Harry's hands.
The thoughts of Sirius were so overwhelming to Harry. There had been no goodbye, no final discourse between the two. Harry honestly felt like crying for the first time in his life, but he knew that it would be no use.
And so, rather than open the letter, he tossed it aside and lay down.
"Open me please."
Harry bolted up from the bed.
"Who said that?" He whispered, looking frantically around the room.
"Oh me, sir, but please, do unfold me!" the voice pleaded.
Harry thought he was really going insane, which many people had insinuated over the years. "I don't see you. Where are you hiding?"
"Sir, I'm the letter on the edge of the bed!"
Harry reached over to grab the letter gently. Sure enough, a small, pleasant face was on the envelope, smiling gratefully.
"I take it you are Mr. Harry Potter of the attic space, Four Privet Drive?"
"Yes," Harry replied, still baffled. "Um, er, excuse me, but why are you talking to me if you're an envelope?"
"Converselope," the face corrected. "My kind is special, we can learn, perceive, and attain any type of knowledge. That's how I learned to speak. But most importantly, I hold special information that only my addressee can understand."
The face's eyes widened seriously.
"There's a voice message for you inside."
Harry was fascinated. And confused.
"But Sirius couldn't have sent you," Harry said, forcing himself to swallow. "Sirius isn't-"
"I was sent by Remus Lupin," the envelope supplied. "Converselopes are never actually sent by those who write them. We can only be sent by a mid-man, as Remus Lupin served to do, and only interpreted by the addresseed, Mr. Harry Potter."
"How long have you been holding my message?" Harry asked.
"I was recorded nearly a year and a half ago, and I have been sitting on the desk of Remus Lupin for the past year. He's taught me all I know." The converselope smiled proudly. "Did you know he's a werewolf? Great, fascinating man indeed."
Harry was slowly piercing the puzzle together.
"So only Sirius, Remus and I can understand you when you speak, but only I can understand the message inside?"
"Correct. I'm a normal looking, indestructible, unopenable envelope to anyone else.
"So after I open you, what happens?"
"Well," the converselope said still smiling as brightly as ever, "if you keep me, I'll hold the message until you die, so you can hear it as many times as you wish. I can only vanish if you die or you wish me to die. Then I just crumple up and disintegrate.
Harry was a bit overwhelmed, but happy nonetheless. At least he could talk to something now, even if it was just an envelope.
"You look just as Remus said you would. Both he and Sirius spoke fondly of you."
Harry placed the envelope on his pillow and sat across from it. "What did they say about me?" He asked.
The converselope's eyes darted back and forth, looking at the pillow.
"This is quite comfortable," it said. "You call these...pillows, am I correct?"
"Yes."
The converselope grinned broadly. "Splendid things. Anyhow, they said you'd be a quiet, lanky, tall boy with black messy hair and bright green eyes that belonged to Lily, your mother. Your hair was your father, James's."
Harry was baffled at this point, but growing used to the idea of an envelope knowing so much.
"Sirius said you were fun, brave, and \daring like your father, but Remus said you had gotten a lot of sense from your mother. Oh yes, and that I shouldn't worry if you get upset with me. You'd get upset a lot."
Harry snorted at the last comment but then grinned. "You've made me feel tons better. Lets have a look inside you."
The converselope squealed with glee. "Here we go!"
Chapter 1 Penny Poppington
It had been a sweltering summer in all of Britain, and the heat's oppressive presence had been cemented on nearly all of the residents of Privet Drive. Wilted grass carpeted the perfectly square front yards of all the identical homes lining the street. The various shades of grass were an indicator of who lived where. Soggy, faded grass covered the lawns of those who tried desperately to hide the pitiful vitality of their landscaping with excessive watering. New seed was lay down upon the lawns of those trying to disguise the bald spots littering the grass, a small reminder of how merciless children at play were. And in front of Four, Privet Drive, the full body imprint of a sixteen year old boy decorated the lawn.
On this day, the creator of this imprint was stretched out upon it, looking up at the endlessly bright sky. The Boy Who Lived was savoring a moment of quiet, a rare thing for him at the Dursley household. It had been nearly three whole months since he had left Hogwarts, and Harry Potter was just as eager to return as he had been the day he left. It wasn't as though he was eager to get back to the loads of parchment he received in History of Magic, or that he was excited to start on a new year of Potions (far from it, actually). He just needed something distracting to preoccupy his mind. The freedom of the summer did have its costs.
He rolled over onto his left side, trying to displace the hunger he felt deep in his belly. It would have been easy to go upstairs and grab a Jumping Frog from his trunk, but such action was a threat to the peace and quiet. He glanced over at the long shadow that was cast on the lawn next door. His first thought was of Lord Voldemort, whom he had once more thwarted in his efforts of domination, this time by destroying the record of the prophecy that intertwined their fates. Voldemort had been on Harry's mind all summer. The thought that Voldemort was out there, gaining more follower again, being aided by his faithful Death Eaters, threatened his peace of mind everyday. The Daily Prophet, which he now received daily, thanks in part to Mad-Eye Moody's threats against Uncle Vernon, had no news of Voldemort's true whereabouts. There had even been a section in the newspaper where people could report suspected-sightings. Harry knew that was basically a joke. The only people who had any idea as to Voldemort's location were positioned at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, and belonged to the Order of the Phoenix.
Harry closed his eyes for a mere moment when a shrill cry erupted into the air.
"Where is that boy? How is it that he manages to sneak off right when there's work to be done? When I find him I'll-"
Aunt Petunia need not say any more. Harry had already arisen at the sound of her voice and made his way into the living room.
"I'm right here, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, trying to stifle a yawn.
"Where have you been? Lollying off I suppose. Why are the ungrateful ones so lazy as well? Continually a disgrace."
Harry, who had grown several inches and was thus several inches taller than his aunt looked down at her. "There's no doubt that you'll try and work it out of me now, is there?"
His aunt made a sound that resembled a stifled snort. She handed him the vacuum cleaner, and a bottle of ammonia. "Get to work, "she said disdainfully. "We have a guest coming for dinner."
"Really!" Harry said his voice full of sarcastic excitement. "Who's the lucky caller today?"
"Penelope Poppington, so don't do anything rash or vile. That means no, well, you know what that means." Aunt Petunia's face lit up for a short moment. "It's so fitting that my little Duddykins is such a lady's man. Penny is the perfect match for him." Aunt Petunia's gaze focused in on Harry. "So don't you go and screw it up then."
It took all of Harry's energy not to grown. Penny Poppington was his cousin Dudley's girlfriend. It had been an amazing revelation that Dudley had even found a girlfriend. Thicker than an elephant and not nearly as smart, Dudley was not exactly what Harry thought girls went for. Dudley was burly and beefy from the wrestling that he partook in, but still remained at medium height, making him perennially resemble something short of a beach ball. Harry didn't understand who could actually be attracted to Dudley. That is, until he first saw Penny Poppington.
Firstly, Penny was a female version of Dudley, from almost any aspect. She had the same dirty blond hair, pudgy, smashed face and hefty body. The ground practically vibrated when she walked. She had a small group of girls she hung around with, all smaller, and they were all willing to cackle stupidly when she did something Penny felt was amusing or when she wished them to do her bidding.
Secondly, Penny acted just like Dudley. She was known in the local academy for slugging, punching, kicking, bullying and despising anyone she felt was "due for it". She ate like a bear, devouring lunch after lunch belonging to her victims. And she was spoiled beyond belief by her rich parents. So Harry was not looking forward to dinner at all, and later that night, the feeling had not lifted after the first, second or third courses of dinner.
So far Penny had been wise enough not to ask Harry anything. That did not last long.
"Mrs. Dursley, you are a splendid chef," Penny said between mouthfuls of food. She glanced over at Harry. "I bet you take things like your aunt's hospitality for granted, don't you, Harry?"
Aunt Petunia was practically beaming with her rabbit-teeth smile. "Please Penny, call me Petunia."
Penny smiled artificially and continued.
"Dudley has told me quite a bit about you Harry. You're an orphan, and your parents went and killed themselves in some dreadful accident. You are incredibly violent and strange, so you have no friends, which is fitting. And you happen to look as though a cat dragged you out of the trash, untidy and unkempt as you are. I don't understand why Petunia and Vernon have taken care of you."
Harry could tell her exactly why he was left in the care of the Dursley every summer, but he didn't want to risk giving Aunt Petunia a heart attack. At least, not at that very moment.
Harry stabbed at the remaining bit of chicken on his plate. "You must have me all figured out then, Penny," Harry said through clenched teeth.
That fat smile stayed on Penny's face. "I pride myself on knowing everything."
"Do you?" Harry asked. It was an open invitation, but Uncle Vernon changed the subject.
"Do you play any sports Harry?" Penny asked, after a long discussion of how well Dudley had done in his last match. "She eyed him carefully. "Well, I suppose not, you haven't got meat enough to hold you against an opponent in anything."
Harry was tempted to tell her that he had faced an opponent far more dangerous than any she could have imagined, and that his lanky figure had stood up to him multiple times, but he knew that would simply anger his aunt and uncle.
"No I don't play-". Harry's mouth curved into a deceptive smile. "Actually, at my school, I do play a sport. Everyone in my school plays it. It's called Fittest. "
"And how does that work Harry?" his Uncle Vernon asked, his eyes darting nervously between his wife, son and his nephew.
"Well, we all gather in on a pitch and basically tackle each other, but the objective is to injure anyone in anyway you can. Braking bones is effective, but some people kick, bite or use weapons. It's rather enthralling, and only about 10 people die a year."
Dudley looked at his corpulent girlfriend. "Penny, um, why don't you just ignore him? He's disturbed, he doesn't know what-".
"Harry, where do you attend school?" Penny finally asked, after a long, gaping silence.
"St. Brutus's School for Criminally Incurable Boys." Harry said, smiling saccharinely around the table, just as Penny had done.
Aunt Petunia opened her mouth to utter a word, but stopped when everyone heard the distinct sound of an owl hooting. Harry looked down at the watch that he had found amongst Dudley's discarded belongings.
"Well, look at the time!" Harry gathered his table settings and put them in the sink. "I've got terrible summer reading to finish. Nice seeing you again Penny." Before anyone could object, Harry had climbed the stairs into his new room, the attic space.
There before him sat a brown barn owl with a letter tied to itself leg. As the barn owl and Harry's snowy owl, Hedwig, chatted animatedly, Harry untied the letter from the owl's leg. It took a bit of Hedwig's water, gave a dignified, content hoot and flew out of the open window. Harry watched the owl fade into the sunset before looking down at the letter.
It was from Sirius.
Chapter 2
The Converselope
Harry was virtually knocked off of his feet. He shakily reached backwards and grabbed his bed. Sinking into the covers, the feelings inside of him descended in a similar manner.
Harry's godfather had been the greatest joy in his life. To finally have family, to have someone with whom he belonged, had been the greatest comfort in the world. Despite never knowing where he was, Harry could always get an owl to and from Sirius, a word of advice or encouragement.
But now Sirius was dead, killed by his vile cousin Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry was left an orphan once more, and now with burdens of the nightmares of Sirius's death. The dreams played over in his head like a horror film: Sirius's expressionless, lifeless body falling off of the dais, never to be seen again, Bellatrix's hysterical laughter, the anger fueling inside of him, and faintly in the distance, Voldemort's cackle and his mother's cry.
And this is why Harry tried to preoccupy himself around the clock
And that is why Sirius's letter remained unopened in Harry's hands.
The thoughts of Sirius were so overwhelming to Harry. There had been no goodbye, no final discourse between the two. Harry honestly felt like crying for the first time in his life, but he knew that it would be no use.
And so, rather than open the letter, he tossed it aside and lay down.
"Open me please."
Harry bolted up from the bed.
"Who said that?" He whispered, looking frantically around the room.
"Oh me, sir, but please, do unfold me!" the voice pleaded.
Harry thought he was really going insane, which many people had insinuated over the years. "I don't see you. Where are you hiding?"
"Sir, I'm the letter on the edge of the bed!"
Harry reached over to grab the letter gently. Sure enough, a small, pleasant face was on the envelope, smiling gratefully.
"I take it you are Mr. Harry Potter of the attic space, Four Privet Drive?"
"Yes," Harry replied, still baffled. "Um, er, excuse me, but why are you talking to me if you're an envelope?"
"Converselope," the face corrected. "My kind is special, we can learn, perceive, and attain any type of knowledge. That's how I learned to speak. But most importantly, I hold special information that only my addressee can understand."
The face's eyes widened seriously.
"There's a voice message for you inside."
Harry was fascinated. And confused.
"But Sirius couldn't have sent you," Harry said, forcing himself to swallow. "Sirius isn't-"
"I was sent by Remus Lupin," the envelope supplied. "Converselopes are never actually sent by those who write them. We can only be sent by a mid-man, as Remus Lupin served to do, and only interpreted by the addresseed, Mr. Harry Potter."
"How long have you been holding my message?" Harry asked.
"I was recorded nearly a year and a half ago, and I have been sitting on the desk of Remus Lupin for the past year. He's taught me all I know." The converselope smiled proudly. "Did you know he's a werewolf? Great, fascinating man indeed."
Harry was slowly piercing the puzzle together.
"So only Sirius, Remus and I can understand you when you speak, but only I can understand the message inside?"
"Correct. I'm a normal looking, indestructible, unopenable envelope to anyone else.
"So after I open you, what happens?"
"Well," the converselope said still smiling as brightly as ever, "if you keep me, I'll hold the message until you die, so you can hear it as many times as you wish. I can only vanish if you die or you wish me to die. Then I just crumple up and disintegrate.
Harry was a bit overwhelmed, but happy nonetheless. At least he could talk to something now, even if it was just an envelope.
"You look just as Remus said you would. Both he and Sirius spoke fondly of you."
Harry placed the envelope on his pillow and sat across from it. "What did they say about me?" He asked.
The converselope's eyes darted back and forth, looking at the pillow.
"This is quite comfortable," it said. "You call these...pillows, am I correct?"
"Yes."
The converselope grinned broadly. "Splendid things. Anyhow, they said you'd be a quiet, lanky, tall boy with black messy hair and bright green eyes that belonged to Lily, your mother. Your hair was your father, James's."
Harry was baffled at this point, but growing used to the idea of an envelope knowing so much.
"Sirius said you were fun, brave, and \daring like your father, but Remus said you had gotten a lot of sense from your mother. Oh yes, and that I shouldn't worry if you get upset with me. You'd get upset a lot."
Harry snorted at the last comment but then grinned. "You've made me feel tons better. Lets have a look inside you."
The converselope squealed with glee. "Here we go!"