The wind howled through the streets of Little Whinging, making the trees move in the darkness like silent giants. It played with the hair of a boy who was standing right outside Number 4, Privet Drive, and made his too-large clothes flap as if to blow away his anger and sorrow. The attempt was futile, however, as Harry Potter hardly noticed.
His brilliant green eyes searched across the starlit sky, looking for that one particular star he remembered from his Astronomy classes. Searched, and found.
"Hello, Sirius," Harry whispered. The star burned bright this evening.
He had been back with his uncle and aunt's house for only a week, and the anguish still threatened to tear his heart apart. Sirius Black, the closest he had ever had to a brother and a father, was dead - because of him. Why, oh why, did he have to be so incredibly stupid to let himself walk straight into Voldemort's trap? As always when he thought of what had happened in the Department of Mysteries rage erupted in him. A seething rage that consumed every thought and emotion. And as always the rage left him hollow and apathetic when it burned itself out.
But not anymore. Tonight it would end.
It was Harry's mere existence that put his friends in danger, that made his friends get hurt or killed. However, even if Harry were to disappear overnight, the killings and the torture would continue. His friends would never be safe until Voldemort was stopped. There was only one solution to the problem: If the prophecy demanded him to be a weapon, then by all the fates and gods in existence he would become one!
Beneath the star of Sirius, Harry swore that he would stop Voldemort no matter the cost. Never again would his friends die! Never again would he allow evil to hurt those he cared for! Harry's eyes burned in the night, and everything those green orbs revealed... was death.
"OWLS! OWLS! OWLS! HARRYYYY!"
The sound of his uncle's bellow, not so unlike a raging elephant, was more than enough to startle Harry out of sleep. He sat up in the bed yawning, surveying the mess in his room. Books and parchments lay scattered everywhere and a pile of dirty clothes was in the corner. Harry sighed and got out of bed. One month ago, right after he swore to keep his friends safe, he had sent Hedwig to Flourish & Blotts and ordered the books necessary for NEWT Charms, Transfiguration, Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts as well as a few others. Although he doubted he'd received a good enough grade to take NEWT Potions, he had begun studying them anyway during the summer to get a head start - he had taken his vow very seriously. Besides, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do.
He picked up The Art of Occlumency and flipped through a few pages. Unfortunately, the author had made it very clear that it was impossible to learn Occlumency from any book. A teacher was required no matter how talented you were. However, Harry had been practising some of the more basic exercises, and learned enough to know that high stress and lack of proper practise carried much of the blame for his poor success rate with Snape.
"HARRY!" The door banging up brought Harry out of his musings. Mr Dursley stood in the opening with a face that had an interesting shade of purple and with the well-trained vein on his temple pulsing franticly. "Owls!" he snapped. "In the kitchen! Get down now!" And then he whipped around and marched down the stairs again.
Harry shook his head and began to get dressed. His uncle had been more irritate than usual this last week - of course, that might have something to do with Harry having made a habit of reading the Daily Prophet at the kitchen table. The sight of moving pictures in the Dursleys' otherwise quite normal kitchen had to play hell with his uncle's nerves.
Harry walked into the kitchen a few minutes later to find that instead of the usual single owl, there was no less than five of them waiting for him on the kitchen table. Mr Dursley had buried himself in the newspaper in an attempt to ignore them - evidently without much success since he was reading it upside down. Mrs Dursley was glaring at them out of the corner of her eye, as they might assault her any minute. Dudley for his part tried to shield his cornflakes bowl from hungry owls that wanted a taste.
"Harry, get these crazy birds of yours!" he shouted as Harry walked in. "They're eating my breakfast!"
Harry chuckled at him. He doubted his cousin would die of starvation any time soon, although most of his fat had been transformed into muscle during the last couple years. Harry's heart suddenly jumped as he recognized Pig, Ron's owl. He had been so busy studying that he'd forgotten that today was the July 31st - his birthday.
The first owl carried the Daily Prophet as he had expected. Harry paid it five Knuts and sent it on its way, then put the newspaper aside to read later. Snatching Pig out of the air, he untied the letter he carried and read:
Happy birthday, Harry!
How are you doing? Sixteen at last! I hope the Muggles are still treating you well (if they aren't, just remind them of the conversation my dad had with them).
No, my arms do not hurt anymore from those brain-things I ran into in the Department of Mysteries, and the marks are finally gone, too. So don't worry about it, you hear?
As for Percy - the git! - he still hasn't come home. I can't believe him; even Fudge has publicly admitted that You-Know-Who is back, but Percy is still walking around with his nose in the air. Dad tried to speak to him at work, but Percy just ignored him!
Anyway, your birthday present is waiting for you here at-
Sorry, Moody is looking over my shoulder as I'm writing this, and he won't let anyone tell where we are in plain text. It's that place with a crazy painting in the Entrance Hall.
Hermione is here, too. Hope to see you soon, mate.
Ron
Harry didn't dare to even let his thoughts consider what kind of place that had a 'crazy paining in the Entrance Hall'. Doing that would mean letting his thoughts venturing down a dangerous path. He suppressed the memory and the pang of loss he felt, and opened the letter with Hermione's handwriting on:
Happy birthday, Harry!
Hope you don't mind waiting another day for your birthday present. Lupin says that they will pick you up soon and bring you here to-
Sorry, Harry. Moody is censoring everything I write and he won't let me tell you where Ron and I are at the moment in case the owl is intercepted.
No, my chest isn't aching anymore. Those potions I got took care of it, so don't you worry.
Have you gotten your OWLs yet? Because Ron and I haven't. I guess they have been delayed due to all the uproar in the Ministry, and all. I wish they could hurry up. This waiting is killing me.
Sincerely,
Hermione
Harry put Hermione's letter down with a grin. Trust her to worry about OWLs when she was guaranteed O's in every subject! Opening the third letter he saw it was from Lupin:
Hi, Harry,
Congratulations on your sixteenth birthday! Wish I could say that in person, but I have work for Dumbledore to do.
Anyway, we are sending someone from the Order to pick you up tomorrow at noun, so be ready then. Let's hope you won't hex my hair blue like your father did when he turned sixteen...
Remus.
Harry let out a delighted "Yes!" as he read this. Away from the Dursleys! That was the best birthday present they could have given him, even if it meant going back to - the jolt of sorrow and helpless anger alerted him that he was coming too close to the dangerous thought. He forced it out of his mind and composed himself.
"Um, Uncle Vernon?"
Harry's uncle grunted behind the newspaper (still upside down).
"A few friends of mine is going to pick me up tomorrow at around twelve, and I'm going to spend the rest of the summer with them."
Mr Dursley lowered his newspaper and glared at him. "Which one of them?"
Harry glanced down at the letter. "It doesn't say."
"Well, it better not be that chap with the crazy eye," he grumbled and disappeared behind the newspaper again.
Harry had to struggle in order to hide his smile as he opened the fourth and last letter. Tonks, Lupin Mad-Eye and Mr. Weasley had all had a little 'chat' with the Dursleys at the end of his last term. Actually, they had told them in no uncertain terms that treating Harry badly would be a huge mistake. That Lupin had dropped by a few times since then 'just to say hello' only served to reinforce that impression. However, Harry's smile vanished as he began reading his last letter:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Enclosed are your results for Ordinary Wizarding Levels. Please choose a minimum of five and maximum of eight subjects to attend at the NEWT level. We will await your owl with your decisions no later than 25th August.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry gulped. This was what he had been dreading all summer. While he had managed to convince himself that he had at least passed in most of the subjects, Harry was fairly sure that he hadn't gotten a good enough grade in Potions to take the NEWT course. That would spell the end of his dream of becoming an Auror, since NEWT Potions was a required subject. With a hammering heart he folded out the enclosed parchment.
OWL results for Potter, Harry James:
Charms (theoretical): Outstanding.
Charms (practical): Exceeds Expectations.
Transfiguration (theoretical): Exceeds Expectations.
Transfiguration (practical): Exceeds Expectations.
Defence Against the Dark Arts (theoretical): Outstanding.
Defence Against the Dark Arts (practical): Outstanding.
Herbology: Exceeds Expectations.
Potions (theoretical): Outstanding.
Potions (practical): Outstanding.
Care of Magical Creatures: Exceeds Expectations.
Astronomy (theoretical): Exceeds Expectations.
Astronomy (practical): Acceptable.
Divination: Dreadful.
History of Magic: Poor.
Total OWLs Possible OWLs: 12 14
Possible NEWT subjects: Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Herbology, Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy.
The Wizarding Education Board wish you luck in your future endeavours.
Harry goggled at the list. He wasn't quite sure what he had expected, but it definitely wasn't this. "Potons?" he thought in disbelief. "I got an 'O' in Potions?" An 'O' in theoretical Potions he might have been able to accept since the advanced question was about Polyjuice, but practical? Harry shut his eyes, shook his head a bit and looked down on the parchment again. No, it still read: "Potions (practical): Outstanding."
Slowly a grin spread over his face. This meant that he still had a chance of becoming an Auror! "Poor Snape. He'll probably have a stroke when I show up in his NEWT class." Scanning his other grades more carefully he saw that he had gotten an 'O' in practical Defence Against the Dark Arts. "Hm, that must be due to the extra credit the examiner mentioned for conjuring up a Patronus," he thought with pride. The rest of his OWLs were more or less as he had expected. He had failed in Divination and History of Magic, but that was no big loss. History of Magic was immensely boring, and Divination was... well, Divination. The 'A' in practical Astronomy was probably due to being distracted by Umbridge's cowardly attack on Hagrid.
Still grinning, Harry put down the parchment and folded out the Daily Prophet, ignoring the half-strangled sound coming from his uncle. The headline on the front page quickly captured his interest:
More than twenty parents have sued Dolores Jane Umbridge, former Special Assistant to the Minister of Magic, former High Inquisitor, and former Headmistress on Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for causing their children bodily harm. Mrs. Umbridge is charged for subjecting the students in question to a Dark Arts object known as a 'Blood Quill' during detentions. A Blood Quill cuts anything written with it into the hand of the user, and then heals the wound. Repeated use will still leave scars, however.
"It's scandalous!" Mr. Jordan says. "Here I send my son to Hogwarts in the belief that he will be kept safe, only to discover upon his return that one of the teachers has forced him to cut 'I will not lie' into his hand! Just what on earth was Minister Fudge thinking, making her High Inquisitor?"
Headmaster Dumbledore was unfortunately not available for comment, but Deputy Headmistress McGonagall agreed to answer a few questions:
"Were any of the faculty aware of that Mrs Umbridge subjected students to a Blood Quill?"
"Certainly not! Under normal circumstances a Blood Quill would never even have been have been allowed inside the walls of Hogwarts. Unfortunately, we never suspected a Ministry-approved professor would have such an object."
"Is it true that Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived, were also punished with a Blood Quill for no other reason than sticking to his story of how You-Know-Who had returned?"
"That is correct."
Minister Fudge refused to see the journalist from the Daily Prophet...
Harry smiled grimly as he flipped through the rest of the article while rubbing the faint marks on the back of his hand. If there was anyone who deserved a few years in Azkaban, then it was Umbridge. He hadn't forgotten how she had nearly used the Cruciatus Curse on him. Harry forced his thoughts away from the dangerous path. Thinking about Umbridge would make him think of the Department of Mysteries, which in turn would make him think of... he shook himself and turned the page.
A few pages later he was surprised to find a moving picture of Justin Finch-Fletchley grinning back at him.
During the time Mrs. Umbridge taught Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts there was apparently quite a few students that was dissatisfied with her teaching methods. The former professor refused to let her students perform actual magic but merely to read the theory behind it, something which would have left them woefully unprepared for their OWLs.
It was Hermione Granger of Gryffindor that came up with the solution; the students would form a study group outside of class where they'd work to prepare themselves. This group, jokingly named 'Dumbledore's Army', was soon outlawed by Mrs. Umbridge who was the Hogwarts High Inquisitor at the time. However, the meetings continued in secret throughout the year, until one of the members betrayed the group.
What is particularly interesting is that the leader and teacher of these students was no one else but Harry Potter himself. With Mr. Potter's past it shouldn't come as a surprise that he is the best student in Defence Against the Dark Arts in fifty years, and is even able to teach older students.
"His talents within the subject is exceptional," Mr. Lupin says, who is a former professor at Hogwarts. "He master charms and jinxes that many fully qualified wizards have problems with. The Patronus Charm is a wonderful example of such."
Justine Finch-Fletchley of Hufflepuff agrees. "Without the DA I'm sure I would have failed Defence Against the Dark Arts, and instead I got an 'Outstanding' OWL!"
Indeed, the vast majority of the fifth-years Mr. Potter taught achieved an 'Outstanding' OWL, while only two received an 'Exceeds Expectations'. For comparison, none of the non-members managed anything more than 'Acceptable'. And if this isn't enough proof of Mr. Potter's teaching skills, two of the members were also able to conjure a corporal Patronus by the end of the year...
Harry smiled with pride. With everything that had happened before the summer, he had forgotten to ask how the DA members did during their examinations. Evidently they had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. His students!
Harry paged through the rest of the Prophet looking for articles regarding Voldemort, but soon threw the newspaper down on the table in disgust. Judging from what he had read this past month, Cornelius Fudge was more interested in keeping people calm and hanging on to power than actually taking precautions. Voldemort for his part seemed to be lying low for the time being. Oh, there was the occasional report about an Auror getting killed - usually heavily downplayed by the Ministry - but not the terrible things Harry had expected; waves of Death Eaters and Dark Creatures spreading terror all over the UK, murders and abductions every single day, the Dark Mark hovering over wizarding homes...
"Stop thinking about that!" Harry reminded himself sternly for the hundredth time that summer. It was bad enough having nightmares about what Voldemort might do; he didn't need to let his thoughts venture down that path when he was awake, too.
Harry quickly finished his breakfast, gathered his letters and the Daily Prophet, and went back up to his room. He had work to do. Dropping everything on his bed, Harry looked around at the books that lay scattered all over the room. While he couldn't actually practice magic without risk getting expelled from Hogwarts he could at least learn the theory behind it.
Although whether he would ever be able to defeat Voldemort was an open question, Harry would keep his friends safe - no matter the cost. With a sigh he picked up a pile of parchments - Potions notes, his worst subject - and began reading.
"Let me see: Camari Poison, antidotes..."
No less than seven hours later a throbbing pain behind his temples told him that he had pushed his body too far yet again. Harry took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. He had successfully gone through three quarters of the Potion notes from his previous year. Perhaps he should just call it an evening and do the remaining quarter tomorrow, and then he had to read through Antidotes and Healing Potions again.
His stomach suddenly let out a loud growl, and a glance at the watch confirmed that he had missed dinner again. These days the Dursleys only called for him once, and if he didn't show up... well, that was his problem.
Groaning he straightened his aching back and headed down the stairs to make himself a quick sandwich. The Dursleys were watching TV in the living room, so Harry walked as silently as possible. He didn't need any spiteful remarks right now. Unfortunately, the lowest step decided to let out a creak right then, and that was enough to make Dudley look over his shoulder. He sneered at the sight of Harry and got up. Harry ignored him and walked into the kitchen, but Dudley came waddling after.
"I heard you," Dudley declared with a satisfied smile.
"You heard me walking down the stairs? Congratulations, Dudley, that's a real achievement," Harry said while rummaging through the fridge.
"No, I meant last night, while you were asleep."
"Ah, you mean my snoring? Yes, most people have a tendency to do that."
"Not your snoring, your whimpering."
Harry stopped to stare puzzled at Dudley. "Whimpering? What whimpering?"
"Nooo, he's not dead!" Dudley mimicked in a ridiculously snivelling voice. "Let me go, Lupin! He's not dead!"
Grief clutched Harry's heart. The one thing he had tried not to think of ever since he returned to the Dursleys came rushing back to him. For a moment he was back in the Department of Mysteries.
"Sirius!" Harry yelled. "Sirius!" He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out... But as he reached the ground and sprinted towards the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back. "There's nothing you can do, Harry - 'Get him, save him, he's only just gone through!' - it's too late, Harry. 'We can still reach him'" - Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go...
"There's nothing you can do, Harry... nothing... he's gone."
Suddenly he was back in the Dursleys' kitchen. His legs quivered and his breath came in rapid swallow gasps. He looked up at Dudley who stood sneering, obviously proud of his work. Fury clouded Harry's mind and a second later he was standing right in front of his cousin, their noses almost touching.
"Dudley, in exactly one year from now I'll be seventeen," Harry rasped. "Do you know what that means?"
"Uh, no...?" Dudley said, a bit taken aback.
"It means that according to the laws of my kind I'll be 'of age'. Which in turn means that I can legally do magic outside of school." Harry took savage pleasure in the horrified expression appearing on Dudley's face. "I promise you this, Dudley; the first charm I'll perform outside of school will be transfiguring you into a pig."
Harry left his thunderstruck cousin and walked up the stairs to his room. He slammed the door shut, breathing heavily as if he had been running for miles. "Sirius...!" Wild rage possessed him. He grabbed Antidotes and Healing Potions and threw it straight into the wall. Damn Snape for taunting Sirius! His trunk crashed into the bedside table. Damn Dumbledore for not telling him about the prophecy! Carefully sorted parchments went flying all over the room. And damn Voldemort for causing all this!
Suddenly the door was ripped up, revealing Mr Dursley standing in the doorway. "Boy, what are you doing in there?" he demanded. "And what have you done to Dudley? He's hiding in the cupboard under the stairs, refusing to come out!"
Harry grabbed his wand from the table and showed it into his uncle's gut. "I'll say this only once," Harry growled. "Leave me alone or you, Aunt Petunia, Dudley and this whole house will be ash before you can count to three." Mr Dursley's usually ruddy face drained of colour as he realized his nephew was deadly serious.
Satisfied his uncle having gotten the hint, Harry shut and locked the door - and then promptly collapsed on the bed, thoroughly exhausted. His heart ached so much from grief he thought someone must have ripped it out.
"Breath in, breathe out," he thought, going through an Occlumency exercise. "Concentrate on your breathing. Breath in, breath out." His racing heart began to calm. "Breathe in, breathe out." No emotion. "Breathe in, breathe out." No thoughts.
Harry never noticed falling asleep.
A gentle breeze playing with his hair woke him up. Harry didn't think much of it - he was used to sleeping with the window open so that Hedwig could fly in and out as she pleased. He just turned around and tried to fall asleep again.
"Harry..." A voice soft as velvet filled his head.
Harry lifted his head still half-asleep and peered around in the darkness, looking for the owner of the voice. No, he was all alone in the forest clearing.
Forest clearing?
Harry shot up in his bed, suddenly wide awake. The bed he had been sleeping in was no longer in his uncle and aunt's house, that was for sure. It was sitting in a small forest clearing illuminated by moonlight, the threes and the half-dark giving the impression of a wall surrounding him. Harry hopped out of the bed and looked around wildly, wand at the ready. What had happened? How did he get here? He raked through his memory in an effort to remember. He clearly recalled doing Occlumency exercises to calm his rage at his room, whereupon he probably fell asleep.
Harry's insides turned cold as he realized that the only wizard he could imagine had the power to transport him out of Privet Drive was Voldemort himself. Gritting his teeth to stop them from chattering, he slowly turned in a circle and squinted into the half-dark. Even with the moonlight he could not make out anything beyond the clearing. Harry chanced a quick glance at the sky to see how full the moon was - and immediately did a double take. On the starlit sky, no less than seven moons were shining down at him.
"Merlin's beard!" Harry exclaimed. "Where am I?"
"You are in the Casara Matonda."
Harry jumped nearly a foot into the air. He spun around trying to look in all directions at once, but deep down he knew it was useless. The voice had come from inside his own mind...
"Whose there?" he demanded. "Where are you?"
"Relax, we mean you no harm."
But Harry weren't about to relax. These people - whoever they were - had transported Harry straight through all the magical protections Dumbledore had arranged for him without him even noticing. "Show yourself!" he demanded.
Three towering shapes materialized out of thin air, and the pure astonishment Harry felt made every curse and charm fly out of his head. Mind and body numb with shock, he could only stand and stare at the inhuman owners of the mysterious voices. He would remember that moment in the years to come, remember it and be grateful.
Harry's birthright had been revealed and the world was changed forever.
Author's notes:
Well, here you have a brand new fanfic. Hope you'll like it. A few things, though: First, let me say that this is (obviously) post-OotP and hence not a sequel to my earlier fanfic, 'The Guardian of Hogwarts'. Second, Harry won't become super-Harry overnight. He has a long way left to go. Third, pairing will eventually be HarryCho, so if you don't like that I'm afraid you are out of luck...
In any case, I hope you'll enjoy it.