Harry Potter and the Mystery Witch, a harry potter fanfic

HARRY POTTER AND THE MYSTERY WITCH

Chapter 1: Coral

It was a hot muggy day on July 31st, Harry's standard eventless birthday. As usual the Dursleys never celebrated or gave him anything or even wished him a happy birthday. This summer hadn't been any different than the last fourteen he'd spent with them. Well—except for one thing.

Neither Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia or even Dudley(known as Big D to his friends) had made one nasty comment to Harry throughout his stay with them. They wouldn't look him in the face, they basically ignored him, but Uncle Vernon's nastiness and threats were gone, even when company came, like Aunt Marge, who was here at this particular moment.

Even Aunt Marge had been quiet with regard to Harry. In fact she behaved as if she were petrified of him and often jumped, startled, whenever he walked into the room, and broke into a cold sweat. It was typical of her to drop her drink whenever he came into a room, which caused the breaking of many of Aunt Petunia's good glasses, a thing Harry knew they were aching to shout at him about—but never did. Yet what Harry had done to Aunt Marge last time she was at the house was not the only reason they all tiptoed around him now.

Last time the Dursleys had seen anyone from Harry's real world, the world of Witchcraft and Wizadry(this did not include Mrs. Figg, whom Harry had found out was a squib last summer during the unusual dementor attack on himself and Dudley), had been when Harry had arrived in London after the school term and been met by the Dursleys. Mad-Eye Moody, Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin had in their own way made it perfectly clear to the Dursleys' faces that if they ever so much as breathed wrong on Harry, well, they would know. And they would make sure the Dursleys regretted it for the rest of their lives.

At first, the Dursleys had tried to be pleasant. Uncle Vernon had even tried to talk to Harry once and awhile, engage him in minor conversation. Nothing special, drills and all things important to Uncle Vernon. Occassionally he'd asked him how things were in the Wizarding World, and Harry just answered with a noncommittal, "Fine," at all times. Once, Aunt Petunia had actually said she was sorry about Sirius—and that had almost been a disaster because Harry had nearly burst into tears in front of her. Luckily he masked it well, managed to say a quick "thanks," and ran to his room, where he locked his door and cried on his bed.

The tears came a lot more frequently now which scared him—and for very good reason. Whenever they came, not only were they loud and uncontrolled, everyone could hear him in his room—but they set off a lot of mishaps. Things fell off his desk and flew around his room, holes were blasted into the wall, and all manner of magical loss of control. Harry would often shiver, even as he wept, thinking of the time he'd sat there in the courtroom so long ago, it seemed—for fighting the Dementors last summer. He always feared it would happen again—but the Wizarding World seemed to be allowing this to happen, allowing him to process his grief and not fault him for the way it came out.

The Dursleys never said a word. There was no mention of the tears or the magical mishaps, not even from Dudley. His friends ignored Harry now. If it weren't for the fact that Harry knew they were petrified of the Order of the Phoenix, he might have been rather touched.

Sitting here now, on his swing in the playground, Harry shook his head, laughing a little, despite himself. Those Dursleys couldn't care less if he lived or died. Well—no one had said anything about being nice to him on his birthday or even nice to him at all, just that they didn't give him a rough time.

Strangely, the being ignored depressed Harry even more. And yet—something else also made his heart ache.

He was dreading the return to Hogwarts.

He didn't want to go back. He wanted no part of it anymore, no part of being a wizard. Sirius's death had killed something within him, well, all the joy he had ever felt in his life. No matter what, he would always be alone, he was the one the Dark Lord wanted. He was the one the prophecy had been about—well him and Neville, but Neville would never have to face what Harry had ahead of him—Neville was not strong enough anyway. He would have to face the Dark Lord alone—with no one by his side—and live or die in the battle to rid the world of evil.

Harry did not even want to see Ron and Hermione again. He wanted no part of his friendship with them the way he felt now. There was nothing in him but emptiness, and a great sadness no one could comfort. Ron and Hermione did not understand him, no matter how they had tried. They, and Hagrid had sent him all manner of owls, as had Dumbledore and everyone close to Harry—but he had ignored them without responding. He didn't even open the gifts they had sent him on his birthday, even the cake Mrs. Weasley had always sent to him.

No one understood. There was no point in talking to any of them, their sympathy only made Harry want to lash out in anger at them. They had parents, loving families that had always looked after them, and they had always been treated well. Harry had never been loved until he came to Hogwarts, and never truly looked after until Sirius. Dumbledore had tried, but he was too busy with everything else. Sirius however—Sirius had always had time for Harry even while he was trying to escape the Minister of Magic and Azkaban. The Weasleys—they had given Harry the best they could but there were so many children there already—and Harry would never be able to stay with them throughout the summer because of the safety issue and that bloody protection spell his mother had put on him.

Harry had to stay with Aunt Petunia, because her blood protected him from Voldemort, even though Petunia had no love for him. Lily, Harry's mother and Petunia's sister had been the one who loved him, and had placed a spell on him that her blood would always protect him. The only living relative she had was Aunt Petunia. So Harry was stuck there until the powers that be decided he'd had enough for the summer and could go live somewhere else until school started.

Harry was actually dreading this. Sooner or later, the Order of the Phoenix would come and take him away. Harry did not want to step anywhere near the House of Black ever again.

He sighed, hung his head, and looked at his hands. Tears formed in his eyes and fell onto his hands as he rocked back and forth in the swing. Harry swallowed his tears as best he could; it was out in the open and if he set anything off out here—no, he didn't think even Dumbledore would forgive that one.

He wiped away the tears and concentrated on thinking about nothing. He began to swing on the swing, and concentrate on the back and forth movement. If this didn't work, he was going to go for a long walk, maybe even a run. Harry had lost a lot of weight—he was skin and bones in fact, thanks not only to eating very little, but to running and walking a lot, just to take his mind off things. Once even Dudley had said something akin to concern—Harry had nearly burst out laughing at the look on his face.

"You look like a concentration camp survivor, mate," Dudley had said. "Here—want a biscuit?" He had offered Harry his last biscuit, and Harry had taken it with a nod of thanks, and gone right upstairs where he ate and then laid down and cried again. No one else would ever come into his heart again. Sirius had closed it up.

Now, Harry stopped swinging, as suddenly, voices could be heard from one of two figures that stood across the street. He squinted his eyes, and for no reason he could think of—he forgot about all of his problems, as Mrs. Figg's shrill voice could be heard screaming and yelling at—

The most beautiful girl Harry had ever seen.

She didn't look like she cared a lot about herself, well it was obvious Mrs. Figg had dressed her—she wore clothes that did not match and they were all wrinkled and much too big for her. And yet—somehow her beauty showed through, even under all the rags. Her hair was long and brown, with deep blonde and red highlights that sparkled in the sun. Her face was pale, and right now, it was inclined toward the ground. It was too far away to see her face fully—but somehow Harry knew she was beautiful. Maybe it was an inner beauty shining through as well? He didn't know.

He had to find out what was going on.

Getting up slowly from the swing, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, and drawing himself up, he walked across the street to where they both stood. Harry stood next to the young girl, who upon seeing him, shrunk into herself even more.

"Excuse me," Harry said, his deep voice resonating. "What is going on here?"

Arabella Figg had been about to say something but her mouth stayed open as she looked at Harry in amazement and bewilderment.

"Why—Harry," she said, rather slighted, it seemed, at his interruption and yet in a way rather flattered by his interest in her. Harry had never been interested in Mrs. Figg, save for when she admitted she was a squib and knew about the Wizarding World. Yet this summer, he had not been at all interested in talking to her at all, had gone out of his way to avoid going outside when she was there—her very presense reminded him of what he so desperately hated to think about.

"Well," Mrs. Figg said, drawing herself up angrily. "No sooner had I gotten my precious Agatha home from the vet—her poor bladder again, you understand—than CORAL here opened the door at the WRONG time—and she got OUT!"

Coral shrunk in on herself as Mrs. Figg raised her voice. Without thinking, Harry put his arm around her and faced Mrs. Figg.

"I'm sure it was an accident, Mrs. Figg," he said as tactfully as he could, although he was seething with an anger he longed to express at someone.

"Oh SURE it was an accident!" shouted Mrs. Figg. "No, Harry, never mind, I know what a good person you are. But don't let Coral fool you. I took her in at the behest of my sister, who found her in a muggle orphanage, totally useless. She may look so vulnerable and innocent, completely harmless. But she is—"Suddenly Mrs. Figg looked at Harry with great fear in her eyes. Coral herself looked up at Mrs. Figg, her whole body tensing up.

"She's what?" Harry asked defiantly.

Mrs. Figg collected herself.

"Never mind," she said, her lips thinning. "I think it is probably best—that she tell you herself." She glared at Coral. "I'm going back in for some TEA!" She shouted. "I DESERVE some, don't you think? You," she snarled at her, "will FIND Agatha—Harry will help you as he is very good with finding cats—and BRING HER HOME!"

She then turned and stomped into the house.

Coral turned to Harry, who no longer had his arm around her, but now they stood face to face. Coral was maybe a couple inches shorter than Harry, but her whole demeaner made her look smaller. She looked at Harry briefly, then cast her face down to the ground.

"Don't do that," Harry said softly, lifting her chin up to make her look at him. "Let me see you."

Coral reluctantly looked up at Harry. Her eyes were a deep greenish blue. Her face, pale and creamy, was square jawed with high cheekbones. Her lips were so red they were almost the color of a rose.

"Why would you not want me to see you?" Harry asked. "You are—more beautiful than anyone I know." The words just came out of him as if they were second nature. He was not used to talking to girls like this—they normally made him nervous and uncomfortable, especially after the regrettable Cho Chang experience. But—there was just something about this girl—

"No," Coral said, shaking her head. Tears welled up in her eyes. "No—don't—"

"Here, now," Harry said, taking her in for a hug. Now THAT he had never seen himself doing in a million years with a girl. Normally, he HATED when girls cried. And yet—

Something about Coral's pain was very real to Harry, very—familiar. It was not even remotely about being shouted at by Arabella Figg. No—this was much deeper. This—was something Harry could relate to.

Coral melted into Harry's embrace and let herself weep on his shoulder. Her sobs were powerful and gut wrenching. Harry himself wanted to cry with her but he forced himself to be strong. She cried and cried until Harry's shirt was soaked, and she had no more tears left. Finally she pulled back, took out her handkerchief and wiped her face and nose with it, sitting down on Mrs. Figg's step as she did so. Harry went and sat next to her, waiting while she composed herself.

"She never should have taken me in," she said, shaking her head and looking ahead of her. "Never."

"Why do you say such things?" Harry asked, feeling the lump rise in his throat again. "You were in a—well, she said a muggle orphanage—you know what she means by—muggle I take it."

"Harry," Coral turned and looked at him knowingly, "I am a witch. Or—I will be. I'm coming to Hogwarts this fall."

"You are?" Harry did not mean to sound so happy, but it was too late to mask it. He flushed and looked away, but Coral had given him the first smile he'd seen on her. Harry looked back at her, unable to resist.

She had such a beautiful smile. Harry wanted to lose himself in those eyes.

All right, he thought. Get a grip, Harry.

"You're going to Hogwarts," he said evenly, "which means—you went somewhere else before."

"Durmstrang," said Coral, looking down at her handkerchief that she held clutched in her hands. "I—hated that place, hated it. Never did very well. And—then—they threw me out."

Harry put his hand on her shoulder. "What happened, Coral?"

"No," Coral said, tears falling on the handkerchief in her hands. "Don't ask, Harry. Don't. It's too soon."

She sighed, shook her head and buried her face in the handkerchief. Harry put his arm around her and she leaned on him, weeping quietly.

"Durmstrang," Harry said, swallowing bial as memories haunted him. "No, Coral. Hogwarts is much better. Believe me."

"I never would have a hope of finishing my education," Coral said through the handkerchief. "Never. But then—"she lifted her face, sat up and looked at Harry. "Mrs. Figg came, and she gave me a home—and she sent an owl to Dumbledore. That same day—I received my acceptance letter to Hogwarts." Coral smiled, this thought bringing her joy at least. Harry smiled back. "So you see, I owe a lot to Mrs. Figg," she said. "Even if she does—yell a lot. She's right too, I am very bad with the cats." She smirked then, and burst out laughing. "I hate how she keeps them cooped up in the house, Harry! Cats should run free! Get some fresh air!"

Harry joined her in the laugh. It felt amazingly good. Coral had a wonderful laugh, infectious, musical.

"I will introduce you to my friends at Hogwarts," Harry said decidedly to her. "you'll like them—Ron and Hermione. And Hagrid is a half giant but he's really a good man. He'll look after you."

Coral was smiling again, and the weight that seemed to be on her shoulders seemed suddenly lifted. In fact, Harry himself felt lighter than he had all year.

"I'll look forward to it," Coral said. "When are you going to get your books, Harry?"

"Oh—"Harry stopped, suddenly remembering that the Order of the Phoenix would no doubt come for him soon. If he was any judge of the past, probably tonight.

"Listen," he said suddenly deciding. "The Order of the Phoenix is coming for me soon. Probably tonight. Coral—I want you to come with me."

She stared at him. Harry felt suddenly strange. Why would he invite her after only meeting her once? She'd been in Durmstrang, Mrs. Figg was frightened of something in her—was she some kind of dark witch's daughter?

Oh please, Harry thought. I don't care if she's Voldemort's daughter, such things are not her fault! And—there is not a bad bone in Coral's body.

"Do you think—they'd want me, Harry?" Coral asked softly.

"I'll tell them I want you to come," Harry said. "I doubt they will refuse. There's no reason why they should really."

Coral looked down a bit, seeming to decide something. Harry waited patiently for her to make up her mind.

Finally Coral raised her head, and smiled, a smile that fully reached her eyes.

"Okay," she said softly. "I'll go with you."

"Excellent," Harry said, and without thinking twice, he gave Coral a hug. It felt like something he'd do with Hermione, completely natural. Well—with a little something added to it.

Easy, Harry boy. Take it slow, now.

"Well," he said as they both stood up and Coral pocketed her handkerchief, "guess we'd better look for this cat, hey? Before we both get shouted at!"

Coral giggled at that, and he joined her in much needed laughter. The two of them went down the street, calling for Agatha as they went.

(TO BE CONTINUED)