Chapter 3: The Unexpected Gift

July 1996, 4 Privet Drive

As the clock struck midnight, a loud thud hit the window, waking up Harry Potter. He had been working on a late night assignment (Discuss the cause of the sudden rise of vampires in Eastern Europe during the late 19th century. Be sure to include the influence of Count Dracula and Muggle fascination with the Dark Arts), not because the Dursleys wouldn't allow him to work during the day, but because he had been unable to sleep and needed something to do. Apparently the essay had been just the cure for his insomnia.

He turned to look at the window, and was greeted by four sets of large, round eyes. Of course, Hedwig had gone out flying that evening and he had forgotten to leave the window open. He walked over and opened it, and four owls flew in. "Sorry Hedwig," Harry said as she gave him a scornful look. She dropped her bundle on the bed and flew to join the other three owls at the water canister.

Harry looked down at the packages on his bed, suddenly remembering his birthday. How could he have forgotten? After all, sixteen was an important milestone, at least in the Muggle world. Harry knew that, unlike Dudley, he probably wouldn't need a driver's license. What wizard did when he had brooms, Floo Powder and apparating to transport him anywhere in the world?

No present from Sirius this year he remembered. Sirius. He looked over at the mirror on his bedside table; the one Sirius had given him to contact him in case of emergency, the one he had been too foolish to remember. It was no use trying it again; he had been doing it all summer, always with the same result—nothing.

But who was that fourth package from? He could recognize Errol, the old Weasley family owl. A brown feathered owl had a Hogwarts mark tied around his talons, so that one must have come from Hagrid. The fourth owl stood out above the other three, though. A snowy owl like Hedwig, its feathers gleamed silver in the moonlight. While the other three were drinking thirstily from the canister, it was standing aloof, as if too noble to join the others in such a shameful display of animal passion. Then, suddenly, it turned to Harry, fixed a gaze on him, and (Harry could hardly believe it) bowed to him. Or at least it looked like a bow. Obviously it couldn't be Harry figured; just staying up too late, seeing things in the moonlight.

Turning his attention back to his gifts, Harry picked out Ron's and tore it open. It was a box with a large selection of sweets from Honeydukes, and a book. Harry picked it up and read the cover; "House of the Dead" by Wolfgang, Baron von Hess. Hmm, interesting title. Flipping through it, Harry was greeted with pictures of young men armed with firearms fighting off menacing hordes of advancing zombies and vampires. A note slipped out of the book, and Harry picked it up and read it; Harry, the treats come courtesy of mum, but the book is my idea. The author is one of Europe's most famous Hunters, and apparently an old school mate of mum and dad. Enjoy. Ron.

Hunter? Vampire hunter most likely; but why would Ron be sending a book like this to him? Who knows? If he was going to become an Auror, he would probably find it interesting reading. Besides, it seemed this Baron von Hess was an old friend of the Weasleys, so why make a big deal out of it?

He turned to Hermione's gift, and was unsurprised to find a book come out; Dracula by Bram Stoker. Strange, why Hermione would be sending him a Muggle book. Harry opened it and almost dropped it when he found it filled with the moving pictures one only found in the wizarding world. He looked at the title page, and his jaw hit the ground. Compiled by Bram Stoker and Abraham van Helsing, Hogwarts Class of 1864. Hogwarts?! He read the note from Hermione; Harry, I think you might find this more interesting than Muggles normally make it out to be. Let me know how you like it. Love, Hermione.

Hagrid's gift turned out to be a very handsome dagger with a hilt designed to resemble a knight raising his sword above his head. It had a long, slender blade and a black leather scabbard. Putting it aside gently, he turned his attention to the fourth package from the mysterious owl, which now sat regarding him from one of the bedposts. As he opened it, a thick letter and a silver crucifix connected to a string of beads fell out. An odd gift that; perhaps the letter would explain it.

Dear Harry,

I know you've never met me before, but I was very good friends with your parents while I was at Hogwarts. Their mischievous exploits were legendary among the younger students, including my circle of friends. Your father and his gang were known as the Marauders; we were the Junior Marauders. Your mother, with her keen intellect and stunning beauty, became something of a mentor and an older sister to me, and helped keep my friends and me on the straight and narrow path your father so often led us off of.

What especially attracted me to your father was his skill with magic and his vehement hatred of the Dark Arts, traits which before I had only found in the aristocratic circles I had frown up in; I had not expected to find them in an unimbued commoner. Nonetheless a friendship grew up, not as close as that between your father and Sirius Black, to be sure, but a fairly close one. He became the older brother I had always wanted, but never had.

After graduation, it was no surprise to any of us that your father joined the Ministry as an Auror. Having fought against the dark arts most of my life, I can justly say that he was the best Auror I have ever seen; only Alistor Moody and Albus Dumbledore could have outdone him in skill. I too Harry, work in a similar field; I am a Hunter. Vampire hunter? Well, in a way. I don't focus specifically on vampires, but they do make up a great deal of the repertoire. I have certain skills, shall we say, that make me somewhat superior to your father; ability to detect the dark arts with one look, control over time, space and matter, etc., etc. Rather than causing me to feel disdain for your father, however, the fact that I posses these skills only increases my admiration for him. Out of all the Aurors in Europe, he was the one who was most like us without actually being one of us. I had often wished he would cross over and join us, but the Powers apparently had other plans for him.

I took a great interest in you from the beginning, Harry, because I knew that the son of such a powerful Auror had the potential to become one of us, a Hunter. Hence, the crucifix. I know that at the moment you may consider it a strange present; religion probably hasn't played that big a role in your life. Nonetheless, I think you may find it useful—and interesting. This was the rosary used by my great-grandfather, Dr. Abraham van Hesling, in his battle against Count Dracula. It has a power greater than any magic you'll learn at Hogwarts. It is the one power the forces of darkness cannot repel. Keep it close.

Have a pleasant summer, Harry. You'll be coming to see us soon, if Dumbledore's plan works out alright, so I'll say good bye for now.

I remain your obdt.

Judah van Helsing

Harry finished the letter with a certain bit of unease. All these gifts, even Hagrid's dagger, seemed to be geared toward fighting the Dark Arts; they were reminders to the prophecy—that he would either be murdered, or commit murder.

Thinking of the prophecy reminded him of Sirius. In spite of himself, he wept.