Thanks Zuvalupa; the girl at the rockshow; FemmeLoki; Persephone Lupin; flamethrowerqueen; Thousandl for getting the ball rolling on reviews.

Intelligent Witch: I absolutely agree that format was terrible. Not my doing. I hope this second chapter behaves itself when it uploads.

Mystical Witch: This story was originally posted on a web site which restricted the word count for each chapter - hence the chapters are short. However, always open to suggestions, I will try to merge chapters where I can, to make my postings longer.

lol everyone.

Severusgirl

Chapter Two

THE GIFT

Harry was reluctant to go down for breakfast the next morning. Not only did he dread the atmosphere that surely would hang heavy over the entire house after the night before, but he had a nasty feeling that it would reverberate onto him. He stayed in his room until he heard Uncle Vernon drive off to work. Then just as he was about to get up, the bedroom door opened slightly and Aunt Petunia slid furtively through the gap.

She leaned back against the closed door, her body so thin and tense Harry thought it might twang like a guitar string. Her eyes had black rings around them and the veins in her eyeballs were very noticeable. She obviously hadn't been to sleep all night.

"Er..." Aunt Petunia looked up at him uncertainly. "Before Dudley wakes up, I want to give you this." She put her hand into the pocket of her dressing gown and brought out a velvet covered oblong box which she threw onto Harry's bed. "Don't open it until you are away from here; forget that it was me who gave it to you."

Harry was lost for words. His Aunt had rarely given him anything before. She saw his bewildered look.

"I...I knew Sirius Black," she said, looking uncomfortable. "Your mother brought him and James Potter home for a week during the school holidays...he didn't want to play gooseberry so I was forced to go out with them to make up the four. We became...friends. Normally I wouldn't have anything to do with...that world, but he was very...he was...well he gave me that." She flung her hand out in the direction of the box. "I think it's some magic thing. I never looked at it after he left. I'd forgotten I had it until...until..." She broke into sobs and babbled something that might have been 'weirdo magazine'.

Then apparently with supreme effort she pulled herself together and Harry at last recognised the Aunt Petunia he'd always known. She looked at him like a giant wasp about to sting.

"I'm only giving you this because it's inappropriate that I keep it and I don't know what else to do with it," she hissed. "Remember, this conversation never happened. Dudley and Vernon must never know."

She turned to go, but stopped and looked back at Harry.

"He's really dead?"

Harry looked at her and wished he could answer differently.

"Yes," he said, through a lump in his throat.

Aunt Petunia cast her eyes down and, nodding sadly, left the room.

#

Harry kept his word and waited until the following week before opening the box Aunt Petunia had given him. He couldn't think of anywhere further removed from Privet Drive with its sterilised, show-home atmosphere than Grimmauld Place.

Harry had not looked forward to returning there. He would much rather have spent the remainder of the holiday at The Burrow, the Weasley's home, but Dumbledore had insisted the safest place for Harry to be was Grimmauld Place.

There were not visitors. Ron had told him that apart from one late night meeting on the first day of the holiday, the only visitor had been Dumbledore. He had been one other time, but had left very quickly after reading a letter delivered by an owl, which had zoomed in so fast it had almost collided with Dumbledore's head.

Reminders of Sirius were everywhere and although Harry tried to put on a brave face, every so often he would start from a daydream, unsure how long he had sat there staring into space.

Mrs. Weasley kept them all busy. She seemed to think keeping Harry occupied was the best way of distracting him and it had been a few days before he remembered the velvet box Aunt Petunia had thrown at him, and took it down to show Mr. Weasley.

"I think it's a Scribe's Crystal," said Mr. Weasley, sounding surprised as he took the object from the box. "What a beauty! They use them in the Mythical Research Department. Yes, yes, I know how that sounds," he smiled, as Harry and Ron grinned broadly at each other. "I sometimes think they may be mythical, we hardly ever see them."

"So what does a Scribe's Crystal do?" asked Harry, watching Mr. Weasley turn it over to study it.

It looked like a small two-handled magnifying glass. The round disc of glass was a midnight blue colour with tiny shooting stars gliding across it. The two flat curving handles appeared to be made of silver.

"It translates any writing into the language of the reader. For instance, if I were to have a manuscript that was in another language or indecipherable, by reading it through the glass, I would understand what it said."

"Should come in useful for reading Ron's letters home," said Fred, coming through into the kitchen, all ready dressed for work.

Harry had hardly seen Fred and George since he arrived. They left for work in a hurry and came home late at night. He hadn't had a chance to ask how the joke shop was doing. He looked up eagerly as they came in, hoping they would sit down and have a meal at last, but they just picked up a slice of toast each and headed back through the door, letting two owls fly into the kitchen at the same time.

"Fred! George! For goodness sakes, sit down and have a decent breakfast," pleaded Mrs. Weasley, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

"No time, Mum. Got stock arriving this morning," said George, taking the post and putting a coin in the second owl's pouch. "Mum, you still haven't cancelled your subscription to 'Witch Weekly'." He held up a copy of the magazine.

"Oh, dear. I really must try and remember to cancel it. There's just been so much going on, I keep forgetting. Put it over there with the others, George."

"Will you be coming up to Diagon Alley later?" asked Fred.

"I expect so, yes. And I'll be bringing you two a decent lunch."

The twins left and Harry wandered over to the pile of magazines sitting on a table in the corner. It was obvious from their pristine condition they hadn't been read. He flicked through the pile until he reached the issue he'd seen in front of Aunt Petunia.

"Er, Mrs. Weasley," he said, extracting the magazine from the pile. "Would you mind if I borrowed one of your magazines?"

Mrs. Weasley turned, looking mildly surprised.

"No, not at all dear, if you really want to. I won't be reading them; too much to do."

Harry took the magazine and glanced at Ron, expecting to be asked why on earth he wanted to read 'Witch Weekly', but Ron was staring at the letter he held in his hands, his eyes open wide in amazement.

"Ron?"

Ron looked up slowly.

"It's a letter from Hogwarts," he said. "It says we're not to catch the Hogwarts Express. Sixth and Seventh year students are to travel by portkey to Hogsmead. And look at the time they want us! We'll miss the feast!"

"They'll wait for you," said Mr. Weasley.

Ron and Harry turned their heads quickly to look at him.

"Do you know something about this, Dad?"

"Of course. They had to send parents details of the portkeys."

"But why can't we catch the train like we always do?"

"Another case of Dumbledore upsetting Fudge, I'm afraid. It's got something to do with the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. And that's as much as I know."