And we get into the third book now. A big change to the book's events is coming.

HARRY XIV

"Do you like the present I sent you?"

They were on August 1st, 1993, and Harry Potter, on the day following his thirteenth birthday, was discussing on the phone with his best friend, Hermione Granger, who was currently visiting France with her parents.

"Yes, thank you, Hermione. That was a brilliant idea," he replied.

"You're welcome." He thought he heard her blushing at the compliment, even through a phone and from the other side of the Channel. Telling Hermione that she was brilliant, or that she had a brilliant idea, was the best compliment you could give her. "I wasn't sure how to send you the Broomstick Servicing Kit. I was afraid they might open it at Customs. But then Hedwig turned up. You really got a brilliant owl."

"You heard that, Hedwig," Harry told his snowy owl. "Hermione thinks you're brilliant." The owl in question shrieked in what Harry understood as appreciation. That was a great compliment coming from Hermione as well. He returned to the conversation with his friend. "You never thought about having your own owl?"

"In fact, I've been thinking about it for some time now," Hermione said. "But my parents didn't want me to buy one. I think they're afraid an owl might leave too many droppings all around... And to be truthful, we never had an animal at home. I think they're not sure if we could take care of it. But they've gotten used to seeing an owl deliver the Daily Prophet. They're quite impressed by how easy they can find us. I think I'm about to convince them."

"That would be a good thing. I mean, Hedwig might be clever, but she won't always know where and when to find you whenever you want to send me a letter."

"True. Furthermore, she will not always be available. What if I want to send you something and she's occupied carrying another letter? By the way, your mother bought herself her own owl?"

"Yes." For now, the owl in question wasn't on the perch with Hedwig, who didn't welcome it very warmly when they met for the first time, seeing the other owl as competition. "Hedwig was beginning to have her hands full. Or her claws, I guess." Not to mention that Hedwig, although being likable to Harry's mother, remained Harry's owl first and foremost, and she gave the priority to Harry's letters all the time. "By the way, have you received any news from Ron?"

"Only through the Daily Prophet. I'm afraid Errol is not strong enough to carry letters that far. There's a big difference between travelling from Britain to Scotland than from Egypt to France. I wonder how he managed to get you your birthday present."

That was a good question. Like always, Hermione had a gift for pointing out evidence that everyone else failed to see.

"But what about you, Hermione? Are you enjoying your trip in France?"

"Very much. I'm a bit jealous of Ron though, you know. The ancient Egyptian wizards are fascinating. He must be learning loads." Harry wasn't sure about it. Ron didn't share, not even partially like Harry did, Hermione's hunger for knowledge. But judging from the photo on the Daily Prophet and the letter Ron sent with the Pocket Sneakoscope as a birthday present, Harry could tell that his friend was spending a very good time with his family there. "But history of witchcraft in France is also very interesting. I've rewritten my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I've found out."

"You did?" Why wasn't Harry surprised?

"Yes. I just hope it's not too long. It's two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for."

Harry muffled a laugh. The two other people in the apartment looked at him quizzically, probably wondering what he was laughing about. "I doubt that Binns will be missing time to review it." Considering that this teacher was a ghost, he had way more than a lifetime to correct the works of his students. Though Harry wondered how a ghost could give them notes. Perhaps he had an assistant who showed him the copies and wrote down his comments and notes.

"You're sure? Well, I hope so. What about you, Harry? Don't tell me you didn't start writing your essay yet," she said, a warning in her voice.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm not yet at the stage of rewriting it, but I'm well advanced. There's only the conclusion I have left to do. And I already completed the essay for Snape."

"Wow! I thought you would do this one last."

"I told myself it was better to get rid of it as soon as possible. Though I can already see Snape snatching my copy, asking me a question about Shrinking Potions, and giving me a zero when I fail to answer in the two seconds following his question."

"The worst is... You may not be exaggerating," Hermione sighed on the other side of the line. "Just re-read your essay the day before we come back to Hogwarts. That might avoid you any surprise."

"If Snape has no other in reserve for me."

"Let's see the positive side of things. Your homework are progressing." It was not unusual for a conversation with Hermione, even during summer, to turn around schoolwork. "What subject did you choose for your essay in History of Magic?"

"Well, I chose two examples to illustrate how wizard and witch-burning was useless in medieval times. Wendelin the Weird, and Savonarola."

"Wait. I know the last name. Wasn't it an Italian monk?"

"Yes, but he also happened to be a wizard."

"Really? I didn't know about that. I'm going to search about him. It might be interesting. Too bad my parents and I are not visiting Italy."

"Do one country at a time, Hermione. There are plenty to visit."

Someone touched his shoulder. He turned to look at who did this. He nodded. "Excuse me, Hermione. I'll leave you there. There's someone else who would like to talk with you."

"Really? Who?"

"I'm giving her the phone."

He handed it to the red-haired girl who stood behind him. "You just have to talk into it. You'll hear Hermione on the other side," he told her. The girl uncertainly put the handset against her ear, trying to imitate Harry.

"Hello?" she said on an uncertain tone.

Harry left her alone to talk to Hermione and went to the table where the other girl, the one with blond hair and grey eyes, was staring at her friend who looked surprised to hear Hermione's voice coming from France yet sounding so close.

"Thank you for letting Susan speak to Hermione," Hannah told him as he sat across the table, face to her. She had a long roll of parchment in front of her, on which she was supposed to write her own essay for the History of Magic class, but she only finished the introduction. Harry noticed the point of her feather brushing her hair that was falling freely on her shoulders. It left a black trace across a strand of her hair.

"That's no problem," Harry said, looking at his own essay. "You don't have a phone in your apartment? I thought your mother was Muggle-born."

"She is, but when she and my father got married, he wanted to hear nothing about having a phone. The sound of the ringing always bothered him when he visited her parents, apparently. I think you and your mother are probably the only ones with a phone in this tower."

Too bad. Well, that wasn't a big deal. Harry had no problem allowing Susan to use his mother's phone to talk with Hermione while she was in France. He just hoped that long distance charges wouldn't be too high. He offered Susan to speak with Hermione through this means after Hannah told him that Susan didn't know how to reach Hermione during the summer holidays. They had discussed it by chance when Harry crossed Hannah in the tower's corridors as he was coming back from a football game.

Harry didn't really care about learning who else was living in the same tower as him and his mother. The rushed move, his mother's training as an Auror, and Harry's lack of interest in making friends outside of Hogwarts, stemming from an old habit from when he lived among Muggles, didn't really encourage him in knowing their neighbors. His mother herself didn't have much time for her social life.

However, he had discovered by mere luck this summer that two students from Hufflepuff in the same year as he was, Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, lived with their respective families in the same tower as he did. Apparently, Ernie Macmillan also lived here last year, but his family moved to another town in the north during winter. Harry found it odd that so many Hogwarts students who lived in the same tower as he did, at least those with the same age as he had, went to Hufflepuff. Did they follow each other because they were friends? Though there was also Parvati Patil and her twin sister, Padma, who lived in the tower, but Harry never crossed their path up to now.

Susan, who was currently discussing with Hermione about what Harry's friend visited in France, was the one who suggested that she, Hannah and Harry do their homework together. Harry had accepted. After the three days he spent at Hermione's home at the beginning of July, and after Ron's family won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw and left for Egypt, Harry's only contacts with his two best friends would be through letters, and sometimes through a phone call from Hermione. Ron didn't know how to use one. So he didn't mind spending time with Hannah and Susan. At least, not at the beginning.

Hannah had a very bad habit of gossiping about everything and everybody. It reminded Harry of Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, two of his Gryffindor's classmates. Susan was more reserved. She didn't speak a lot and focused more on her work. Harry thought he understood why she and Hermione got along in class. Sometimes, Susan would just send an apologetic smile while Hannah spoke of the latest gossip about Cedric Diggory or Roger Davies, or even about the discussions she surprised between her parents and their friends while she was supposed to be sleeping.

"My mother talked to me about phones though," Hannah resumed after a moment. She often did that. Speaking about a random subject, then looking at her parchment for a short time, then continuing on a related subject. "They really seem practical. I wonder why we don't use them more among wizards."

"Probably because of the Floo Network," Harry supposed.

"Yes, but it has its drawbacks. I get pains in the legs and knees every time I use it for head transport. As for letters, owls are very fine, but it's almost impossible to hold a lively conversation with someone this way." She looked at Susan still talking with Hermione on the phone. "I took Muggle Studies next year. Maybe I'll learn more about this. What did you take, Harry?"

"Care of Magical Creatures and Ancient Runes," he replied, trying to finish his essay. He was nearly done with the conclusion. He wished he had Hermione's talent for working while people talked about anything around.

"I took Study of Ancient Runes me too."

"Really?" Harry asked, distracted. He thought very hard about the last sentence he needed for his conclusion. Then he began to write it.

"Do you think we will be in the same class?"

"I don't know." He wrote down a few last words. And here it was. His essay in History of Magic was finished.

"I hope we will. Aside from you and Susan, there's no one I really know who took Study of Ancient Runes."

Hannah began listing all the elective classes everyone in their year in Hufflepuff chose. Harry half-listened to her. He was just glad being over with his history essay, or at least with the main part of it. He would still need to review it and to bring some corrections, but the bulk of the work was done.

"You know your friends in Gryffindor, Parvati and Lavender?" Harry wouldn't exactly call them friends. He got along with them, but he wouldn't qualify them as friends like Ron or Hermione. "They both chose Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. I thought about taking Divination, truth be told, but I wanted to have at least one class with Susan."

Susan had just hung up the phone and came to sit on Harry's right, between him and Hannah. "What optional courses did you take for next year, Susan?" Harry asked her.

"Arithmancy and Study of Ancient Runes," she answered while taking back her own history essay she was working on.

Now that his essay was done, there were some questions that came to Harry's mind. "Do you know anyone who took more than two courses?"

"Susan almost did," Hannah replied instantly.

Susan raised her eyes from her copy. "I thought about taking Muggle Studies along with Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, but my parents advised me against it," she explained. "Apparently, Arithmancy is going to be very hard. So I gave up on Muggle Studies."

"Too bad Hermione didn't give up as well," Harry commented.

"What do you mean, Harry?" Hannah said. "Hermione took Muggle Studies?"

"Yes, she did," Harry said as he proceeded to re-read his essay.

"But... why? I mean, I thought her parents were Muggles. Why would she want to study Muggles?"

"She told me that she's interested in studying Muggles from the wizards' point of view," Susan said. Even she sounded quite uncertain about the usefulness of it.

"I hope she will find it interesting, for her sake," Harry said. "I mean, she took all the elective classes. If she doesn't find them interesting..."

"Wait!" Hannah interrupted him. "She really took all the options? That's not only a rumor?"

"No, that's not a rumor, Hannah." He didn't see any harm in telling her that. Harry didn't think Hermione would mind that everyone in Hogwarts knew she was taking all possible courses. They would certainly find out about it very soon anyway.

"Heavens! Where will she find time to eat or sleep?" Harry asked himself the same question as Hannah.

"Hannah!" Susan told her all of a sudden, looking a little annoyed. "Perhaps you should talk a little less and work more. Look at your essay. You barely started it."

Hannah sighed. "I know. It's just... I start writing, but then I get carried away by something else... I'm never going to finish it, won't I?" she asked Susan, almost pleading for a negative answer.

"Well, focus on your work. If you want to talk, it must be about the essay."

"Okay."

Hannah looked at her parchment again, but it was barely a minute when she talked to Harry again.

"Hey, Harry. Have you finished your own essay?"

"Yes. Well, I finished writing it. Now I'm reviewing it," he answered.

"Can I take a look at it? It might give me some ideas."

She had a pleading look on her face again. Well, Harry could finish his review later. He handed his parchment to Hannah who began reading it. On her side, Susan was writing in silence.

Harry started to read his Herbology textbook. He had another essay to complete for Professor Sprout in this subject. He wouldn't start writing it today, but he could start looking for an interesting topic at the very least.

"Who is this Savonarola?" Hannah asked after a few minutes.

"Oh, he's an Italian wizard from the fifteenth century who ruled the city of Florence for a few years," Harry answered.

"He ruled a city? I thought it was forbidden for wizards to hold political positions among Muggles."

"Well, the International Code of Wizarding Secrecy was only signed two centuries later."

"Oh, yes. You're right," Hannah acknowledged. "I didn't think about this. Did he really control an entire city by using magic?"

"I don't know. Maybe he tried, but he must have failed. He died on the stake."

"Wait." Hannah looked at her volume of A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot. "I thought that burning wizards and witches was useless because they just cast a Flame-Freezing Charm that protected them."

"Yes. But Savonarola didn't die from burning. Someone got a blade through his neck while the flames started."

"Oh."

Hannah's face showed horror. Harry understood her, though knowing what this man did, he didn't feel much pity for him. Oddly enough, it was rumoured that the man who killed him did so out of mercy because he didn't want Savonarola to die.

Harry had used the Savonarola case as a counter-example in his essay, in which they had to discuss whether or not witch-burning in the medieval era discouraged witchcraft. In most cases, when a real wizard or witch was captured, like Hannah said, they only had to cast a Flame-Freezing Charm and would only feel a small tickling sensation, while faking great pain. Savonarola probably hoped to do the same, but destiny had him die on the stake by the hand of an Assassin.

As part of her Auror training, Harry's mother studied stealth and hiding techniques formerly used by a secret organization known as the Brotherhood of Assassins. When Harry told her about his essay on witch-burning, she handed him the book she referred to as part of her training and indicated the page that detailed Savonarola's death. The wizard had apparently cast several charms to force the population of Florence to acclaim him as their leader, or at least on some individuals that forced the general population to follow him. An Assassin by the name of Ezio Auditore killed his accomplices until Savonarola was alone, then the Florentines turned on him and tried to burn him on the stake. As fire started to reach the wizard's skin, the Assassin jumped on the stake and pierced Savonarola's neck with a blade, perhaps thinking it would alleviate his last sufferings.

What struck Harry the most when he read the story was the speech this man, who just committed a murder, delivered to the people assembled to watch the execution. His mother's book contained it full. Harry could not remember the exact words, but most of all the man said that the ability to make choice was what made everyone human. Somehow, Harry found that it rang similar to what Dumbledore told him after he came out from the Chamber of Secrets, when he said that his choices were what made him who he was.

"I'm sure I never heard about it. Though it's hard to follow Binns in History of Magic," Hannah commented.

She gave Harry back his essay after some time and began to work on her own. However, she often interrupted herself, asking Harry or Susan random questions about various topics. This created a situation where Hannah was doing much of the talking and both Harry and Susan found themselves trying to make her think about her essay again.

Around five o'clock, Harry told the two girls they had to leave since his mother would come back.

"Your mother doesn't like it when you invite friends home?" Hannah asked as she packed her stuff.

"No, she doesn't mind," Harry explained. "But I think she prefers some quietness when she gets home. Her training is getting quite hard. She's about to start going on the field for real missions."

"We get it, Harry. We see each other soon," Susan said as she left. Hannah lingered a little behind. She was less organized than her friend and she needed more time to pack her things.

"You'll keep us informed about Ronald and Hermione?" Hannah asked him.

"Yes, the next time we talk," Harry assured her.

"Thank you. Have a good evening, Harry."

Hannah was gone a minute later. Harry proceeded to prepare dinner for when his mother would arrive, after stowing his own school supplies. As the chicken roasted, and after he was done readying beans, potatoes, carrots and turnips, Harry thought about how he found the speech from his mother's book similar to what something Dumbledore once told him. He went to look at the page where he read this speech, and found it.

Twenty-two years ago, I stood where I stand now, and watched my loved ones die, betrayed by those I had called friends. Vengeance clouded my mind. It would have consumed me, were it not for the wisdom of a few strangers, who taught me to look past my instincts. They never preached answers, but guided me to learn from myself. We don't need anyone to tell us what to do. Not Savonarola, not the Medici. We are free to follow our own path. There are those who will take that freedom from us, and too many of you gladly give it. But it is our ability to choose, whatever you think is true, that makes us human. There is no book or teacher to give you the answers, to show you the path. Choose your own way. Do not follow me. Or anyone else.

Well, it wasn't exactly the same as what Dumbledore told him when he wondered whether his place was in Gryffindor or Slytherin, but the speech was inspiring all the same. Harry found it odd again that such inspiring words came from a man who just killed another person.

He thought about what Dumbledore told him, that our choices defined who we were, much more than our abilities. Harry wasn't entirely convinced by the Headmaster's words back then, not until he showed him the name of Godric Gryffindor on the sword he killed the Basilisk with. This fight in the Chamber of Secrets, where Harry almost died, already seemed so far away.

He thought about Ginny, who was traumatized by the events. She had looked much happier in the last days they spent at Hogwarts. She almost behaved normally around him, which was a relief. He could finally almost talk to her without any fear that she might knock something or blush so much that she would look like a tomato. He went to check the letter Ron sent him for his birthday, where he wrote about some of their adventures in the tombs. They had not let Ginny in the last tomb they visited. It was probably a good thing. Harry supposed that some of those tombs had to share some similarities with the Chamber of Secrets where she almost died as well.

Harry was happy for the Weasleys. If someone deserved some gold, it was them, though he had to admit he was a little jealous of not being able to travel like they did. With both Hermione and Ron far away, it was harder to enjoy his summer holidays. He still had his football games, and his mother did her best to attend them, but her training took her more time than ever. The only times when Harry could really spend quality time with her were during the evenings, and not all of them. Even her weekends were full. She said it would soon be over, once she would have completed a new row of tests and exams, but Harry doubted it in some way.

He missed his friends. Susan and Hannah were nice, but he didn't have much in common with them. He mostly spent time with them so they could do their homework together, which made completing them less dull. However, no one from the tower where he lived, no one else from Hogwarts could replace what he had with Ron and Hermione.

His mother came back home quite late. Harry had to keep dinner warm for a very long time. It was only at eight o'clock in the evening that she pushed the door open. Harry was getting quite impatient by that time. Normally, she would send him a message that she would be late.

"Where have you been, Mom? I've been waiting for you for hours," he said, not being able to hide his irritation.

His mother, though, didn't answer. He heard her remove her shoes and hang up her cloak, but she didn't answer him.

"Mom?" he asked, still irritated, waiting for an answer. None came.

What was going on with her? If she was just tired or exhausted, why didn't she at least tell him? When his mother finally walked into the living room though, Harry stopped in his tracks as he was about to ask her why she arrived so late.

"Mom?" he asked, now worried, seeing the expression on her face.

She looked as if she had seen a dead person who came back to life. She sat at their dinner table, looking away from him. She didn't seem to be looking at anything in particular.

"Mom?" he asked again. "Is everything alright?"

She seemed to notice his presence for the first time. "Yes. I'm sorry, my dear. It's been... a very long day. I... You better sit down. I've got a few things to tell you."

Worried a little, Harry did as his mother asked. He sat down in front of her at the same table. His mother had kept her head down ever since she entered the apartment, giving her the appearance of someone who just received a hammer blow. However, when she looked at up in his eyes, he realized that she was smiling, and her eyes were full of something akin to joy. No, it wasn't joy. It was something else, something darker. It was satisfaction.

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