Out With the Old Professors, In With the New

1: The Boy Who Lived - With His Annoying Relatives

Harry Potter sat and gazed moodily out of the window of his bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive. It was shaping up to be another long summer. He was still feeling the loss of his godfather Sirius in the ill-fated encounter with Voldemort and his Death Eaters less than two months ago at the Ministry of Magic. "I blame myself," thought Harry. "If I had only listened to Hermione's warnings, or learned Occlumency like Dumbledore wanted, Sirius would still be here." As Harry thought about Sirius's quick laugh and smiling face, tears began to run down his nose and drop softly onto the open spellbook he was studying.

Harry was a thin, not quite short boy of 16 years. Like most teenagers, he worried about his friends, school, and whether or not he'd have the courage to ask the girl he liked out on a date. However, beyond that, he was not a normal boy. Not that he was abnormal or anything, like some kind of loony, if you get my point. Anyway, Harry was a wizard, and he was a special wizard. Not special like "Don't disturb Harry, he's special," but special like "whoa, check out what Harry did," special. He had survived confrontations with Lord Voldemort not once in his short life, but 5 times, and as Voldemort was the most powerful evil wizard in memory, that was saying something. Harry bore a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead as a memento of his first encounter as a one-year-old with the Dark Lord, which immediately identified him to the wizard community as "The Boy Who Lived".

But Harry did not feel special at the moment. He was spending the summer, as he usually did, with the Dursleys, his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and his cousin Dudley. And if anyone hated Harry more than Lord Voldemort did, it was the Dursleys.

"BOY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE" roared Uncle Vernon. Harry cringed as his bedroom door flew open. "I'LL HAVE NO EXHIBITIONS OF YOUR UNNATURAL ABNORMALTY IN THIS HOUSE, YOU FREAK!"

"You don't have to shout, Uncle Vernon, I can hear you just fine," said Harry.

"Oh, right, well, make yourself useful and get me a bacon sandwich," replied Vernon. Harry sighed and walked down to the kitchen. As he got the ingredients for his uncle's sandwich together, Harry reflected on his life with his relatives. Vernon was overbearing, annoying, and abusive. His chief delight in life seemed to be to deny Harry any pleasures in life, and taunt and harass him whenever possible. Harry recalled some of the birthday gifts the Dursleys had given him over the years. A tissue, a piece of broken glass, a chewed-up wad of gum, a dead bird. It was more than Harry could bear. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he made sure to apply mayonnaise evenly to each slice of bread, for Harry knew that if the mayo was uneven, he could expect a beating.

"BOY, WHERE'S MY SANDWICH, YOU UNNATURAL ABOMINATION!" screamed Uncle Vernon.

"Coming right up," replied Harry, applying the sliced tomatoes and, as he always did, spitting carefully into the middle of Vernon's snack. Vernon took his sandwich and smacked Harry in the ribs with the fireplace poker.

"That'll do, boy," said Vernon, his great tufted moustache standing out like that of an enraged walrus, "and DON'T GIVE ME THAT UNGRATEFUL LOOK! NEXT TIME I'LL CRACK YOU TWICE!"

"Sorry Uncle, it won't happen again," replied Harry. Just then, his Aunt Petunia entered the room. Although she was the sister of his sweet, beautiful, dead mother, she was as at least as repulsive physically and emotionally as Harry's uncle.

"Stay away from the windows boy, what if the neighbors see you!" she huffed.

"They know I live here, and besides, I'm just getting a sandwich for Uncle Vernon," he said. She snorted, and her eyes rolled around in her great horsy face. As she cantered toward him, Harry knew he had best make himself scarce before he was subjected to another round of undeserved abuse.

As he climbed the stairs, he was confronted by perhaps his least favorite relative, if you can imagine that, the ponderous, moronic Dudley. While Dudley had gotten himself into decent fighting trim last summer, he had let himself go while Harry was away at Hogwarts, and hence was even more porcine and repulsive than in any previous account you have read of him. "Hello cousin," said Dudley around the wad of chips he was masticating in his great shuddering jowls. "Haven't heard from your freaky friends this summer, have you? As if anyone would want to be your friend!" he taunted as he heaved his brobdignagian bulk down the stairs.

Harry did not reply, but turned away as he began to weep softly over his lack of friends. Perhaps they all hated him now, since he had led them on the disastrous "rescue mission." "Some hero I am," thought Harry bitterly. He had led his friends to rescue Sirius, and all they had accomplished was to cause his death. "Perhaps it would have been better if I had never been born, or if I were dead, or in a coma or something!" he thought morosely. His dark reverie was interrupted by a commotion from his beautiful white owl, Hedwig. "Go on out girl, your cage is open," said Harry. Hedwig kept squawking or hooting or whatever, and looking meaningfully at the bedroom window.

Harry followed her gaze, and it suddenly struck him. Since Uncle Vernon had installed central air conditioning at Number 4 Privet Drive, Harry had not opened his window all summer! He prized open the window eagerly, and was engulfed by incoming owls. "So that's why I haven't gotten any mail!" he thought with relief as 7 letters were deposited on his bed by various owls, none of whom were as impressive as Hedwig. Most pathetic was the Weasleys' new owl Carrion, who was missing half his feathers and had only one wing. "It must be hard to be poor, I'm sure glad I'm rich as Croessus," thought Harry. His wished he could give some of his money to the Weasleys, but quickly banished the thought as he did not want to insult his friends.

The first letter Harry picked up was an official-looking Hogwarts envelope containing his Owl results. Harry eagerly tore open the letter, and found to his great surprise that he had gotten "O's" for Outstanding in every subject. Strangely, most of his grades looked like they had been crossed out and the O's written next to them in Dumbledore's spidery script, but Harry was too excited to give it much thought. "Wow, wait until I show Hermione. She'll be so excited!" thought Harry gloatingly. With that thought, he decided to open Hermione's letter next.

Dear Harry,

Hope you are having a nice summer. In case you're worried, I don't blame you at all for ignoring my advice yet again and almost getting us all killed by Dark Wizards for no reason. ("Thank goodness for that," thought Harry). I'm having a busy break. I've already memorized all our textbooks, and look forward especially to Defense Against the Dark Arts. I hear that Dumbledore has already hired our new teacher. Well, I better get back to my homework ("Good Heavens! In the summer!" thought Harry).

P.S. I'll be going to Diagon Alley with Ginny and Ron the day before we leave for Hogwarts, perhaps you could meet us there, because there are no hard feelings about the stupid foolhardy adventure you led us all on or anything.

Love, Hermione.

Harry felt warm inside knowing that his friends would stand by him through thick and thin, and were willing to forgive and forget. The next letter he picked up was from Ron. It contained a small packet of a white powdery substance along with Ron's note:

Oy Harry,

It's your mate Ron! Hope the muggles are behaving themselves. Things are going great here at the Burrow. Mom and dad are away visiting Great Uncle Oglethorp or somebody. Fred and George are here visiting, and Wizard Wheezes is quite successful. They've each bought their own house elf, and Hermione is livid! Oh, she's here by the way. To spend time with Ginny. Anyway, she's ok, but I'm worried about her. She's been having nightmares, and talking in her sleep.

She keeps yelling stuff like, "You're going to get us all killed, you fool!" and "I'm not going to be the next person to die for this idiot!"

When she wakes up, she says she doesn't remember or that she doesn't know what the dreams mean, but I'm worried. Can you figure it out, mate?

Go Cannons! See you soon, Ron.

P.S. Mum said to enclose a pinch of Floo Powder so you can get to Diagon Alley quickly and easily. Floo Powder's really expensive though, and we're almost out. Just thought you'd like to know.

P.P.S. I know Hermione's been having nightmares because I can hear her from my room. She's sleeping in Ginny's room, in an entirely different bed from mine. And Ginny told me about the nightmares too, although she may not remember them if you ask her, she's kind of forgetful.

Harry smiled at Ron's note. When would Ron ever let Hermione know his true feelings? Harry felt a bit bad about the gift of the expensive Floo Powder, though. He was rich and the Weasleys, his favorite people in the world, were dirt stinking poor. He again wished he could share his wealth with them somehow, but knew that they would never accept his help since they were proud, and poor, and proud to be poor. Sometimes it was difficult to be fabulously wealthy. And famous. And popular. Ron's remarks about Hermione's dreams got Harry thinking about her again. He was very concerned. What could those strange dreams mean? Maybe she was getting dream messages from Voldemort just like Harry was!

There were also letters from Ginny, Luna and Neville, and each were variations on the same theme. They hoped he was well, thanked him for including them on one of his famous adventures, and assured him that they absolutely did not blame him for leading them into a nearly fatal trap. "Ah, good friends, good times," thought Harry.

The last letter was from his beloved headmaster, Dumbledore. It was written on fine parchment in silver ink. Oh yes, and it was in spidery script, too.

Greetings Harry,

Ah, summer! When we all forget the cares of the school year and rest our bodies and minds in pleasant recreation and relaxation. Well, except for you, of course. Anyway, some end to the school year, huh? That Voldemort's awfully tricky. I know you're feeling pretty bad and all, but when you get back to school I've got something to cheer you up. Several things actually! First of all, you will of course be allowed to play Quidditch again. ("Yay!") Next, I think you will be pleasantly surprised at our new staff additions this year. Hagrid's back, and we've got two new teachers and another of your old professors is returning. You will be allowed to take Occlumency lessons with him instead of Professor Snape, since NEWT level classes with the Potions Master will be enough for you, and dare I say it, for him. Haw haw! Finally, there will be a new interhouse competition to help us award the cup this year. I look forward to seeing you at the start of the term. As always, I remain

Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster, Chief Mugwump, etc, etc.

"Good 'ol Dumbledore! It'll be great to play Quidditch again," thought Harry. But what was with all the new professors? Hagrid's back, and a new DADA teacher, of course. Who could the other two be replacing? Since Snape was still doing Potions, that narrowed it down a bit. Harry hoped that Firenze and Professor McGonagall would still be there. Actually, he liked all the professors (except Snape, of course) and would be sorry to see any of them leave. "Oh well, I'll just have to wait until the start of term to find out," he thought.

The remainder of the vacation plodded on wearily for Harry until the day when he would meet his friends in Diagon Alley finally came. He was harassed and abused by the Dursleys for the rest of the summer, of course. Uncle Vernon forbade "ANYMORE BLOODY OWLS!" so Harry had no contact with the wizarding world. And he was locked back in the cupboard under the stairs. And starved too. When the day finally came, Harry just started a fire in his cupboard, ("WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE BOY!") tossed in a pinch of Floo Powder, and was off to Diagon Alley.