Harry Potter and the Gaia Spring

                Harry Potter and the Gaia Spring

                     Chapter 1

                    Owls and O.W.L.s

    The morning sun peeked over the horizon, bringing light and color to a row of houses that not only looked exactly like each other, but also looked exactly like they had forty years ago, and, in all likelihood, like they would forty years from now. For this was Privet Drive, which did not tolerate change, because Privet Drive was perfectly ordinary, thank you very much, and any change, aside from the occasional new car, was therefore a step away from ordinary. The residents of Privet Drive did not put up with the unordinary.

    True, they did put up with Harry, who was about as unordinary as they come, but in their defense, most of them didn't realize how unordinary he was, and even so, it was very grudgingly that they did put up with him. Even the sun seemed to have it in for young Mr. Potter, as its rays shot through Harry's window, waking him with a blinding light and super heating his room until it resembled a sauna.

    Harry groaned and pulled his blanket over his head, but while that blocked out the light, it only made things hotter. Finally, he got out of bed and, hot, tired, and covered with sweat, made his way to the window.

    As he fought to open the stubborn window, he looked mournfully at the bare curtain bar above it. Dudely was to blame, of course. He had come home with the largest trophy Harry had ever seen. Harry had asked who Dudley beat up to get it, which promptly lost him his dinner and earned him a crack on the head with Dudley's smelting stick. Turned out that we wasn't far off, as it was for being the national heavyweight boxing champ, junior division. The moment Dudley put it in his room, he declared that it would look much better against the curtains in Harry's room. In a flash, Uncle Vernon moved the curtains to Dudley's room, leaving Harry to face a summer of unpleasant awakenings like today's. When Harry asked Uncle Vernon when he'd put up Dudley's old curtains in his room, Vernon told him to do it himself, then promptly refused to let him borrow a screwdriver. Harry was pretty sure the whole thing was Piers Polkiss's idea, as it was too elaborate for Dudley, who had problems remembering that the sun rose in the east.

    Finally, Harry unstuck the window. He slid it open and was immediately greeted by a very tired and angry Hedwig.

    "Hedwig! Are you all right?" Harry placed the bird in its cage and pointed the beat up old fan towards her. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you back so soon, or I would have stayed up. The window won't stay open in the cold night air."

    Hedwig appeared to have accepted his apology. She gave him a feeble peck and then held out her leg, revealing his Hogwarts letter. Harry removed the letter from Hedwig's leg, then filled her water bowl and set aside some owl treats for when she recovered a bit. Then he sat down on the bed and looked at the letter. It was much thicker than usual. Hoping for news from Dumbledore, he hastily tore it open. He mentally chastised himself, as the extra thickness was, of course, due to the OWL result cards. With a nervous gulp, he flipped through them.

Charms: Theory : O - Outstanding

     Practical : E - Exceeds Expectations

    He sighed in relief. He had come out of the written test feeling good, but months of worry had edged away his confidence. He did even better than he thought! But the real relief was that his spell mix-up in the practical didn't hurt him too much, although he may have been able to get an Outstanding there too if he had turned his rat orange instead of into a monster. He flipped to the next card.

Transfigurations: Theory : E - Exceeds Expectations

         Practical : E - Exceeds Expectations

    Harry knew he should be relieved, but he couldn't help be a bit disappointed. He was hoping for an O on the practical. He also thought it didn't seem quite fair that he lost an O to the theory because he forgot the definition of a Switching Spell, which was now burned into his memory by Hermione constantly reminding him ("How could you forget such a simple thing Harry. The primary function of a Switching Spell is...")

Herbology: Theory : P - Poor

     Practical : A - Acceptable

    He winced at that one. He had thought he'd done better on the written test. It wasn't that big a deal since he was going to drop Herbology anyway. It wasn't really necessary for an Auror, as all the more dangerous plants were covered in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the more useful ones in Potions.

Defense Against the Dark Art: Theory : O - Outstanding

             Practical : O - Outstanding

    He smiled at that. He would have been disappointed at anything less. There was a section for notes beneath the scores. No teacher had bothered writing one until here, where Tofty had scrawled, "Beautiful Patronus!" in a surprisingly sloppy handwriting. But Harry's smile soon fell. The next card would be Potions, and that would decide his fate. He briefly wondered what else he might try for. He thought about playing Quidditch professionally, but other than that, he couldn't think of anything.

Potions: Theory : O - Outstanding

     Practical : O - Outstanding

    Harry sighed audibly at that one. He had been really worried, ever since he realized he forgot that lemonroot was a primary ingredient to the Bitter Blighter Brew. Harry supposed the bonus points he got for answering the extra questions on the combination of asphodel and wormwood, how to find a bezoar, and the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane may have made up for that. But the important part was, he could continue taking Snape's class. Harry laughed at the fact that he was actually happy about continuing Snape's class.

Care of Magical Creatures: Theory : A - Acceptable

             Practical : O - Outstanding

    The A came as a bit of a disappointment. He'd thought he'd done better. But the O should make up for it. He'd have to show Hagrid this. The lovable half-giant would definitely be pleased.

Astronomy: Theory : A - Acceptable

     Practical : P - Poor

    Below the scores was another one of Tofty's scribbled notes. "Practical grades have been lenient to reflect the atrocious distraction that took place during the test." It was even sloppier than the last one, and Harry realized it's because Professor Tofty must have had to repeatedly scrawl this across the entire fifth year Astronomy cards. Even with the lenient grading, Harry had got a poor. He remembered the "atrocious distraction" all too well. Professor Umbridge and her gang attacked Hagrid, and then Professor McGonagall, when she tried to save him. Harry supposed that maybe he should of scored a bit higher, since he was distracted before the rest, but he didn't see what he could do about it now, so he went on, with some dread, to Divinations, which had no theory test, only practical.

Divinations :Practical : O - Outstanding

    Harry blinked and read it again. He couldn't believe it. Especially since the card had previously said "Poor" but that had been crossed out and the new score had Professor Marchbanks initials next to it. Hastily, he glanced down at the notes, where Marchbanks had written a very long note in tiny, neat letters:

    "Score has been modified to reflect revelations held after the test. Professor Tofty reminded me that it was indeed the prior Tuesday that I was nearly run over by that infernal Knight Bus. In addition, shortly after leaving Hogwarts, on my way to the apparating point, I ran into portly Mr. Robar, the keeper of the Post Office, who had locked himself out in the rain. While Harry's direct application of teachings in Divinations is lackluster, his intuitive capabilities are top of the line."

    He couldn't believe it. He had lucked out! He had never made a correct "prediction" before in his life! Shaking with joy he flipped to the next card, which cut his happiness short.

History of Magic:Theory : D - Dreadful

    He should of expected that. He could barely remember a single answer on that. Still, thirteen OWL's, seven of them Outstandings, was nothing to frown at.

    Sighing in relief, and feeling quite proud of himself, he set the OWL's aside and made a mental note to buy Hermione a thank you gift. There was also his supply list, but he'd look at that later. He noticed a final piece of paper in the envelope. Curiously, he unfolded it and was greeted with Professor McGonagall's tidy handwriting.

Dear Mr. Potter,

    Congratulations on passing all the requirements to study to become an auror. I needn't remind you that the hard part still lies ahead. Although it is not required that you continue your Divinations class, I recommend you do so. My own personal feelings on the subject aside, Divinations looks good on your auror applications, and it's one more class for you to attempt to get your fifth NEWT in. If you find your workload gets too heavy, I'd advise you drop the class, but until then, keep the possibility open. Though Umbridge is no longer a concern, I still intend to keep my promise. Therefore, I have included a list of regular hours I hold open to my most promising students. If you are having any problems in your classes, feel free to visit me at one of those times for some extra tutoring.

On a more somber note, I must remind you to be cautious whenever you leave the house. You will be able to rejoin the Weasleys shortly. Both of you should be prepared to leave two weeks from tomorrow. Remus will come by to collect you. Leave with nobody else, save Dumbledore himself.

Signed,

Professor Minerva McGonagall.

P.S. Dumbledore would like a list of all your students from "Dumbledore's Army" who you feel can cast a sufficient Patronus.

P.P.S. At opening feast let us have a toast to Delores Umbridge, who might learn a thing or two about predicting the future from Trelawny.

    Harry smiled at the last bit. If ever anything loosened up Professor McGonagall, it was her hatred for Umbridge. Although he couldn't stand the woman either, he felt that at least some good had come from it. He also made it onto McGonagall's advanced tutor list, which might not have happened if it weren't for her promise to spite Umbridge and make him an auror.

    He then paused and reread the note. It said "both," but what did that mean. There was nobody here but himself, unless she was counting Hedwig, but he couldn't believe that was what she meant.

    A drop of sweat splattered onto the letter, and Harry was suddenly reminded of how very hot it was. He heard the squeaking of Dudley's bed, and decided to race for the bathroom and claim first shower.

    Harry took his time in the shower, enjoying the feel of the cool water on his skin, and ignoring the pounding on the door, undoubtedly coming from Dudley. Harry had hoped that Dudley might have treated him better after he had saved the fat oaf's life last year, but that wasn't the case. He reasoned, as did Aunt Petunia, that if it weren't for Harry, he wouldn't have been in that situation in the first place, so they owed him nothing. The only reason Harry had any peace over this summer at all, was because Dudley had been put on probation for fighting outside the ring, and if he was caught again, he wouldn't be allowed to box anymore.

    When Uncle Vernon hollered through the door, Harry grudgingly turned off the water. He had the clothes for the day with him, leftovers muggle clothes he had borrowed from Ron, since there were no younger boys in the family. Ron was much taller than him, so they were still too big, (He had to roll up the cuff of the trousers five times) but at least they weren't nearly as baggy as Dudley's clothes, which made him look like an American rapper.

    As Harry left the bathroom something struck him hard in the right cheek, spinning him around and dropping him to the floor. He looked up to see Dudley's massive body staring down at him, as he cracked his knuckles. Obviously, Dudley had finally realized that there were no teachers here to put him on probation.

    "You really must keep your guard up, old chap," Dudley smirked in a poor upper-crust-ish accent. "Bad form and all." Dudley had been trying to imitate his boxing coach's accent all summer. Harry seemed to be the only one to notice that he was failing. Uncle Vernon kept commenting on how he sounded like a true gentleman, while Petunia went on about how many ladies' hearts he would break. Harry thought he sounded like a donkey with a nasal congestion, and that he was more likely to break a lady's chair than a heart, but he kept those thoughts to himself.

    "How do you like my new invention?" Dudley laughed stupidly.

    "Last I checked, somebody already invented the fist, but I'll give you an O for trying."

    "It's not a fist, you lunkhead!" Dudley roared in defense. In any other situation, short of a headlock, Harry would have found this funny. Harry realized he should try to diffuse the situation, but he didn't.

    "Funny," he said snidely, "it looks like a fist." He tenderly touched the side of his face and winced. He could feel the bruise beginning to form. "Certainly felt like a fist. But, hey, you're the boxing expert, so I'll take your word for it."

    "It's a boxing move," Dudley snarled, his face turning red. "I call it the Dudley Drummer." Again, common sense told Harry to back down, but Harry didn't listen.

    "I didn't realize boxers were allowed to jump their opponents coming out of the loo. Is that how you won the trophy? Couldn't handle a fair fight?"

    "That's it," Dudley said, shaking with rage, much as his father often did. "Get up," He ordered quietly.

    Harry made a big deal, moving as if to stand up, but merely got into a sitting position, cross-legged on the floor. "And why should I do that?"

    "So I can knock you down again," Dudley seethed, absently clenching and unclenching his fingers.

    "Hmmm, tempting, but I'll pass. What else ya got?"

    Harry doubled over as Dudley slammed his bare foot into his stomach.

    "All right. I'll get up," Harry gasped. Inwardly, he chided himself for pushing Dudley's buttons. He briefly wondered how hard it would be to cast magic without any teeth.

    Fortunately, Harry had a plan he'd worked out earlier to get out of a situation such as this. It would only work once, but he doubted things could get worse. As he stood up, he let his sleeve fall loose. It cascaded over his hand, and his wand, tucked inside, fell out and hit the hardwood floor with a loud clunk.

    Harry leapt away from the want as if it had become a snake, causing Dudley to blink in confusion. They both stood completely still for a moment, then Harry cautiously picked up the wand.

    "Whew!" Harry sighed, pretending to be relieved. "That was a close one."

    Dudley's reaction to Harry holding his wand was one of pure terror. "Wh-Wh-What do you mean? Y-Y-You're n-not allowed to d-do m-m-m-m-magic. Y-You'll get ex-expelled."

    "Oh, I wasn't going to cast a spell," Harry said, trying to act casual, "but you see, I've had this wand for five years. It's a bit temperamental."

    Dudley's brow furled as he tried to figure out what temperamental meant. Finally he gave up and stuttered, "But y-you're n-not allowed to do m-m-m-ma- to do m-m-m-ma-ma-mag-m-m-m-ma-ma-"

    "I wouldn't be the one doing the magic though," Harry interrupted, when it became clear that Dudley couldn't bring himself to say the M word again, "But some wands just ATTACK when they get dropped."

    "Y-Y-You're l-l-lying. T-T-Trying -t-to tr-tr-trick me."

    "No trick. Just last Christmas, I dropped it and it cut off my friend Ron's head. Mind you, we were able to put it back, but he didn't talk to me for a week. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. You were going to knock me down. I just hope I don't drop this again."

    Harry went into an awkward fighting stance, his wand held clumsily between two fingers. Dudley, however, backed up against the wall and inched around Harry until he had a clear path to the stairs. He then bolted, his hands instinctively clapped to his fat bottom.

    Harry laughed as he heard Dudley trip and crash down the stairs. He knew other people getting hurt wasn't funny, but Dudley didn't count.

    "Like godfather, like godson," Harry said to himself, thinking about how Sirius would have approved.

    The thought of Sirius dropped Harry faster than one of Hagrid's rock candies. He missed his godfather so much, the loneliness filled him like a balloon. It was as if a great presence that he had to constantly resist, and the only reason he didn't just give up was because whenever he did give in, and he had, several times, nothing happened. Instead of the release he was promised, the anguish rushed in like floodwater through an open door.

    His sorrow soon turned, as it often did, back into anger. Anger at himself for letting his rage take control of him again. The same rage that nearly alienated his friends. The same rage that let Umbridge get the upper hand. The same rage that caused Sirius to die.

    Then there was the matter of the prophecy. A prophecy that said that Harry's only chance to survive was to defeat the most powerful dark wizard ever. He supposed his best hope was to try to take Voldemort down with him. That way, at least the rest of the world would survive.

    Harry wondered if the fact that his own death only rated third heaviest in his own mind was funny or sad. Ultimately, he decided to consider it funny, because there was enough sadness in his life already.

    "Harry Potter!" Uncle Vernon's roar shook Harry out of his reverie. He knew if he didn't answer now, Vernon would be even angrier when he did, but if he did face the music now, his temper would make things even worse. So Harry did the first intelligent thing he'd done all day, and went into his room and locked the door.

    The first thing Harry noticed was, perching on the foot of his bed, the tawny owl that delivered him the Daily Prophet and, free of charge, the Quibbler. Harry tried to take the papers from him, but the owl wasn't paying attention. Harry looked where the owl was staring.

    At first Harry though the little fuzzball on his dresser was Pig, until he realized there were two of the little creatures, neither of which had Pig's markings. They were fighting over the last owl treat in Hedwig's dish. Hedwig was sill asleep, despite their racket.

    "Hey! Budge off!" Harry shooed the birds. "That's Hedwig's food!"

    The two miniscule owls finally noticed him and started chirping loudly as they picked up their deliveries. One had a box three times as big as him, but apparently very light, as he flew fast, clumsy circles around Harry's head, hitting him several times. The other had a much smaller but much heavier box, as it struggled to cross the room with it.

    Harry ignored both of them. He made a very big deal of untying the papers from the tawny's leg and giving him an especially large owl treat before sending him on his way.

    The little owl with the heavier package flopped onto the bed, and Harry decided it had suffered enough. He took the box, thanked the bird, and told him to stay until he was ready to go. It rested for a minute before bolting out the window, barely missing a tree as he did. He did the same for the other owl a moment later, not because it had suffered enough, but rather because Harry was tired of it clipping his newly formed bruise.

    Harry eyed the two packages curiously. The large one was wrapped in paper that resembled the night sky, complete with a fantastic view of Venus and way too many shooting stars periodically crossing it. The other's paper had a swarm of pink and baby blue butterflies flittering across it. He considered opening them, but decided to check the paper first.

    The photo on the front of the Prophet was less than reassuring. It was of a tall, attractive, but powerfully built witch who was currently struggling against four wizards who were barely holding her back. Harry recognized her as Eliza Thumpgood, the new warden of Azkaban. She looked as if she wanted to tear somebody's eyes out. Harry looked at the connected article and knew who, and could relate. The article was written by Rita Skeeter.

Third Azkaban Breakout. New Warden Drops the Ball

by Rita Skeeter

    Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, has assured us that he is in control of things and that the loss of dementors guarding Azkaban was not a problem. Today we know both these promises were lies.

    Yesterday, at approximately three o'clock in the morning, no less than four Death Eaters escaped when a newly arrived guard dragon went berserk, smashing down the walls to their cells. Six other prisoners also escaped. Fudge has issued a statement that these six individuals were incarcerated for crimes unrelated to He Who Must Not Be Named, and pose no threat to the general public, but it is hard to believe him in face of the overwhelming evidence and undeniable rumors that suggest that these six were undercover agents who were caught for lesser crimes before they could act in You Know Who's name.

    The blame for this incident falls squarely on Miss Eliza Thumpgood, newly appointed warden to Azkaban. Miss Thumpgood not only failed to recognize a rabid dragon but also botched the attempt to recapture the escaped convicts.

This article is continued on page 2

    Harry violently threw the paper down. The breakout was bad enough news, but to hear it from that horrible woman's vile green quill was more than Harry could stand. The fact that he had helped her reclaim her prosperity made him sick.

    Harry rolled over to reach for the mysterious packages and immediately regretted it. His stomach still hurt from Dudley's kick. Instead he sat up and pulled them closer.

    Harry's first thought was that they were birthday presents, even though his birthday was still ten days away. He also thought it odd, since nobody he knew would send packages wrapped so tackily. The star one was all right, if a bit over the top, but whoever thought he would appreciate pink butterflies needed his head examined.

    Deciding that waiting for his birthday would kill him with curiosity, he opened the small, butterflied package. Underneath the wrapping was a white box, which in turn held a bundle of oil soaked cloth and a letter.

    Harry flipped open the letter. It wasn't hand written, but rather typed, in rose red ink, in a fancy font where capital letters were formed from oddly shaped trees with fairies in them. It read:

My Dear Sweetest Harry,

    I am sorry to have to give you your presents early, but the Fool told me that you would be traveling on your birthday, so I thought I should give this to you now. It is the Knight's Third Oath, also known as the Vow of Love. Legend says it will bring those who can wear it to their true love. My wishes to you, that you can wear it, and that it brings you to me.

Good luck in these dark days. Remember that your lucky color is light purple, and to be careful of a man with pale blond hair. Take care.

Signed

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. Thought you might need this.

    "This" turned out to be a small vial of "settle-mint" all purpose stomach medicine. Harry wondered briefly about the convenience of it all, but ultimately his stomach won out. Following the instructions, he snapped the cap off and poured three drops down his throat. He coughed at the powerful mint flavor, then sighed as his stomach immediately stopped aching. In a few moments, it was as if Dudley never kicked him. The vial still had about eight more drops, so he put it away in a drawer for later.

    Harry shook his head and unwrapped the oiled cloths. As he suspected, the object inside was metal, but he wasn't prepared for what it was. It was a silver metal armband, the length of his forearm, with gold inlays depicting a lady tying her scarf to the end of a knight's lance. The metal only covered the top half of the arm. It was held in place by a couple silver buckles, as well as a black silk sleeve sown into the underside.

    Harry admired the craftsmanship for awhile before wrapping it back up and putting it back in its box. He then turned his attention to the second package. Inside it was a large midnight blue plush dragon. It was a silly looking thing with large marble eyes and bright white fangs forming a dopey smile. Its bright red dog collar identified it as "Harry the Hungarian Horntail." Harry laughed. He had fought a Horntail in the Triwizard Tournament two years ago, and they looked nothing like this plushie. Even if that monstrosity had white teeth instead of black, Harry doubted she would have ever smiled like an overgrown puppy. Although Harry knew that it was a coincidence that the plushie of the dragon he fought bore his name, the plushie being first made a year before, he was pretty sure that it wasn't a coincidence that somebody had taken the liberty of sewing a red lightning bolt on its forehead and little plastic glasses over its eyes.

    Tucked into the dragon's collar was a note. Harry untied it, expecting more of the fancy printed text, but instead found an equally fancy, but hand written scrawl in sapphire blue ink. Surrounding the body of the letter were cute little drawings of a boy and a girl walking hand in hand, rowing a boat, sharing a large soda, and similarly romantic stuff. The drawings were pretty good, despite their size and Harry would have been able to identify the boy as himself even without the glasses and scar. The girl, however, was drawn meticulously without detail. She wore nondescript robes and was more or less Harry's height. The only clue to her identity he had at all was her shoulder length hair, which both covered her eyes and hid the outline of her face. Still, with the little bit he was given, she looked somehow familiar. Harry gave up looking for clues and read the letter.

To my knight in shining armor.

    Happy birthday. This is a little token in honor of your victory over that fearsome beast two years ago. That day you not only flew away with the dragon's egg, but also with my heart. Summer seems so lonely without you. I cannot wait for school to begin so I can see you again.

    Take care of yourself and don't let your relatives push you around too much. And tell your bratty cousin if he ever hits you again, I'll turn him into a newt. Hope this helps.

    There was no signature. In its place was a larger, more detailed drawing of Harry and the girl kissing. Even with the extra size and detail, Harry had few more clues, as his inky doppleganger's hand and head obscured most of her face. Still, she somehow looked familiar, even though all he could see was her ear, which was nondescript, save for a simple earring.

    Harry rummaged through the box and found a Blue Salamander brand unending ice pack. He took off his glasses and slapped the blue bag against his bruise, enjoying the icy coolness as it numbed out the pain while he thought about the letter. Was this girl spying on him? He didn't know much about long distance viewing spells, except that they were called "scrying spell."

    He supposed that Dumbledore's spell would prevent anyone who wished him harm from scrying on him, so whoever this was, she was an ally. Still, Harry didn't like the idea of being spied on, even if it was by a friend. He liked the idea of being watched by a girl even less, especially considering where he'd been right before Dudley hit him. He'd have to ask Moody about that when he could.

    It was about then that he noticed something odd. Silence. Uncle Vernon had stopped yelling. Harry wasn't sure how long ago he had stopped, but he was sure something was up.

    Wand clenched tightly in his hand, Harry slid out the door, wincing at the slight creak it made. Slowly he made his way to the top of the stairs, and listened.

    "What do you mean?" Harry heard Aunt Petunia ask in a voice straining to remain calm.

    "I mean he's coming here! Tonight!" Vernon said shakenly.

    "Are - are you sure?"

    "Yes. That was Arthur on the phone. He says it's tonight for certain. He risked a lot to tell me."

    A lump formed in Harry's throat. Arthur called? What could be so bad that Mr. Weasley would phone the house, and be at risk to do so? Harry could think of only one thing: Voldemort!

    Harry had to consciously force himself to focus back on the conversation.

    "...Maybe make a deal?" He heard Petunia finish asking.

    "Yes, that may be best," Vernon muttered. "Only way to walk out of this one alive, far as I can see. Who knows, might even come out ahead."

    Harry nearly dropped his wand in surprise. Uncle Vernon had held it against Harry ever since he had the nerve to show up unwanted, fifteen years ago, but he never thought Vernon would go so low as to sell him out to Voldemort.

    "Well, I'd better go talk to the boy," Vernon sighed, "Try to get him to see our side. Greater good and all that."

    Harry's shock turned to rage. Did they really expect him to go along with this? Just lay down and die, while Voldemort rewarded them? Well, if so, he had a surprise for them. It should be easy enough to paralyze them, and then he could sneak out the back when Voldemort's lackey's search the house. He might even enjoy watching Dudley struggle against a leglocker curse.

    Harry crept back into his room and started planning things. He'd have to pack light. He could release Hedwig with some of his things, and pack his books in Dudley's old school bookbag. He didn't have his broomstick, so he'd have to make it on ground. He'd have to hike towards a safe location.

    Harry paused as he heard a knock on his door. Quickly he thrust the backpack under the bed. He then climbed onto the bed and started pretending to read the Quibbler, right as Vernon opened the door.

    "Uh, hullo, Harry," Vernon said uncomfortably.

    Harry peered out from over the paper. "Hullo," He said dryly.

    "I brought you an ice pack. Heard that Dudley hit you. He's, ah, been punished for that."

    Harry held up the Blue Salamander pack. "Already got one."

    "Ahh, I see," Vernon mumbled, idly fiddling with the sneakoscope lying on Harry's dresser. "Um, you know that you're reading that thing upside down?"

    Harry realized that he did indeed have the paper upside down. "Yes," he lied. "I'm looking at these special runes. You have to hold the paper upside down to read them right."

    "Ahh, I see," Vernon said again in a very lost tone. "Look, Harry. I'll be straight. I need you to do something for me."

    "I know."

    "You do?"

    "Yes, I heard you. And the answer is no."

    "Damn you boy!" Vernon shouted, forgetting himself. "I'm trying to be reasonable with you! I've been gunning for this promotion for years! I would have had it by now, if you hadn't messed things up with that dinner four years ago!"

    "Wait," Harry blinked. "A promotion?!"

    "Yes, you bloody idiot! Why else do you reckon I'd pretend to like you!"

    Harry's mind was spinning. Promotion? Pretend to like him? What was he talking about? "Who's coming tonight?" Harry asked bluntly.

    "Mr. Scornsby. My boss," Vernon hissed.

    "Why would Mr. Weasley phone you about that?" Harry asked suspiciously?

    "That confounded fool?! I'd hang up in an instant!"

    "But you said Arthur-"

    "Mr. Arthur Billington is a good friend of mine at work," Vernon snapped. "Mr. Scornsby will be furious with him if he finds out he ruined his surprise visit. He likes to drop in on his employees unannounced. 'Catching them in their true lives,' he calls it."

    "So what does all this have to do with me?" Harry asked. He'd be worried it was a trap, but Uncle Vernon had no imagination. There's no way he could come up with all that so fast.

    "Well, word got out that I had taken in my nephew," Vernon said, calming down and starting to talk in his uncomfortable way of trying to treat Harry like a real person. "In truth, I was ranting about how you ruined our fireplace, and he overheard. He, ahh, jumped to conclusions."

    "What do you mean?" Harry scowled.

    "He, ahh, thinks you're a bit of a, um, how does he put it... 'lovable, trouble-making rascal.' He's been fascinated with you ever since."

    "And you couldn't bring yourself to disillusion him, right?" Harry said, seeing where this was going.

    "No, he just kept building it up in his head. He, ahh, kind of fell in love with the image. If I told him the truth about you, well, I'd never get the promotion."

    "So you want me to play along."

    "Well, yes, that's pretty much it. I'd make it worth your while," he added hopefully.

    "How so?" Harry asked skeptically. He doubted Vernon had anything that he wanted.

    "Well. Ahh, I've noticed you've been puttering around lately, so I thought, if everything goes well, I could, um, give you Dudley's old video games?"

    Harry's eyes narrowed. This was the first time Vernon had offered to give him anything more than coat hangers and pocket change and that meant only one thing. Vernon was desperate. In a move that would make Dudley proud, or, since it was Harry, violently angry and jealous, Harry decided to leech as much as he could out of his uncle.

    "I've been getting Dudley's old hand-me-downs all my life. I reckon I'd like something new for a change."

    "You ungrateful little-"

    "Careful, Uncle," Harry said, enjoying every moment of this, "or I won't cooperate at all."

    "All right," Vernon said through clenched teeth, "if this goes well, and if I get the promotion, then I will buy you a brand new game system. Agreed?"

    "I want four new games for it too."

    "Two new games and I'll make Dudley share with you," Vernon said growing even redder. He was approaching purple so Harry knew it was time to call it quits.

    "Deal!" he said thrusting out his hand. Vernon scowled at it, then at him, then grudgingly accepted it.

    Suddenly, Vernon's eyes went wide. "We need to get you a suit!" He hollered, dragging Harry out of the room by his hand.

    The following four hours were a nightmare. Stuck, alone, with Uncle Vernon. Harry was beginning to wish it had been Voldemort who was coming to dinner. Vernon drove him all around town, looking for a good place to get a quick suit. He stopped at several cheap places first, but after tossing some ratty looking suits on Harry, finally, and reluctantly, decided that in order to make money, he'd have to spend it first.

    So that's how Harry ended up at Vernon's own tailor, Mr. Warson, who reminded Harry a lot of a muggle version of Olivander. Like Olivander and his wands, Warson had Harry try on different suits and then suddenly decide that they were wrong without Harry understanding a thing. The dark blue blazer and red tie, good for school functions, was discarded as Harry started to tie the tie, but Harry had barely put on the trousers of the black three piece suit, good for business parties, before Warson pulled out the next one and demanded he put it on.

    Finally, Harry tried a suit that worked. It was a dark gray, open jacket suit with a bit of extra shoulder space and a silk loose collared shirt beneath and no tie, good for dances. As with the wands, Harry had a feeling that he didn't quite understand, that this was the right suit for him. Amazing how similar some muggles and wizards can be. That being said, if Mr. Warson mentioned the leather belt coming from the same cow as one worn by Voldemort, Harry would bolt.

    Looking at himself in the mirror, Harry realized something he hadn't before. He was practically grown up. He looked much handsomer than he thought, although he still didn't compare with the flattering drawing. He also realized, as Vernon stood, judging him, that he was taller than his uncle now. Funny how you miss things such as that when you spend every waking moment trying to avoid each other.

    Vernon and Harry had a quiet ride back. Vernon tried to break the awkwardness by complaining about one of his favorite things to complain about: motorcycles. Harry remained quiet, and decided that he needed to find out what happened to Sirius's bike. Once he did, he'd be sure to take it for a ride down Privet Drive at some point.

    "Oh, he's already here!" Vernon said, pointing at their drive way. From the way Vernon talked about him, Harry had expected him to show up in a Rolls Royce. Instead, a bright red Firebird parked in the driveway of Number Four Privet Drive, at a slight angle to the otherwise systematically right angled world. Vernon got out of the car, then leaned back in to look Harry in the eye. "Now remember, boy-"

    "I'm a wild, carefree, but ultimately good-willed boy thanks to your guidance as the kind uncle who took me in and raised me like a son."

    "Too right. And NO MAGIC!" Vernon snapped, before marching off to the front door. Harry waited a second, then followed, his suit slapping across his back as it dangled from the hanger he held over his shoulder. He tried to look carefree, something which he hadn't been in a long time, if ever.

    Mr. Scornsby turned out to be a large hearty man with a big beard and a bigger laugh. "So this is the famous Harry Potter!" He grabbing Harry's hand in a crushing grip. He frowned for a moment. "Why is there an R on your shirt?"

    Harry paused for a moment, then smiled, "R is for Rascal, Mr. Scornsby. Although I prefer to think of it standing for Rebel."

    "Very good," Mr. Scornsby laughed again, "but call me Jim."

    "So, Mr. Scornsby," Vernon said cautiously, "what brings you here?"

    "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by and take you all out to dinner. And I told you, you can call me Jim."

    "What great timing, Jim," Vernon said, in a voice that clearly indicated that he did not like being allowed to say his boss's first name. "We just got back from picking up this troublemaker a new suit."

    Harry held out the shrink-wrapped suit. "I can honestly say it's the nicest one I've ever had."

    "Well then, I reckon your uncle's been shortchanging you," he said, then burst out laughing at Vernon's face. "Just kidding, Vern. Lighten up." He punched Uncle Vernon in the arm. "All right, Harry, hurry up and get that suit on and we'll head out to the Crimson Lance."

    Still trying to look carefree, Harry attempted to swagger up the stairs. He felt like an idiot, but he must not have done too bad a job, since nobody said anything. As he entered his room, he closed the door and leaned against it, closing his eyes, and wondering if it were possible for the night to become more complicated.

    As if in response to his mental question a familiar voice called out, "Harry!" Harry opened his eyes to find Hermione sitting happily on his bed.