Harry Potter and the Sisters Three

            Chapter 1: Owls and O.W.L.s

    Harry Potter was staring at the digital clock by his bedside when it flipped over to 12:00 midnight. As of that moment, he was sixteen years old.

    Harry rolled over and sighed, trying without success to get some sleep before the next day dawned and he would have to face the slings and arrows of his aunt, uncle, and beastly cousin Dudley. The entire Dursley family seemed to have been trained up specifically to make Harry's life as difficult to navigate as the Great Barrier Reef.

    Harry found himself so awake that his green eyes felt gritty with the thoughts churning through his mind -- and stomach. Despite the incarceration that should have felt routine, Harry felt more chained than ever to the dark stuffy room whose stark walls held him like at bay like a struggling infant. The monotony of last summer had, at least, been broken by his emergency relocation to the London headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, which was now busier than ever trying desperately to gather supporters with clandestine aid from the Ministry.

    This Ministry, of course, was the Ministry of Magic; for Harry Potter was a wizard. He was currently on summer leave from Hogwarts, Britain's very own school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He was staying with his dismal Dursley relatives as he had every summer holiday since his first year at Hogwarts. Harry was looking forward to another prospective visit with either the Order or the Weasleys, the wizarding family of his best friend, Ron, this summer, in spite of the recent events that had persuaded Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore that Harry would be safer at his aunt and uncle's.

    For in recent events: Voldemort HAD returned.

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    "Come my son, I have but a little more to teach you."

    "Yes, father."

    "I must say, you have grown a little more stoic in the past few days. Entering your adolescence seems to have agreed with you." The father says this smugly as he draws a long sword from a wall scabbard. His son makes no reply except to arm himself similarly and stand facing his father, chin raised and poised for action.

    "I am ready."

    "So I see. But the average opponent will not have the courtesy to wait." The boy's jaw stiffens. In this momentary lapse of focus, the father strikes. His son parries the blow in the nick of time, taking a turn to avoid another swipe aimed at his weaponless side. The father laughs cruelly, laughs punctuated by "Good, good!" as his son gains speed and begins to make thrusting blows of his own. His father parries every one without pause, without even shortness of breath. His son, after much work, begins to lag. His father stays in control, he begins to rain blows upon his tiring son. The sword he holds becomes infinitely heavy in his hands as he struggles to defend himself against his father's onslaught. With the dregs of his strength he drives his weapon upward. His father readies himself to ward off the strike, but his own blade glances to the left, allowing his son's final thrust to slip through his carefully wrought defense. This last turn has brought both of them to stillness, out of breath. The son, in a deep lunge with his sword still underneath his father's. The man, still standing erect, chest heaving, and a look of surprise and the beginnings of anger on his face. He shakes the telltale emotions from his visage and moves away.

    "Well done, Draco." He lets his blade clatter to the floor, and leaves the room with long strides.

    Draco Malfoy wipes the streaming sweat from his brow, and resheathes both his own and his father's swords. His face is stone, but his eyes betray a little of the grim triumph he feels. He squares his shoulders, and leaves the room, closing the door so quietly behind him that it takes the mirror above the mantle quite a while to notice that he has left.

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    "It's just not possible, Harry. I wish things were different." Remus Lupin sighed heavily, his weary gaze resting upon the head floating in the fireplace of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. The head, which belonged to Harry Potter, was managing to look both furious and wretched at the same time.

    "Remus, living here is absolute torture. The only two thoughts that are keeping me from blowing up my uncle are that I'll be returning to Hogwarts in a month and that I'll be spending that month somewhere away from here! Surely I've spent enough time here with my blood relatives to keep me safe until the start of term." Harry's voice was petulant.

    "Harry, it is not safe for anyone to be in unfamiliar places now that Voldemort has returned, least of all you. Even the Knight Bus has stopped running, except during emergencies."

    "The Burrow," Harry pointed out, "is not unfamiliar to me. Neither is headquarters! After all, I was there quite a lot last year, you remember." Lupin sighed.

    "I know Harry, but it doesn't carry the same protection as the Dursleys'. I know Sir- ... the Weasleys seem more like family to you than your aunt and uncle, but that is the way of things. With all the things going on, it just isn't worth risking you. Voldemort has been quiet since the Ministry discovered his return, but that doesn't mean he's not up to something. We've had reports that he might even be trying to find a way back into Hogwarts. Aurors with the Ministry of Magic have been destroying as many of his old personal effects as they can lay hands on in an attempt to prevent a repeat performance of your second year, but his Death Eaters are still everywhere and it's suspected that their ranks have swelled steadily over the summer. It is just NOT SAFE for you to leave the Dursleys. Now, no more arguments. Get off to sleep." Lupin's tone held no room for an answer. Harry bowed his head, and it disappeared from the grate.

    Harry stood, throwing the pillow he had been leaning on back onto the couch with a huff of impatience. It was a little past three on the morning of his birthday. The talk with Remus had only made him more anxious to return to Hogwarts, since he couldn't hope to escape to the sanctuary of the Burrow for the rest of the summer holiday. He knew perfectly well that Voldemort had returned, he had been there almost two years ago to witness it, the horrible rebirth that had claimed his blood, the flesh of Wormtail, and the life of Cedric Diggory. Near the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, the Minister of Magic, and indeed, the entire wizarding community, had finally accepted the Dark Lord's return -- at an even higher cost. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather and the closest thing he had ever had to a parent, had been killed in the struggle with Voldemort's Death Eaters that might have claimed Harry's own life. Harry remained convinced that Sirius's death has been his fault, the result of his having been too weak to block Voldemort from his mind. He had believed the lies that the Dark Lord whispered into his conscious, and had subsequently run off to be the hero. Instead, it was Sirius, the man he had gone to save, who ended up sacrificing his own life--and saving Harry's. He sighed. Remus seemed to have nearly forgotten, nearly mentioned Sirius's name instead of the Weasleys, knowing where Harry's heart and thoughts must lie...

    Creak.

    Lost in thought, Harry had stepped on the second to last stair, forgetting its wicked knack for making noise. He heard his uncle's snore stop for a heart-pounding second, then resume. Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Uncle Vernon, when angry, carried on like a rhinocerus that has just been stung by a rampaging horde of bees. He skipped over the noisy step and padded in his sockfeet to his bedroom. He opened the door ever so slowly and edged inside. His snowy owl, Hedwig, sat on her perch, asleep. She lazily opened her eyes, glimpsed Harry, and shrieked.

    Cor. So close!

    "THAT RUDDY OWL!!" A yell like that of a wild boar issued from the room shared by Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Harry slipped inside his room and dove into bed just in time to hear the earth-shaking footsteps outside his hurriedly closed door. Harry squinched his eyes shut under the covers as the door flew open and his uncle bellowed again.

    "POTTER!!"

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    The next morning at breakfast was little better. Harry sat sullenly at the table as he watched his cousin Dudley inhale a plate of bacon and eggs. Uncle Vernon was rustling the pages of the paper, unaware that one corner had snuck into his coffee cup and absorbed nearly half of it. Aunt Petunia was bustling behind Harry's head, making more eggs and bacon and toast. She had been nearly as quiet as Harry himself had been since he had returned to number four Privet Drive for the summer. Harry looked at her curiously, wondering if Dumbledore's warning from last year was on her mind. She wended her way around all the chairs and sat down on Dudley's other side after depositing a plateful of bacon and egg in front of her husband. She glanced briefly at Harry before tucking in herself. Harry dropped his gaze and fiddled with his toast. The quiet at the table was finally broken by Dudley.

    "Finished. I'm going over to the Polkises." He lept up from the table, a remarkable feat considering his size, and turned around just in time to receive a faceful of owl. A large brown barn owl and a slightly smaller screech owl had just rocketed through the open window.

    "Mmmgpphph!!" Dudley cried through the wildly flapping birds, who had been badly startled by their collision. Aunt Petunia stood up, shrieking, and Uncle Vernon tossed his paper down onto his breakfast, trailing the coffee soaked corner of newsprint across the formidable belly of his white shirt. He bellowed, clawing his way over to his son, who was still waving his arms about frantically trying to divest himself of two irritated owls. Harry couldn't help laughing, especially when Aunt Petunia tripped over her chair, knocking both herself and Dudley to the ground on top of Uncle Vernon's feet. The owls finally settled and managed to light on the back of Uncle Vernon's unoccupied chair. They watched balefully as the three Dursleys struggled to get themselves untangled. Harry laughed again, more quietly, as he took the two letters proffered by the owls. They immediately took wing and left through the same window that they had entered, causing Aunt Petunia to duck and Uncle Vernon to swerve out of the way (Dudley was still lying immobile on the floor). Harry edged toward the door, his letters hidden behind him. Uncle Vernon was still trying to lift his beefy son by his elbows, with the hindering help of his wife. He was also muttering darkly, and Harry judged that he didn't have much time before his uncle would begin ranting on how the whole mess had been Harry's fault. He snuck out of the kitchen, trying to be both quiet and quick.

    "POTTER!!" he heard his uncle bellow. He bounded up the stairs two at a time and ran into his room, slammed the door shut behind him. He threw himself upon his unmade bed and pushed a few books and the previous day's edition of the Daily Prophet out of his way. He brought forth his two letters, one addressed in familiar emerald-green ink. That, he knew, would be his Hogwarts letter. He tossed it aside and looked at the other. It was also addressed in curly official-looking script, but it was written in regal purple ink.

    "Harry Potter, the Breakfast Table, Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey." the letter stated. Harry furrowed his brow, trying to think of what other mail he ought to be expecting. He had thought that this letter would be from Ron or Hermione wishing him a happy birthday, or asking (again) whether or not he was going to come stay at the Burrow. He opened the letter, scanning the heading briefly.

    "Wizarding Examinations Authority." Harry gulped. His O.W.L.s. In all the chaos surrounding the end of term, he had completely forgotten about his O.W.L.s, or Ordinary Wizarding Levels. He blinked a few times, his heart thumping hotly in his throat.

    "Dear Mr. Potter,

    "We write to inform you of the scores received upon your ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations. Our records show that you sat nine exams. The scores earned are recorded below. If you have any questions regarding your scoring or wish to view the notes of your examiner for any specific exam, send a self-addressed owl with your request to the spokeswitch above.

        Charms: E Exceeds Expectations

        Transfiguration: E Exceeds Expectations

        Potions: E Exceeds Expectations

        Defense Against the Dark Arts: O Outstanding

        Astronomy: P Poor

        History of Magic: D Dreadful

        Care of Magical Creatures: A Acceptable

        Herbology: A Acceptable

        *Divination: P Poor

    *Due to inconsistent teaching and a low overall class average score, your recorded grade will not prohibit you from taking N.E.W.T. level Divination if your career ambition or personal desire motivate you to do so."

    Harry let his head drop forward, nearly dizzy with relief. He had managed to scrape six O.W.L.s, despite all the distraction. He wracked his brain to remember the subjects McGonagall had told him he would need to take in order to be an Auror, the only career he had ever considering pursuing once he left Hogwarts. Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts. He scanned his scores. He was fairly certain that he would be able to take the N.E.W.T. level classes for those subjects. He looked again at his Potions score. He was still rather shocked that he had managed to do so well. He supposed that his success had a lot to do with the fact that Snape had not been present at the exam to look down his greasy nose at Harry. None of his other scores had been that surprising. He knew that he wouldn't do well in History of Magic and Astronomy, as he had left half the exam blank for both of them. He sighed, wondering how Ron and Hermione had managed. He smiled, picturing Hermione opening a similar envelope filled with a row of O's. He turned to his Hogwarts letter.

    "Dear Mr. Potter,

    "Congratulations on your success with regards to your O.W.L.s. With your scores and career choice in hand, the Hogwarts faculty has assembled their N.E.W.T. class schedules. The curriculum for N.E.W.T. classes in your sixth year is introductory in nature, meaning that you will be taking two N.E.W.T. classes a day, and two advanced study classes a day. Your class schedule is as follows:

Monday/Friday:

N.E.W.T. Divination

Herbology

N.E.W.T. Defense Against the Dark Arts

Care of Magical Creatures

Tuesday/Thursday:

N.E.W.T. Charms

History of Magic

N.E.W.T. Transfiguration

Astronomy

Wednesday:

N.E.W.T. Potions, doubled period

Herbology

Care of Magical Creatures

    This schedule is meant to be a gradual shift from the schedule to which you are accustomed into the demanding N.E.W.T. schedule that you will pursue seventh year, in which you will have all five N.E.W.T. classes every day. While the coursework will be extremely difficult, no extra homework will be assigned in view of the regular advanced study courses you will be taking. However, your N.E.W.T. classes will require extra books and materials (see list). We hope you are ready for the challenge.

    In addition, your head of house has selected you to be the captain of your House Quidditch team. Team tryouts and first practice will be scheduled when you arrive.

                    Sincerely,

                        M. McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress

Potter, The pitch has been booked for Tuesday evening after classes. Madam Hooch will oversee the tryouts as I will be unable to attend. Don't forget!!"

    Harry slumped onto his bed. All the happiness he had felt as a result of his O.W.L. scores had vanished. After all, all that they had qualified him for were more difficult classes and (despite what the letter might say) more homework. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling, wondering why on earth McGonagall had put him in N.E.W.T. Divination. Surely with Trelawney back teaching, the class would be nothing but a joke. Harry sighed. The way his schedule looked, written so innocently on the fresh starchy parchment, he would really need to have at least one class in which he could relax. At least he had Quidditch to look forward to. It hadn't really come as a surprise that he had been named captain, since he had been on the team longer than Ron, and they were the only two players remaining from last year. He sighed, and flipped over to his book list.

    "Standard Book of Spells, Advanced Levels, by Miranda Goshawk

    Superlevel Spells for the Serious Student, by Bathilda Bagshot

    Practical Potions and A Thousand More Magical Herbs and Fungi, by Fiddulus Marks

    Illuminated Guidebook to the Horrors of the World, by Lib Knightley"

    Harry started. The sound of scrabbling wings had roused him from his thoughts. He looked over to Hedwig's cage, momentarily stunned to see her looking slightly agitated at the wildly fluttering ball of grey fluff that had invaded her territory. Harry smiled and walked over to the cage, trying to lay a hand on the tiny grey owl who was still bouncing off its bars.

    "Hello, Pig," he greeted it. The owl stopped twittering madly and perched on Harry's outstretched arm. Harry extracted the letters that Pigwidgeon had brought him and set the little owl down on his desk. Two letters, one from Ron, and one from Hermione. He opened and read them. They both started of with a rousing "Happy Birthday!", then settled in to tell Harry everything about their O.W.L.s and schedules. He smiled as he read Hermione's: "I was pleased with my scores, I suppose, only eight O's. I got E's in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Ancient Runes. I suppose it's all right, though. I only wish I could take all N.E.W.T. classes next term, pehaps I could talk to Professor McGonagall..." He had known that she would do well. He turned to Ron's letter: "I actually passed through alright! I got three E's in Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. I managed to scrape an A in Potions, but Snape's taking me in to his N.E.W.T. class anyway..." Harry grinned widely. It seemed that he and Ron would have every class together next term. Hermione, however, might be a different story.

    Neither of his friends had made any mention of what the Order had been doing over the summer. Harry hadn't really expected them to, it was far to risky to put the Order's plans in writing if the letters went astray. He was, however, a little upset that neither of them had repeated their invitations to come and stay out the rest of the holiday. Harry sighed and glanced at the sheet of parchment he had tacked to his bedroom wall to count the days until he returned to Hogwarts. Just another month...

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