Harry Potter, the Phoenix and the Serpent

CHAPTER 1: PRIVET DRIVE

"And no nonsense from you. Understood?" Uncle Vernon’s red face puffed and raged as he spoke.

Harry had ignored all five minutes of ranting and raving; partly because he had better things to think about, and partly because he had heard it all before.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," he replied patiently, expelling a soft sigh of relief as he bounded up the stairs. Soft because it wouldn’t do to have Vernon hear it; any signs of ungrateful feelings from Harry would probably lead to a beating of some kind, seeing as how his uncle seemed to think that Harry should feel "indebted to them for letting him stay in their house." He longed to go to Ron’s house, to be with people of his own kind, but Dumbledore had insisted he stay with the Dursleys. He was extremely lonely here, and his uncle and aunt did not know of the things he had experienced at school last year. Nor would they listen if he tried to explain it to them. He could just imagine their faces as he explained that the greatest Dark Lord had risen again from his bodiless state; a fact that would send many grown wizards and witches running. His cousin, Dudley, would probably run screaming from the room at the mere mention of the name "Voldemort," without knowing the meaning behind it as wizards did. Knowing Dudley, he smiled carefully, he would probably run just because it sounded like a spell. His Aunt Petunia would probably glare down her horse-like face and tell him off from scaring Dudley, while throwing a glance behind her shoulder as if thinking that there might be a Dark Wizard peeking in through the curtains of the kitchen. And Uncle Vernon; Harry shuddered at that concept and decided to drop his train of thought at this juncture.

Hedwig glanced up sleepily as he entered the room. She clacked her beak and closed her eyes again. Harry reached up and petted down her feathers, reflecting to himself over the things that his uncle had said. It turned out that Uncle Vernon was going to have business company over on Friday night. "What am I going to do, Hedwig?" She opened her eyes and cocked her head at him, as if offering an answer to him, but he couldn’t understand what she was trying to say.

Harry didn’t know how he managed it, but every time his uncle had someone over, he managed to make his presence known, whether or not he locked himself in his room. In his second year a House-elf named Dobby had popped into his room and then gone downstairs to explode a large Jello pudding. And in his third year, he very nearly blew up his Aunt Marge, who had floated to nearly three times her regular size before the Ministry could deflate her.. He often felt like an extremely unlucky Cinderella; tossed into the background as little more than a slave. He even had a godfather that had (almost) granted his wish... He had wanted so badly to get away from his uncle and aunt--and his fat cousin, Dudley. But Sirius Black was still a wanted man, and Harry hardly got the chance to trade letters with him anymore, never mind actually live with him... And after what had happened last year, living with him was out of the question.

He slumped back onto his bed and his head hit something so hard he almost saw stars. "What the…" he muttered softly.

Harry sat back up, rubbing the back of his head with one hand and adjusting his glasses with the other. He looked down at the black parcel on his pillow.

"What is this?" he mused, picking it up and turning it over once. "Hedwig, did you bring this?" He glanced at the snowy owl, but she was sound asleep, as it was mid-afternoon.

The package had no markings, no letter attached, no writing of any kind on it.

It was too early for his birthday; today was Monday, and his birthday was on Saturday. Usually his well-wishers sent gifts promptly to the date, not earlier.

Harry rose and checked the door to make sure it was locked; wouldn’t do to have one of the Dursleys come in and see what might be a wizarding item. Returning to the bed, he quickly unwrapped the package. The wrapping was made of black silk but the underside was silver. The material was cold to his touch, but he bet that if it touched his skin long enough it would be a warm cloak or something of the like.

The item it revealed was a nondescript metal box of some sort, about three inches thick and twelve inches long.

He popped the cover and saw a neatly folded letter peeking out from underneath more of the fabric. Unfolding the letter, he quickly scanned it and realized that it was from Sirius.

Dear Harry,

How have you been? Keeping busy, I hope. Our wise mutual friend says that you can go to your friend’s house for the last week or two, but don’t let it out that you’re staying there.

I’m sending you this present early because I am doing something this weekend. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be careful. However, don’t send me any owls. I’ll get one to you when I can.

Harry paused. So, Dumbledore had cleared him to go to Ron’s house. What exactly was Sirius up to anyway? Harry was especially uneasy about not being able to send Sirius a letter, but he understood the need for secrecy.

He turned back to the letter.

If your scar really starts to bother you, send an owl to Dumbledore. Hedwig will be able to find him, and he may be able to figure out what warning it is sending us. Anyway, just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. Give Hedwig a scratch for me. Tell her I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to her in person.

-Snuffles

Harry paused a long moment, deep in thought. His godfather definitely knew how to peak Harry’s interest. Was this Dumbledore’s errand or his own?

He reached inside the box, hoping the gift might give him a clue as to what Sirius was doing. He pulled out a set of slightly rumpled Daily Prophets, the daily wizarding newspaper. There were seven of them, one dating all the way back to the week after school ended. Hoping to catch up on some of the events in the wizarding world, he hastily read the headlines and glanced at the moving pictures. "Banshee Troubles Muggles in East London," (showing a wild lady with her mouth wide open, as if screaming); "Ministry Misses Apparition Bungle," (Harry did not want to look at that picture); "Ministry Commends Frugle For Creating Better Werewolf Draft," (Lupin would be happy about that one)…

As he read, it slowly dawned on him that something was wrong with these articles. He searched through one paper thoroughly, looking for a word, a name, even a Commentary from a concerned reader… Nothing.

No mention of any Dark Force gathering, of any Death Eaters brewing up trouble, not even the words "You-Know-Who" or "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

His world had chosen to ignore Harry and Dumbledore’s warnings that Voldemort had returned, pushing them both aside on the basis of "funny turns" and "unkosher teachings." Neither of them had much power in the media anymore.

He flipped through the papers again; disgusted that no one wanted to face the facts. After an examination of the Editor’s page in a recent paper, he finally found what he was looking for… but it was only someone commenting on how much the Ministry had succeeded since Voldemort’s demise.

His thoughts wandered to the events of last year. The Triwizard Tournament, his stupid mistakes regarding a certain egg, Rita Skeeter’s articles, the Trophy, Voldemort’s rebirth, Cedric’s death …

He shook his head angrily, blinking to hold back tears. Cedric’s death had been his fault. As much as his friends and teachers had told him that he wasn’t to blame, deep down inside he knew that he was. He had long since tried to reason with the feeling, deciding to let it lie and perhaps time would soften the blow. But it still stung every time he thought of the tragic events of the Triwizard Tournament.

He pulled out the other contents of the box, rubbing his nose with his sleeve and pushing his glasses back up his nose. The inside fabric turned out to be a black cloak with silver lining. It glittered and sparkled as he admired it in the light, then the other object in the box caught his eye.

He brought out a globe about two inches in diameter. The first thing he thought of was Professor Trelawney, the Divinations Teacher, and her looking glass, predicting his doom. But when Harry looked it over again, no foggy shadows appeared beneath the surface. It remained a constant steel color, and the only thing that appeared on its smooth surface was his own distorted reflection.

Harry reread the letter and found no explanation of the strange magical sphere. Was it something obvious? Something that he should know about, but didn’t because he had been widely ignorant of the magical realm until about four years ago.

He decided to write to Hermione. Perhaps she would know a bit more about the situation in the wizarding world or the sphere.

Dear Hermione,

I miss you and Ron a lot. Dudley’s still on his diet, although I must say it’s helping him a lot. He’s already lost three pant sizes. How are you doing? I’m okay, I guess, just lonely.

I got a package from Snuffles today. He sent me my birthday present early because he’s "doing something this weekend." I’m not sure whether to be glad that he’s actually doing something or to be anxious for him.

If you happen to find any information about You-Know-Who, could you send it to me? I am rather out of touch with the wizarding world when I’m here.

Snuffles sent me a globe as a present, but I can’t figure out what it is. It’s about two inches in diameter, and quite heavy. My first thought was a looking ball, but fortunately it wasn’t. I think I would have thrown it out the window if it were… Do you know what it is?

Snuffles says that I can go visit Ron for the last week of vacation. Can you come? I’ll see you there.

~Harry

He sealed it but didn’t send Hedwig off with it because she was still asleep. Harry really wanted to know what the globe was, but he didn’t have any books or such that would explain it.

"Come down if you want dinner, boy!" Aunt Petunia called up the stairs. Harry sighed, but quickly put the box and its contents into the topmost drawer, left the cloak hanging on the chair, and went down to eat.

***

Friday evening came-- and went without a peep from Harry’s room. He could not believe his luck: no house-elves splattering dessert across the floor, no people blowing up to extortionate proportions... It was almost too quiet. Harry had taken it as his birthday gift from the Dursleys, and decided that it was the only gift he would get from them, so he’d better enjoy it.

At eight thirty Uncle Vernon’s guests had left. That was half an hour ago, but Harry was still up, trying to do his Potions homework, which consisted of a one-scroll document on the uses and characteristics of mirthwodle, a plant used in many potions. With a sigh, he flipped through another two pages in his Potions book, hoping that something else would pop out at him.

Harry jumped as something tapped the window. He glanced around; Hedwig was fluttering just outside the window, something tied to her leg. He quickly opened the window and let her inside, and she hooted softly at him, knowing that if she made too much noise she would get him in trouble. He had sent her off after supper on Monday night, and apparently Hermione had sent his birthday present along with her responding letter. She flapped over to her cage and was promptly asleep, head tucked beneath her wing.

Harry,

How are you doing? I’m fine. My parents and I are vacationing in Spain. While there aren’t as many famous Spanish wizards and witches as in France, they still have a few interesting ones. They’ve even got a few curses that are native to Spain! The food here is very good, too, if a bit too spicy for Mum’s taste.

I think Snuffles is off on a scouting mission; from your letter that’s what it sounded like. I think he’ll be fine. He always could take care of himself…

I have no clue what your sphere is. Did you check in all your books? I’ve been checking mine, but I haven’t found anything mentioning that sort of globe. Really, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Snuffles wouldn’t have sent you something dangerous, and you can always ask him what it his when you get his next letter.

I’ll see you at the end of the summer; only one week away! With Love, Hermione

Harry smiled, then put the letter down. He rose and locked the door. If there was one thing he liked about this room, it was his privacy.

Before he could open her present, two more owls shot through the window. The smaller one zipped around the room once before landing on Harry’s bed. The larger brown barn owl put his package down and perched on the back of a chair. It looked at him expectantly before acknowledging Hedwig, who had awoken when the other two came into the room. Harry pinned the small owl, Pigwidgeon, down with one hand and grabbed the package he had brought. It was rather small, but it had to be because Pig couldn’t carry anything large. Attached to Pig’s package was a letter with Ron’s handwriting on it.

Harry wondered suddenly where Errol was. Errol was the Weasley’s family owl and he was very old. He could no longer make long journeys, but Ron often sent him on them anyway.

The larger owl’s package had a letter written in Hagrid’s scrawling handwriting attached to it, and Harry hoped that Hagrid hadn’t sent him any Monster Book of Monsters or something similar this year. It looked about the right size for a book, which worried Harry. Hagrid had a kind heart, but he also had the idea that everyone loved monsters as much as he did. In their first year, Hagrid had taken a baby dragon into his wooden house, nearly burning it down before Harry and his friends could convince him to set it free.

He opened Hermione’s gift first. She had cleverly managed to store a cake inside the box, and it hadn’t been mashed into the side of the box, thanks to Hedwig’s careful flying. On it was written, "Happy fifteenth Birthday, Harry!" Was he really only fifteen? He felt so much older…

Harry pulled the cake out of the box and found that there was what appeared to be a magazine beneath the cake, wrapped so the frosting wouldn’t smudge all over it. He took it out of the wrapping and a note fell out with it.

Harry, I’ve subscribed you to this magazine, Scope of Vision. They actually have some updates as to You-Know-Who’s whereabouts, planned moves, etc. The "Daily Prophet" doesn’t acknowledge this magazine, probably because the "Prophet" is run by Fudge and the Ministry. I forwarded the magazine for this month and the next month, and told them to send them to you at school. I hope these will help you with your search for knowledge! ~Hermione

Harry rubbed his scar absentmindedly while he reread her note. So Fudge was not listening to anything Dumbledore said anymore? Not surprising, since their fallout last year, but something that Harry had been dreading. This only confirmed his first impression from the papers Sirius had sent.

Harry quickly pulled out some paper and a quill.

Dear Hermione,

Thanks for the magazines, I think they’ll be of help in the future. I can’t wait to see you both. That cake is going to taste so good.. I don’t think the Dursleys will ever eat cake again, thanks to Dudley’s diet.

I’ll have to look for that stone in the library when I get to school; I’ve already gone through all of my books, even Potions, looking for the stone. I hope Snuffles is okay.

I’ll see you in a week! ~Harry

Harry gave the letter to Hedwig, who clacked her beak and nibbled his fingers affectionately. "Go to Ron’s house when you’re done. I’ll see you there." She swept out of the room on a cool back draft.

He opened Ron’s letter next.

Harry,

I’m having a wonderful summer so far. Percy’s being a pain (as usual), and George and Fred are devising new ways to send toilet seats home to Mum while they’re at school. Bill is home for some much needed vacation time, but he’ll be leaving the day after you come. Ginny’s fine as well, and Charlie’s written home saying he’s having a wonderful time in Germany playing with his pack of rowdy dragons. Mum’s not too happy about that, but he doesn’t care. She really wants him home, where he’s safe.

I hope you enjoy this… it’s kind of like Mah Jeng, or whatever the Muggles call it… It’s a blast. The squares talk to you when they get to know you, telling you where their partner is… You’ll understand when you open it. Just don’t let them get loud, or the Dursleys won’t like it.

I’ll see you in a week. Dad decided to send you some floo powder, and he’ll Apparate to your house at four on Saturday. Can’t wait to see you again! ~Ron

Harry unwrapped Ron’s package, and listened for a moment to the box of tiles. "Gerroff!" "Move outta the way!" "Where are you?" He slid the box open and the tiles stood up and danced around, stretching. They reminded Harry of his wizarding chess set. He packed them up and sent Ron a thank you, which Pig took with excitement. He fluttered out the window and was gone with a whir of his tiny wings.

The next package was from Hagrid. He had sent some of his jaw-breaking toffee, along with his little letter. Harry wasn’t too happy with the appearance of the food, but he was glad that Hagrid had been thinking of him all the same. He sent Hagrid a letter back with the last owl, and then turned back to his homework regretfully, munching on a bit of cake.

There was another scratching at the window, which he had shut after Hagrid’s owl left. He glanced at the window, and there was a barn owl perched on the sill, waiting patiently for him. Her golden eyes moved slowly, watching his movements, and then she shuddered as he stood up. He opened the window and she floated silently inside, a letter grasped in her talons.

Harry took the letter from her and offered her a sip from Hedwig’s water. She went back to the window and flew silently away, not waiting for a reply. Harry looked down at the envelope and opened it slowly. Inside was a list of items for the following term, and a short handwritten message in a flowing print that was oddly familiar...

Mr. Harry Potter,

This letter may have gotten to you late, but I want to wish you a happy birthday. I know it is hard to stay with your uncle and aunt, but they are your best protection.

Voldemort is on the move. I’m not sure where he will turn up next, but it can only lead to something bad. Please write to me if you have any dreams or your scar hurts again, as this may help us find what Voldemort is doing.

Snuffles is doing something for me, so please do not write to him until he writes to you. You may place him in an awkward situation if you do send something. ~Prof. A. Dumbledore

Harry stared at the words, wondering and thinking. His hand reached up to touch his scar, partially obscuring the letters from his view. Dumbledore wanted Harry to write him about his scar...

He thought back to last summer (was it only that far away) when his scar had woken him with a dream about an old man dying? He had thought it very stupid to write to Dumbledore, so he had written to Sirius. But Sirius had written to Dumbledore with this news, and had just recently told Harry to go straight to Dumbledore with another such incident if it occurred.

Harry was suddenly too tired to work on Potions anymore, so he packed it all away and settled into his bed. His dreams that night were unsettling, but he could not remember anything of them in the morning, only the vague sense of being chased.