Of Princes and Knights

"A letter is an unannounced visit, the postman the agent of rude surprises."

--Friedrich Nietzsche

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I.

Letters

24 June, 1997

Dear Mr. Potter,

I cannot help but think it prudent to inform you of a process which our late Headmaster had set into action, and which has finally come to fruition in a manner that I believe you will find most rewarding. As you know, it is hardly beneficial to you, of all students, to be forbidden from practicing magic over the summer. It is coming a little late, I know, with barely more than a month left until you come of age, but this little window of time may make all the difference, as I know that you have had more contact with the wizarding world than just your letters to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger. Minister Scrimgeour has kindly agreed that all underage magic occurring in Little Whinging this summer will be wholly ignored.

I do not want you to think that this means you can fool around. In exchange for this lenience, I was obliged to sign a magical contract saying that Hogwarts would be monitoring all of your spell-castings. If you do anything too noticeable or dangerous, I'm afraid your license may be revoked until your birthday. Do not be surprised if you see Fawkes and a few of his friends about, for they have agreed to take an active part in monitoring your situation.

Again, Mr. Potter, I would like to impress upon you the gravity of this situation. Never, since its establishment, has the Ministry of Magic relaxed its stance on underage magic, particularly for one solitary student. This is quite an honor, and very much a burden. I am trusting you to behave honorably, as I know it is in your capacity to do so, just as it was in your father's, for all of his resemblance in personality to a certain set of twins. Do not disappoint me, Mr. Potter, or our late friend. He had the utmost faith in you, and I do as well. Use your time wisely, and remember that, should you need anything in the way of materials or advice, I will be at Hogwarts all summer.

I also expect your Transfiguration summer assignment to be superbly done, as well as all other coursework. This is not a license to play around, it is an opportunity to further your education towards your immediate goals.

Yours most sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Post-script: I have also enclosed a letter addressed to your aunt, Petunia Dursley. Do not read it. Give it to her, and do not leave the room until you are certain that she has read and fully comprehended the message. You should be able to tell.

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June 26, 1997

Dear Professor McGonagall,

I've started this letter four times now, and I still can't quite figure out how to thank you for this. A whole summer spent practicing, without Ministry interference, will definitely be valuable. And I promise to be careful about what spells I cast where; those shield charms that Tonks taught me last summer when we were dealing with those rabid horklumps that had infested the cellar will come in handy.

I look forward to seeing Fawkes, and let him and his friends know that now, the Dursleys can't bar them from seeing me. I'd be very grateful for any news they could pass on via note, or whatever. Do they have some sort of innate invisibility charm? I'm afraid they'd all rather stand out in this area.

You'll be glad to know that I already have my assignments for Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures finished, and I've just started on my project for Transfiguration. There isn't much information on Animagi that I can find here, and the Transfiguration texts from previous years have barely touched on the subject, but my friends have promised to send on any useful texts they come across.

I delivered your letter to Aunt Petunia, as instructed; she read it three times without my having to say anything, turned chalk white, and threw it down the garbage disposal. I think you must have put a self-destructive charm on it, because it exploded halfway down. Uncle Vernon was yelling for hours. Right on, Professor! I don't think he was even so angry when the Weasleys blew up half the living room after hooking it up to the Floo Network. Anyway, Aunt Petunia knows.

Thank you again, for this opportunity and for your trust. I won't let you down.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

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June 26, 1997

Dear Dung,

Have you been running your mouth off again at the pub? I think McGonagall's suspicious. In her last note she mentioned something about knowing I had magical contacts other than Ron and Hermione, and how they may be of some benefit, or something like that. I don't think she means to be threatening, if she does know--but all the same, I'd rather she didn't.

Let me know when to send Hedwig.

Yrs.,

Harry

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26 June, 1997

Dear Professor,

I've just received the letter from Professor McGonagall about you-know-what--I think it must have been delayed by those storms that passed through a while ago. The school owl that delivered it looked pretty ragged. Is this what you were hinting at before I left Hogwarts? Because it's bloody brilliant. To think that Dumbledore had enough faith in me to set this up... and to think that McGonagall trusted me enough to follow through with the plan! I'd've expected her to forbid it.

Anyway, thanks again for those texts on Animagi and the Defense Against the Dark Arts--they've already come in handy. And thank whoever of Fawkes' phoenix friends dropped by during the middle of the night to set up the new wards around Privet Drive--from what I can tell, they're massive. It would take the magical version of an armored tank to get through these!

And in response to the question that I know Mrs. Weasley will ask you as soon as she's found out that you've heard from me: I AM FINE. I AM DOING WELL. I AM STUDYING EVERY DAY, AND SLEEPING ENOUGH, AND EATING REGULARLY. Oh, and let her know that that package of cakes and pasties she sent me a few days ago has been a life-saver; Dudley's on a diet for boxing, so it's back to grated cucumber and cottage cheese three times a day, with maybe a slice of unsweetened grapefruit for special occasions. Not even Dobby could survive on this little food--I'm positive that Dudley must have a secret stash somewhere, to stay as big as he is on this sort of food.

Give my regards to Tonks when you see her. (And yes, I am in fact grinning cheekily as I write this, you lucky dog!)

Hope to see you soon--let me know when I can come to stay with you!

Harry

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29 June, 1997

Dear Ron,

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to write back, but things have been crazy here. My mother has enlisted me into helping her pack up half the house for our trip to Paris--and you wouldn't believe who stopped by yesterday! Out of nowhere (literally--she Apparated in and nearly gave my father a stroke), Fleur appeared and offered for us to stay with her family on their estate, about an hour's drive out of Paris. Why, you ask? The most inane reason I've ever heard, I answer--she says 'zat we are almozt familee, what wis ze cheeldren so fond of each uzzer, and Ron be-eeng ze bruzzer of my beloveed Beel.' Children, Ron! Children! I'm just as tall as her, and only a few years younger! I can't believe her nerve!

Anyway, I actually did not write just to complain about your soon-to-be sister-in-law, though I must say, I've had about enough Phlegm in the last twenty-six hours to last me several lifetimes. I was actually wondering whether or not your mother would be completely and utterly averse to my perhaps staying with you lot at the Burrow this summer, or wherever it is you'll be. I've already checked with my parents, just in case she does agree, and though they seem sort of disappointed, they both agreed that it was fine. After all, I really don't fancy going to Paris anymore, and I'd rather spend my time with you and Harry getting ready for next year. It's much more important, and I know that both of you are awful at studying unless I'm there to nag you about it. Granted, Ginny could do well in my stead, but she'd still rather be playing Quidditch with you boys.

Well, that was it--but now that I think about it... have you gotten any letters from Harry since school ended? I mean, I know it's only been about a week, but he's always been such a conscientious correspondent, and so prompt with his replies... I must've sent him three letters by now, and I haven't seen wing nor tail of Hedwig. It may seem a little foolish, but I'm getting rather worried.

Let me know what your mother says--and you may try getting Phlegm to convince her, as well. I fancy she thinks of us as a couple, or something ludicrous like that, and we already know that she can be pretty ruddy persuasive.

Love,

Hermione

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30 June, 1997

Dear Hermione,

SHE SAID YES! Turns out I didn't need to recruit Fleur, after all--I'd barely gotten the words out when Mum said, 'Of course she can, dear!' Just like that! We'll be here most of the summer, but we're probably going to go visit with Lupin in late July or early August. She's already got a bed set up for you in Ginny's room, and Ginny's excited. Come to think of it, so are Fred and George. I think they reckon they can finally harness your immense intellectual power for evil, or some rubbish like that. Good thing they'll be staying in their flat in Diagon Alley most of the time, or you'd be in trouble!

I haven't heard back from Harry yet, either, and you're not the only one who's getting worried. I know he wrote Lupin--I overheard him passing on a message from Harry to Mum about her cakes, or something--but he hasn't responded to any of my letters. And I've sent four! You're right, this really isn't like him. I need to ask him about our plans for next year, too.

I wonder... you don't think his mail is being watched, do you? You don't think someone is intercepting our letters? It's not impossible... but I'd rather not think about the implications. D'you think I should ask Lupin about this?

Love,

Ron

P.S. -Looking forward to kicking your arse at chess!

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30 June, 1997

Dear Minerva,

Sorry it took me so long to reply--I've been visiting with some extended family in Wales. Naturally my uncles and male cousins weren't too thrilled with our proposition, but I was pleasantly surprised to find that my aunts were very taken with the possibility. I think they've finally come to the conclusion that they've been living under their husbands' thumbs for too long. They're a force to be reckoned with, as well. The eldest of my aunts, Ulrika, has agreed to meet with you to discuss it further--but I have to warn you. This is very dangerous for them, and some are still vacillating because of that. We must make this as safe for them as possible. Their husbands are excessively brutal, and would not shrink from homicide. I will trust you to make all necessary arrangements, but if you feel you need my advice on any particulars, send a homing owl. There's no telling where I'll be for the next few weeks, and all these hints of what is happening are beginning to make Tonks fret, though she pretends that's not true. I'd rather she was completely left out of this business, for her own safety.

I have indeed heard from Harry, and not long after he heard from you, apparently. He's very grateful for this opportunity, and I think he is especially touched that you and Dumbledore (rest him) trust him enough to go through with this.

I have to say, though, I'm rather worried about him. It's barely a week since the summer holiday has started, and he's already finished with half of his homework--and asking for more books to study! I've already owled him the complete set of seventh-year books, and several from my own personal collection. Not all of them have been... upbeat, if you know what I mean. I'm afraid he's trying to drown his grief in work, and that he will burn out before long--but I don't know what to do about it! When Lily did the same thing, after the deaths of her parents in her seventh year, James knew just how to distract her from it. But my work keeps me away from him, and I'm afraid that, with only the Durlseys to keep him company, he'll only hurt himself.

Worse yet, I've just received letters from both Hermione and Ron, expressing their fears about Harry. They say that they've had no word from him whatsoever, which, I agree with them, is not like Harry at all. It won't do anyone any good for him to become reclusive, and least of all Harry himself. I know you've noticed the recent turn his character has taken, and marked it as... familiar. I can't help but admit that I'm afraid for him. Do you have any advice, as a mother or a headmistress?

Sincerely (and anxiously),

Remus J. Lupin

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2 July, 1997

Dear Ron,

Just so you know, I've sent another copy of this letter to Hermione. I want you both to hear this, in exactly the same words. I've put quite a lot of thought into it, and want you to consider what I have to say very carefully.

Mate, you can't begin to understand how much I appreciate what you and Hermione are trying to do for me. It makes me feel... well. It's good to know that I have such fantastic friends to rely on. BUT... this is something I have to do alone. I know you mean well, both of you do, but for your own safety (and my own mental health), I just can't place you in this sort of danger. It's bad enough that you two won't pretend to hate me--and you know that our friendship has put you at the top of Moldy Voldy's blacklist. I can't risk you like that. Besides, Hermione has to finish Hogwarts--how else will she become the youngest ever Minister of Magic, and boot Scrimgeour out of office? And don't forget, you are going to be an Auror, and I very much doubt that our plans will be very conducive to studying for the N.E.W.T.s.

So, that's it, then. I'm doing this alone. If you even think about protesting, I'll hex you into last week.

Yrs. ever,

Harry

-oooo-

Harry lay down his quill and pursed his lips, his dark green eyes traveling back over the seventeenth and final draft of this letter. He had another, just like it, written to Hermione; it was already sealed up and ready to go, as soon as Hedwig returned from her hunting trip.

He exhaled heavily through his nose, grimacing, and folded Ron's letter. Without a candle to heat the sealing wax, he'd had to resort to using the heat from his light bulb; he sealed it with the intricate stag motif that he'd bought at Diagon Alley the year before and forgotten about until earlier that spring, and laid it to one side.

Harry stood and stretched his shoulders, aching from being hunched over books all day. How Hermione managed it, he would never know. He cocked his head to one side as he noticed that, despite the immensity of his hand-me-downs, his wrists showed from beyond the cuffs of his sleeves. A growth spurt would be very welcome right now. If he showed up at the final battle in his current state--just a little over 1.7 meters tall, and weighing not even sixty kilos--Voldemort would more likely die from laughter than any curse Harry could throw at him. He sneered, picturing that cold, pale face contorted in horrible mirth; gritting his teeth and clenching his fists so hard that his fingernails dug into the fleshy part of his palm, Harry swore that he would never let that happen. Voldemort would not laugh at the puny boy who was destined to die by his hand. He would plead for mercy before the man destined to kill him.

A rustling, metallic sound jolted him from his thoughts, and he looked towards the window to see Hedwig and another owl hovering outside of his window. The snowy owl had just snapped at the screen with her beak to get his attention.

He hurried over and pulled out the screen, jumping back as the owls flapped awkwardly into the room, a heavy bundle strung between them. Hedwig's tawny companion looked done-in, and once he had released the package, Harry carried him over to Hedwig's cage for a drink. His own owl remained perched atop the bundle, cooing impatiently.

"All right, girl, let's see what we've got," Harry said as he turned his attention back to the long-awaited package. This past week had seemed slow as treacle, and it was all he could do to keep his mind on his schoolwork. His thoughts kept wandering back to this package, this moment... and the moments that would follow it.

With steady fingers, he untied the twine and ripped away the brown paper covering. In the dying light of day, four books lay in a state of deceptive innocence, browned by time and ragged by use, though they all had a slightly musty smell that told Harry they hadn't been used for decades--centuries, maybe. They were old enough. The youngest of the bunch had been published in 1649, and it was written in German. With a thwarted sigh, Harry laid it aside. Unless he miraculously learned to speak another language over night, it would do him little good.

The other three looked more promising, though. Two of them were thin, barely two hundred thin pages in length, but the third and most imposing of the collection was colossal. It clocked in at--he flipped to the back page, checking the cipher at the bottom--well over a thousand pages, and had been hand-written sometime shortly after the reign of King Arthur. It was probably the only one of its kind, a true endangered species.

Harry ran his fingers lovingly over the broken bindings and dark brown cracked leather. Feeling a light indentation, he brushed away a thin, stubborn coating of grime. Handmade gilt letters appeared. Blackest Magicke.

'Blackest Magicke,' indeed, Harry thought with a contemplative frown.

By sundown, the Boy Who Lived was up to his eyeballs in the dark arts.