Harry Potter and the Fortune of Ravenclaw

Chapter 1: Prisoner Potter

'Why?' Harry thought. 'Why do I have to stay with the Dursleys?'

The Dursleys were Harry's uncle, aunt and cousin. He didn't like living with them, but he had no choice. Lord Voldemort, the most powerful and evil wizard ever, killed his parents, Lily and James, who had been resurrected before Harry's very eyes a month ago. His godfather was an escaped convict from the wizard prison, Azkaban. He was now doing a special errand for Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, where Harry went to school.

Which leaves the Dursleys. His Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who hated him as much as he hated them, and his blimp-of-a-cousin Dudley. None of them liked talking about Harry's "condition", and he never talked about it in front of them. They were Muggles, and they would never understand.

Since Harry had been away at Hogwarts for his fourth, and most eventful year, Dudley had persuaded Uncle Vernon to knock down the wall between his and Harry's room, so he could have one big room. He figured that if Harry was a wizard he could magic himself one. And so Harry was moved up to the "penthouse", as Uncle Vernon had described it. What he actually meant was, the leaky attic.

Harry thought it wasn't that bad. He now had a lot of space for Hedwig, his owl, and all of his school stuff. But the walls were so dusty and horrible, he couldn't stand living there. The previous owners had transformed it into a bedroom. The problem was that the teenage girl who had lived there had a fixation with a colour that Harry himself described as 'Yuk Purple'. It was bolshy and bright, and Harry felt ill just looking at it. He remembered the conversation he had tried to have with Uncle Vernon to buy some new paint.

"Pleeeeeeeease Uncle Vernon!"

"No! I thought you were a wizard. Couldn't you just magic some paint?" It seemed that it had become a popular belief in the Dursley household that Harry could create something from nothing.

"You can't expect me to live with that purple! It's like something from the Seventies!"

And of course, judging by the colour of Harry's walls now, he lost. Five weeks later, he was still staring at it, thinking that he could get used to it, when Hedwig arrived with some letters:

 

Dear Harry,

I hope you are well. I arrived at Lupin's yesterday. He sends his regards.

Don't forget that term starts in a week. Stay out of trouble, and don't do anything to irritate your aunt and uncle. No offence, but at the moment, we could all do with out the hassle.

See you very soon,

Sirius.

 

What did he mean? "See you very soon?"

 

Dear Harry,

It's all go here at the Burrow. With Dad and Percy going around talking about the Ministry all day, and Fred and George going on about the joke shop, there's no room to breathe. Thanks for the letter, it was nice to hear a relatively human voice for a change. Me and Hermione were planning to meet up in Diagon Alley in two days. Send an answer with Hedwig, and we'll see you then. Also, find enclosed a small amount of Floo Powder. Just in case the Muggles say no.

See you very soon,

Ron.

 

And now Ron. Why is everyone going to "see him very soon?"

 

Dear Mr. Potter,

As again, school will commence on September the first. As with the delicate

situation the Magic world is facing, some classes, such as Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and Muggle Studies will be suspended for this year. Potions lessons will be halved ("Yes!!!" thought Harry. Less lessons with mean old Professor Snape) and Defence against the Dark Arts will be doubled. Enclosed is a list of the books you will need.

Yours sincerely,

Professor M. McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress.

 

Harry hoped that this year they would get a Defence against the Dark Arts teacher who would stay for more than one year. For some reason or another, the professor would be gone by the end of the year. Quirrell, who was in league with Voldemort; Lockhart, who was on the wrong end of a backfiring Memory Charm; Lupin, who was secretly a werewolf, and whose secret was spread around by Snape; and Moody, or rather Crouch, who was also in league with Voldemort. Talk about a poisoned chalice.

Then it hit him. Sirius. The only way to get some new paint for his new room, was to tell Uncle Vernon that if he didn't get new paint, Sirius may interpret that as not being treated well, and with Sirius being an escaped convict...

And so, round two.

"Pleeeeeeeease Uncle Vernon!"

"No! We've already been through this, and I already said no!"

"Very well," said Harry, as if he had lost the battle. As far as Uncle Vernon was concerned, he had. Harry was just about to walk out of the living room door, when he stopped and turned back.

"I wonder what Sirius would say about the paint..." said Harry, trailing off purposely.

"The murderer?!" said Uncle Vernon, obviously worried.

"Hmmmm. I'll get writing to him right away," said Harry, as he turned back to go up to his attic.

"Ummm, Harry!" said Uncle Vernon, stopping him before he could go up the stairs. Harry turned back, with an innocent smile.

"What colour?" asked Uncle Vernon, his face going bright red, as he had already realized that he was going to regret it.

"Red and Gold," came the obvious reply from Harry.

"Any particular reason?" asked Uncle Vernon, obviously waiting for Harry to mention something to do with Magic, so he could go back on his deal.

"I just like the colours," said Harry, although he wanted to say that they were his school house, Gryffindor's colours. With a flourish, he walked out of the room. Somehow he knew that living in his new prison cell had just became a whole lot easier.