Harry Potter and the Siren's Song

The house on Privet Drive looked the same as it ever did at three in the morning. Outside not a single wayward weed spilled from the brightly colored flower beds, and inside everything was as neat and tidy as a display in a museum. The windows were dark, and the shades neatly drawn...in every room but one.

This room was faintly illuminated by a flashlight that was currently being used under heavy covers. Its owner's head, disheveled and hot, emerged from under the blankets and set the book he was reading on the floor. The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts hardly seemed like normal bed time reading material for a teenaged boy, but then the reader was not a normal teenager. His name was Harry Potter and he was a wizard.

It was not only the fact that Harry was a wizard that kept him from being like most teenage boys. While this fact in itself was enough to set him apart, it coupled with the fact that Harry dreaded the summer holidays more then any other time of year. In addition to this startling reality came the fact that he longed for nothing more then to be back at school, surrounded by others like himself.

In all these ways, and so many more, Harry was a most unusual 15 year old. As he read, his pale arm hung over the pillow, the light reflecting off the scar that crossed his arm. This scar was an unusually vivid red, while another scar, the one that was famous throughout the wizarding world, glowed a faint pearly silver.

Both scars spoke of why Harry was the most famous young wizard in the secret world of sorcerers in Europe. His triumph over the man who had issued his scars was known throughout the world - at least, the story of how he gained the scar on his forehead. The other story was known only to a select few.

Harry had only been a year old the night he received his first scar. The most feared wizard in the world, Lord Voldemort, had attacked and killed his parents. Shortly after killing his mother, Voldemort had turned his wand on Harry - only to have the spell bounce back off the baby and rebound onto Voldemort. For 13 years Voldermort had been in hiding, reduced to a shade. But last year he had arranged to have Harry kidnapped and brought to him by way of a Portkey, a magical transporting device. After his servant Wormtail had sliced open Harry's arm and drained some of his blood into a magical solution, Voldermort had been able to return to his body. Once again, he had tried to kill Harry - and once again Harry had managed to escape.

It was for this reason that Harry was up so late, studying the massive book. His eyes were heavy with sleep, but he needed to finish this chapter before turning in. Harry felt that he should be able to quote the book the way Hermione could. The more he knew about Voldermort's considerable strengths and his few weaknesses, the better.

As Harry finished the chapter, he looked over at the empty cage on the dresser. Hedwig, his snowy owl, had been out for several nights now. He wasn't worried, as she'd been gone for longer before, but all the same, he wished she would come home. He felt he needed an ally, someone he could talk to in this house. To say that the Dursleys, his Muggle family, weren't keen on making conversation with him was a masterful work of British understatement.

Harry had never been welcome at Number Four Privet Drive. For the first eleven years of his life, the Dursleys had spent as much time as possible making sure that Harry was utterly miserable. He had been forced to sleep in a cupboard beneath their stairs, wear his much larger cousin Dudley's hand-me-downs, and done enough chores for three boys.

All of that had changed when Harry turned eleven. On his birthday that year, he had not only found out that he was a wizard but also of the truth behind his parents' deaths, and Voldemort. (They had not been killed in a car accident, as his aunt had insisted for years.) He'd also been given the wonderful news that he didn't have to stay with the Dursleys anymore. He would be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the next seven years and would only have to deal with his aunt, uncle and cousin during the summer holidays.

While his last four years at Hogwarts had been both fascinating and fun, his last year there had ended so dismally that even now, weeks later, he could barely stand to think about it. His name had been entered illegally into the highly dangerous Tri-Wizard tournament, a magical competition between the three largest schools of wizardry in Europe. Once entered, he had been forced to complete the tournament, which meant that among other things he'd been forced to get past a dragon, learn to breathe underwater for an hour and survive in a maze full of dangerous magical creatures. At the end of the maze, he and Cedric Diggory, the other Hogwarts' champion, had reached the finish line at roughly the same time. After a great deal of debate, they had agreed to tie for the Tri-Wizard cup. The cup had then transported them to Voldemort's side, which had resulted in Cedric being killed and Harry's blood reviving the dark wizard. Bad enough the guilt he felt over helping bring Voldemort back to power, but it was nothing to the guilt he felt over Cedric's death. While Harry knew that there was nothing he could have done to prevent it, he had nightmares about that nearly every night.

Shutting The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Harry got out of bed to peer out the window in the hopes of seeing his owl soaring towards him. Instead he saw a cloudless night sky, a bright golden moon, and the plants outside gently blowing in the light wind. He sighed and crouched down on the floor to return the large book to its hiding place: beneath a loose floorboard under the bed.

Straightening up, Harry caught sight of himself in the mirror. His bright green eyes peered back at him from behind glasses that needed cleaning, while his dark hair stuck up everywhere, just as his father's had. Nearly fifteen years old, his body had finally begun to show some signs of maturity. His aunt had been forced to buy him some brand new jeans for the very first time that summer, a fact she groused about morning, noon and night. At just under six feet in height, he was a good five inches taller then his portly cousin. Despite the diet that Dudley and the hapless rest of the family was on, his shoulders and chest had gotten broader, and if he wasn't mistaken, those were definitely pectoral muscles he saw. Just that morning, his uncle Vernon had roared a new complaint across the breakfast table. Instead of the usual "Cut your hair!", today Harry had been rewarded with "Don't you dare come to the table without shaving again, boy!" Harry had gaped at him, then muttered something about not knowing how. Uncle Vernon had ignored him as usual. Aunt Petunia had pursed her lips, but that night he had found a razor and shaving cream on his bed. No doubt the Dursleys had hoped that by insisting he shave yet neglecting to show him how, he would manage to slice an artery and bleed to death.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair, and making it stand up worse then ever. Tomorrow was his 15th birthday. Normally, he would have heard something about going to visit his friend Ron for the rest of the summer by now. However, with Voldemort returned to full strength, Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster of Hogwarts, had insisted he return to Privet Drive. For all the fact that Harry's family treated him as if he'd just ax-murdered the queen, it was here that Harry was safest from Voldemort. The only place as safe as this for him was Hogwarts itself, and no student ever stayed there during the summer holiday.

The thought that had been buzzing through his mind the whole summer returned, and Harry frowned. Why was it that no student ever stayed at Hogwarts for the summer? Why did Dumbledore insist on Harry's returning to the Muggle world, knowing how miserable he would be? Dumbledore was the only wizard that Voldemort had ever feared - as such, Voldemort was hardly likely to attack Hogwarts. He shook his head. No amount of wondering would answer that question, and somehow he didn't feel like questioning the headmaster on it. Albus Dumbledore was Harry's idol and he hated for Dumbledore to get the idea that he was questioning the headmaster's judgement.

A soft whoosh of feathers caught his ear and he practically raced to the window. To his delight, he saw not only Hedwig but five other birds flying beside her. Four owls: a tiny Scops owl that he recognized as his friend Ron's, a large brown barn owl he thought he knew to be one from Hogwarts, a grey owl, and a tawny reddish one. The fifth bird was, if he wasn't mistaken, Fawkes - Dumbledore's phoenix.

Eyes wide now, all traces of sleepiness gone, he leapt aside as the birds flew in through the window and settled on the bed. He sat down, stroking Hedwig's head and reached for the package tied to her leg. Removing it, he carried her to her cage where she hooted a soft thanks and began to drink her water.

Ron's owl was next - not only because he was dying to see if Ron's letter held an invitation to visit his family, but because Pigwidgeon was making so much racket Harry was more then a little afraid he would wake the whole house. "Shut UP, Pig." he hissed, removing the letter and setting it down on top of the bed as well. Shoving an owl treat in the bird's mouth, he effectively silenced the tiny creature.

Next, he reached for Fawkes. The phoenix had a bundle tied to his leg that looked far too heavy for him to carry. However, Harry had enough experience with Dumbledore's phoenix to know that appearances were deceiving - Fawkes had once flown with not only him, but Ron, Ron's sister Ginny, and their nutter of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher holding onto his tail feathers. "Hullo Fawkes," Harry said, stroking the strangely warm feathers affectionately. He removed the package and the bird headed back out the empty window. "I guess Professor Dumbledore didn't really want an answer," Harry said. After removing a letter from the brown school owl, the bird followed after Fawkes out the open window.

After removing the letters from the last two owls - the grey carried a letter with what looked like Hermione's handwriting, and the red one had one that was unmistakably from Sirius - the front was marked with a paw print - he sat down and started on Ron's letter first.

Harry grinned. Hermione had always wanted to be a prefect - and no doubt this was doing nothing short of killing Ron. As the cleverest witch in their year, it really wasn't a surprise that Hermione had nabbed the job. Ron, of course, would not be too pleased - he'd never failed to point out Hermione's flaws as part of what he seemed to view as his own personal mission to keep her humble.

He read on.

Harry frowned slightly. A prefect? Him? That could make life a little less fun. Not to mention how it would place yet another strain in his and Ron's friendship. They had survived last year's blow up - when Ron's jealousy over Harry's fame had finally come to a boiling point - but unless Ron was named prefect this year he had no chance of being named Head Boy.

With five older brothers, two of whom had been Head Boy, and another who had been Quiditch Captain, Ron always felt he had a lot to live up to. Add to that being best friends with the famous Harry Potter, and the brilliant Hermione Granger, and it was little wonder he had a tendency to be gloomy at times. Harry shook his head - he would deal with this latest problem if and when he actually was named prefect.

He opened the letter from Hogwarts next. Three pieces of parchment fell into his lap. He picked up the first one and read:

His mouth hanging open, he read the letter again. And again. It was official - he was a prefect! He wanted to tell someone, but the Dursleys weren't likely to respond well - either to his news or his waking them at 3:30 in the morning to share it. Instead, he closed his eyes and pictured himself as a prefect. He couldn't wait to give Draco Malfoy, his enemy from their very first day at Hogwarts, a few detentions.

He glanced at the two pieces of paper in his lap. One was his booklist, which he slid in the moulding around his mirror to make sure he didn't lose it. The other appeared to be a list of the other new prefects and the head boy and girl. Sure enough, Hermione was on the list. So, he realized, puncturing his fantasies, was Draco Malfoy. The new head boy and girl came as something of a shock, however. Roger Davies, captain of the Ravenclaw team - no real surprise there. He strongly suspected it would have been Cedric, but in light of Cedric's death, there really wasn't any choice besides Roger. But beside Head Girl read the name Angelina Johnson - Angelina, his fellow Gryffindor, and member of the Quidditch team! Somehow he'd never pictured her as Head Girl. But then, he reasoned with himself, Angelina was a very good student, and had been a prefect for two years. She just didn't act the part as Percy Weasley had.

Vowing never to get as caught up in being prefect as Ron's annoying older brother Percy had, Harry started on the letter from Hermione.

Congratulations on being named prefect too! I was so surprised! Not about you of course - you are a Triwizard Champion after all - (Harry squirmed as he read that bit) but I just didn't think I would get chosen. Parvati Patil also has really good grades and she gets along really well with everyone in the House, so I had thought they would go with her first. I didn't say anything to Ron, as I thought you should be the one to tell him.

Harry frowned. Bulgaria? He hadn't really managed to piece together in his head that Hermione and Victor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker and hero of the last World Cup, were an item. Obviously her parents didn't mind, if they were going with her to Bulgaria.

Harry just sat and stared at her letter for a while. Hermione had called Voldemort by his name. Not by "you know who" but by his actual name. Harry had only ever known of two other people to do so - Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin, his third year Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He was caught between being impressed and shocked. And why did she think he should tell his aunt and uncle anything about last term? Had she gone temporarily mad?

Setting down the letter, he reached for the package Hermione had sent. Opening it up, he saw a small leatherbound book. It was unmistakably a diary. He opened the cover and saw Hermione's neat writing on the first page.

Leave it to Hermione to get him the perfect gift. He had longed for a pensieve, a way to drain off excess memories until he was ready to deal with them. A diary was the next best thing. Besides, if no one could ever read it but himself, it was actually safer then using a pensieve. What better way to conceal his Marauder's map than in a book that appeared to be full of blank pages?

He slid his booklist into the diary and set it carefully under the bed alongside The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Deciding to save Sirius's letter for last, he opened the package from Professor Dumbledore. Inside were two small velvet bags, and a letter. The letter appeared to be sealed with some sort of dark sparkling wax which glinted in the light from his flashlight. He pulled it open and read:

Harry could hardly believe it. He was going to spend the rest of the summer at Hogwarts ? He would be studying the Dark Arts? He would be leaving Privet Drive tomorrow?? He pulled open his birthday gift and felt as though he was suddenly twelve feet tall. A small dagger, whose hilt was covered in gleaming gems, spilled out onto his hand. It was, he realized, a miniature replica of the sword he had pulled from the Sorting Hat his second year to defeat Voldemort - the sword of Godric Gryffindor, founder of Harry's house, and the item that had kept his from losing all hope when he had been sure that he would die. Albus Dumbledore knew how much this meant to him. He heard Hagrid's voice in his head, repeating what he had said so often. "Great man, Dumbledore. So long as we've got him, I'm not too worried."

He placed the dagger and the letter reverently in his trunk, and reached for the last letter. The red owl accepted a treat and then it too flew out the window.

This letter was also placed carefully in his trunk. Harry couldn't remember the last time he had felt this excited. He was leaving the Dursleys - he would be with Sirius - and he would be preparing for whatever Voldemort came up with next. The thought of training one on one with Mad-Eye Moody - the real Mad-Eye Moody - was a bit intimidating. And why did they have a new History of Magic teacher? Surely nothing could have happened to Professor Binns - he was already dead.

Yawning openly now, despite his excitement, Harry helped put Pig and Artemis into the cage with Hedwig. She looked less then pleased about this. "It's only for one night." Harry promised. "They'll be leaving first thing in the morning." Then he switched off the flashlight and pulled the covers over his head.

For the first time in many weeks, Harry's dreams didn't center around watching a boy with grey eyes die, or of watching as his own blood revived a mass murderer. He didn't dream of dementors or of his parent's last moments. His dreams were filled with the thoughts of the castle he loved, of the pictures who spoke, and the stairs that moved. Peaceful, restful dreams - dreams he had not enjoyed in months. A smile crossed his face as he slept. The Boy Who Lived was, for one night, also the Boy who was Living - not merely existing.