Harry Potter and the Warning of the Magi

The night was as still as it could come; no cars screeched annoyingly down the road in a hurry to get home, no night-cats hissed at one another behind dustbins - all residents of Privet Drive snoozed innocently under their covers in their plain, identical row-houses. That is, except the occupants of one house.

Under the roof of number four, there was no snoring. On the contrary, three figures were gathered around the kitchen table, one skinny and two enormous.

"If we keep him in the house, we all could be in danger!" growled one of the monstrous individuals. "That - boy -- is nothing but a hazard! A nuisance!"

"I've told you," said the skinny one, inhaling and exhaling rattling breaths, "if we kick him out - who knows the trouble - Vernon, we're all he's got left - "

"Since when do you care?" snapped the first one. "He's giving our family a bad name! And if that Moldiefort character struts up to our door and hocus-pocuses us, then what will everyone think?" The third large resident hiccupped with fright.

"But he won't!" said the skinny one, waving her hands over her head. She stuttered a few times before beginning a new sentence. "Do - do you remember the letter I got last summer? The one that yelled at me?" The other two nodded weakly. "It was from...someone that I received a warning from years ago. When Harry was six. Right after you had whipped him with your belt. Remember that day?"

"He rightfully deserved that!" said the first fat person. "His smart talk - "

"Will you be quiet for once?" shrieked the skinny one. "Vernon, I was sent a letter from someone - a wizard - the same one that sent me the letter last summer - telling me that if we were to continue harming Harry, he would see to our arrest. And it wouldn't be for a short time. Vernon, you must understand; when he was put on our doorstep, we made a pact. His life is in our hands, and the lives of many others are in his."

No one else spoke. Only the first speaker grunted hoarsely.

A minute of silence passed awkwardly, and the quietest of the three cleared his throat. "Well, what should we do then?" he said in a shivering tone.

"The only thing we can do without being carted away to jail is to keep him here, whether we like it or not. And remember those loonies that harassed us the day we picked up Harry? - they're his kind, and they never can be trusted," said the thin figure quietly. The other two nodded in nervous agreement.

After another moment of tense stillness, the third person spoke in a whisper. "You don't think they'd actually come and ki - " he began, but the skinny one shot out a hand and covered his mouth. "Don't - say - " she hissed, and glanced out each kitchen window, checking for midnight peepers. "Knowing them, of course they would!" she murmured, still not tearing her scrunched eyes from the window above the oven. "So what do you want, to throw Harry out and be jailed and attacked, or keep him here?" she asked with a bitter tone.

"Keep him," the other two grunted unhappily in low voices. The slim occupant nodded with a thinned mouth, and stared down at her clasped hands.

Upstairs, Harry Potter had his ear pressed firmly against his door, listening to the discussion below.

He didn't mind the concept of being shooed out of the Dursleys', not one bit; it was the fact that Dumbledore had been in contact with his Aunt Petunia previously that amazed him. So she had gotten a letter from him when he was six, and he could only hazily remember the spanking he got when talking back to his Uncle Vernon while de-weeding the garden and throwing a tantrum. His bum had been so sore after his punishment that he couldn't sit for two days.

But Dumbledore had threatened the Dursleys with arrest - why wouldn't he just come and hex them? Well he obviously has more sense than that, thought Harry, but does he have the authority to order the police around? They don't even know of his existence!

Downstairs, all had gone quiet. Harry turned and leaned his back against the door, deep in thought. I wonder if Dumbledore sent any other letters to Aunt Petunia. But the pact - did they know that they were agreeing to it? Did they have to sign something, or was it just part of carrying me inside?

A tap at the window signaled late-night post. This had become regular - well, almost, with the two letters he had received so far from Tonks and Professor Lupin; if owls swooped to his window during the day, neighbors would be sure to notice. Not even Harry liked being the center of gossip among Privet Drive's female occupants. Hedwig had enough sense to wait until it was dark.

He unlatched and opened his window. Hedwig, who was carrying two fat envelopes, fluttered inside and to the top of her cage. Harry untied his post and fell onto his bed, examining his name written on the front of both. On one envelope his name was scrawled in neat, curly script, and on the second, it was scribbled on messily, and the ink was smeared on the last R. Harry's stomached lurched; neither of the handwritings belonged to his godfather, Sirius.

Don't be stupid, he's gone. Realization had already hit Harry the last week of his fifth-year term, but he couldn't help but expect a note from Sirius saying, "Sorry I haven't written in a while. I'm at St. Mungo's and I'm all right."

But it wasn't possible. Harry himself had seen Sirius fall, straight through the veil, with an expression of utter surprise plastered on his face. He disappeared, and was not coming back. Not coming back...

Harry let out a quivering sigh. He died as a hated man. Unwanted by the majority of the world. But he was innocent. It was not because of him that Harry's parents died, nor did he kill Peter Pettigrew. Peter did it, the Marauder that selfishly ruined James', Lily's, Remus', and Sirius' lives.

And suddenly, Harry knew what hate was. He felt a burning sensation right in his heart, in his head, all over his body. He hated Wormtail for what he had done. Perhaps Sirius and Remus should have killed him, right then and there in the Shrieking Shack. It wouldn't have mattered; Sirius would still be a fugitive. But he wouldn't be dead. And he hated Bellatrix Lestrange for being so careless, so heartless, and taking Sirius away from him. And Remus - he must be in an even worse state.

Almost as hard as the hate came to him, something else hit him: Remus was now alone. He had lost all of his friends because of Wormtail, because of Voldemort - and he was the only true Marauder left. Wormtail was as good as dead. Harry was surprised that Remus hadn't cried when Sirius fell; if anyone should have, it would be him. Harry felt ashamed of being so self-centered during the last two weeks of school, moping around as if there was no more purpose to anything, when Remus had grown up and been best friends with Sirius and Harry's dad, and now they were gone.

A sharp rapping on his forehead startled him. Was it his scar? No, his scar didn't peck at him....it was Hedwig. She was perched right over him, tapping his forehead with her beak. Harry remembered that he was still holding unopened letters.

He tore open the one with Ron's handwriting first. It was crammed with parchment - three separate pieces. Harry whistled softly, and read the one on top.

Harry -

Listen, mate. I hope you're doing well so far. The Dursleys aren't giving you any trouble, are they? I know it's only been two weeks, but if we get any report of them being nasty, we'll be over in a flash - promise. Mum and Dumbledore had a talk two nights ago about you coming over to visit. Dumbledore said that perhaps in a week or so, but not quite yet. Something's being planned - that I have no clue about, don't worry - and it has to do with going back to Sirius' old house. The Order's still using it, but I haven't been there all summer. Anyway, you'll be coming here to the Burrow. Hermione's coming this weekend, so again, don't worry, you won't be missing much at all. Mum's in a frenzy over Fred and George leaving school and not even getting their diplomas. They bought out a little place in Diagon Alley, right next to Madam Malkins'. Mum's gone there twice to tell them off, but apparently they've only laughed at her and reminded her of the family discount - handy, eh? Anyway, she's afraid that he'll be doing a Percy. Speaking of Percy, he's still not talking to us. I reckon he's ashamed of being wrong, and just being a stubborn prat. He's still not mentioned by Mum or Dad, of course, but still kept his job at the Ministry. Fudge has been acting odd, too. He pretends like he made no mistake, and struts around like everything's in control. But the watch on post and Floo has been released finally. Oh, and Umbridge was sent to St. Mungo's. It was in the Daily Prophet last week, or perhaps you already read that. Hope this letter makes up for the ones I haven't sent.

Ron

Harry blinked. He never remembered getting such a long letter from Ron - or even Hermione. Like Ron said, though, he hadn't written in the past two weeks. But neither had Harry. The only letters Harry had sent were the ones to Professor Lupin saying that everything was fine. Hedwig must have been sensible enough to drop by Hermione's and Ron's to see if there was any post for Harry.

I'll write tomorrow night, thought Harry lazily. He flipped to the second piece of paper.

Dear Harry,

We're so sorry about your loss. We know he was very close to you, and we can't imagine what you're going through. But, please - don't be too distraught. That must sound silly to you, but seriously...the world is going through hard times, and if you lament over every single person whose life is lost, there will be more deaths on the way.

We have attached a portion of his will, a part that was especially for you. You're in for a big surprise.

With love, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley

P.S. Promise us that you won't do anything rash.

Harry blinked a few times after reading the letter. They made it sound like the entire world depended on him....well people have to learn to take care of themselves, too, he thought miserably. But this thought was wiped away immediately, as he scrambled to the next page.

It was normal parchment, which surprised him; he expected some sort of formal document addressed to "Mr. Harry J. Potter". But, instead, it was like any other letter Harry had received from Sirius. As he glanced at the bottom, he realized...it was from Sirius. Eagerly, he began reading.

Harry,

Now that you've gotten this letter, I have a lot of confessions to make. I'm dead, gone, over, kaput, passed on, kicked the bucket - however you put it. I know you well for the two years I've gotten to know you, and from that it's not hard to figure out that you're blaming all this on yourself. No, it's not your fault. You may be the "great Harry Potter", but you would never murder anyone. Except You-Know-Who, of course.

Now you're probably sitting in bed, drowned in grief and guilt, but really, there's more to living than feeling sorry for yourself. Don't feel sorry for me, please. I'm in a better place. It's better than the hell down there, believe me. Things like this happen; people are arrogant, evil rises, good defeats, and then all is well again. But others die in the process. I gave my life for that. Now, don't think that I'm making myself into some kind of hero; I'm just putting it in a way so that you stop moping about and be the Harry that I loved.

Ok, down to business. I left a whole house, furniture, a nice sum of money, and a stupid house-elf behind. And it's all for you. Remus wouldn't have taken it, anyway. But there's a catch - since you're under age, you cannot live at my house until you graduate. Sorry, chap. That's the way things are. Until then, meetings still will be held there, same old same old.

I wish I could have known you for longer, Harry. You're a great kid, and no matter what you hear, the good, honest, generous side of your father is reflected right on you. And it's scary how similar to your mother you are, also...I'm sure they can't wait to hear everything from me.

And don't fret - you haven't seen the last of Sirius Black.

Love,

Your Godfather

He didn't care if it looked childish, or if anyone saw or if his aunt, uncle, or cousin heard; forgetting the second envelope, Harry rolled onto his side and cried.

***

Having slept until 2 o'clock in the afternoon, Harry ate a very late brunch consisting of diced honeydew melon and banana-bread. The bread was a bit chewy, but Harry didn't mind. He merely sat outside in the sun munching his fruity meal, hoping to gain some color in his ghostly-white skin. The Dursleys weren't at home, and hadn't left a note on the refrigerator; not that Harry minded or even cared. Rather, he hoped that they would be gone for the remainder of the day.

The Dursleys had been only a tad nicer this summer so far; it was definitely better than it had been the first fifteen years of his life. Instead of making the effort to have manners toward him, they avoided him whenever possible. Even during dinner, they paid no attention when he took extra large helpings of potatoes. Dudley, however, couldn't help but send small, swift glares in Harry's direction. Once in a while Uncle Vernon's face turned a blotchy plum color if Harry said something impolite to Dudley or left dirty dishes at the table, but he didn't dare say a word. Aunt Petunia just kept her lips pursed and shot an occasional glance as if she expected him to curse them any minute.

Funnily enough, Harry couldn't curse them even if he wanted to. Unlike last summer, during which his wand was always stowed handily in his jeans pocket, it was now tucked safely in his invisibility cloak in his trunk, which was locked and pushed in the corner of his room. Harry didn't want to risk using his wand at all this summer and getting expelled, like he nearly had last holiday. If it were to happen once more, he would definitely never see Hogwarts again. That had been made clear.

Harry finished his honeydew and rinsed the dishes in the sink. He set off up the stairs, thoroughly grateful to have the house to himself. No Dursleys were there to watch his every move suspiciously or even just take up space. Uncle Vernon and Dudley certainly took up plenty.

Grabbing a quill and a sheet of parchment, Harry fell onto the bed on his stomach. He scribbled a quick, lazy letter to Ron, making sure to remind him to let him know when he could go to the Burrow.

He sat up and crossed the room to Hedwig's cage, but on the way felt something crumple under his foot. It was another letter - the one from Hermione, which he had forgotten about entirely. He picked it up and returned to his bed, setting aside the letter to Ron.

Dear Harry,

I hope so much that you get this letter - why haven't you responded to my last ones? Ron hasn't responded either. Has anything happened to you? What's been happening? I have this funny feeling that it's not your fault that you haven't written back. Have you not gotten my letters? Harry, I think the mail's being tampered with. Or perhaps Hedwig's just dropping my letters; somehow, I find that very unlikely. I hope this reaches you! I've written at least 3 other letters just like this one, and I don't feel like writing another! Ugh, anyway, write me back as soon as you get this, promise? Tell me all about how things are at the Dursleys.

Love from,

Hermione

Harry's stomach did an uncomfortable flip. He certainly hadn't gotten any letters from Hermione, and Hedwig would never lose any post...the mail was being meddled with, almost for certain. This meant that it was possible that whoever was reading and taking Hermione's letters could have read Ron's...and they would have read about Sirius.

In a panic, Harry grabbed the letter from Ron and hastily dipped his quill in the ink jar.

Ron -

You were wrong. The mail's being read. I hope you get this letter. Hermione's been sending us post all summer, but it's being taken - DON'T SEND ME ANY MORE LETTERS. I just hope your last letter wasn't read. Send me only short letters from now on, and only when necessary.

Harry

He sealed it, and wrote a second quick letter, to Hermione. Tying the letters to Hedwig's outstretched leg, he said to her, "Whatever you do, don't let anyone take these letters. Even if you have to bite them. Got it?" She gave a supportive hoot, and took off through the window.

Harry sighed, and prayed - if Ron's letter had indeed been read, everyone would know about Sirius. The Ministry would find out. It might even have been the Ministry who had stolen the letters, for all he knew. But, whoever it was, Harry and a lot of others were in deep trouble.