Harry Potter and the Phantom of Hogwarts

Harry Potter and the Phantom of Hogwarts

Chapter One

Summer Stories

Harry Potter was sleeping in a tiny room upstairs at Number Four Privet Drive on July 31^st. There were broken toys and electronics, mostly typical things. There were some unusual things, such as a large eagle quill, parchment and ink, and a broomstick with Firebolt written on it. Then there were things that were just plain odd, such as a cauldron, a sleeping snowy owl in a cage, and pictures with people moving on them. Harry Potter isn't a normal person, though; he's a wizard. To be precise, a newly fifteen year old wizard who just finished his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Not that he's normal even for a wizard. Harry is probably the most famous teenager and the wizarding world, having escaped from the dark wizard Lord Voldemort twice. The last time was only a few weeks ago, during the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, which resulted in the death of fellow school champion Cedric Diggory.

In fact, Harry was dreaming about what happened in that time when he faced Voldemort, detail by detail. The bright green flash of light, the sound of rushing death. Being tied to a gravestone, watching the resurrection of Voldemort. Feeling the cold, long finger of him stroke Harry's cheek...

Harry awoke with a start, soaked with sweat. This hot weather was too much for him. Even with his fan on high, no sheets on the bed, and sleeping in just boxers, he was still burning up. Harry looked at his watch on the table next to his bed; it was six-thirty. So much for sleeping in on my birthday, Harry thought. He got up and tiptoed into the bathroom, he might as well have taken a shower.

As the cold water hit his skin, Harry wondered how Ron and Hermione, his two best friends, were doing so far this summer. Hermione sent him an owl telling him that she and her parents were going to Bulgaria to visit Viktor Krum, famous Quidditch Seeker and fellow Triwizard champion, who had fallen for Hermione in the fourth year. Lucky her, Harry thought. At least she'll be nice and cool.

Ron must be having a blast as well, hanging out with all his brothers and Ginny at the Burrow. Bill would be there, just acting cool. Charlie might be playing Quidditch, the wizarding sport, with everyone. Fred and George would be inventing loads of practical jokes, especially with the 1,000 Galleons Harry gave them. Percy would be working. Maybe take a break from working once in a while to scold everyone for making too much noise. Harry grinned. Life with the Weasleys seemed like paradise.

Instead he had to stay with his thickheaded relatives, the Dursleys. Even their name was unpleasant. His beefy Uncle Vernon would sit at the kitchen table complaining about every little detail he didn't like. His horse-faced Aunt Petunia would be stretching her already too-long neck out the window to spy on the neighbors. And then there was his cousin Dudley.

Even while trying the "rabbit food" diet, as Uncle Vernon so cheerfully put it, Dudley was still the size of a newborn elephant. He even needed two chairs to sit on his side of the kitchen table. Dudley would spend his whole summer in the kitchen, eating as much as he could get his hands on. Eating, or avoiding Harry.

All three Dursleys thought of Harry's being a wizard unnatural. They had a great fear of it, especially after last summer, when a candy the Weasley twins invented quadrupled the size of Dudley's tongue. Not to mention that when he was eleven, Dudley grew a pig's tail on him, courtesy of Hagrid, Hogwarts gamekeeper and loyal friend of Harry. Harry could almost feel sorry for Dudley, if he wasn't such a prat.

Harry got out of the shower and wrapped the towel around his waist. He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste and started to brush his teeth. Harry stared at his reflection in the mirror. A relatively built teenager stared at him, his ink-black hair sticking up in all directions, even when it's wet. Harry must have gotten what muscles he had from the rigorous Quidditch and Triwizard training he had these last four years-not to mention hormones. At first glance, the most noticeable thing about him is the color of Harry's eyes: bright green. His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad, Harry thought, amused. In his second year for Valentine's Day, Ron's little sister Ginny sent him a poem. It was rather embarrassing, though. It was read by a dwarf forcibly posing as Cupid in front of what felt like a thousand people. You couldn't forget a moment like that.

Despite the bright green eyes, the most recognizable feature (at least to fellow magical folk) Harry possessed was a thin lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. This was given to him when Harry was just one year old, when Voldemort came to his parent's home to kill Harry. His father, James, told his mother to run while he held off the Dark Lord. Voldemort killed Harry's father, then approached his mother, Lily. Voldemort to Lily to stand aside so he could kill Harry, and Lily flatly refused. Voldemort then killed her, then as he tried to use the killing curse, Avada Kedavra, on Harry, it rebounded and struck Voldemort. Instead of dying, however, Voldemort disappeared, rumored to be in Albania for eleven years. All Harry had to show for it was the scar.

When Harry was eleven, he faced Voldemort once more, who had somewhat possessed his Defense Against the Dart Arts teacher, Professor Quirrel. Harry once again got away with his life, Quirrel. being unable to touch him without burning himself. Harry found out that this was because his mother had sacrificed herself to save Harry, and this is how he survived Avada Kedavra in the first place.

In his second year Harry went against another form of Voldemort, the young Tom Riddle. Using a diary, Riddle possessed Ginny Weasley and opened the Chamber of Secrets, which set loose a basilisk, who could kill a person with just a glance, literally. But luckily no one died, though Hermione and lots of other people got Petrified. Harry went into the Chamber himself and killed the basilisk with the help of the headmaster, Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, and destroyed the diary and the memory of Tom Riddle. In the meantime, Harry discovered he was a Parselmouth, able to talk to snakes. He had gotten this ability when Voldemort put the curse on him, also being a Parselmouth. It had caused plenty of distress for Harry; most of the school believed he was the Heir of Slytherin who opened the chamber and set a snake on a fellow classmate.

Third year Harry encountered Sirius Black, a convicted murderer who was believed to have handed his parents over to Voldemort. Black had performed a curse killing thirteen Muggles and ex-friend Peter Pettigrew. Harry had learned that Black was his father's best friend when they were in school, and that he really wasn't the one who all but killed his father. It was Pettigrew, who had gone to Voldemort's side and handed Harry's parents over. Sirius, who was actually Harry's godfather, tried to capture Pettigrew, or Wormtail as he used to be called, so he could clear his name, but Wormtail got away, and Sirius had to go into hiding once again.

Harry thought of Sirius, and how he had to go find Dumbledore's "old gang" at the end of fourth year, after Harry told them about the Dark Lord. Harry was worried; he hadn't heard from Sirius since he had left Hogwarts. Harry didn't want to write to him yet, in case Sirius was doing something terribly important. He decided to just wait to see if Sirius wrote to him first.

Harry walked back to his room to change into some shorts and a tee-shirt. He saw a tiny, too-fluffy owl flying around his room, hooting loudly. He was carrying a package and two letters were attached to his leg.

"Pig! Quiet!" Harry whispered loudly, alarmed. He didn't want his uncle to wake up; it was still early. Pig would have none of it, however. He just continued to spin and hoot. Harry finally had to chase him around the room and leap over his dresser and make a grab at Ron's owl. However, Harry's towel fell off somewhere between the bed and the desk, and he had to stuff a very hyper Pigwidgeon into the cage near the window with Hedwig, who looked very annoyed and clicked her beak at Harry while he got dressed.

"Sorry, Hedwig, I'll let him out in a second, just let me get dressed." Harry coddled Hedwig as he pulled on a shirt. He walked over to the cage and gave his snowy owl an Owl Treat and used his dragon-hide gloves to pull out Pig, who immediately tried to peck Harry to let him go.

"Ha, ha, Pig. Nice try. I'll give you a treat if you leave me alone and wait for me to write back to Ron."

As Harry took the letter wrapped around the minute owl's leg and opened it, he saw there were actually two letters.

Harry,

Happy Birthday!

How are you doing? Muggles treating you alright? Well, I know the answer to that, but I hope it isn't that bad, then. It's been alright here, especially since Percy moved out!

"What?!" Harry exclaimed, a little too loudly. Harry heard his uncle snort in the room next to his, and he covered his mouth and read on.

That's right, Harry. Percy's gotten a flat in London. He's moving in with that Penelope Clearwater he's been dating. Can you believe my luck?Mum had a fit, though. She doesn't want her boy growing up. No more Perfect Percy bossing everyone around and showing off! No more cauldron thickness lectures! No more Percy!

Have you heard from Hermione yet? I can't believe her parents let her go to Bulgaria! To stay with a guy that's said he's crazy for her, and older than her, too! My mum would flip! Her parents must be pretty trusting.

I've got to go now; me and Bill and Charlie and the twins are going to the village to celebrate. By the way, hope you like your present.

Write soon,

Ron

P.S. Ginny doesn't think it's funny. She's too serious. She's written you a letter, too, by the way.

Harry chuckled. Way to go, Percy! Harry never would have guessed that Percy would move out, unless he'd have gotten married. He'd been with Penelope Clearwater for three years already. Pig hooted indignantly as he poked Harry in the arm.

"Ow! Sod off, Pig. I'm almost done." Harry grabbed the second letter and put it on his desk before shoving an Owl Treat into Pig's mouth to shut him up.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday! How are you feeling? I hope you're doing well, especially after what happened. I suppose Ron's told you about Percy; none of my brothers can shut up about it. I really hope you can come soon. I need someone sane around here.

Hermione's coming over in a week, when she gets back from Bulgaria. Lucky her. She gets to go to all those foreign lands. I guess I shouldn't complain, since we went to Egypt before my second year.

Mum and Dad are out a lot, doing God knows what. They won't tell us; top secret for Dumbledore, they say. Sound familiar, Harry? I hope they're safe. In the meantime Mum's been writing to Dumbledore nonstop, asking for you to come. Ron's been complaining that you're stuck with those Muggles.

George and Fred have spent all summer in their rooms, doing something very suspicious.

Harry raised an eyebrow suspiciously.

No! It's not what you think, Harry. Don't be so dirty (Harry laughed outright). They've been working for hours on end, probably making new jokes. Poor Dad ate a sucker of theirs, and his hands went to mush for an hour! The twins call it Lolli Liquefiers.

Well, I don't have much else I can say in this letter, so I'll stop writing and let you enjoy your present.

Lots of Love,

Ginny

Odd, Harry thought, Ginny hasn't written me a letter before. Harry had never been especially close with Ginny, even after he saved her life. Oh, well, nothing wrong with developing a new friendship. Harry picked up a brown-paper wrapped present and tore it open. It looked like a candy bowl, filled up with brightly wrapped candies. As Harry reached his hand in to take one, the candy, then the bowl, disappeared. He furrowed his brow and read the attached note.

Like it, Harry? It's a Swindlebowl. Fred and George made it up. It looks real, but when you reach for a candy it disappears and shows up somewhere else later. The twins say it should drive your cousin mad. But they made me pay for it! Their own brother...But in order to get the candy you need to push on the ugly brown-green one. Enjoy!

Ron

Harry grinned. Leave it up to the twins to come up with something perfect to torture Dudley. He didn't bother to look for the Swindlebowl; he'd just find it when he heard Dudley howl about it. Harry picked up the second, larger package and started when he heard music playing from within.

Inside was a violin, about a third the size of a normal one, and the bow moved back and forth on its own. Harry smiled and read the note.

I think you'll like this, Harry. It's a Chordacantus, and will calm you down if the Muggles stress you out too much or whatever...whenever you want to play it, or stop it, just strokes your finger across the strings. If you want to change the song, then just pluck the white string. If you want a specific song, just say the name when you pluck the string. It plays almost any song you can imagine.

Ginny

Harry's smile widened. It was definitely one of his more favorite presents, besides his broomsticks. It was almost as good as the Broomstick Servicing Kit Hermione gave him his third year.

Just as he was starting to write his thanks, another owl flew in and dropped a very heavy package onto Harry's lap before swooping back out. Grimacing, Harry opened the package and saw a heavy book. Hogwarts, A History. Harry rolled his eyes, grinning. The book must be from Hermione, but why did Harry need to read it when Hermione all but memorized it? Harry grabbed the note and read:

Now Harry, don't question it, just open the book first, huh?

Harry grinned and opened the book; inside was not oh so many pages describing Hogwarts, but a secret compartment that held a piece of rope. "Alright..." Harry looked back at the note.

See that, Harry? It's a Magical Lasso. It ties up whatever you throw it at and won't let go until you pull it back. It's also indestructible; no spells whatsoever affect it. I think it'll be useful and I think the book makes it all the more inconspicuous. Happy Birthday! Bulgaria is very educational, I'm learning so much!

Harry rolled his eyes.

Don't roll your eyes, Harry. It's very nice and all, but a bit archaic. And Viktor is...clingy. He makes me a bit nervous, and I'm very glad to be going back to the Burrow so soon. I only wish you could come.

Have you been studying for the O.W.L.'s, yet? Don't lie, Harry, I know you haven't.

Oh, I can't wait for school to start, but can you believe we only have three years left? It seems like only yesterday we were meeting for the first time on the Hogwarts Express.

Is Ron mad at me? He hasn't written to me much, and when he does it's too generic. "Hi Hermione, how are you? See you soon, Ron." I don't think he's very happy about Viktor and me. I'm not very happy, either. I think I'll tell Viktor. Oh, I hope he doesn't get too upset...

Anyways, have a tolerable summer; I think that's the most you can have with your relatives. Try to have somefun, though.

Love,

Hermione

Harry smiled. Poor Hermione. I hope she's not too stressed out, as she tends to get. She'll probably have a panic attack in school this year.

Harry took out his ink well, quill, and parchment and just started to write his responses to Ron, Ginny, and Hermione when he heard his stomach give a loud rumble. He quickly gave his letters to Ron and Ginny to Pig and his letter to Hermione to Hedwig and sent them off, then hurried down to the kitchen.

Harry stuck his head into the refrigerator and grabbed a carton of milk, when there was a BANG! BANG! on the front door and-

"Vernon! Can't an old lady get some help around here?"

Harry yelped and dropped the carton, spilling milk all over the place. He cursed and cautiously slinked toward the front door.

More banging. "VERNON! Can't you let your own mother in?"

"His mother?" Harry whispered to himself questionably. He opened the door to find the most peculiar-looking person Harry had ever seen, even more strange than the old man wearing a nightgown at the Quidditch World Cup last year.

She was very short, no more than four-foot-ten, with white hair tied in a messy knot on top of her head. There were many twigs and leaves and flowers in it. She was wearing a billowy gown with roses printed all over it. She had three bags with her, worn from traveling and filthy from things Harry didn't want to think about. He thought she could be a witch herself, but shook the thought away as soon as Uncle Vernon came to mind. Otherwise, she looked like a perfectly cheerful granny, except for the fierce scowl on her face.

"Well, just don't stand there, boy. Help me with my bags." She has a Swedish accent, Harry thought. Never knew Uncle Vernon was Swedish.

Harry obeyed, and the old lady continued to chat.

"Where's Vernon, the lazy bum? Not a speck of hospitality, him or his wife. Their son's none the better. Can't even welcome his own mother-"

Harry stopped in the hall and faced the old lady. "Excuse me, but who exactly are you?"

The old lady actually smiled. "Mishka Dursley. Vernon's dear old mother. Now help me to my room and you can tell me your name."

Harry took her to the guest room usually used for Aunt Marge and set the bag on the floor. "Er...Uncle Vernon's never mentioned you...I'm Harry, by the way, his nephew, on my Aunt's side of the family, actually. It's a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand.

Mishka smiled and shook it politely. "It's lovely to meet such a polite young man, Harry. You can call me Farmor Mishka. Grandmother Mishka in Swedish. We are something like family, then. Are you visiting my son, too, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "My parents died when I was a year old, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia raised me."

Farmor Mishka nodded. "Oh, alright. They treat you well enough?"

Harry was about to respond (with the sort-of half truth) when a shout came from downstairs suddenly. "BOY! What happened in here?!" Harry winced and apologized to Farmor Mishka before running down the stairs into the kitchen. The spilt milk was still all over the kitchen floor.

"What is this mess doing in here? What have you done this time, boy? You are going to clean this up right this moment, and no breakfast for you!" Uncle Vernon was red in the face, and still in his red polka dotted pajamas.

"Sorry, Uncle Vernon. Something surprised me and I dropped it, and when I went to go see what it was, I guess I forgot about it," Harry said quietly, getting out some paper towels and starting to mop up the mess.

"That's no excuse, boy! You should stop being such a little scaredy boy."

Harry scowled. He'd been through more things in one night than his uncle had his whole life. He was about to say something to that effect to Uncle Vernon when Farmor Mishka walked into the room.

"Leave the poor boy alone, Vernon, he was helping me unpack my bags."

Uncle Vernon paled the second he laid his eyes on his mother. "Mother? What the bloody hell are you doing here?"

Farmor Mishka scowled. "Don't curse at your mother. I came for a visit; is that too much for you? I haven't heard from you in fifteen years, and least you can do is try to be nice. However, open-mindedness was never one of your strong points, was it, Vernon?"

Harry tried not to smile, even after he had nearly hit his head on the table from slipping on the milk. He liked Farmor Mishka already, and that was simply on the fact that she didn't like the Dursleys either.

"Mother, how did you get here? Who let you in the house? And most of all: Why?"

Farmor Mishka rolled her eyes. "Because I wanted to check to make sure my son wasn't making everyone around him too miserable this whole time. But, as I can see with Young Harry over there, I'm a bit too late."

You're crazy, Mother. You always were batty. Why can't you just leave my family alone. We're plenty happy on our own."

"Don't start with me, Vernon Horace Dursley! You treat your mother with respect! You're just as bad as your father was, God rest his soul!"

Harry sniggered. "Horace..."

Vernon snapped at Harry, "Shut up! It's after my father..."

Harry tried to stop laughing, and started to turn as purple as Uncle Vernon with the effort of it.

Aunt Petunia walked into the kitchen at that moment, holding a mirror up to her face. "Vernon, dear, do I still turn you on, because lately you've been-" Harry's sudden burst of laughter got Aunt Petunia's attention.

"Harry, what are you- Mrs. Dursley!" Aunt Petunia cried as her gaze went from Harry to Farmor Mishka. Aunt Petunia dropped her mirror in surprise, and it shattered into pieces as it hit the floor.

"That's right, Petunia Evans. I'm back and staying for a long time," Farmor Mishka drawled as she glared at Aunt Petunia. Something in the way she looked at Aunt Petunia reminded him of Draco Malfoy, a fellow fifth year Harry despised. Farmor Mishka also reminded him of Mrs. Figg, the Dursleys' neighbor who used to baby-sit for him.

Aunt Petunia, like Harry's uncle, paled. But instead of standing up to her, Aunt Petunia squeaked like a mouse and ran out of the room, yelling, "Dud-ley! Get up! We're going out! NOW!" Uncle Vernon opened his mouth to speak, but Aunt Petunia wasn't done yet.

"VERNON! Get dressed! We have to take Dudley to the weight loss program! NOW!" Since last summer's diet failed last year, this year The Dursleys decided to try a local weight loss program downtown for overweight teens. Vernon winced and headed for the stairs, muttering something to the effect of: "Crazy old bat." All three Dursleys hurried out the door seconds later.

Harry grinned from ear to ear, still cleaning up the milk. Farmor Mishka cleared her throat. "Well, Harry- I don't think I should apologize for my son's behavior. You know how he is by now."

Harry nodded, still grinning. "Yeah, he always blows up when I mention magic."

Farmor Mishka looked at him curiously. "Why magic? What's so wrong about it?"

Harry's hand slipped at this and he cut himself on a piece of glass. He cursed, and immediately apologized.

"Please," Farmor Mishka said, "I've said worse." She smiled. "Let me see you hand." Harry wiped off the milk and some blood onto a paper towel and held it out. Farmor Mishka tsk-ed, "Oh, dear. You cut yourself fairly bad. You go upstairs to the bathroom and clean and bandage that right this instant." Harry smiled and dashed upstairs. Farmor Mishka was nothing like his uncle; she was more like Mrs. Weasley. I guess grouchiness-and that large frame- came from the male side of the family, Harry pondered as he wrapped up his hand. But what about Aunt Marge? Harry laughed at the thought.

When he walked back into the kitchen, there was no more milk everywhere, and the mirror was repaired. "Er...what happened, Mrs. Dursley?"

Farmor Mishka put a hand to her heart. "Please! Farmor Mishka, alright? That name gives me the creeps now. How did I raise such a son? Thinks he's God's gift to earth, just like his father. How did I ever fall for such a man?"

Harry smiled, distracted from his question, and pulled up a chair next to Farmor Mishka. "I know," she said. "It was his voice. He had the most beautiful baritone singing voice I ever heard. He reminds me of the Angel of Music."

"The Angel of Music?"

"Goodness, you don't know the story of the Angel of Music? It's my favorite story! I told your uncle it all the time; he never liked it, though. How about I make us some tea and I'll tell you."

Harry got up. "Let me, Farmor Mishka." He smiled, and Farmor Mishka returned the favor. Unlike for the Dursleys, Harry enjoyed making the tea while listening to her.

"Let's see...once there was a girl named Little Lotte, from my home country, Sweden. She was happy with her life and enjoyed every second of it. She was a blond, blue eyed little ray of sunshine, and obeyed her father." Harry couldn't help but rolled his eyes. This looked like it was going to be a story with a moral.

"Don't worry, Harry, it gets better-" Harry grinned and gave Farmor Mishka her tea, who stirred in a mixture of her own from a bottle in her pocket. "It's a family recipe I use. Anyways, every time Little Lotte fell asleep, the Angel of Music visited her in her dreams. The Angel could come when a child was born and lean over his cradle, and that's how prodigies are made. Sometimes he came later when children are naughty, and sometimes he doesn't come at all.

"No one ever sees the Angel; he's only heard by those he chooses. He comes whenever they're feeling low, having hard times in their lives. All of a sudden, they hear a beautiful song-unable to be produced by any mortal. Then they hear that heavenly voice sing to them, and they never forget it, for the rest of their lives.

"After that," Farmor Mishka continued, "any instrument they touch or song they sing produces sounds that puts other people to shame. Those people who do not know of the Angel of Music say the person is a genius. Those who do know know the truth.

"Back to Lotte. Every night when she went to sleep the Angel would visit her. She grew up with a lovely singing voice and could play the violin at six better than a man at sixty. One day when she was now a young woman, Lotte sang at her father's funeral better than she had ever sang. However, she sang in a half-trance, numb at the memory of her father, whom she loved dearly. Because of this, the Angel could hear her sing and became so entranced by Lotte, that he actually came down from the heavens and hid behind the tombstone until everyone but Lotte left."

Harry nursed his tea, actually paying attention to the story. He had always had a soft spot for music, listening to his Aunt Petunia singing Dudley to sleep from under the staircase in his childhood. Aunt Petunia's singing voice was the only good thing about her.

"Lotte sat there for a while, just looking at her father's grave, reflecting, when the Angel came out from behind the tombstone. When she saw him, Lotte became transfixed with the Angel, like he had with her. The Angel declared how he had fallen in love with Lotte, and how he would give up everything to be with his most perfect chosen one. Lotte, however, was in love with someone else: a lovely young man from France.

"The Angel would have none of that. He was a divine creature! He had made Lotte's father so happy by blessing her with an angelic voice! He decided he would fight this young man for Lotte. But Lotte told the Angel that she would always love him, but if he wanted her to be truly happy, then he would let her marry the young man and live in peace. Lotte then gave the Angel a goodbye kiss, which then broke his heart, and he let Lotte and her love go, and he disappeared forever. But Lotte never forgot her Angel of Music."

Harry sighed. The story was incredibly familiar. In fact, he knew what it was. The Phantom of the Opera, to be exact. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia went to go see the play in London a few years ago, and he heard them tell Dudley all about it. But he decided to be kind to the old woman, and patted her hand.

"That was a lovely story, Farmor Mishka. Thank you for telling me it."

Farmor Mishka smiled and took Harry's hand. "Thank you, Harry. You made an old woman feel young again. Do you want to know what my nickname was when I was a girl?"

Harry smiled. "What?"

Farmor Mishka leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Lotte." She giggled like a young girl. "I'm Lotte. The story is true!" Harry pursed his lips a bit. Maybe she was a little bit senile.

Farmor Mishka stood up. "Well, Harry. I enjoyed talking to you; you're one of the most pleasant relatives I have. You can just consider me your grandmother, alright?" Harry nodded. "I think I'll go up to my room to take a nap. If my son comes back and asks me where I am, tell him to bugger off. If he starts yelling at you, just come to me. Got it?"

Harry nodded again, and followed her upstairs, and went to his own room. Was it actually true, about Farmor Mishka and the Angel of Music? Maybe it wasn't really an Angel, but a wizard. There were plenty of wizard-muggle relationships. Look at Seamus. His mother's a witch and his dad's a muggle. So maybe just a wizard took a liking to Farmor Mishka and bewitched her.

Harry looked at the clock; it was only two. Harry decided to listen to his Chordacantus, and put on "Spring", by Vivaldi. The music seemed to fill the entire room. After a while, Harry became bored with the song, and thought of something.

Hear a beautiful song-unable to be produced by any mortal, Farmor Mishka had said.

Harry plucked the white string and said softly, "Phoenix song."

Suddenly a warm and familiar melody filled the small room and seemed to float throughout the house. All traces of Harry's doubts and worries left him and he felt like the most optimistic guy in the world. No more worries of Voldemort, O.W.L.'s, or anything else.

Harry just laid in his bed, listening to the familiar song and the times it helped him out. In the second year when Harry had to go against the basilisk, without anything at all, even magic, Fawkes had come singing his song, and saved Harry's life when he was bitten by the basilisk.

Then in fourth year when he was facing Voldemort in the golden cage created by their wands, Harry somehow heard Fawkes's song and inspired him to stand up to Voldemort and not give up hope when he was certain Voldemort would kill him.

A noise at the door brought Harry back to reality, and he instinctively took the Chordacantus and hid it in his drawer. As soon as he did that, Harry ventured a look at the door. It was Farmor Mishka, with tears in her eyes.

"Farmor Mishka, what is it? Did something happen?" Harry got up and went right to her, leading her to his bed.

She looked right at Harry. "That music: where did you hear it?"

Harry thought of what to tell her. "At school." Wasn't the total truth, Harry thought, but still the truth.

"That's what the Angel used to play for me in my sleep..."

Harry did a double take. "What?"

Farmor Mishka nodded.

Oh, boy, Harry thought, running his hand through his messy hair. She definitely was influenced by a wizard when she was little.

Farmor Mishka sniffled and wiped her nose on a handkerchief. "Look at me, getting all weepy and nostalgic over a song. I think I'll just calm myself with a nice candy." She reached onto the end table and reached for a candy from the dish.

Oh no! The Swindlebowl! Harry lunged for the dish, but it was too late. Farmor Mishka tried to take a pretty shiny pink candy, before the dish started to fade, then vanish.

Farmor Mishka pursed her lips together. "Hm. I just my mind's going. I am eighty-something, after all. Not the young Lotte I used to be." She gave a smile, and Harry went limp with relief.

"Well, if you could remember so much about the Angel of Music, your memory can't be as bad as it seems, can it?" Brilliant Potter, Harry told himself in his most Malfoy-like voice, why don't you just shove the Swindlebowl in her face?

Farmor Mishka shrugged and looked out Harry's window. "Curious," she said, "There are two owls flying right this way. One looks like a snowy. They're not from around here, are they?" She looked at Harry and gave a big grin.

He didn't like the look on her face. "Oh, er, Farmor Mishka, you must be seeing something; I don't see a bird in the sky," he said hurriedly, helping up the old lady. "No owls here; why would there be owls? Nothing out of the normal in this house. Absolutely nothing unusual!"

Farmor Mishka looked around, confused, as Harry led her out of his door. "Are you sure? There's a barn owl on your window..."

Harry looked at his window, and indeed there was a barn owl there, and Hedwig had just joined him. Harry looked back at Farmor Mishka.

"I don't see anything at all! You must not have gotten enough sleep or something. Bye! I'll see you at dinner!" Harry grabbed the door.

"But-" Farmor Mishka started before Harry almost yelled "Sorry!" and slammed the door shut.

Harry sighed and sank to the floor. "Smooth, Potter." He walked over to Hedwig and the other owl.

"Hedwig, don't you know that you shouldn't be in here when a Muggle is? It isn't normal for them." Hedwig hooted her answer, and it sounded rude to Harry.

"Hey, I'm sorry, Hedwig." Harry gave her another Owl Treat-Boy, I'm spoiling her to death, he thought-and patted her head affectionately. She hooted softly and flew back out the window.

The barn owl flapped his wings to get Harry's attention. "'Allo, who are you?" Harry took the letter and package from the owl's leg and sent it off again.

Harry opened the package and saw a necklace. It had a silver chain, and had a round piece of glass for a pennant. Inside was a red feather.

Harry opened the letter and saw Hagrid's messy scrawl.

Hello Harry, hope you've been feeling alright. Anyways, you might be wondering what your necklace is. It's a Fuoco Pennant. Dumbledore gave it to me to give it to you, in case of an emergency. Inside is a phoenix feather, one that came from Fawkes; Dumbledore convinced him to give one more. Took a long time, mind you. Phoenixes can carry a grudge for half a century.

But, what the Fuoco Pennant does is focus your magic into the glass pennant whenever you aren't holding your wand. If something happens, then you can just hold the pennant in your hand and it'll act as your want. When you're not in danger, you won't even notice the pennant.

It's spelled to be Untraceable to other magical folk and Unbreakable. Also, it can't be taken off your neck unless you do it yourself.

I hope you have a happy birthday and that you make the Muggles miserable as hell, and have a good time doing it, alright, Harry?

Hagrid.

Harry grinned. Torturing the Dursleys won't be too difficult now that Farmor Mishka was here. They seemed to hate her as much as she disliked them. But why was she here, then? Harry shrugged and put the Fuoco Pennant around his neck.

Instantly he felt a focus of energy come to the area of the pennant. Harry scowled and got his wand from his trunk. The second he touched it, the energy went back to all over his body, a familiar feeling whenever he touched his arm.

Harry put the wand back and felt the Pennant go stationary. If the Pennant was Untraceable, then did that mean he would be able to do magic during summer vacation? Normally the Ministry of Magic would swoop down on a person and threaten them with expulsion. But was it worth a shot to try?

"I might as well, Harry thought. I can always blame it on a house elf." Harry grinned. Dobby used a levitation charm with a bowl of pudding right before his second year started.

Harry held up the pennant and pointed it at the fake Hogwarts, A History on the table.

"Accio book!-" Harry said before the door knocked again. The book landed neatly in his hand, and knocked Harry over because if its weight right as the door opened and Farmor Mishka poked her head in.

"Harry, darling, I made some sandwiches, would you like some?" All Harry could manage was to nod. He couldn't believe his luck, Farmor Mishka not seeing his spell, and no owl so far.

Farmor Mishka nodded. "Alright, then. It'll be ready in five minutes." She smiled and said something under her breath before closing the door.

Harry cleaned his room and hid his magical things. As he opened the door he stopped dead. Did Farmor Mishka say "Nice Summoning Spell"?