Lapis Novus

Lapis Novus

Harry Potter was lying on his bed sulking about the general unfairness of the world when a sharp tapping on the window roused him to his senses. Grumbling, he went over to the window and let in the cause of the unprecedented noise. The owl hopped onto his windowsill and allowed him to remove the letter bound to its leg before flying off again into the warm summer night. Harry rubbed the back of his head forlornly, trying to work out who the letter was from so he could decide whether to leave it unopened. If it was from the Order, he should reply straight away. If it was from one of his friends, he could leave it until the morning. If, as he strongly suspected, it was from the Ministry of Magic, and was therefore his OWL results, he should bury it in the bottom of the garden without opening it. Sighing, he decided burying it would be to much bother. After all, he told himself, he wouldn't have got the worst marks in the year...he hoped. Fumbling for his glasses, he broke open the official - looking seal and pulled out the parchment inside.

Dear Mr Potter

I am writing to you to let you know of the results of your Ordinary Wizarding Levels. You have achieved satisfactory results in order to continue your education and take the appropriate NEWT classes for the profession of Auror, which I understand you expressed an interest in.

Your actual results are contained on the other parchment.

Yours sincerely

Mafalda Hopkirk

Chief examiner

Grinning widely, Harry pulled out the other slip of parchment, gazing oddly at the final piece inside. Wondering what it could possibly be, he removed it carefully and read it.

Harry,

You will be pleased to hear I have had your Quidditch ban rescinded ready for next term. Congratulations on your results!

Albus Dumbledore

Harry was now of the opinion that if he grinned any wider his head would fall off. Finally, he turned his attention back to the parchment and read it through. He was pleased to see that he got an O for both his DADA exams, and he even managed an O in Potions. Grabbing two slips of parchment he scrawled quick notes to both Ron and Hermione telling them his results, and once he had tied them to Hedwig's leg and watched her soar off out of the window, he slumped back on his bed, feeling much happier than he had all holiday.

Harry woke up the next morning in exactly the same mood he had done every other morning...total lethargy and despair. Last night, like all the ones before, he had

dreamt of Sirius falling through the veil again. Only, in his dreams, it wasn't Bellatrix Lestrange who shot the curse at him...it was Harry. And the dream always ended the same way, with Voldemort laughing in his face, telling him to bow to death just like he had done in the graveyard over a year ago on the night Cedric died.

Throwing back the sheets and striding over to the open window, Harry mused about his life and the revelation of the prophecy. He was glad he no longer had to take Divination, he didn't think he would have been able to stand being near Professor Trelawney as she had so casually predicted his death almost sixteen years ago. For Harry was convinced it was his death, he could see no way that he would be able to survive fighting his arch-nemesis. Even if he did kill Voldemort, which, to his mind, was far from likely, the chances of then surviving his entire army of Death Eaters firing every curse they knew at him seemed even more remote. Harry had been brooding about this for weeks now, so much so that even the Dursleys were taking notice. Sighing at the thought of his beloved (not) family, he threw on his least dilapidated outfit, attempted to brush his hair into a slightly neater fashion, and hurried downstairs to the kitchen to begin making breakfast. The smell of coffee seemed to do him some good, but unfortunately it also roused the senses of Dudley, who could hear a fridge door being opened from two rooms away. Harry desperately tried to stop the plaster drifting down from the ceiling from landing in any of the food, and failing miserably, resigned himself to the task of picking all the tiny white flakes out before his uncle came downstairs.

Harry looked around as Dudley, his dear cousin, entered the room. Dudley had once again changed from the state he was in the previous summer and was now a mound of blubber as large as he was two years ago. He had reverted back to this huge killer-whale size because he could no longer be bothered to diet and had decided that kickboxing wasn't that fun after all. Fortunately for Harry, this meant that the rest of the household was allowed proper meals as well, but on the other hand, now that Dudley was eating so much there was even less for him to eat. He watched as Dudley picked up the plate with the largest amount of bacon on it and sighed audibly when his huge cousin removed half the bacon from Harry's plate and place it reverentially on his own. Dudley glanced wickedly at Harry, as if daring him to challenge him. Harry had a better idea though.

"Dudley," he began, "do you want some eggs to go with your bacon?" He spoke calmly and patiently as though talking to a five year old. Dudley nodded greedily and Harry said "In that case, I need you to get some more eggs out of the fridge for me while I sort out the frying pan." Carefully watching his cousin's back, Harry shifted the bacon Dudley had stolen back onto his own plate, being careful to arrange it so it looked no different. Dudley came back with the eggs and Harry carefully fried them and dished them out. After approximately twenty minutes of silence broken only by the clink of cutlery and Dudley's occasional burp, Harry's massive cousin left the table.

"Score one to me," Harry thought, grinning inwardly and thinking of the Weasley twins, and then the Marauders. The smile died on his lips, however, when he remembered how only one of the Marauders was still in any state to be called alive.

He was not able to dwell long on this thought however, as Uncle Vernon suddenly entered the kitchen, telling Harry not to sit too near the window or the neighbours might see him. Harry hardly heard him, and was finally shocked to his senses by the sight of his Uncle's moustache in close up.

"What's the matter with you, boy?" He growled menacingly, and for a moment Harry thought he was actually concerned about him. "You know you were supposed to make my breakfast this morning, and do I see it on the table? No, I don't! You'd better sort yourself out boy, because if I don't see you perking up and doing the tasks I set for you today, you will not be going back to that crackpot school of yours." Harry laughed dully at this.

"You're such a prat," he said, ignoring the colour of his uncle's face. "You can't stop me going and you know it. For a start, my friends from the station would be here the instant they realised, secondly, all the neighbours would be suspicious, and thirdly, that would mean you would have to put up with me even longer. And I know how much you hate me, because I feel exactly the same way about you." Vernon's face was apoplectic with rage, and Harry was pleased to note that his words had finally struck home. He turned to go, but before he could even escape the kitchen, his uncle's hand had connected itself with his side and he was smashed into the counter. Lying on the floor with the shards of his broken glasses littering his face, he saw Vernon leaning over him looking satisfied, and before he could even take in the rest of the scene, his world went black.

Harry woke up to find himself lying between crisp white sheets. He couldn't see anything and he was vaguely aware of a sharp pain all down his right side and the slight roughness of bandages. He lifted up his arm, which currently hurt like hell, and discovered it to be considerably heavier than normal.

"Great," he thought to himself, "how am I supposed to hold a wand now?" With that thought, Harry realised that wherever he was, it wasn't a place connected with magic. He had never seen a wizard in a plaster cast, and, considering Molly Weasley's reaction when she found out about her husband's stitches, he didn't think he was going to. Harry gingerly lifted the arm that appeared to be whole to his face and his fingers met more bandages. Someone, however, must have noticed his actions, and a hand caught his before he could peel the white cotton back. A woman's voice began to speak softly, and Harry listened carefully. Maybe she would be able to tell him what he was doing here?

"Hi honey, I see you are awake at last. My name is Evelyn, and I am your nurse. In case you can't remember what happened, you were attacked and beaten by your uncle. A neighbour saw what was happening through the window and alerted the emergency services, who found you lying in the kitchen of the house with glass all over your face, nasty bruises to your head, three broken ribs and a broken arm. You've been here at St John's hospital for a few days now. We've got you on a drip and we've been looking after you, but we really don't have very much information about you. If you are feeling a little better, maybe you could tell us?"

Harry let the nurse carry on her little monologue for a bit longer while he tried to see if he could still speak, then he said, "Did the neighbour give their name?"

The nurse didn't answer for a moment and Harry assumed she was surprised. After a long pause, she said, "Yes...it was Arabella Figg. Do you know her?" Harry nodded. It made sense, after all, he hadn't really expected the Order to stop watching him and it was so easy for Mrs Figg to just stroll by number four looking inconspicuous and check on him. He sensed the nurse giving him a strange look even though he couldn't see her, and he decided to ask her why his eyes were bandaged.

"Why-" he began, but the nurse was obviously used to anticipating questions or else she was a very accomplished muggle Legilimens and she cut him off with her reply almost before he had asked the question.

"There was a lot of glass in your face. The doctors had to remove it all carefully, and the bandage is just there to stop you from irritating the wounds. Your sight hasn't been damaged at all, so there's no need to worry about that!" Harry let the breath he didn't know he had been holding go, and smiled at where he thought the nurse was. But before he could start on another question, or try to answer one of the many he knew the nurse would be asking him, he heard the door click and heard Evelyn stand up. For a brief moment he wondered who it could be...a doctor, perhaps? His musings were interrupted by a gravely, low voice that didn't sound as though it were used to dealing with anyone who wasn't actively trying to break the law. Policeman, he thought, just as the voice paused.

"Hello mate, Sister Evelyn says you are awake. I'm Constable Staffordshire and I want to ask you a few questions, if that's alright with you." Harry nodded and pulled himself further up the pillows, directing his head towards the sound of the constable's voice and trying to ignore the spasm of pain that shot through his side. Staffordshire started off with the basics, such as Name, Age, Residence etc, but when he said School, Harry started to worry.

"School, Harry? I need you to tell me." The constable's serious tones cut off Harry's train of thought and he decided with a mental shrug to simply explain everything. It would be a lot easier than trying to remember a long, detailed story, at any rate. Bracing himself for the bemused reaction he expected to receive, he answered "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." As he had anticipated, there was a pause, and then, to his surprise, the reaction came.

"Wait, are you the Harry Potter? Parents, James and Lily, formerly Evans, Potter? Responsible for the vanquishing of the Dark Lord aged only 13 months? Bearing a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt?" Harry nodded as the questions came at him, and in answer to the final one, brushed away the unruly hair covering his forehead. He heard a gasp, and decided to ask,

"Are you, erm, like me?" He heard the constable's terse reply, and then a whispered conversation and the quiet 'snick' of the door swinging shut.

"I've sent Evelyn away..." Staffordshire said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. "Now we can have a proper chat...and you can tell me why you are here."