Harry Potter and the Essence of Pure Magic

It had been a hot summer, and the night was still fairly warm, even though it was almost midnight. The window of the smallest bedroom in the house of Number 4 Privet Drive was wide open to let in the soft gentle breeze that was blowing, in the hopes of cooling the room's occupant down somewhat. The rest of the house was air-conditioned, so the others who slept under its roof did so comfortably out of the heat.

The boy, well, young man now, who used the room as a residence during the summer holidays lay on his bed, clad only in a pair of shorts, his chest exposed to the air. His body ached in a kind of comfortable way, both from the work he'd volunteered to do for his aunt in the garden, and the growth spurt that he had started to undergo.

His room was cluttered, books scattered on the desk and all across the floor, from the bed to the desk and then to the trunk from which they'd all been removed from earlier in the month. Scrolls of parchment littered the desk or were casually thrown into the trunk, with other, individual pages or scraps also spread out across the room. An empty cage stood in between the desk and the window, the door open and clear but for the food and water dishes inside it.

He rolled himself into an upright position sitting on the edge of the bed, and brought his hand up through his raven-black hair, briefly exposing the lightening-shaped scar on his forehead before the hair covered it back up. Plucking his glasses from his face, he tiredly rubbed his eyes for a second, before staring out sightlessly to the sky. The emerald orbs snapped into focus as he shook himself a bit, leaving what little he could see naturally, before slipping them back on.

Looking at the red glowing digits of the alarm clock on the bedside table next to him, Harry Potter saw that it was one minute to midnight. One minute until he turned sixteen. Some might consider it a milestone birthday. Personally, Harry quite frankly believed it to be a miracle, that he had survived through another year. What, with the crazed lunatic that always seemed to be after his blood, and his tendency to lead people into harm's way...

Stop that he thought to himself. Remember, there is no time for thinking like that He smiled to himself, a grim smile that was completely lacking in humour, just containing a large amount of bitterness and self-loathing. There'll be time for that later... or when I'm dead...

He shook his head again. For the past three weeks, the last week in particular, he'd been pretty good at keeping most of the negative thoughts out of his mind. The first week after the holidays, he'd almost been crippled with guilt and depression over Sirius's death, and the revelation of the contents of the Prophecy from the Department of Mysteries. Luckily, he'd snapped out of it fairly quickly after a visit from Remus Lupin and Tonks. He smiled slightly at how the usually calm, gentle and generally pleasant ex-professor had growled at him, when he went into one of his self-pitying modes.

[Flashback]

"Do you think that Sirius would want you to be moping around like this? Pull yourself together cub! Do not disrespect his memory like this!" he'd said, looking like he was going to grab Harry by the shoulders and try to shake the words into him.

"But it was my fault-" Harry had begun to say, before he was grabbed by Lupin literally growled at before the werewolf had started talking again.

"Stop it! It wasn't your fault. Believe me, Harry, it wasn't your fault. It was Voldemort's, it was Bellatrix's, it wasn't yours! True, there are other things you could have done, things that could have been different, but remember this. You didn't force him to go, you didn't push him, didn't encourage him to duel so arrogantly with that bitch! You did not push him through the Veil! Do you understand? Just... let it go. It wasn't all your fault, Harry..." he'd finished quietly, releasing Harry's shoulders which he had shaken with each point.

[End Flashback]

By the time the two had left Harry, almost three hours later, he was well on his way out of the Depression, as Tonks had jokingly referred to it as when she was walking out the door, and was functioning once more like a human being rather than as the mindless zombie he had been for seven days. He'd asked them to get Dumbledore to send him whatever books he had or could find on Occulmency, so he could hopefully do some work on his own, improve his skill, maybe actually gain a basic understanding of the art. A part of himself (one that sounded suspiciously like Hermione) said that Snape hadn't actually started from the beginning (from some perverse desire to see him fail said another part of him that sounded like Ron, which on it's own was weird... he didn't think Ron would use a word like perverse...).

After the three weeks of reading the book he'd been sent, Harry had managed to come to a dim understanding of the art, and could now block Voldemort from sending his emotions over the link, or from inadvertently seeing whatever had inspired the emotions. It felt weird to Harry in a way, how much his scar had been picking up on over the past two years, and possibly even longer, with the complete lack of feeling anything from it he now had. He didn't know if he'd be able to block any intrusion that Riddle might try to make directly, like inserting memories again, not having had that particular experience happen to him yet since he'd began to train himself. And he was also pretty sure he wouldn't be able to withstand a face-to-face Legilimens attack. But he was happy with his progress for now, and diligently worked on improving it whenever he had a free moment, and before he fell asleep at night.

This had also had the benefit of drastically reducing his nightmares. Harry figured the only thing that had stopped Uncle Vernon from giving him a thrashing during the first week had been the threat the Order had made at King's Cross Station. He woken up several times each night, screaming or sobbing, usually crying out for Sirius, watching him as he fell through the Veil, his own arm out-stretched in a futile attempt to grab him. By now, he'd could generally sleep through the night, or at least not wake up screaming. The constant practice of Occulmency was helping him to control his emotions both awake and asleep. Overall, a much better deal by all accounts.

Looking back at the alarm clock, Harry was slightly surprised to see that it was after midnight now. Hmmm... must have lost a bit of time in there... He tapped the side of his, listening for an echo with a faint grin on his face. I must be tired...

As he continued to grin faintly at his own seeming descent into insanity, he was suddenly joined by a small group of owls, who all glided quickly into the room, settling down wherever they could find room. Or most of them did. One small owl continued to bounce around the room, twittering away. Harry groaned to himself slightly, and then began to play the game he'd dubbed to himself Catch The Pig. Admittedly, not a good name, but then he usually only had to do it in the early hours of the morning, when his brain was asleep. And who thought well then?

Snagging the small owl, which continued to make an indecent amount of noise for the hour, he quickly took the small package and letter off, and flung him back out the window. "I'll send a note back with Hedwig, Pig. Go back home," he softly called out, and watched the small owl begin to zigzag his way to the Burrow. Turning to the others, he began to take the assorted parcels and letters they carried, making a pile on his bed before he even tried to see what they were and who they were from. Giving each one an owl treat, he sent them all on their way, before turning to his very own snowy owl, Hedwig.

"Hey girl," he crooned, running a finger along one of her wings. "Have a good flight?" Hedwig closed her eyes briefly, before nipping at his hand in her usual gentle, playful fashion. "Alright then. Get some rest, I'm going to send you out in a few hours. Letters for everyone." Gesturing at the pile on his bed, Harry ran his finger over her wings once again, before he turned and sat down on the bed to begin opening his presents.

He'd barely begun to sort them out when another flock of owls flew in, this time just dropping off a letter before heading back out. Before Harry could overcome his shock at the second wave, a third flew in, and a fourth, before finally a fifth way of only a few owls instead of the nearly dozen that had been in each of the previous waves. Now covered in a small mound of letters, Harry could only sit there gaping in shock. He had no clue who could have sent him so many letters. He picked one up, scanned the name, and a small clue began to grow in his brain. After quickly going through a few of them, Harry let out a small chuckle. All of the D.A. had sent him letters. Working his way quickly through the nearly forty he had, he found that most wished him a Happy Birthday, and a thanks for helping them get Outstandings or Exceeds Expectations on OWLS, NEWTS, Fourth year and Sixth year exams for Defence Against The Dark Arts.

At least it was good for something then... Harry thought to himself. In a way, he wished the group had never been necessary. If it wasn't for Umbridge... If it wasn't for Umbridge, a lot of things wouldn't have happened that did. Foul toad of a woman!

Turning back to his other presents, he started to tear through them. Most were books, and DADA books at that, including the book that had caught his eye in Flourish and Botts back in first year (Curses and Counter-Curses by Vindictus Viridian) from Neville, a few Auror training manuals (from Tonks and Moody, which included a letter telling him not to show them about, technically it was illegal for him to have them) and A Rise And Fall Of The Dark Arts from Hermoine(which, when he quickly flipped through, he was embarrassed to note had a section about him in it.). The twins had sent him a package of their latest inventions, and Harry had gingerly picked up the parcel with a nearby shirt, and carefully lowered it into his trunk. Ron had sent him box of sugar-quills and chocolate frogs, along with a long letter about the chances of the Chudley Cannons, for about the tenth time that summer. Bill, Charlie and Ginny had combined to buy him a new watch, which he quickly slipped onto his wrist, his old watch never having been replaced after the Second Task in the Tri-wizard tournament in Fourth year. It was the final present that really shook Harry. He opened up the note first, and froze after reading the first line.

Harry. This was supposed to be from both myself and Sirius... it just doesn't seem right not to give it to you. Also, there are two others, one from myself, one that Sirius had had wrapped since Christmas. Remember, it isn't your fault. He wouldn't want you to mourn him so much. And I get the feeling, with the gift we got for you, you won't be moping about much either. Have some fun with it!

Hesitating briefly, he went back over the letter a few times, then the ones from the rest of the presents, before he managed to regain himself enough to open up the package. Three books fell out, one another DADA book, an in-depth look at magical combat on a large-scale, the other two bound in rather simple leather. Pulling the slightly larger one to him, he opened to the first page to reveal... absolutely nothing. He was about to start flipping his way through the pages when he saw a piece of loose parchment stuck in the near the binding. Pulling it out, he quickly read it.

Welcome, Pronglet, to the Marauders Guide! Now know this, pup, this is the collection of every single prank that we could remember, from the time we started through to the time we left Hogwarts. Of course, since this was only started in Sixth Year, we don't have ALL the pranks we played. That would have been impossible to record! Here the writing changed styles as a new paragraph was started.

Yes, that is the truth Mister Padfoot. As my esteemed colleague, Mister Padfoot has already informed you, Pronglet ([You aren't a Marauder yet, you don't get the Mister or your own name yet!] was a quick interruption from the original writer), this is as much as we could recall of all the pranks we played from the first five years, and all of the ones we managed during sixth and seventh years. Potions recipes, minor variations on hexes, transfigurations notes, modified charms...

Harry shook his head slightly as the writing changed again. Yes, yes Mister Mooney, I'm sure that young Pronglet gets it, don't you pup? Anyway, enjoy this gift, and use it to do unspeakable things to Snivellus, the greasy git! A bittersweet chuckle came out of Harry. It was just such a... well, to say Sirius thing to do would be both appropriate, and completely inappropriate.

Looking around, he realised he had only one more present to look at, the other book from Sirius. Again, it took him several minutes to work himself up enough to pick up the book and drag it onto his lap, and several more to even manage to open the front page. Once again, the page was empty, another piece of parchment nestled into there for Harry to read.

Harry, I'm putting this away now and telling Remus where it is, just in case the worst should happen between now and your birthday. I found this the day after you left to go back to Hogwarts after Christmas, and figured it could wait until your birthday for my to hand it to you. It's a book me and your father found in a bookstore in Hogsmeade, about halfway through Fifth Year. We even managed to recoup the expense of purchasing it by hiring it out... actually made a bit of a profit! To activate it (and the Guide, too, which I also found then and just in case myself or Remus forgets to write how to use it) you just have to use our most solemn motto, and the glories of it's pages shall be revealed unto you! he'd ended with a dramatic flourish, wringing another wry chuckle out of Harry. Going to throw the parchment into the bin, he saw more writing on the other side.

Don't blame yourself if I die Harry. I'm gradually going crazier in this house, and when something does happen nothing will be able to stop me from going, even if it means certain death. Especially if it's on your behalf. You're the only thing left I have of two of my best mates, Harry. You're the son I never had the chance to have. And I'm sorry I missed so much of your life, and will miss so much of it if you actually end up reading this. Know that I love you, like you were my own son. Don't mourn me, Harry, live. After all, there must always be Potters in the world!

Chest tight, Harry threw the letter onto the bed, and stared out at the sky. It just wasn't fair, it wasn't right. He'd almost made it, he'd almost been fine... well, not fine, but coping at least. He knew he'd not come to terms with Sirius death quickly, that it would torment him from years, but he'd still managed to get some distance between him and it, so he would be able to get the chance to grieve, instead of become overwhelmed. A few tears slowly trickled down his face, before he wiped them away and turned back to the books.

Grabbing his wand, he put the second book away, and picked up the Marauder's Guide. Opening it up, he tapped the first page with his wand and said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Slowly ink spread across the page, much like what happened to the Marauder's Map, and soon an elegant title page had replaced the previously blank page. Harry flipped through the pages idly, noting several interesting charms, curses and hexes he might want to use next time he saw Malfoy, and some photos that showed some of the effects of said curses, which were all pretty funny and discomforting, by the look on the target's faces. Having finished his quick perusal of the Guide, he pulled the second book after and tapped his wand to it again, reciting the pledge. Honestly, he thought to himself, who did they think they were fooling with a motto like-

Harry sat gaping in shock at the title of the book in his hands. This book, this was the book of adolescent wizarding male legend, especially among Hogwarts students. He held in his hands the Holy Grail. It was the Young Wizard's Handbook. Thought to be a myth, it was whispered about in the dorm, bathroom or locker room. Filled with the wisdom of young wizards through the ages, and all focused on one thing.

Witches.

Harry had heard Dean and Seamus talking about it on a few occasions in the dorm back at Gryffindor Tower. Fred and George had begun an interesting discourse into whether or not it actually existed after a Quidditch practice one evening. They said Bill had once been told by a seventh year when he was in second that it had been available for hiring by a pair of industrious students who had since left the school. That was the closest anyone he'd ever heard talk about it had gotten. Well, once he'd heard a Hufflepuff claim to have a copy, but he quickly changed his story after being swamped by the male population of all four houses in fourth year and up wanting a look at it, a few years ago.

But he had in his hands an actual copy! Sitting there in a daze, he carefully placed the rest of his presents on the floor, and began to read, until he fell asleep a few hours later. All the time, his thought's echoed one thing. What a cool godfather. And at the same time, tears slowly trickled down his cheeks.