Harry Potter And The War Of The Sun And Moon

As the sun sank below the horizon, a magnificent hue of bright scarlet filled the sky, rays of pink and orange framed by the earliest inky blues of the night. Harry Potter, who was the only occupant of the room at the time, looked at the sunset, a broad grin on his face. This in itself was unusual, as Harry was forced to spend every summer with his only living relatives, the Dursleys, who hated magic in general and Harry especially. But nothing could upset him now, not even the prospect of two more months with his horrible aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon, not even having to do all his cousin Dudley's summer homework for him. No, none of these things could upset him, for in his hand he held a letter from his godfather, Sirius Black, that stated, quite plainly, that he was to have his name cleared on 22^nd August. Harry grinned once again as he read the letter, a funny sort of fluttering in his stomach springing as he read it.

Harry,

How are you? Are the Muggles treating you well? I write you with good news. Dumbledore has decided that it would be far too difficult for me to remain a fugitive. He requested that you, Hermione, Ron, me, and himself be put under Veritaserum and questioned on the Bastard's whereabouts, if you and Ron agree, of course. Dumbledore suggested that I put into Pensieve the stuff that happened in the Shrieking Shack after I escaped, and when I witnessed the Bastard becoming your parents Secret-Keeper. This means that I have to stay under Ministry custody until then, but there are no Dementors in the Headquarters, so I suppose it isn't too bad. Do you know what this means? Since I'm the only wizard with a legal reason to claim for your custody, you can come live with me! More good news! Now that Voldemort's back, and the teachers busy with juggling teaching and fighting against the Dark side, (that bloody idiot of a Minister still refuses to believe that Voldemort's back) I've accepted a job at Hogwarts! I'll be taking over McGonagall's job of Apparation and teaching the first- and second-year Transfiguration. Now I'll be able to keep and eye on you (and maybe help you with a few little tricks?) Please send reply posthaste, and I'll be able to send the remainder of information to you.

Warm Regards,

Sirius

Harry couldn't help but smile as he read and reread his godfather's letter, especially his referation to Peter Pettigrew as 'the Bastard.' Then, a sudden wave of euphoria and realization and him. He was leaving the Dursley's! He remembered his scribbled reply he had made as soon as he had read it the first time, which was rather unfortunate, since the letter had came scarcely after midnight.

Dear Sirius,

Of course I'll testify! I've just sent a letter to Ron with instructions to send his reply directly to you. It's great that you're teaching this year. How's Moony? Oops, gotta go. I woke Vernon up with that last whoop of joy. (heh heh, the great lump) I'll see you in a few months then.

Harry

It was in this condition, perched on his window still, breathing the clean summer air and sighing like a romantic that his aunt found him, not bothering to knock, as usual.

"Boy!" her high-pitched voice shrieked. "Dinner isn't going to cook itself! You won't freeload off us, your decent, hardworking relatives, you'll pull your own weight!"

Although Harry's blood began to boil at his aunt's most unjust ultimatum, he quickly clamped a lid down on his anger. He was saving any resentment towards them for a little something his father would have been proud of during the last weeks of July, when Harry left for Sirius' trial. He smiled painfully and managed to let out an acceptable

"Yes Aunt Petunia, right away." With that, he made his way down the stairs and to the kitchen, where Dudley was eating from a box of doughnuts, even though the sun had already dipped below the horizon. At least with his diet gone, he's too fat to catch me. Harry remarked to himself internally, trying to find the bright side in his remainder of time with the Dursleys'. He pulled out some chicken from the freezer and dumped into the skillet, not really caring if burned or not. His uncle had long since forbidden him to eat at the table when Dudley was (mainly to hide the fact Dudley was well on his way to taking up two sides of the table). When the chicken had finished (that is, was blackened beyond recognition) Harry cut it in three, making one absurdly small, and put the pieces on plates, garnished with a salad made out of lettuce and a tomato, both several weeks old. He ran out the house, claiming to be doing work for some neighbor or another.

Harry set himself on a leisurely course, running slowly past his old school, the local church, and finally, the playground that was maybe two kilometers from Privet Drive. When he arrived, gasping like a fish out of water, it was pitch-dark, save for the illumination of the street lamps that adorned the street every twenty meters or so. Flopping on the grass, Harry laughed to himself at the thought of the Dursleys' expressions as they saw their blackened, withered dinner awaiting them. He had only two weeks left though, before Ron was to pick him up for Sirius' trial, even though it wasn't for another month. Harry and Ron had decided that it would be best for Sirius' chance of a victory if Ron and Harry were able to talk about it beforehand, getting the events without a hitch. Besides, Moony (it was strange to Harry how easily the nickname came now) had volunteered to offer his own testimony, although because of the long and most unfair prejudices standing against werewolves, Harry doubted it would help much. Still, it was something, and Harry was glad for anything that might help his god-father be cleared.

By the time Harry had gotten to this point in his musings, it had gotten both much darker and colder. Harry supposed he'd better go back to Number 4 now, surely the Dursleys were asleep? He got up and began his journey back to Privet drive at a slow jog, not in any hurry to get home, but not wanting to be picked up by the police either. When he arrived back at Number 4 some ten minutes later, he found the door was locked. Figures, Harry thought, Just like them to lock me out. Fortunately for Harry, he had taken to carrying the penknife Sirius had got him last year, and doubly fortunately for him, the charm on the penknife that allowed it to open any un-magical lock didn't count against the Under-age Wizard Restriction. Harry whipped it open, taking out a smaller blade. Inserting it carefully into the hole, he moved a dial, sending a needle-thin sliver into the hole as well. With a few well-timed flicks of his wrist, Harry managed to open the door without using the magic in the knife for the first time. Fred and George would be pleased. He entered quietly, noting the time on the kitchen clock- 10:30 p.m. He crept upstairs into bed, smiling slightly at the memory of his little prank.

The next two weeks were some of the most difficult Harry had faced with the Dursleys. Vernon's hatred of Harry reached heights before only touched by Harry's Potions teacher, Severus Snape. Day after day, from dawn until dusk, Harry was forced to labor of all types, from dusting the house to weeding the garden, and, for the last week of his stay, he was ordered to build a stone wall, like a Zen sanctuary. Since Harry knew nothing about Zen architecture or whatever, he was forced to jog up to the library, research it, and then go build it. After four days of this, Harry's arms ached with such a protest that he could barely lift his hands, much less the forty- and fifty-pound rocks needed for the elaborate construction. It was a huge relief for Harry, when on 22^nd July the Weasleys came for Harry.

Apparently remembering last year's fiasco, this time Mr. Weasley came only with Ron, and by way of car. This time it was a 1978 Cadillac convertible, and one of the strangest cars Harry had ever seen. The outside was dull gold, and the interior was all maroon leather. Bet Ron was thrilled at that! A pair of fuzzy dice hung from the rear-view mirror, and Ron was in the front seat, looking smug. Also, they had arrived unannounced, since Harry had "forgot" to tell the Dursleys he was leaving. Harry ran inside the house before Vernon saw the visitors. Grabbing his trunk from beneath the stairs, Harry bounded up the steps to his room and grabbed the assorted cards, letters, and spellbooks collected there, as well as Hedwig's empty cage. As fast as he could, Harry bounded back down the stairs, almost running right into a very angry uncle Vernon.

"BOY!!!!" he roared, "WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" Vernon shrieked, indicating his trunk. "WHAT ARE DOING? WHA- WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, BOY?"

Harry had slipped past Vernon, and was running as fast as he could with his trunk in one hand, dragging behind him. His obese uncle tried to grab him, but missed. With a roar of rage, he called his wife and son.

"HE'S GETTING AWAY!!! PETUNIA! DUDLEY! STOP HIM!" he bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth.

Harry finally reached the front yard, throwing his trunk in the now open-topped Cadillac.

"Go, go!" he yelled while trying to be as polite as possible to Mr. Weasley.

For the first time, he noticed that Bill was there as well, and must have been ducking the back to avoid being seen. Harry winced, remembering his trunk had landed in the back- all hundred pounds of it. Mr. Weasley hit a button on the dash, and the hydraulics started, bouncing the car up and down. However, they rose more up than down, and began to float up, over the houses. Before stepping on the gas though, Mr. Weasley hit a button, presumably turning them invisible. Bill, however, took this moment to send to curses at the Dursleys.

"Expellus Gastropodus, Obliviate!" Bill yelled, aiming his wand at them. Two jets of light, one a green-gray, the other white, the ground around the Dursleys. The first one was the same curse Ron had tried to use on Malfoy in their second year, which had backfired on Ron and made him vomit slugs for several hours. The spell wasn't permanent, it wore off in a maximum of 24 hours, but it was most unpleasant while it lasted. The second was the Memory Charm, which made the Dursleys forget the last four or five seconds, thus being unable for them to report Bill. Ron grinned at Harry's shocked and delighted expression.

"Early birthday present from me and Bill. I thought you'd like it."

Harry grinned broadly, then looked quickly over to Mr. Weasley. He was driving with his eyes straight ahead, and looked very stern. Suddenly, he snorted, and his face cracked a smile. It wasn't long before to four of them began laughing hysterically. The thought of the Dursleys lying around throwing up slugs for a day, and not even remembering who did it was too much to bear. It wasn't until the touched down on the front yard of the Borrow that they finally managed to calm themselves. They opened the car doors to find Mrs. Weasley striding out to greet them.

"Honestly Arthur, did you have to get him in that ridiculous car? I don't think that's very inconspicuous." Mrs. Weasley was saying as the made their way towards the house.

"Oh, don't worry Molly. No one suspected a thing. In fact, I bet Harry's aunt and uncle were glad to see him go and have fun with his friends."

Mrs. Weasley seemed to think this over and must decided to deem it okay, because she smiled at them.

"Well then, why don't you all come, we were just about to eat anyway. Would you like some breakfast Harry?"

Harry, who hadn't ate anything for a day and half, nodded quickly. He allowed himself to be led to the kitchen, where the rest of the Weasley clan- Percy, the twins, Fred and George, and Ginny, Ron's little sister were sitting down, just about to eat. Looking around, he saw the only Weasley who wasn't there was Charlie, the second-eldest Weasley child who worked with dragons. Harry supposed he must be in Romania then, continuing his work. But why is Bill here? Harry wondered.

He soon had no time to worry about such things, as a large plate of food topped with sausages and eggs was pushed in front of him, and a front and knife forced in his hand.

"Eat up dear," Mrs. Weasley told, smiling as she put down plates for the rest of her family.

She sat down herself, digging into the breakfast and watching Harry out of the corner of her eye. For once, Harry's mind was free from troubling thoughts for the first time since he had left Hogwarts, and he pondered nothing except what Mrs. Weasley put in his scrambled eggs- they were delicious. After a few minutes of non-stop eating, Harry's hunger began to abate, and conversations began to spring up around the table. Mrs. Weasley saved him the trouble of asking about Bill by doing it for him.

"So, Bill dear, what are you doing here. You haven't been fired, have?" she asked, a note of both concern and hysteria in her voice.

"Oh, no Mum. I was sent here to help the London Branch of Gringotts with a real bitch of a curse. Since they don't really have a lot of good curse-breakers over here, I got permanently transferred. 'Sides, this way I'm closer to a free meal," he finished, indicating the kitchen around. "I've got a flat in London, only couple blocks away from Gringotts."

"Well, that's nice dear." Mrs. Weasley smiled knowingly, choosing to ignore his language. "Did you bring that you know, Nicole girl with you?" she asked, as if she already knew the answer.

"No Mum, I told you, Nikki and I have... parted ways."

Harry decided at that point that it was probably a good idea to turn his attention elsewhere, and moved his gaze to where Mr. Weasley and Fred (or George, Harry couldn't tell) were talking. Instead of eavesdropping yet again, Harry leaned forward and engaged Ron in conversation.

"I reckon we should be called to London in a couple days." Harry told Ron.

"Why? The trial's not for a month," Ron looked at him confusedly.

"Yeah, but I suppose Dumbledore'll want to coach us on what to say and the like." Harry answered him. "Besides, with any luck, the trial will get pushed forward. You know how eager Fudge is to get him back in, everyone's screaming for blood after Cedric died-" At this point, Harry cut off and got very silent. Ron must have seen the expression on his face, because he began a lecture that Hermione must have coached him on.

"Oh come on Harry, you were up against thirty powerful full-grown wizards with years of experience and Dark Arts knowledge under their belts, as well as the most powerful Dark wizard for a century. There was nothing you, a scrawny (Harry protested at this, he had grown a little) fourteen-year-old could have done. You need to concentrate on Sirius' trial."

Harry looked around. The whole breakfast table had stopped in their conversation and were looking back and forth between Ron and Harry, mouths agape. Fred and George began to mock-applaud Ron, but were each silenced a look from Mrs. Weasley. Mr. Weasley looked very grave and nodded to Mrs. Weasley, who stood.

"I think it's time to bring Harry's things upstairs. Why don't you boys grab his things."

So Ron and Harry pushed in their chairs- breakfast was winding down anyway- and retrieved Harry's trunk and Hedwig's empty cage, (who was off delivering a letter to Moony) bringing in them all the way up to Ron's room.

The rest of the day sort of blurred for Harry. Him and Ron stayed in Ron's room for a while, talking about all things they could do now as fifth-years. Fifteen was the legal age for a lot of things in the wizarding world; they could vote, drink, get jobs, have sex (so far their favorite idea) and, if they so wanted (which they didn't) drop out or transfer out of Hogwarts. Then they wandered down to the back yard, where they lazily spent the rest of the time remaining until dinner talking with George and throwing the occasional gnome out of the garden.

Dinner itself was an un-eventful affair, unless you counted Fred successfully spiking Mrs. Weasley's soup, (it wasn't a big dinner, everyone was still full from the late breakfast) making her say some rather suggestive things to Mr. Weasley she probably never would have in front of the children had she been sober. Deciding it was probably best they retire, the Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Bill and Ginny all left the table, dumping bowls in the sink and shedding their shoes at the door. Harry and Ron made their way up to Ron's room, where they collapsed, too tired to really talk about anything.

As Harry lay awake for the barest of moments, his thoughts turned to the year ahead of him. Will Voldemort attack? Who'll teach DADA? What did Sirius mean by "a few tricks?" And finally, and most importantly for a fifteen-year-old boy, Am I going to get any? Who should I set my sights on? It was with this thought that Harry drifted off into a contented sleep.