Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways.
“Well, that's just what I always want to hear,” Harry said.
“It makes you feel special, doesn't it?” Luna asked.
For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of year.
“I'd be concerned for you if you did like them,” Hermione said, thinking of his relatives.
For another, he really wanted to do his homework, but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night.
“While I do wish that you didn't have to do it in secret, I am glad to know that you really want to do your homework,” Hermione said.
“You know, if Ron was here, he'd probably be thinking that you've gone crazy,” Cedric said.
“At least he's not, because I really don't want to be listening to him complain,” Harry said. “I probably hear it enough during school as it.”
And he also happened to be a wizard.
“Don't really need to say that, since we already know,” Harry said.
It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his front in bed, the blankets drawn right over his head like a tent, a torch in one hand and a large leather-bound book (A History of Magic, by Bathilda Bagshot)
“You must be doing you're history homework,” Cedric said, wrinkling his nose.
propped open against the pillow. Harry moved the tip of his eagle-feather quill down the page, frowning as he looked for something that would help him write his essay, ‘Witch-Burning in the Fourteenth Century Was Completely Pointless – discuss’.
“It just was,” Cedric said.
“I think you're supposed to give examples as to why it was,” Hermione said.
The quill paused at the top of a likely-looking paragraph. Harry pushed his round glasses up his nose, moved his torch closer to the book and read:
Non-magic people (more commonly known as Muggles) were particularly afraid of magic in medieval times, but not very good at recognising it. On the rare occasion that they did catch a real witch or wizard, burning had no effect whatsoever. The witch or wizard would perform a basic Flame-Freezing Charm and then pretend to shriek with pain while enjoying a gentle, tickling sensation. Indeed, Wendelin the Weird enjoyed being burnt so much that she allowed herself to be caught no fewer than forty-seven times in various disguises.
“Okay, she sounds extremely weird,” Harry said.
“I think that must be why she's called Wendelin the Weird,” Hermione said.
“Right,” Harry said, blushing a bit.
Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his ink bottle and a roll of parchment. Slowly and very carefully he unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped his quill into it and began to write, pausing every now and then to listen, because if any of the Dursleys heard the scratching of his quill on their way to the bathroom, he’d probably find himself locked in the cupboard under the stairs for the rest of the summer.
There were scowls at that, though everyone in the room were so used to hearing how evil the Dursleys were that they weren't as effected by their attitude as much any more. It seemed that it was given that they'd act abnormal when it came to Harry. Of course, Hermione had to wonder what they would do if someone dared to call them abnormal, since it did say in the first book that they considered themselves perfectly normal. And, of course, the best way to make it effective would most likely be someone completely normal themselves...
The Dursley family of number four, Privet Drive, was the reason that Harry never enjoyed his summer holidays. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and their son, Dudley, were Harry’s only living relatives. They were Muggles, and they had a very medieval attitude towards magic. Harry’s dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys’ roof. For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him.
“You know, when you think about it, they're rather lucky that what actually happened, happened, instead of something horrible,” Cedric said. “I mean, the fact that you turned out to be someone nice instead of someone mean is good to know, but you could have become someone mean, someone who would plan revenge against them for what they did to you.”
“Who says that he won't,” Hermione said.
“Other than a brief moment in the first book, as well as a desire not to be there, there hasn't been any mention of him trying to get actual revenge against them,” Cedric said. “Which does speak for you're character, you know? However, I do hope that you don't actually plan on just letting them get away with the way they've treated you. It's not right.”
To their fury, they had been unsuccessful, and now lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most the Dursleys could do these days was to lock away Harry’s spellbooks, wand, cauldron and broomstick at the start of the summer holidays, and forbid him to talk to the neighbours.
“Not that they would want to talk to me anyway,” Harry said. “They believe everything that the Dursleys have said about me, after all.”
This separation from his spellbooks had been a real problem for Harry, because his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work.
“That is true,” Cedric said, thinking about the pile of homework he himself had to work through this summer. At least, for him – the Harry in the book was starting the year that Cedric himself would actually be starting come September. He wondered if his choices in the classes he'd decided to take were good, and then wondered if the classes Harry chose would be any good. However, chances were, Ron was taking the classes that would hopefully guarantee to be the easier and the one least likely to have hard homework in, so they probably wouldn't be the classes one chose if they wanted a good career after school.
One of the essays, a particularly nasty one about Shrinking Potions, was for Harry’s least favourite teacher, Professor Snape, who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry detention for a month.
“Can he actually do that?” Hermione asked. Cedric nodded.
“All of the teachers can,” he said. “It makes sure that you do what you've been told to do.”
Harry had therefore seized his chance in the first week of the holidays. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon’s new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too),
“Trying to make themselves feel more important than they actually are,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “I really don't know why they bother; it's not like it'll actually work all that well.”
“Everyone on Privet Drive does it,” Harry said. “It makes them feel self important, trying to one up each other.”
"So, basically, everyone on that whole street really isn't worth knowing," Hermione said.
"Yeah, pretty much," Harry said.
Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn’t leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by night.
“You know, that's kind of annoying,” Harry said. “Muggle writing utensils are much easier to use, and less likely to leave a stain than a quill and ink.”
“That is true,” Luna said. When she and Cedric had noticed that the writing utensils – and paper – were like nothing they'd ever seen before, Harry and Hermione had patiently explained what they were, to the best of their abilities. Cedric and Luna had been fascinated by how much easier and simpler the pens were to use, as well as how nice it was to use Muggle paper of parchment – they didn't have to worry about it rolling up on them!
“The paper is easier to deal with as well,” Cedric said.
Harry was keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the moment, as they were already in a bad mood with him, all because he’d received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school holidays.
“Looks like you were right about giving Ron my number being a bad idea,” Harry said.
Ron Weasley, who was one of Harry’s best friends at Hogwarts, came from a whole family of wizards. This meant that he knew a lot of things Harry didn’t, but had never used a telephone before. Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call.
“It seems that I just have bad luck all the way around,” Harry said.
“Vernon Dursley speaking.”
Harry, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as he heard Ron’s voice answer.
Harry groaned.
“I thought that you're supposed to be able to hear his voice,” Luna said.
“Yes, you are, but, technically, you're only supposed to hear it if you're the one who answered the phone. Hearing it when you didn't answer the phone, and when you're no where near said phone isn't a good thing,” Harry explained.
“HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I – WANT – TO – TALK – TO – HARRY – POTTER!”
“He's yelling,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “Didn't you explain to his father that you don't have to yell?”
“Most likely,” Harry said.
Ron was yelling so loudly that Uncle Vernon jumped and held the receiver a foot away from his ear, staring at it with an expression of mingled fury and alarm.
“Yeah, because it's not often that someone yells at him through a phone,”Harry said, sniggering.
“WHO IS THIS?” he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. “WHO ARE YOU?”
“What is he thinking?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, yelling right back is a sure fire way of making Ron believe he's doing it right,” Hermione said. “After all, a Muggle is doing it.”
“RON – WEASLEY!” Ron bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were speaking from opposite ends of a football pitch. “I’M – A – FRIEND – OF – HARRY’S – FROM – SCHOOL –“
“I wonder where Ron's calling from,” Harry said, entertaining himself with a picture of Ron standing at a payphone, yelling into the phone while people eyed him as if he was crazy.
Uncle Vernon’s small eyes swivelled around to Harry, who was rooted to the spot.
“THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!” he roared,
“Considering that Ron has been there, Ron will probably know that Vernon's lying,” Hermione said.
“Well, actually, he could believe that he got the number wrong,” Harry said. “And he might not want to call back with Uncle Vernon's attitude, so he wouldn't know if got the right number or not.”
“Well, I do believe he does know what your Uncle's name is,” Hermione said. “And he might recognize his voice from the previous year. However, I do think you're right about Ron not calling again. You're uncle might put a bit of fear into him.”
now holding the receiver at arm’s length, as though frightened it might explode. “I DON’T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON’T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!”
“He should go near the family, it would be funny to see how you're uncle acted,” Hermione said.
“And he should bring one of his parents with so that there could be magic done,” Harry said. “One of them, or the twins. They'd probably be able to do something without causing a warning to appear.”
And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider.
“Oh, Ron would hate being compared to a spider,” Luna said.
“That's probably true,” Harry said.
The row that had followed had been one of the worst ever.
“HOW DARE YOU GIVE THIS NUMBER TO PEOPLE LIKE – PEOPLE LIKE YOU!” Uncle Vernon had roared, spraying Harry with spit.
“Harry lives there too, you fat walrus,” Hermione said. “If he wants to hear from his friends, he should be able to.”
Ron obviously realised that he’d got Harry into trouble, because he hadn’t called again.
“That, or he just wasn't able to figure it out in general, and didn't want to risk your uncle being the one to pick up,” Cedric said.
Harry’s other best friend from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn’t been in touch either.
Hermione frowned at that. She knew how to use a phone perfectly well, and didn't have a reason not to call at all.
Harry suspected that Ron had warned Hermione not to call, which was a pity, because Hermione, the cleverest witch in Harry’s year, had Muggle parents, knew perfectly well how to use a telephone, and would probably have had enough sense not to say that she went to Hogwarts.
“I probably wouldn't have to,” Hermione said, looking at him. “I have the feeling that you wouldn't have reason to get a call from anyone, so it would be easy to deduce that I'm from Hogwarts as well. Of course, the fact that I would know how to use a phone might throw them off, and, of course, they might not actually be able to manage this level of intelligence.”
“Plus, all you would have to do is call again, or send me a letter, and then you'd know that something was wrong, and get other Muggles involved,” Harry said. “You could also come over and refuse point blank to leave, threatening them if they tried to do anything, since you'd be able to tell that something was wrong.”
“True,” Hermione said, though there was a part of her that wondered why she didn't do that the previous summer. After all, it wasn't like she had an owl to use, so it was a probability that she sent the letters the Muggle way – of course, that would mean that Dobby had care enough to check Muggle mail for anything to Harry along with the wizarding mail – so she would know his address, at least, she suspected that she did.
So why didn't she go over there and visit?
So Harry had had no word from any of his wizarding friends for five long weeks,
“We're not even writing?” Hermione said, looking alarmed.
“I don't that that's untrue,” Harry said. “I think I just mean that neither of you actually called.”
“It doesn't sound that way,” Hermione said, a frown on her face.
“Maybe you're not in England right now,” Luna said. “And you don't have an owl, so you can't send something to him that way. You probably used the Muggle way last time, after all.”
“That would keep me from calling, visiting, and writing,” Hermione said. “If I'm not there, then any letter I might write would be slow in getting to you, calls would be costly because they'd be long distance, and I can't exactly just visit you if I'm not even in the country.”
The idea that she wasn't in the country made her a bit happy, since it meant that she wouldn't have to worry about being a bad friend as much, though she did wonder why he didn't get a letter explaining that...
and this summer was turning out to be almost as bad as the last one. There was just one, very small improvement: after swearing that he wouldn’t use her to send letters to any of his friends, Harry had been allowed to let his owl, Hedwig, out at night.
“I really hope that you're not actually really not using her,” Luna said. “She's a post owl; she'll probably feel the need to be useful.”
“They're making you promise because they want to keep you downtrodden even more,” Hermione said, looking glum. “And I get the feeling that not doing what they want doesn't really register in your mind.”
Harry grimaced, knowing that she was right. Outright doing what he wanted, whether they wanted him to do that or not, wasn't something he did often.
“I hope it gets better,” Hermione said.
Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig made if she was locked in her cage all the time.
“Oh, so they really didn't have a choice,” Harry said, grinning a bit.
Harry finished writing about Wendelin the Weird and paused to listen again. The silence in the dark house was broken only by the distant, grunting snores of his enormous cousin, Dudley.
“He sounds loud,” Hermione commented.
It must be very late. Harry’s eyes were itching with tiredness. Perhaps he’d finish this essay tomorrow night …
“Maybe you should do it during the day instead of late at night,” Hermione said. “I mean, they can't get on your case for not wanting to be around them, and, so long as your careful, and don't miss any chores they give you, you should be fine.”
He replaced the top of the ink bottle, pulled an old pillowcase from under his bed, put the torch, A History of Magic, his essay, quill and ink inside it, got out of bed and hid the lot under a loose floorboard under his bed.
“That's a useful place to have,” Harry said. “Less chance of the Dursleys finding it.”
Then he stood up, stretched, and checked the time on the luminous alarm clock on his bedside table.
It was one o’clock in the morning. Harry’s stomach gave a funny jolt.
“Why?” Luna asked.
He had been thirteen years old, without realising it, for a whole hour.
“It's not like it's anything special,” Harry said, shrugging. “It makes sense that I wouldn't really pay much attention to it.”
“Well, we now know what to do so that you do pay attention to it a lot more,” Cedric said.
Yet another unusual thing about Harry was how little he looked forward to his birthdays. He had never received a birthday card in his life.
“Did you ever get those letters from Dobby?” Hermione asked. “Because I get the feeling that you may have gotten some birthday cards from the Weasleys and me that he kept you from getting.”
“I don't think I ever did,” Harry said, a frown on his face. He wondered if Dobby kept the letter or not, and then wondered why Dobby didn't give them to him when Harry freed him, or after Harry was at the school.
The Dursleys had completely ignored his last two birthdays, and he had no reason to suppose they would remember this one.
“Not like they get me great things anyway,” Harry said. “I think them ignoring it is better than being given things that aren't good gifts.”
Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig’s large, empty cage, to the open window. He leant on the sill, the cool night air pleasant on his face after a long time under the blankets. Hedwig had been absent for two nights now.
Harry frowned, wondering where she was. The others wondered that as well.
Harry wasn’t worried about her – she’d been gone this long before – but he hoped she’d be back soon. She was the only living creature in this house who didn’t flinch at the sight of him.
“It would be sad if she did, since you own her,” Luna said.
Harry, though still rather small and skinny for his age, had grown a few inches over the last year. His jet-black hair, however, was just as it always had been: stubbornly untidy, whatever he did to it. The eyes behind his glasses were bright green, and on his forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning.
“I think I know what I look like well enough,” Harry said. “Though, I am happy to know that I'll be growing a bit taller than I already am.”
“Yes, that is good to know,” Hermione said, glad that the Dursleys hadn't cause permanent damage to Harry physically. At least, they hadn't stunted his growth, something they very well could have done.
Of all the unusual things about Harry, this scar was the most extraordinary of all.
“We're going to hear it again,” Cedric said, frowning.
“Yeah, we really don't need a recap of what happened,” Hermione said. Harry and Luna both nodded in agreement.
“I'll try to read the next part quickly,” Harry said.
It was not, as the Dursleys had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had killed Harry’s parents, because Lily and James Potter had not died in a car crash. They had been murdered, murdered by the most feared Dark wizard for a hundred years, Lord Voldemort. Harry had escaped from the same attack with nothing more than a scar on his forehead, when Voldemort’s curse, instead of killing him, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive, Voldemort had fled …
There were some shivers around at the reminder of what exactly Voldemort had been reduced to. Still, they think it's better that he's like that over having a body and able to terrorize people, the way that Cedric and Luna knew that he had done while Harry and Hermione were able to guess at it.
But Harry had come face to face with him since at Hogwarts. Remembering their last meeting as he stood at the dark window, Harry had to admit he was lucky even to have reached his thirteenth birthday.
“True,” Luna said. “You did get extremely lucky that Fawkes was there to heal you.”
He scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring back to him with a dead mouse dangling from her beak, expecting praise.
“Sounds like she does that often,” Luna said. “And she knows that you'll praise her, otherwise, she wouldn't do it any more.”
Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a few seconds before Harry realised what he was seeing.
Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lop-sided creature, and it was flapping in Harry’s direction.
“Shut your window,” Hermione immediately said.
“No, wait for a moment,” Cedric said. “It might actually be something harmless.”
He stood quite still, watching it sink lower and lower. For a split second, he hesitated, his hand on the window-latch, wondering whether to slam it shut, but then the bizarre creature soared over one of the streetlamps of Privet Drive, and Harry, realising what it was, leapt aside.
Through the window soared three owls, two of them holding up the third, which appeared to be unconscious.
“Well, no wonder it looked funky,” Harry said. “With one of them unconscious, it makes sense for them to strange in a silhouette.”
They landed with a soft flump on Harry’s bed, and the middle owl, which was large and grey, keeled right over and lay motionless. There was a large package tied to its legs.
“I think I know who one was the unconscious owl,” Hermione said, shaking her head. That poor owl really should be retired, but it really couldn't be helped; the Weasleys could afford another one, unless they decided to return Lockhart's books. Even then, she had the feeling that they wouldn't be paid for it. Still, they shouldn't be sending that owl with such a large package.
Harry recognised the unconscious owl at once – his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to the bed at once, untied the cords around Errol’s legs, took off the parcel and then carried Errol to Hedwig’s cage. Errol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp some water.
“Poor Errol,” Luna said.
Harry turned back to the remaining owls. One of them, the large snowy female, was his own Hedwig. She, too, was carrying a parcel, and looked extremely pleased with herself.
“I wonder if she happened to make a special trip to a certain somebody to make sure her master's birthday was acknowledged,” Cedric said, giving Hermione a side-glance.
“That would be a good thing,” Hermione said, getting what Cedric was hinting at. “And, if she did do that, then I obviously rose to the challenge.”
She gave Harry an affectionate nip with her beak as he removed her burden, then flew across the room to join Errol.
Harry didn’t recognise the third owl, a handsome tawny one, but he knew at once where it had come from, because in addition to a third parcel, it was carrying a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest. When Harry relieved this owl of its post it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings and took off through the window into the night.
“Apparently, it can't stay for a drink,” Luna said, smiling.
“I think Hagrid must've gotten you something,” Hermione said.
Harry sat down on his bed, grabbed Errol’s package, ripped off the brown paper and discovered a present wrapped in gold, and his first ever birthday card. Fingers trembling slightly, he opened the envelope. Two pieces of paper fell out – a letter and a newspaper cutting.
The cutting had clearly come out of the wizarding newspaper, The Daily Prophet, because the people in the black and white picture were moving.
“It could be another newspaper. The Daily Prophet isn't the only one the wizarding world has. It's just the only one people get for the most part,” Cedric said.
"It could have been read from the top," Harry said.
Harry picked up the cutting, smoothed it out and read:
MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
“Nice,” Harry said.
“Good for them, now they can get some things they couldn't before,” Hermione said. Harry nodded in agreement.
A delighted Mr. Weasley told the Daily Prophet, “We will be spending the gold on a summer holiday in Egypt, where our eldest son, Bill, works as a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank.”
Hermione's mouth fell opened.
“Seriously?” Hermione said. “What are they thinking? I mean, they've got five kids in school, so they need to get books for them. Plus, they obviously need a new owl, and now have the money to get one, yet they spend it on a trip to Egypt. What the heck's wrong with them? I mean, I can understanding wanting to see family, but they need to do what important more than anything.”
“You don't think they have their priorities straight,” Luna said.
“No, I don't. Like I said, I can understand wanting to see their family, but they have other things, more important things, to use that money for. I mean, they barely seem to be making ends meet as it is – they need to save that money so that they don't have to worry about things later,” Hermione said.
“Plus, I do believe that Bill could easily pay to have them visit,” Cedric said. “I doubt he doesn't earn a lot of money in his line of work – he could send some to his family, at least for visiting, since I doubt Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would feel comfortable taking money from him any other way. Pride of wanting to be the ones to provide for the family and all.”
The Weasley family will be spending a month in Egypt, returning for the start of the new school year at Hogwarts, which five of the Weasley children currently attend.
Harry scanned the moving photograph, and a grin spread across his face as he saw all nine of the Weasleys waving furiously at him, standing in front of a large pyramid. Plump little Mrs. Weasley, tall, balding Mr. Weasley, six sons and one daughter, all (though the black and white picture didn’t show it) with flaming red hair. Right in the middle of the picture was Ron, tall and gangling, with his pet rat Scabbers on his shoulder and his arm around his little sister, Ginny.
Harry couldn’t think of anyone who deserved to win a large pile of gold more than the Weasleys, who were very nice and extremely poor.
“Which is why they should save it,” Harry said. He believed that Hermione was right; they should try to conserve the money as much as possible, not go and spend all of it straight away. Plus, if they had to spend a large amount of money, they really should do it to help Ginny out; after what had happened to her in the first book, it was very possible that there was some damage done, even if it wasn't physical.
He picked up Ron’s letter and unfolded it.
Dear Harry,
Happy birthday!
Look, I’m really sorry about that telephone call. I hope the Muggles didn’t give you a hard time. I asked Dad, and he reckons I shouldn’t have shouted.
“I would think common sense would have told him that,” Harry said.
It’s brilliant here in Egypt. Bill’s taken us round all the tombs and you wouldn’t believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum wouldn’t let Ginny come in the last one. There were all these mutant skeletons in there, of Muggles who’d broken in and grown extra heads and stuff.
“Well, if they haven't gotten her help yet, then it's good thing that she wasn't allowed in,” Hermione said. “That wouldn't help her at all.”
I couldn’t believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw. Seven hundred galleons! Most of it’s gone on this holiday, but they’re going to buy me a new wand for next year.
“At least they're going to do something right,” Hermione grumbled.
“Not like they have a choice,” Cedric said. “He needs a wand, and I get the feeling that his old one was completely broken after what happened with Lockhart, broken to the point that not even Spellotape could patch it up.
Harry remembered only too well the occasion when Ron’s old wand had snapped. It had happened when the car the two of them had been flying to Hogwarts had crashed into a tree in the school grounds.
“I wonder if Ron told them that,” Hermione said. “I mean, if you're right, then there's a good chance that Ron played it off as his wand being broken during the Chamber adventure instead of simply having been broken since the school year began.”
We’ll be back about a week before term starts and we’ll be going up to London to get my wand and our new books. Any chance of meeting you there?
“Probably not,” Harry said. “Though, I do need to get there sometime this summer.”
Don’t let the Muggles get you down!
Try and come to London,
Ron
PS: Percy’s Head Boy. He got the letter last week.
“Percy's going to be extremely smug about that,” Hermione said.
Harry glanced back at the photograph. Percy, who was in his seventh and final year at Hogwarts, was looking particularly smug. He had pinned his Head Boy badge to the fez perched jauntily on top of his neat hair, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the Egyptian sun.
'Um, why is he wearing it right at the moment,” Hermione said. “I mean, there's no reason for it.”
“It's Percy,” Cedric said, as if it would explain everything. Which, when the others thought about it, it kind of did.
Harry now turned to his present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass spinning top.
“A sneakoscope? Those are useful to have, but they can also be annoying, because they tend to pick up anything wrong in their frame of scope,” Cedric said. Hermione and Harry looked at him, interesting in knowing more about this 'sneakoscope' but didn't ask for any more information at that.
There was another note from Ron beneath it.
Harry – this is a Pocket Sneakoscope. If there’s someone untrustworthy around, it’s supposed to light up and spin. Bill says it’s rubbish sold for wizard tourists and isn’t reliable, because it kept lighting up at dinner last night. But he didn’t realise Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.
“Yeah, that would set it off,” Cedric said.
Bye – Ron
Harry put the Pocket Sneakoscope on his bedside table, where it stood quite still, balanced on its point, reflecting the luminous hands of his clock. He looked at it happily for a few seconds, then picked up the parcel Hedwig had brought.
Inside this, too, there was a wrapped present, a card and a letter, this time from Hermione.
“Thank you,” Harry said.
“Your welcome,” Hermione said, before frowning. “Now I'm going to have to change what I get you, though, so that you still get surprised. It's going to be just like what I'll have to do for Christmas.”
Dear Harry,
Ron wrote to me and told me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I do hope you’re all right.
“That must be why I didn't call,” Hermione said. “I must have been afraid that your uncle would do something to you if I called after Ron had.”
I’m on holiday in France at the moment and I didn’t know how I was going to send this to you – what if they’d opened it at Customs? – but then Hedwig turned up! I think she wanted to make sure you got something for your birthday for a change.
“So you were right on why she was gone for quite a while,” Hermione said.
“And you were right on the fact that you weren't in England at the moment,” Luna said.
I bought your present by owl-order; there was an advertisement in the Daily Prophet (I’ve been getting it delivered, it’s so good to keep up with what’s going on in the wizarding world).
“I think I should do that myself,” Harry said.
Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a week ago? I bet he’s learning loads. I’m really jealous – the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.
“You do realize that it's Ron you're talking about, right?” Luna said.
“I do. My book self probably hopes that Ron will eventually change a bit and would actually want to learn something,” Hermione said. “Of course, it's probably a hopeless hope.”
There’s some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I’ve re-written my whole History of Magic essay to include some of the things I’ve found out. I hope it’s not too long, it’s two rolls of parchment more than Professor Binns asked for.
“I think that's going to be one of the first habit's I'll try to break, not overdo my work,” Hermione said. She didn't look all that happy at the prospect.
Ron says he’s going to be in London in the last week of the holidays. Can you make it? Will your aunt and uncle let you come? I really hope you can. If not, I’ll see you on the Hogwarts Express on September the first!
Love from
Hermione
P.S. Ron says Percy’s Head Boy. I’ll bet Percy’s really pleased. Ron doesn’t seem too happy about it.
“No, he probably wasn't,” Cedric said. “I don't think anyone would if they had to listen to Percy upon receiving the badge.”
Harry laughed again as he put Hermione’s letter aside and picked up her present. It was very heavy. Knowing Hermione, he was sure it would be a large book full of very difficult spells
“Do you want that?” Hermione asked. She looked a bit hopeful that Harry would have a common interest like her.
“At the moment, no, but that's only because I don't know which classes I like the most,” Harry said. “Nor do I know which ones I'm the best at. Maybe once we know what I'm good at, you can get me a book that goes to that subject.”
Hermione looked happy at that thought.
– but it wasn’t. His heart gave a huge bound as he ripped back the paper and saw a sleek black leather case with silver words stamped across it: Broomstick Servicing Kit.
Harry had a huge smile cross his face as he realized what her gift was.
“Now, that, that's a good gift right there,” he said. “You took something that you know I liked – my broomstick – and gave me the tools to make sure that I take care of it, extremely well.”
“Glad to know that you like that,” Hermione said.
“I want one,” Cedric said. “I think that's a good gift to give any guy with a broomstick.”
“Wow, Hermione!” Harry whispered, unzipping the case to look inside.
There was a large jar of Fleetwood’s High-Finish Handle Polish, a pair of gleaming silver Tail-Twig Clippers, a tiny brass compass to clip onto your broom for long journeys, and a Handbook of Do-it-Yourself Broomcare.
Apart from his friends, the thing that Harry missed most about Hogwarts was Quidditch, the most popular sport in the magical world – highly dangerous, very exciting and played on broomsticks. Harry happened to be a very good Quidditch player;
“I think you're being way too modest,” Cedric said. “Since you were able to get onto the team in first year, you are more than just good.”
he had been the youngest person in a century to be picked for one of the Hogwarts house teams. One of Harry’s most prized possessions was his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom.
Harry put the leather case aside and picked up his last parcel. He recognised the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He tore off the top layer of paper and glimpsed something green and leathery, but before he could unwrap it properly, the parcel gave a strange quiver, and whatever was inside it snapped loudly – as though it had jaws.
“Uh-oh,” Hermione said.
Harry froze. He knew that Hagrid would never send him anything dangerous on purpose, but then, Hagrid didn’t have a normal person’s view of what was dangerous. Hagrid had been known to befriend giant spiders, buy vicious, three-headed dogs from men in pubs and sneak illegal dragon eggs into his cabin.
“With that track record, you definitely know to be careful about anything Hagrid gives you,” Hermione said.
Harry poked the parcel nervously. It snapped loudly again. Harry reached for the lamp on his bedside table, gripped it firmly in one hand and raised it over his head, ready to strike. Then he seized the rest of the wrapping paper in his other hand and pulled.
And out fell – a book.
“A book?” Luna said. “Why would a book be snapping?”
“You know, if Ron was here, he'd probably make some joke about how he always knew that books were dangerous,” Hermione said. “As for how a book could be snapping, I don't know.”
Harry just had time to register its handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title, The Monster Book of Monsters,
“I think the title has answered our question for us,” Cedric said.
before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.
“I suggest you get it before it makes any noise,” Cedric said.
“Uh oh,” Harry muttered.
The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room.
“Please don't let the Dursleys wake up,” Luna said.
Harry followed it stealthily. The book was hiding in the dark space under his desk. Praying that the Dursleys were still fast asleep, Harry got down on his hands and knees and reached towards it.
“You might want to get something to help you, because that book doesn't seem very corporative,” Hermione said.
“Ouch!”
The book snapped shut on his hand and then flapped past him, still scuttling on its covers. Harry scrambled around, threw himself forward and managed to flatten it. Uncle Vernon gave a loud, sleepy grunt in the room next door.
“Don't let him wake up, don't let him wake up,” chanted Luna.
Hedwig and Errol watched interestedly as Harry clamped the struggling book tightly in his arms, hurried to his chest of drawers and pulled out a belt, which he buckled tightly around it. The Monster Book shuddered angrily, but could no longer flap and snap, so Harry threw it down on the bed and reached for Hagrid’s card.
“I think I should have gotten to the card first,” Harry said, “and saved the book for later.”
Dear Harry,
Happy Birthday! Think you might find this useful for next year.
“That sounds...ominous,” Luna said.
“I wonder how that book would be useful this coming year,” Cedric said.
Won’t say no more here. Tell you when I see you. Hope the Muggles are treating you right. All the best,
Hagrid
It struck Harry as ominous that Hagrid thought a biting book would come in useful, but he put up Hagrid’s card next to Ron and Hermione’s, grinning more broadly than ever. Now there was only the letter from Hogwarts left.
Noticing that it was rather thicker than usual,
“Of course it is. Third year is the first year you're allowed to go to Hogsmeade,” Cedric said. “There's an extra form in the envelop for your parent or guardian to sign...” he trailed off, a frown making it's way to his face as he realized that there was going to be a bit of a problem for Harry. There was no way his guardians were going to sign the form, not when signing it would make him happy.
The others seemed to realize that as well.
“Do you think there's a chance that it could be forged,” Hermione asked, though she didn't sound very hopeful.
“I doubt it,” Cedric said. “And you can't go to the village if you don't have a signed form. No one is an exception to that rule.”
“So, even if I mentioned that my guardians are Muggles who hate magic and don't understand about it...” Harry began.
“No form, no visit,” Cedric said. “They are very strict about that. Of course, you could always use your invisibility cloak to go there, but I would be surprised if the teachers had a way of knowing when a student who's not supposed to be going there does. You can also ask the Weasley twins – they might know a way out of the castle for you.”
“However, again, chances are, people in the castle would know that you're missing,” Hermione said.
“So, either way, I'm pretty much screwed, and there's no chance of me going to the village,” Harry said.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Hermione said.
Harry slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within and read:
Dear Mr. Potter,
Please note that the new school year will begin on September the first. The Hogwarts Express will leave from King’s Cross Station, platform nine and three-quarters, at eleven o’clock.
Third-years are permitted to visit the village of Hogsmeade at certain weekends. Please give the enclosed permission form to your parent or guardian to sign.
A list of books for next year is enclosed.
Yours sincerely,
Professor M. McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
Harry pulled out the Hogsmeade permission form and looked at it, no longer grinning.
“Of course not,” Harry said. “The news of being able to get out of the castle is wonderful, but knowing that I will never be able to persuade my aunt and uncle to sign would make me unhappy.”
It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade at weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot there. But how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the form?
He looked over at the alarm clock. It was now two o’clock in the morning.
“I think you should worry about the form after you get some sleep,” Hermione said.
Deciding that he’d worry about the Hogsmeade form when he woke up, Harry got back into bed and reached up to cross off another day on the chart he’d made for himself, counting down the days left until his return to Hogwarts. Then he took off his glasses and lay down, eyes open, facing his three birthday cards.
Extremely unusual though he was, at that moment Harry Potter felt just like everyone else: glad, for the first time in his life, that it was his birthday.
“Glad to know that we were able to get you to enjoy it,” Hermione said. Harry smiled at her.
“Glad to know that I can, too. Oh, and that's the end of the chapter,” Harry said, handing the book to Hermione.