Harry Potter and the Plot of Pure Evil
Brooding at the Dursleys'
Harry Potter was no ordinary boy. He was in fact a wizard. A very powerful and needed one, as he had just recently discovered. But Harry Potter didn’t feel particularly powerful at the moment. Sitting in his room at the Dursleys’, his hated relatives, he felt terrible. His beloved godfather and father figure Sirius Black was dead and it was entirely his fault. Despite the actions of Bellatrix, the Malfoys, Voldemort, Kreacher, Dumbledore and Sirius himself, Harry never ceased to feel that it was him and him alone that had caused Sirius’s death. He sniffed and wiped away a small tear as he looked out the window and noticed three owls flying towards him.
Oh, look. News from the outer world. Finally. No one ever writes to me. Except for Ron. And Hermione. And Hagrid. And various members of the Order every two weeks or so to make sure the Dursleys haven’t suffocated me with spoons or anything. But other than that, I never get letters.
Harry sighed dejectedly and got up from his bed, where he had been lying face down. He kicked aside his birthday presents from a week ago as he stood, studying himself in the mirror as he walked toward the window.
Harry was a very slender boy, with messy jet black hair, emerald eyes, and a creamy complexion. Over the summer though, his slenderness had given way to a more muscular body. His skin had tanned somewhat and he had also fixed his vision with magic so he wouldn’t have to wear glasses anymore. Though he had no idea how, Harry had transformed from a scrawny unsure teen into quite the handsome young man.
On his forehead, there was a lightening bold shaped scar, a remnant from his first defeat of the Darkest of all Dark wizards, Voldemort.
Harry shook his head tiredly. He would not think of Voldemort now, not after just brooding on memories of Sirius. There was only so much misery he could handle.
The owls reached his windowsill and eyed him there. One Harry recognized as Pigwidegeon, Ron’s owl. He was carrying two letters, which Harry could see were from Ron and Hermione, respectively. He opened Ron’s letter and read it, frowning slightly.
It was the same old, same old. How much he and Hermione missed him, how terrible it was that Harry was stuck at the Dursleys, how Fred and George were doing in the joke shop and so on. Hermione’s letter was almost exactly the same, except hers was full of questions about OWLS and class choices for next year.
Harry sighed. OWLS and joke shops seemed ages away. He had more important things on his mind, like the fate of the wizarding world and his attractive new body.
The next owl was from Hogwarts. It carried his OWLS results. He scanned over them quickly.
Outstanding in Defence against the Dark Arts
Outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures
Exceeds Expectations in Charms
Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration
Acceptable in Herbology
Acceptable in Potions
Poor in Astronomy
Poor in History of Magic
Poor in Divination
The letter from Professor McGonagall also said that despite his lower than Outstanding Potions grade, Professor Snape had accepted him into his class for next year. Harry had no doubt that this was entirely thanks to Dumbledore and McGonagall, who had requested that Snape make an exception for the great Harry Potter and that Snape had acquiesced, if rather grudgingly.
Overall Harry was quite happy with his grades and was very happy that he would be able to pursue his goal of becoming an Auror.
The last owl was from the Order. Harry recognized Lupin’s neat handwriting on the envelope. He opened it, wondering if it contained any news.
Dear Harry,
Dumbledore has finally agreed that you should be allowed to spend the rest of the summer with us at Grimmauld Place. Myself, Kingsley, Tonks and Moody will pick you up tomorrow so be ready. I know that this has been a difficult summer for you Harry, what with Voldemort back in full strength and you knowing that the fate of the world rests in your hands and all but try to think happy thoughts. When you arrive here, we have a little surprise for you. Maybe more than one, if Dumbledore permits.
Regards,
Remus Lupin
Harry snorted and tossed the letter aside. A “little surprise”? He was sooo excited. They had probably learnt that Voldemort had gathered more allies. It couldn’t be anything positive. Nothing positive ever happened. Not to him. Anything and everything that could go wrong did.
‘Why does everyone pick on me?’ he wondered. ‘Why do terrible things happen only to me? Why does no one care? Why does everyone pick on me? Why do they make fun of me? Just because I’m different and I shave down there-’
Harry’s clock beeped, signalling that it was now 2:00. Full of self pity, Harry curled back up in his bed and went to sleep.
Oh, look. News from the outer world. Finally. No one ever writes to me. Except for Ron. And Hermione. And Hagrid. And various members of the Order every two weeks or so to make sure the Dursleys haven’t suffocated me with spoons or anything. But other than that, I never get letters.
Harry sighed dejectedly and got up from his bed, where he had been lying face down. He kicked aside his birthday presents from a week ago as he stood, studying himself in the mirror as he walked toward the window.
Harry was a very slender boy, with messy jet black hair, emerald eyes, and a creamy complexion. Over the summer though, his slenderness had given way to a more muscular body. His skin had tanned somewhat and he had also fixed his vision with magic so he wouldn’t have to wear glasses anymore. Though he had no idea how, Harry had transformed from a scrawny unsure teen into quite the handsome young man.
On his forehead, there was a lightening bold shaped scar, a remnant from his first defeat of the Darkest of all Dark wizards, Voldemort.
Harry shook his head tiredly. He would not think of Voldemort now, not after just brooding on memories of Sirius. There was only so much misery he could handle.
The owls reached his windowsill and eyed him there. One Harry recognized as Pigwidegeon, Ron’s owl. He was carrying two letters, which Harry could see were from Ron and Hermione, respectively. He opened Ron’s letter and read it, frowning slightly.
It was the same old, same old. How much he and Hermione missed him, how terrible it was that Harry was stuck at the Dursleys, how Fred and George were doing in the joke shop and so on. Hermione’s letter was almost exactly the same, except hers was full of questions about OWLS and class choices for next year.
Harry sighed. OWLS and joke shops seemed ages away. He had more important things on his mind, like the fate of the wizarding world and his attractive new body.
The next owl was from Hogwarts. It carried his OWLS results. He scanned over them quickly.
Outstanding in Defence against the Dark Arts
Outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures
Exceeds Expectations in Charms
Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration
Acceptable in Herbology
Acceptable in Potions
Poor in Astronomy
Poor in History of Magic
Poor in Divination
The letter from Professor McGonagall also said that despite his lower than Outstanding Potions grade, Professor Snape had accepted him into his class for next year. Harry had no doubt that this was entirely thanks to Dumbledore and McGonagall, who had requested that Snape make an exception for the great Harry Potter and that Snape had acquiesced, if rather grudgingly.
Overall Harry was quite happy with his grades and was very happy that he would be able to pursue his goal of becoming an Auror.
The last owl was from the Order. Harry recognized Lupin’s neat handwriting on the envelope. He opened it, wondering if it contained any news.
Dear Harry,
Dumbledore has finally agreed that you should be allowed to spend the rest of the summer with us at Grimmauld Place. Myself, Kingsley, Tonks and Moody will pick you up tomorrow so be ready. I know that this has been a difficult summer for you Harry, what with Voldemort back in full strength and you knowing that the fate of the world rests in your hands and all but try to think happy thoughts. When you arrive here, we have a little surprise for you. Maybe more than one, if Dumbledore permits.
Regards,
Remus Lupin
Harry snorted and tossed the letter aside. A “little surprise”? He was sooo excited. They had probably learnt that Voldemort had gathered more allies. It couldn’t be anything positive. Nothing positive ever happened. Not to him. Anything and everything that could go wrong did.
‘Why does everyone pick on me?’ he wondered. ‘Why do terrible things happen only to me? Why does no one care? Why does everyone pick on me? Why do they make fun of me? Just because I’m different and I shave down there-’
Harry’s clock beeped, signalling that it was now 2:00. Full of self pity, Harry curled back up in his bed and went to sleep.