GuestRyan: Thank you for the compliment but please remember this is not my story. I am just posting it with permission from the author.

"Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" Oliver said and everyone— but Hermione and Harry—gasped.

"But what does that mean?" Alicia asked.

"It means that someone's going to break out of Azkaban," Cho said, her eyes narrowed.

"Owl Post." Oliver said, ignoring all the looks.

"Sweet," Harry grinned.

Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the summer holidays more than any other time of the year.

"Completely understand mate," Ron and Neville said in agreement.

For another, he really wanted to do his homework, but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And he also happened to be a wizard.

"That's not unusual," Bill chuckled.

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) 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. "No if's and's or but's about it."

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:

"Hey, Oliver?" Cho asked. "Can we skip that part?"

"I think we can," Oliver said. The second and first years almost seemed to be put to sleep by the very mention of the class.

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.

"Gits," Cedric hissed.

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.

"Unfortunately," Harry, Ron and Hermione muttered.

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.

"Squash it out?" Bill said in a deadly whisper.

"Umm? Yeah?" Ron squeaked. Bill and Charlie's hands clenched into fists and Lee's eyes hardened to such a degree Harry thought Lee was going to curse something.

"HOW DARE THEY!" Ginny yelled. Neville glared at the book along with Percy. Luna looked calm but her eyes flashed dangerously.

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 neighbors.

"Oh yeah. Like I would do magic around them," Harry said rolling his eyes.

Everyone else looked enraged on Harry's behalf.

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. One of these essays, a particularly nasty one about Shrinking Potions, was for Harry's least favorite teacher, Professor Snape,

"He's everyone's least favorite teacher," Charlie muttered.

who would be delighted to have an excuse to give Harry detention for a month. 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),

"Gits."

Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books and hidden them in his bedroom.

"Thanks Fred, George or Ron," Harry said with a grin.

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.

Harry had been 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.

"I call you?" Ron asked.

"Sounds like it," Harry said with a smirk. "I think Hermione would know how to use a telephone and you're the only two I gave my number to."

Ron Weasley,

"Whoo!" all the Weasleys cheered.

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.

"This could be bad," Hermione said.

Most unluckily, it had been Uncle Vernon who had answered the call.

"Vernon Dursley speaking."

"Not good," Katie frowned.

Harry, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as he heard Ron's voice answer.

"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I - WANT - TO - TALK - TO - HARRY - POTTER!"

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.

"This would be entertaining," Harry chuckled, "if it wasn't Uncle Vernon."

"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO ARE YOU?"

"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 -"

"Bad move Ron," Bill gulped.

Uncle Vernon's small eyes swiveled around to Harry, who was rooted to the spot.

"THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!" he roared, now holding the receiver at arms 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 disgusts me," Cho sniffed.

And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous spider.

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 roared spraying Harry with spit.

"OI!" everyone yelled.

Ron obviously realized that he'd got Harry into trouble, because he hadn't called again. Harry's other best friend from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger, hadn't been in touch either. 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 enough sense not to say that she went to Hogwarts.

"Sorry Harry," Hermione said. "At least I know now that you want me to call."

"And now I know what not to do," Ron said. "So you shouldn't get yelled at."

So Harry had had no word from any of his wizarding friends for five long weeks, and this summer was turning out to be almost as bad as the last one. There was one, very small improvement:

"What could that be?" Harry and Neville asked.

after swearing that he wouldn't use her to send any letters to any of his friends, Harry had been allowed to let his owl, Hedwig, out at night.

Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig made if she was locked in her cage all the time.

"She shouldn't have been locked up to begin with," Hermione and Ginny hissed.

Harry finished writing about Wandelin 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.

"Pig," Cedric and Oliver muttered.

It must be very late. Harry's eyes were itching with tiredness.

Perhaps he'd finish this essay tomorrow night...

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.

"Handy," Harry grinned and made a mental note of that.

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. He had been thirteen years old, without realizing it, for a whole hour.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!" the twins shouted.

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. The Dursleys had completely ignored his last to birthdays, and he has no reason to suppose they would remember his one.

"Evil, annoying gits," Ginny hissed under her breath.

Harry walked across the dark room, past Hedwig's large, empty cage, to the open window. He leaned 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 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.

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,

"We know what he looks like," Hermione huffed.

and on his forehead, clearly visible through his hair was a thin scar, shaped like a bolt of lightening.

Of all the unusual things about Harry, this scar was the most extraordinary of all. It was not, as the Dursleys had pretended for ten years, a souvenir of the car crash that had killed Harry's parents,

"WE KNOW!" Alicia sighed annoyed.

because Lily and James Potter had not died in a car crash.

"Not another reminder," Fred groaned. "How many people pick up the third book in a series?"

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...

"Great, that's nice," Harry said. "Now could we move on?"

He was feeling rather depressed by the constant reminder of his parents' deaths.

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.

He scanned the starry sky for a sign of Hedwig, perhaps soaring back to him with a dead mouse in her beak, expecting praise.

Gazing absently over the rooftops, it was a few seconds before Harry realized what he was seeing.

Silhouetted against the golden moon, and growing larger every moment, was a large, strangely lopsided creature, and it was flapping in Harry's direction.

"What is it?" Ginny asked.

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 street lamps of Privet Drive, and Harry, realizing what it was, leapt aside.

Through the window soared three owls, two of them holding up the third, which appeared to be unconscious.

"Errol," all the Weasley children said as one.

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 package tied to its legs.

Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once- his name was Errol, and he belonged to the Weasley family.

"I've written to you!" Ron grinned.

"And I actually got it!" Harry grinned back.

Harry dashed to the bed at once, untied the cords round Errol's legs, took off the parcel and then carried Errol off to Hedwig's cage. Errol opened one bleary eye, gave a feeble hoot of thanks, and began to gulp down some water.

Harry turned back to the remaining owls. One of them, the larger snowy female, was his own Hedwig. She, too, was carrying a parcel, and looked extremely pleased with herself. 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 recognize 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.

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. Harry picked it up, smoothed it out and read:

MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE

Arthur Weasley, Head of Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.

"Merlin that's great!" Bill smiled.

"We do need it," Percy agreed.

"Congrats," Cedric said and everyone 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.

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 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 very large pyramid.

Plump little Mrs. Weasley; tall, balding Mr Weasley; six sons; and one daughter,

"All amazing," Harry said to a blushing family.

all (though the black and white pitcure 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.

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.

"Really Ron?" Hermione said with a giggle.

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.

"Ugh," Katie shuddered. Ginny pouted though; that sounded cool.

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.

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.

"Don't remind us," Charlie said faintly.

"But at least you're getting a new wand," Bill said with a smile.

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?

"Doubt it," Lee and Cedric muttered.

Don't let the Muggles get you down!

Try and come to London,

Ron

P.S. Percy's Head Boy. He got the letter last week.

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's badge to the fez perched jauntily on top of his neat hair, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the Egyptian sun.

Harry now turned to his present and unwrapped it. Inside was what looked like a miniature glass spinning top. 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 realize Fred and George had put beetles in his soup.

Bye - Ron.

Bill glared at the laughing twins as everyone else snorted as well.

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 wrapped a present, a card, and a letter, this time from Hermione.

"Gotta love Hedwig," Cho smiled.

Dear Harry,

Ron wrote to me about his phone call to your Uncle Vernon. I do hope you're all right.

I'm on holiday in France at the moment and I didn't know how I was going to send this too 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.

"Thanks Hermione," Harry smiled.

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).

Did you see that picture of Ron and his family a few weeks ago? I bet he's learning loads, I'm really jealous - the ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.

"Probably not," Ron shook his head. "I mean, have you met me?"

There's some interesting local history of witchcraft here, too. I've rewritten 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.

"Hermione!" Neville, Ron and Harry gasped.

"Even I don't right that much!" Percy said in amazement.

Ron says he's going to 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.

Percy frowned as Oliver read that. He'd hoped that his brothers would be happy for him.

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 - but it wasn't.

"I'm just that good," Hermione grinned.

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.

"Best present you could give me," Harry told Hermione who beamed.

"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;

"Modest much?" Ron asked as Oliver gaped at the book.

he had been the youngest person in a century to be picked for one of the Hogwarts house teams.

"Whoo!" the Gryffindor Quidditch team yelled.

One of Harry's most prized possessions was his Nimbus Two Thousand racing broom.

"As well it should be!" Oliver nodded.

Harry put the leather case aside and picked up his last parcel. He recognized the untidy scrawl on the brown paper at once: this was from Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper.

He tore off the top layer of the paper and glimpsed something green

"Green again!" Fred moaned.

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.

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.

"Understatement if I ever heard one," Alicia muttered.

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.

"Typical Hagrid," Charlie chuckled.

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. Harry just had time to register its handsome green cover, emblazoned with the golden title, The Monster Book of Monsters, before it flipped onto its edge and scuttled sideways along the bed like some weird crab.

"Hagrid!" Bill and Charlie yelled.

"What kind of book is that?" Ginny asked worried.

"Uh oh," Harry muttered.

The book toppled off the bed with a loud clunk and shuffled rapidly across the room. 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 for it.

"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.

Hedwig and Errol watched interestingly as Harry clamped the struggling book tight in his arms, hurried to the 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.

Dear Harry,

Happy Birthday!

Think you might find this useful for next year. 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 though 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, Harry slit open the envelope, pulled out the first page of parchment within and read:

"Hogsmeade," the twins and Oliver grinned.

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. It would be wonderful to visit Hogsmeade at weekends; he knew it was an entirely wizarding village, and he had never set foot in there. But how on earth was he going to persuade Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to sign the form?

"They won't," Lee muttered.

He looked over at the alarm clock. It was now two o'clock in the morning. 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.

"That's the end of the chapter," Oliver said. Everyone was frowning as he passed to Angelina.

"The next chapter is called Aunt Marge's Big Mistake," she said and Harry's eyes narrowed.