Disclaimer Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. Some of the sentences here also belong to JK Rowling, lol.

WARNING This chapter may read like the retelling of book one, but I tried my best to weave my own story into it. I hope you'll put up with it, hehe.

A/N In case you were worried, I won't be re-chronicling Harry's adventures one book per chapter, like I did with this one. I just wanted to build a foundation between our two boys before moving on with the story. Oh, and I only gave this a quick once-over, so any spelling or grammatical error, feel free to slam it in.

The Growing Years of Harry Potter

29 July 2010

"Rise and shine, Harry!"

Harry cringed as his blanket of warm comfort was ripped off his body, exposing him to the elements of the oncoming Christmas winter. He shivered violently and glared at his friend from under hooded eye. "I know magic now," he threatened. "One flick of my magic stick and you will fly across the room."

The man laughed, grey eyes glittering with mirth. "It's called a wand, Harry."

"Rise and shine, Pothead!"

Harry sneezed violently in succession when the freezing wind hit his face. He sat up in his bed, bleary-eyed and confused when he registered Ron's hysterical laughs to his right. He tried unsuccessfully to hit his best friend as Ron slammed the window shut and kicked the rest of Harry's blanket to the floor. "Come on, we're going to be late for breakfast! Oh, and don't forget your essay!"

Their History of Magic essay: an entire two scrolls about troll migrations from the 15th to 16th century from the Middle East to inner Europe. Exciting stuff. Harry had written five paragraphs about the patriarchal troll Pamuk and the disintegration of the clans before rambling on about how stupid and ugly trolls were - considering his experience with one during Halloween - for the next four. At least he tried. Ron had just stolen Hermione's parchment and made a few changes.

It's been three months since Harry first entered Hogwarts and discovered a world he never knew existed. Flying broomsticks and friendly ghosts. Vanishing stairs and talking portraits. Centaurs, mermaids, goblins and trolls. They were all wonderfully new. The only thing that highly discomfited Harry was his newfound fame.

It boggled him to discover that everyone knew who he was. Everyone knew the story of the night his parents died and Voldemort defeated and it was unnerving because he himself did not know the full details of his past. He hadn't known his father was a Seeker in a game called Quidditch until Hermione had told him and only found out that his mother was a talented witch when Professor Flitwick made an offhanded comment. Harry wondered how much more of his past he was missing.

Harry stuffed his essay into the front pocket of his robes and hurried down after Ron. After three months, he knew more or less how to get around Hogwarts. But on his bad days, the changing stairs still got to him. Today was one such day. He scowled heavily when the stairs he was climbing down suddenly detached itself from the corridor leading to the Main Hall and swerved towards the second-floor classrooms.

"This is where a broom would come in handy," quipped Harry.

Ron, who had jumped off in time, suggested, "Maybe you should go ahead to class. I'll bring you some rolls."

Harry nodded and turned to go to the second floor. He was making his way to the History of Magic classroom when he spotted two large oafish-looking boys guffawing stupidly as their blond friend in the center performed a half-successful Levitating Charm on a Hufflepuff boy.

Poor Justin Finch-Fletchley bobbed and dipped in the air as Draco Malfoy struggled to keep him there. He obviously hadn't paid attention in Charms class because he kept flicking his wrist the wrong way.

The trio were so distracted by bullying Justin that none of them noticed Harry sneaking up on them from behind and sweeping Malfoy's foot from under him with a kick. Malfoy fell with a yelp of surprise, disengaging the charm and leaving Justin to the horrible reality of gravity and five feet of air under him.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" yelled Harry before Justin hit the ground and safely lowered him on his feet. Justin quickly hid behind Harry, wiping his cheeks from when he'd teared out of fright.

"Just you wait, Malfoy! I'm going to tell Professor Flitwick about this!"

"Oh really?" said Malfoy, looking rather dangerous although he was rubbing the spot on his butt where he'd fallen. "Crabbe! Goyle!"

Justin eeped and turned tail before Malfoy's goons could beat him up. But they couldn't have reached for him even if they wanted to because Harry had casted Sticking Charms to their feet. The two boy snow had difficulty pulling their feet off the spot where they stood without removing their shoes.

Malfoy shot Harry the dirtiest look he could muster. "Potter!" he spat. "I should've known it was you sticking your nose where it isn't needed. You'll pay for that one!"

Harry had not intended to find an enemy in Malfoy, despite having turned down his hand of friendship months earlier. He just didn't like the way Malfoy held his nose up in the air all the time. But Malfoy had taken Harry's rejection as a personal affront and had given himself the role as Harry's rival. Unfortunately, much to Harry's surprise, he just couldn't muster up much contempt for his supposed arch-nemesis. No matter the insults or the unfriendly jibes or the bullying, Harry couldn't hate him. He didn't know why but every time he wanted to get angry at Malfoy, he felt a curious sense of guilt for being mad and then lose the will to be.

He vaguely remembered making a promise - when? To whom?- and getting mad at Malfoy felt like clashing directly with that promise.

"You're bonkers, mate," Ron had said when Harry tried explaining it to him. No doubt Malfoy had the same sentiments, judging by the way his eyes went wide and round when Harry extended a hand to help him to his feet.

Crabbe and Goyle tried their best to punch him from where they stood. It made quite a funny picture actually since none of their fists came close to connecting. It looked as if they were punching the air for no reason. Malfoy spitefully knocked aside Harry's outstretched arm and in a quick movement, snatched Harry's homework assignment out of his pocket and tore it into pieces.

Harry let out a soft cry of horror as his troll essay became scraps of parchment before his eyes. He reigned in the urge to punch Malfoy in the face and sighed resignedly. "How terribly grown-up of you," Harry commented drily.

"Shut up!" exclaimed Malfoy, flustered. "That was payback!"

Harry calmly collected the torn pieces of parchment and put them back in his pocket. He reckoned he could copy his essay on another piece of parchment in time for class without too much trouble. He walked to class, leaving Malfoy to his attempts of unSticking Crabbe and Goyle from the ground.

When Harry saw Malfoy enter the classroom ten minutes later, he did a double-take. Gryffindors had History of Magic lessons with Hufflepuffs. "What are you doing here?"

"None of your business," snapped Malfoy testily. He took the seat furthest away from Harry, which made Harry smile in spite of himself.

As more people started to enter, Harry found out that the Slytherins were having a replacement class with them, seeing as a good deal of them tried to boycott out of it last Thursday. Professor Binns, in a rare case of observation - seeing as he remained ignorant of the fact that half of his class fell asleep on a regular basis five minutes into his lecture - reported this to the Headmaster and had the Slytherins come sit in for today.

Ron and Hermione took the seats on either side of Harry, who gratefully accepted the bread rolls Ron slipped him under the table. "Did you see Crabbe and Goyle outside? Their feet are stuck to the ground. Can't move for the life of them!" said Ron with obvious delight.

To Harry's right, Hermione harrumphed with disapproval. "I think it's a mean trick to play on anyone. Sticking Charms usually on last for a few minutes but the ones on their feet are quite strong. How are they going to get to class for the rest of the day?"

"I did that to them," said Harry.

Hermione goggled at him and blushed a little. "Oh, er. Harry - you shouldn't use-"

"They were bullying someone."

"Oh," said Hermione again as Ron laughed uproariously.

"That's brilliant, Harry! I wonder if they'll still be there after class is over."

At the sound of Ron's laugh, Malfoy looked over his shoulder and threw Harry another dirty look. Harry couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. Without his bodyguards flanking his side, Draco Malfoy looked very lonely.

Professor Binns slid into the classroom through the blackboard and started speaking without much introduction. "Pass your essays to the front and turn your textbooks to page thirty-two. Today we will be discussing wizard genealogy."

From where he sat, Harry saw Malfoy perk up. This was the perfect topic for Malfoy to brag about. No doubt he could go on about all the illustrious wizards who were part of the Malfoy history. He wasn't the only one. Several other Slytherins from rich, Pureblood families puffed up their chests. Ron groaned, "Why did we have to have this lesson with the Slytherins? I think their heads just became two sizes bigger."

Professor Binns started the lecture with notes on several notable Wizarding families in Europe, including Black, Crouch, Selwyn and Prince. "In fact, one of our faculty is a descendant of the Prince bloodline." A Slytherin girl asked curiously, "Who?" But Professor Binns either didn't hear or chose to ignore the question and continued on in the same soporific manner. "And of course, we have a few of you among here today who are descended of an old wizarding family.

Daphne Greengrass didn't even bother to mask her preening, much to the annoyance of Milicent Bulstrode, whose family was every bit as old as Greengrass' but chose not to say anything. Malfoy was smirking at anyone who bothered to glance at him. As it were, all the Gryffindors pointedly looked away from the Slytherins. Until Professor Binns spoke again, "Like Potter, for example."

Malfoy's expression turned sour enough to curdle milk. "The Potters may have once been an impeccable Pureblood family but obviously one of them messed up seeing as we somehow ended up with a Half-blooded Potter."

Harry sprung to his feet. He couldn't believe Malfoy would sink so low as to take a stab at his family. He seethed quietly, "What makes you think your family is so much better than mine, Malfoy?"

"Well for one, look at me... and look at you," sneered Malfoy.

"Why does it matter so much to you that my mother was Muggle-born? Your ancestor was a pirate. How is that better, huh?" said Harry.

Malfoy stood up in his own seat. "You take that back! You know nothing about my family!"

"Really? Scarepone Malfoi, youngest son of a French noble but he wasn't going to inherit anything so he became a pirate and settled in Britain," snapped Harry.

"You're lying!"

"Check the books!"

"Boys!" said Professor Binns in his loudest voice. "Settle down, the both of you! Mr. Malfoy, I'll ask you not to insult any families in my class and Mr. Potter, if you have any disagreements, deal them out more civilly. Although, I have to commend you on that bit of information. It is much believed that the Malfoys are indeed descended of a French pirate in the 17th-century but seeing as Lucius Malfoy refused access to his family books, it cannot be ascertained."

Here, Malfoy flushed red and Harry felt guilt climbing up his insides for putting him on the spot.

"But the two of you have more in common than you realise," continued Professor Binns. "The Malfoy family is related to the Black family through the union of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Black, while the Potters established their connected through the union of Charlus Potter and Dorea Black. So in that sense, the two of you of distantly related."

Harry stared at Malfoy in wonderment and was admittedly surprised when Malfoy's expression mirrored his. He had fully expected the blond to blanch or sneer or vehemently deny the connection. Instead, the young Malfoy frowned deeply and turned away, as if he has a lot to think about.

"And now, the Longbottoms as well..."

Harry didn't pay attention to the rest of the lecture. His mind was still reeling from the fact that one, he was descended from an old wizarding family (little old he was something of wizard royalty - who could imagine?) and two, he was related to Malfoy. Harry wondered if this was why he felt the odd obligation to be nice to him sometimes.

Ron patted his back sympathetically while Hermione furiously took notes. No doubt by the end of the day, Hermione would be able to list every detail about every single Potter who had ever lived. She did stop once to ask him, "How did you know that bit about the Malfoys being the progeny of a French pirate? Professor Binns said that theory hasn't even been entered into books."

Harry frowned in thought. "I don't really remember. I think someone once told me about it."

"Why would he think that you were interested in the history of Malfoys?" asked Ron in an incredulous tone.

"I don't know," said Harry honestly. He scratched his head and put his head on the table. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't remember where he had gleaned that piece of information.

After the Sticking Charm incident, Malfoy wouldn't leave Harry alone. Professor Flitwick had taken forty points from Slytherin after Justin told him what Malfoy did to him and had left the Sticking Charm on Crabbe and Goyle for an entire period to teach them a lesson in bullying. But instead of learning, their punishment only made them more furious at Harry.

Malfoy egged Harry on during their first flying lesson, bought Dungbombs off older students and pelted them at Harry whenever he got the chance, made loud comments about his skinny limbs and askew glances during breakfast and pulled pranks but pushed the blame on Harry whenever Filch came running about.

"That an annoying pain in the side you've gotten there, Harry," commented Fred Weasley during the Gryffindor's celebratory party after their Quidditch win over Slytherin.

"I have high hopes for him," said Harry solemnly. "One day, he'll grow up and stop being a git."

Fred and George laughed simultaneously.

Then, Christmas came and nearly everyone was going home for the holidays, including Malfoy, who announced how sorry he felt for those who had to stay at Hogwarts at the top of his voice during Potions. But the effect of his taunting was sorely ruined when he broke into a series of coughs due to the cold in the dungeons. Harry tossed a few cough drops onto his table when he passed it.

Ever since Hagrid had let slip about Nicholas Flamel and his involvement in the mysteries surrounding the third-floor corridor and the three-headed dog ("Seriously? Fluffy?" said Ron disbelievingly), Harry, Ron and Hermione have been racing to find out who he was. But Hermione had to return home for Christmas and with her lacking from their search team, Harry had little faith in finding out who Nicholas Flamel was before January.

Not for lack of trying, of course, He and Ron still spent a liberal amount of time in the library, taking down book titles he never would've touched otherwise. It was admittedly disturbing to read the section about himself in Notable Magical Names of Our Time.

At the far end of the library, the Restricted Section loomed tauntingly over them. To read books in that section, they needed a signed note from a professor, which was virtually impossible, but the fact that they weren't allowed to touch those books reinforced Harry's belief that Nicholas Flamel's name was hidden amongst those dusty tomes.

That was why his father's Invisibility Cloak was the best Christmas present he'd ever gotten. Or so Harry thought, until he used the Cloak to grab one of those Restricted books only to have that book shriek like a Banshee at having been opened. He dropped the book, panicked, and fled from the library. In his hurry, he nearly ran into Filch and Snape, who had been doing rounds, and stumbled into an empty classroom.

Harry panted heavily with his back against the door and slipped off the cloak. He was sweating profusely under its cover. He turned around to survey the classroom and perhaps, get a bearing on where he was. In his excitement, he hadn't watched where he was going. He only hoped he could find his way back to Gryffindor Tower. He was so distracted he nearly missed the tall mirror that had been set against the wall amidst the chairs and desks piled up together. It was as high as the ceiling with clawed feet and an inscription on the top of its gold frame.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Gibberish. Harry stood before the mirror, silently speculating who could've owned such a large, ornate mirror when he looked into his reflection and nearly screamed his head off. There were people standing behind him!

Harry snapped around but saw no one in the space behind him. He looked back into the mirror and, again, saw about ten people standing behind him. A woman with dark red hair and green eyes to his left and a skinny man with disheveled hair and round spectacles to his right. The woman was crying through her smile. Harry felt like doing the same when he realised what he was looking at.

"Mum? Dad?" he whispered against the cool glass.

As he stared further into the mirror at the people standing behind his parents, behind him, he spotted people who had the same noses, the same chin, even the same knobby knees. This was his family, the one Professor Binns had been talking about in class the other day. Not only the Potters, but some people from his mother's side as well since none of the previous Potters could possibly have Lily Evans' brilliant green eyes.

Harry pressed his cheek against the mirror, wishing he could fall right in and be with them. He wanted so much to talk to them, ask them what they were like, if they were proud of him, if they loved him despite his skinny limbs and poor aptitude for Potions. Harry conjured what his father might've sounded like in his head and imagined James Potter speaking back at him, "I was never really that good at Potions either!"

Harry smiled stupidly at himself and returned to staring into the mirror when he noticed a shadowy figure standing behind all the Potters and Evanses. Harry squinted. The figure in the back started to take a clearer shape the longer Harry concentrated on him until at last, he was as solid as James and Lily. He was a very handsome man with white-blond hair and stone grey eyes. His features were all sharp and angular, but his warm smile lent a warmth that bled out all intimidation.

Harry gasped. The man was a dead ringer for Draco Malfoy, except much older. Harry pressed so close against the mirror his nose began to hurt. "Malfoy?" he breathed. "Malfoy, is that you?" The blond man's smile changed a bit. It looked sadder somehow. "What are you doing in there?"

But like the rest of the figures in the mirror, the man didn't speak. Harry returned his gaze to his parents guiltily. "I'll come back," he promised, and left for the Tower.

The next night, Harry brought Ron because there was no way he could experience something like this without telling his best friend. It was a little harder to find the empty classroom since he hadn't been watching where he was going yesterday. But he found it in the end, but upon looking in the mirror, Harry noticed that something was different.

His parents were still there. They stood right behind him, beaming at his presence. So was the blond man who had been standing in the far back yesterday, but today, he was standing somewhere in the third row, about a foot behind his parents. How did he get so close? No one else had changed their positions. Harry stared curiously at him, taking a step back in surprise when the blond man winked back at him.

"What is it?" asked Ron.

"Here," said Harry distractedly. "Here, come see my family. Just not ... not the blond one though. I'm not sure who he is."

Ron looked at the mirror. "What are you talking about, Harry? I can only see myself." Ron's eyebrows jumped. "Wow, that - uh - that's just me, Harry. Me holding the Quidditch Cup and wearing a Head Boy badge, and - Harry, what is this mirror?"

"I don't know," said Harry distantly. They had to leave the room when Mrs Norris came stalking around, her luminous eyes gleaming darkly. Harry threw a final glance at the mirror behind him. His parents watched him go sadly. The blond man was standing right behind them now, waving goodbye.

On the third night, Harry found himself looking at the mirror in dismay. His parents were still there. The Potters and Evans with whom Harry shared several physical similarities were still present. But they were all behind the man who looked like the older version of Draco Malfoy. The blond-haired, grey-eyed man now beamed at him face to face and Harry wanted to ask him to clear off, whoever you are! because he wanted time with his parents, but at the same time he didn't.

He loved this man too, a stranger though he was. Harry couldn't explain why but he felt connected to him, as if he was meant to love this man ... or had loved him. Harry couldn't really tell. Harry put his fingers on the mirror where the reflection of the man's shoulder was. "Who are you?"

"So - back again, Harry?"

Harry whirled around to see Dumbledore sitting on one of the desks with a gentle smile that assuaged Harry's fears of getting a month's detention. Dumbledore slid off the desk and walked up to what he called the Mirror of Erised. Harry felt compelled to ask the same question Ron had asked him last night. "What is this mirror?"

"The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror, that is, he would look into it and see himself exactly as he is. Does that help?

Harry thought for a while. "It shows us what we want ... whatever we want ..."

"Yes and no. It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always been overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them."

Harry placed a hand on the mirror. So the reflection was nothing but his desire. No form of truth or possibility to them. But still, the blond man remained a mystery. How could Harry desire a man he did not know? Where did he add up in all of this? But Harry chose not to tell the headmaster about the mysterious blond stranger. He had intruded on Dumbledore's kindness enough. But there was one question he wanted to ask him: "What do you see when you look in the mirror, professor?"

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks. One can never have enough socks. Another Christmas has come and gone and I didn't get a single pair. People will insist on giving me books."

It occurred to Harry later that night that Dumbledore had not been entirely truthful when answering his question. But then, it had been quite a personal question. Nevertheless, Harry sent Hedwig to Hermione in the morning, requesting that she help him get a pair of woolen socks, and deposited them in a parcel in front of the Headmaster's office when Hermione came back from the holidays with them.

The final exams arrived far too quickly in the first-years' opinion. One minute, they were eating leftover turkey from the Christmas feast and the next, they were cramming and revising on how to turn mice into snuff boxes. Percy Weasley smiled when he saw the three of them studying up for Potions. "A tad ironic, isn't it? Trying not to forget how to make a Forgetfulness Potion."

"Har har," said Ron moodily, shooing his brother away.

But once ten o'clock struck and Hermione was still trying to go over the 1637 Werewolf Code of Conduct with them for History of Magic, Harry retreated to the dorm. He's got so many facts and things to remember swirling in his head it was hard to place one thought in front of the other. Then again, he should be thankful for having found such a studious friend in Hermione. He wouldn't have been able to pay attention in his revision otherwise.

His nightmares weren't going away. They were becoming worse. Every night, Harry saw the same hooded figure from the Forbidden Forest, leaning over the dead unicorn, silver blood dripping from its hood. Only now in his dreams, the figure was bleeding everywhere. Blood stained its dark cloak and it was reaching out to Harry and whenever it tried to say Harry's name in that hoarse, raspy voice, Harry's head exploded with pain.

Harry rubbed the scar on his forehead, feeling the bumps and rises on his skin. That ain't no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh, was what Hagrid had told him the night he found out he was a wizard. So he was cursed. For how long? For his entire life?

He closed his eyes, willing all those troubling thoughts to go away. He'd had enough excitement these past weeks, what with discovering a baby dragon in Hagrid's hut, trying to smuggle it out of Hogwarts and losing Gryffindor 150 points when he was caught. Think about something good that happened. A good memory.

Leaving the Dursleys. Harry smiled as he remembered how happy he felt at not having to attend Stonewall High, but instead was going to a magical school, the same one his parents had gone to. Leaving London on Platform Three-Quarters. The first time he got on a broom. The euphoria that swept over him when he won the Quidditch game for Gryffindor. Finally getting to see what his family looked like in the Mirror of Erised. The mysterious blond stranger who -

Harry sat up in his bed in a rush. "It's you!" Harry was thankful nobody else was in the dorm. Otherwise, they might've suspected him of being a nutter and avoid him even more. Harry couldn't believe he hadn't pieced it together before! The blond Malfoy lookalike in the mirror was the same man who had waved at him from the platform at King's Cross the day he left for Hogwarts!

Harry remembered now. He was wearing a cloak and he had been standing alone. But he had waved to Harry. Why? Who was he? Did he live in Muggle London? Why did he show up in the Mirror of Erised if Harry had only seen him once, so briefly that Harry barely remembered him?

Great, groaned Harry. More questions. He sunk back down and put a pillow over his head. "Shut up, brain!"

News spread like wildfire around Hogwarts, especially when it concerned one Harry Potter, the Boy-Who Lived. When Gryffindor lost 150 points overnight, people talked and by noontime the same day, everyone knew that Harry and his friends had tried to smuggle a dragon out of Hogwarts. The teachers discredited the story, of course, but the student body believed it, even the Gryffindors, who now hated their hero. It was no different this time.

When Harry didn't show up for breakfast the day after exams along with his two best friends and Professor Quirrell, the rumour mill ran wild. "They left," said Neville miserably from the Gryffindor table. "I tried to stop them from going out at night Hermione did a Body-Bind on me."

At that moment, Ron and Hermione entered, looking rather worse for wear. Ron was walking unsteadily, as if something had hit him hard on the head and both of them sported tired shadows under their eyes. "I already told you I was sorry, Neville," said Hermione plaintively, taking a seat. "Does it still hurt, Ron?"

"Not so much," Ron murmured, sitting next to her. "That white queen really didn't hold anything back."

"What happened?" asked Dean. "Where's Harry?"

"I thought you still weren't speaking to us," said Ron loftily. "Considering how evil we are for losing all those House points."

"Oh, get over it. Because of the three of you, Slytherin's going to end up placing first for the House Cup this year," said Seamus. He yelped when he received a sharp kick to his leg but when he demanded who did it, everyone looked away, except Hermione, who was calmly eating her muffin.

Fred and George joined them at the table, heads looking left and right. "Any of you know what happened to Professor Quirrell?" asked George. "We found this new enchantment we want to try on his turban but we can't see him anywhere," said Fred.

"He's dead," said Ron through a mouthful of crumpet.

The twins looked at Ron curiously. "How really? And how did he die?"

"Harry killed him - ow!" Ron rubbed his sore foot and glared at Hermione. "What! I was just telling them the truth!"

"Harry did not kill Professor Quirrell. And Professor Dumbledore says we're not supposed to tell anyone," she added in a low voice, but it was for naught. The twins heard her. Their eyes bugged comically.

"Blimey, you're serious?"

"What did Quirrell ever do to Harry?"

Before breakfast was over, everyone knew the story, or at least some variation of the story; none of which were entirely accurate. The faces at the Slytherin table were ashen, especially Malfoy. "He's probably scared because the guy he's been picking on all year turned out to be strong enough to kill a professor," laughed Dean.

"For the last time, Harry did not kill Professor Quirrell!" said Hermione heatedly.

"Hermione, calm down," said Ron.

"How can I? Their making fun of the entire thing! They don't care that Harry nearly died trying to save the Stone from Quirrell or that now he won't even wake up!" Hermione wiped her eyes and stormed away from the table. Ron frowned concernedly and rushed after her, leaving the Gryffindor table dumfounded in his wake.

It was a Snitch. Harry looked down at the tiny golden ball in his hand, its wings beating weakly against his skin. The roar of cheers and applause that followed nearly deafened his ears. Harry felt a huge ball of happiness growing in his chest; so huge he thought he was going to explode. He had never been cheered on like this before; never felt such overwhelming support from so many people.

If only he was here to share his joy. If only his face was amongst the crowd, beaming with pride, his hands clapping for all their worth, Harry was sure it would've boosted his mood a million times over. After all, he was the one who had introduced flying brooms to Harry.

...wait, that wasn't right.

Harry didn't know about flying brooms until he entered Hogwarts. No wait, he'd somehow known that those brooms were meant for flying. Did he dream it all up? Just like that flying motorbike?

"Good afternoon, Harry."

Harry opened his eyes for the first time in three days and winced at the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the hospital wing. He blinked desperately, willing his world into focus. He saw the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore and struggled to sit up. "Sir? What happened to Quirrell? And the Stone?"

Dumbledore smiled kindly and explained that - no, Professor Quirrell, who had played host to Voldemort's parasite, had not managed to get the Philosopher's Stone. "I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say."

Harry sunk back into his pillow with relief. That was when he noticed the mountainous pile of candy on his bedside table. "Uh..."

"Tokens from your friends and admirers," said Dumbledore, beaming. "What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows."

Harry smiled. He didn't care if the whole school knew. The important thing was that Voldemort wasn't back. His magical new world and friends were not in danger. He fell back into sleep after Dumbledore left, a smile on his face, and dreaming of grey eyes and a mirthful laugh.

Privet Drive felt more empty than when he had left it last year. Harry supposed it was because after all the excitement he'd experienced at Hogwarts, Privet Drive just felt like a cage to come back to. As Vernon pulled up to Number Four, Harry saw Mrs. Figg standing in her garden and playing with her cats. There was a cherry red Ferrari sitting in her driveway. Harry stared.

"Um, nice car, Mrs. Figg," he called out.

If Vernon slammed the door of his car extra hard, Harry pretended not to notice. "Still can't see why he chose to leave you the car. I mean, you barely knew him, isn't that right, madam?"

"I didn't know him at all," said the old woman with a curiously deep frown.

"Well, he's gone now and good riddance."

Harry had no idea who they were talking about until Dudley came running out, a mean grin on his face. "Guess what? Guess what?"

"You put on weight?" said Harry, running a wary eye over his cousin.

But that didn't deter Dudley at all. "That friend of yours moved out while you were at school!"

"Who?"

"That man who lived in Number Eight! That Malfoy person!" said Dudley delightedly.

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "What?" How did Dudley know that name?

But Dudley mistook his bewilderment for disbelief. "Go and see for yourself! That house is empty now. No more peacocks running on the front lawn," he said with obvious glee.

Harry continued to stare at Dudley with wide eyes as his cousin ran back into the house, thinking that he had caused Harry some form of pain. But Harry was more confused than anything. Maybe Dudley had taken one too many hits to the head with the Smeltings stick. Harry shrugged and heaved his trunk out of the boot of the car. He was about to drag his things back into the house that had spawned ten years of bad memories when Mrs. Figg tugged him back and pushed something into his hand. "I don't know what happened last year, Potter, but I don't like it. I found this on my table this morning. It's addressed to you."

"Then why was it on your table?" asked Harry.

"Exactly." The cat lady hobbled back to her house with a dissatisfied look on her face.

Harry looked at the object she had forced into his hand. It was an envelope with his name on the front and a wax seal on the flap. That, if anything, told Harry that his sender was a wizard. The wax seal was broken, which probably meant Mrs. Figg had opened the envelope to inspect its contents. Harry felt a surge of annoyance for the old lady. What right did she have going through his things even if she did find it on her table? Harry lifted the flap and looked inside. There was no letter, only a small silver key. A Gringotts key.

What in the world?

To be continued...

Next chapter: Discovering Draco