
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6766666.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F, F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Fandom
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-05-06 Chapters: 1/? Words: 3698
****** Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Askaban (Ginny is Ron) ******
by orphan_account
Notes
     I hope you all enjoy give me feedback on the topic choice
Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the
summer holidays more than any other time of year. 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.
It was nearly midnight, and he was lying on his stomach in bed, the blankets
drawn right over his head like a tent, a flashlight 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.'
The quill paused at the top of a likely looking paragraph. Harry pushed his
round glasses up the bridge of his nose, moved his flashlight 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 recognizing 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 burned so much that she allowed
herself to be caught no less than forty-seven times in various disguises.
Harry put his quill between his teeth and reached underneath his pillow for his
inkbottle 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.
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 toward 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. To
their fury, they had not been unsuccessful. These days they 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 they could do, however, was to lock
away Harry's spell books, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the
summer break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors.
This separation from his spell books had been a real problem for Harry, because
his teachers at Hogwarts had given him a lot of holiday work. One of the
essays, a particularly nasty one about shrinking potions, was for Harry's least
favorite teacher, Professor Snape, 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), 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.
Harry was particularly keen to avoid trouble with his aunt and uncle at the
moment, as they were already in an especially bad mood with him, all because
he'd received a telephone call from a fellow wizard one week into the school
vacation.
Ginny Weasley, who was Harry's best friend at Hogwarts, came from a whole
family of wizards. This meant that she 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.
"Vernon Dursley speaking."
Harry, who happened to be in the room at the time, froze as he heard Ginny's
voice answer.
"HELLO? HELLO? CAN YOU HEAR ME? I -- WANT -- TO -- TALK -- TO -- HARRY -
- POTTER!"
Ginny 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.
"WHO IS THIS?" he roared in the direction of the mouthpiece. "WHO ARE YOU?"
"GINNY -- WEASLEY!" Ginny bellowed back, as though he and Uncle Vernon were
speaking from opposite ends of a football field. "I'M -- A -- FRIEND -- OF -
- HARRY'S -- FROM -- SCHOOL --"
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 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!"
And he threw the receiver back onto the telephone as if dropping a poisonous
spider.
The fight 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.
Ginny obviously realized that she'd gotten Harry into trouble, because she
hadn't called again. Harry's other best friend from Hogwarts, Hermione Granger,
hadn't been in touch either. Harry suspected that Ginny 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.
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
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. Uncle Vernon had given in because of the racket Hedwig
made if she was locked in her cage all the time.
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. It must be very late, Harry thought. His 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 flashlight, 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.
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.
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 two birthdays, and he had no reason to suppose they
would remember this one.
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, and on his forehead, clearly visible through his hair, was a thin
scar, shaped like a bolt of lightning.
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, 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, where Voldemort's
curse, instead of killing him, had rebounded upon its originator. Barely alive,
Voldemort had fled...
But Harry had come face-to-face with him 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 dangling from 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.
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. They landed with a soft flump on Harry's bed, and
the middle owl, which was large and gray, keeled right over and lay motionless.
There was a large package tied to its legs.
Harry recognized the unconscious owl at once -- his name was Errol, and he
belonged to the Weasley family. Harry dashed to the bed, 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.
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. 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 package, it was carrying
a letter bearing the Hogwarts crest. When Harry relieved this owl of its
burden, it ruffled its feathers importantly, stretched its wings, and took off
through the window into the night.
Harry sat down on his bed and 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 clipping.
The clipping had clearly come out of the wizarding newspaper, the Daily
Prophet, because the people in the black-and-white picture were moving. Harry
picked up the clipping, smoothed it out, and read:
MINISTRY OF MAGIC EMPLOYEE SCOOPS GRAND PRIZE
Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry
of Magic, has won the annual Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon Draw.
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
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
adorable 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 Ginny'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.
It's amazing here in Egypt. Bill's taken us around all the tombs and you
wouldn't believe the curses those old Egyptian wizards put on them. Mum
wouldn't let Ron 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.
I couldn't believe it when Dad won the Daily Prophet Draw. Seven hundred
galleons! Most of it's gone on this trip, but they're going to buy me a new
wand for next year.
Harry remembered only too well the occasion when Ginny'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 on the school grounds.
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?
Don't let the Muggles get you down!
Try and come to London,
Ginny
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
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 Ginny 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.
Love you -- Ginny XX
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.
Dear Harry,
Ginny wrote to me and told me about her 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 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. 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 Ginny and
her family a week ago? I bet she's learning loads. I'm really jealous -- the
ancient Egyptian wizards were fascinating.
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.
Ginnh says she'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 first!
Love from
Hermione
P.S. Ginny says Percy's Head Boy. I'll bet Percy's really pleased. She doesn't
seem too happy about it.
Harry laughed 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. 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, reading Broomstick Servicing Kit.
"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 on 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; 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 recognized
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.
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.
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.
"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 toward 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 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.
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 thought a biting book would come in
useful, but he put Hagrid's card up next to Ron's 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:
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 on 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 on 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.
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.
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