Prologue:

Remember, remember the fifth of November. This phrase was etched on the dark wood of Harry's headboard; every morning since returning home from Hogwarts he gazed at it. What did it mean? He shifted his head to his alarm clock, and then towards his closed bedroom door. It was eight o'clock; only a few moments before his harpy of an aunt came banging on the door. Turning back once more to look at the inscribed words, he slowly traced the words with his index finger. A sharp knock and even sharper words came from the hallway outside, and Harry quickly sat up on his bed, once again wishing that he had something to enjoy about his birthday.

Chapter 1- The Man Without a Face

Tu m'as donné ta boue et j'en ai fait de l'or.

Harry was having trouble sleeping. It had been two weeks since he had arrived at the Burrow, and he still could not get over Ron's obnoxious alarm clock. He would lie awake; staring at the clock face as the seconds, minutes, and hours went by, waiting in trepidation of the horrible whining voice. He rolled over. Ron was mumbling in his sleep, "Jamie, who's that on your car phone?" Harry rubbed his scar anxiously. How was Ron gaining all this information about the muggle world? Soon, though, Ron returned back to his usual habit of snoring, another horrible sound Harry could not stand. "Pretty soon, I'll have to start sleeping with Hermione," Harry muttered to himself. He looked out the window, the early strains of the morning light peeping through the glass.

"AH!" He gasped out. Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through his head, down his neck and to his abdomen. Crookshanks, who had been sleeping on the floor, hissed in terror. Harry clasped his forehead, tumbling over the side of the bed. It felt as though the pain lasted for hours, an inescapable torment that haunted him every night. The duvet slid off the bed, Harry's shaking legs exposed to the cold morning air. At that moment, Ron's alarm went off.

"It's NINE O'CLOCK! It's NINE O'CLOCK!" The voice of the talking alarm clock sliced through the air, finally waking Ron up. He groped blindly around in the darkness, slapping Harry in the process. At last, the pain stopped. Vomiting in the corner, Harry turned around to see the door to Ron's bedroom fly open, and then collapsed next to Crookshanks. Hermione stood there, a toothbrush in her mouth. She looked hideous.

"Hermione, what did you do last night?" asked Ron.

"I was up late studying arithmancy, when suddenly I realized that-"

She was interrupted by an owl flying into the window. "Oh, no, Pig! What happened?" Hermione shoved Ron towards the windowsill," Do something!" The poor bird fluttered against the window, it's short claws scratching against the glass pane.

"What the hell, Pig? Who do you think you are? Four Leaf?" He quickly rushed to the window and opened it, and the badly injured owl dropped in. He fluffed his feathers, and soon he was good as new. Attached to his foot was a small, folded up note. Ron untied it, and tossed Pig a treat. He looked at the note, and handed it to Harry, who had been lying on the floor.

Opening it slowly, he saw that the ink inside was green and slightly smudged, as if it had been sent in a hurry before the ink had time to dry. His gaze, dropping towards the bottom, looked back up in shock. "You guys," he started.
"What is it Harry? " Hermione asked, a worried expression painting her toothpaste covered face.

Harry looked at her, with tears shining in his eyes. "It's from Sirius."