Harry Potter and the Eye of Tae Nan
By Kyizi

Disclaimer: I own none of the main characters and only a few of the minor ones. J.K. Rowling created these characters, and as far as I know, they are still her property. Only the story is mine.

Rating: If you can read the books then you can read this.

Timeline/Spoilers: Starts in the summer holidays after the fourth book and will continue through Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts. Therefore, there will be spoilers for all four books.

Notes: I'm attempting to write this in the same style as J.K. Rowling writes the books. I'm basically trying to write, in essence the next book. Well, where my imagination takes it at least! I realise that to do what she will is an impossibility, but I'm just having a bit of fun and *need* to get this out of my head! You may notice that a lot of the first chapter will simple rehash the last book, but as I'm planning on integrating it all into my story, I felt it needed to be done.

Summary: Harry and his friends are back at Hogwarts for their fifth year. But with Voldemort back, what lengths will they have to go to to protect the ones they love? Cemara stones, Atlantis, interschool exchanges and Animagi, what can possibly go wrong.?

Feedback: Please let me know how I'm doing as I'm attempting a completely different style and pointers, praise, tips and ideas are all welcome, as is constructive criticism. Please send no flames.

Email address: kyizifanfic@hotmail.com

Yahoo Group:

Notes: A big thanks to my betas Heliona and Loriel who spent ages trawling through this! Love ya! *mwah*

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Part One

Warning Signs

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The room was dank and dirty and the shadows danced slowly with the musty, low light. The stale air seemed to stiffly circulate the room, but not really go anywhere as gravity held everything in its place. A constant creaking seemed deafening in the otherwise silent room.

The walls were made of dirt, as if someone had carved a room into the very Earth, with no visible way in or out. Through the walls, floor, and ceiling, which all had the appearance of being cut with a sharp knife, creatures could be seen moving about amongst the roots. The walls were the same length; straight and as perfect as could be, except in one corner of the room where the roots of a tree had upset the regularity of the room.

In the centre was a table which dominated the room, lending it a claustrophobic atmosphere. The room was otherwise empty, except for one corner where a figure sat rocking slowly in a chair. Its feet did not touch the floor, yet still the chair continued to creak in a continuous, regular rhythm, moving seemingly of its own accord. Hunched in the corner by the chair sat another creature. It was a man, human, but not human. Something in its presence that screamed that there was something inhuman about him. He followed orders, he tried to please; more like a pet, a clone, or a robot than a human.

There was a sharp laugh from the figure in the chair, and the man cowered before his master. He had thought his idea innovative, his information helpful, but it remained to be seen whether or not his master agreed. His eyes drifted quickly to the shining silver hand on his right arm. He had given his master the gift of life, and he had been rewarded, but he still could not forget the pain it had caused, or the pain he felt with each new failure.

"You have done well."

The words rang through the room with a painful clarity, lifting the weight from the man's shoulders. He had done well. This did not encourage him to think any higher of himself. Nothing had changed, and he lived for at least another day.

"You will continue to look, and you will find her." The voice left no room for failure. "If she is close by, as you say, she is mine, and I will have the ultimate power. It will rise from the oceans and nothing will stop me."

The man in the chair pulled out his wand and waved it a little, muttering something under his breath. The room erupted in a blinding red flash and the table vanished. A moment later, with a small *pop*, both the inhabitants disappeared too, leaving only the chair, slowly rocking back and forth with a continuous creak.

A few hundred miles away, a young boy with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead awoke, the fading traces of a dream running through his mind, until all wisps of its memory drifted away.

*

Number four Privet Drive was a normal house, on a normal street, in a perfectly normal neighbourhood. In the gentle orange glow of the near-dawn sky on a morning such as the third of August, this house looked no different than any of the others in the area, just as it should be.

The small light that trickled from the window of the "spare bedroom" drew no more attention than the moon that penetrated the sky, simply because it seemed perfectly normal. It was strange then that this non-event should, therefore, be nothing but the exact opposite.

In the confines of what had once been Dudley Dursley's second bedroom lay a young boy, hiding under his bed sheets, scribbling away on a piece of parchment, with what one could easily mistake as a quill. To non-Muggle folk, however, that was exactly the case.

Harry Potter was an orphan, living with his Aunt and Uncle in this normal house. Normal, however, was something that Harry had never really been, despite the fact that, for most of his life, he had been forced to try. While Harry had the appearance of a normal fifteen year old, he was of average height, he had dark green eyes that had a tendency to sparkle when he was happy, and an exceptionally messy mop of dark hair on his head that refused to be tamed, he was far from ordinary. The reason for this was simply that Harry Potter was a wizard. Not just any wizard, but a famous one, known for, when he was just a baby, defeating the greatest dark wizard in memory.

Harry's parents had died protecting him, and it was for this reason that he had lived ten years and every summer holiday thereafter with his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, who, by all standards, were the worst kind of Muggles. (Muggles, of course, being non-magic folk.) Harry's only saving grace was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he, along with his best friends, Hermione and Ron, was soon to start his Fifth Year.

Ron Weasley. What he wouldn't have given to stay with his friend this summer, instead of coming back to the Dursleys'. Ron was the youngest son of a large wizarding family that lived in a rickety house known as The Burrow. Harry always felt safe amongst the Weasleys. They may have been widely known simply for their red hair and freckles, but to Harry they were more of a family to him than the Dursleys had ever been - not that that was exactly difficult. It was with them that he felt safe, almost as safe as he did at Hogwarts.

Harry hissed as yet more pain coursed through his forehead, forcing him to lay down his quill. He began to rub his eyes, feeling that perhaps he should continue his homework tomorrow night. The last thing he needed was for his most hated teacher, Professor Snape, to fail him because he had spilt ink all over his Potions homework. That was, of course, assuming Snape was at Hogwarts this year. As much as that thought should have pleased him, it didn't. Too much had happened last year for him to feel anything but upset and angry, and if he dared to admit it to himself, afraid. For it was in this last year that Lord Voldemort, that same wizard who had killed his parents and been defeated by baby Harry, had risen again. Voldemort was so feared that most of the wizarding world dared not even speak his name aloud.

Hiding his school things under the loose floorboard that he was ever thankful for, he climbed back into his bed, praying that, for tonight at least, he wouldn't have more nightmares. He had already succeeded in waking up half the neighbourhood at least three times since he had arrived back on Privet Drive. Given that he'd been starved for a few days as a result, he didn't think it wise to do so again.

He slowly rubbed his scar, that constant reminder of his defeat of Voldemort, that constant reminder of his parents' death. It was a small lightning-shaped scar that cut across his forehead and was as famous as he himself, as it was the way most people in the wizarding world were able to identify him, much to his dismay. Fame was a concept that Harry did not really understand, at least in association with himself. He had little memory of the event that had occurred when his parents had been killed. Only a green light that he knew had engulfed and destroyed his mother.

Groaning again, he closed his eyes. He felt sure that his scar was glowing deep red, for it was this that was his link with Voldemort. It was a magical scar; a result of the curse that Voldemort had tried to kill him with, and it was the source of his nightmares. It allowed him the dubious honour of being subject to viewing the inner workings of Voldemort's evil doings and, ever since the dark wizard's return, it had been a continuous playback of death and destruction, which was why his latest dream had him utterly confused.

He wrinkled his brow as he tried to recall any remaining memory of his last dream, but to no avail. He remembered a dark room, but little else. Voldemort and Wormtail had been present, but apart from that, he remembered nothing. Yet there was a strange sensation tugging at his subconscious. He felt as if he should know something else, as if there was some missing piece to the puzzle that not even the dream had answered.

Sighing, he turned over onto his side. As always, his thoughts returned to his parents. It seemed now that whenever he was at a loss to recall his continual nightmares, they were there for him. That made him smile. When he was younger he had always imagined what his parents were like, as, he supposed, would any child who had grown up as he had. The only difference was that his parents weren't as wonderful as he had imagined - they were better. Just thinking about his parents, about how he had seen the shadow of them only a month ago, sent a stabbing pain through his chest. He wished he had known them, and he couldn't help the bitterness in that thought. Someone they had considered a friend had betrayed them. If not for Wormtail, they would still be alive.

Slowly Harry closed his eyes, clearing his mind of thoughts about his parents' death and hoping that he wouldn't be plagued by the other images that had haunted him the last few weeks. Still nightmares, these were as vivid as the images sent through his scar, but they were of events past. They were always different and yet, at the same time, there was something the same. Him. He was always there and, no matter what he did, he couldn't save them. Not his parents as Voldemort killed them, encompassing his mother in green light, and not Cedric.

It was last year at the Triwizard Tournament that everything had gone wrong. One of Voldemort's main supporters had succeeded in placing Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire, despite the fact that he was too young, in the hopes that he would win. He then turned the winner's cup into a Portkey, which allowed the winner to be transported to Voldemort's whereabouts, where they, Wormtail and Voldemort, had awaited his arrival. They had not bargained on Cedric, a student in his final year, and Harry, being joint winners. Voldemort had simply ordered Cedric killed. But it wasn't so simple to Harry. He had been there, watched it happen, and had been unable to do anything.

It was something that had haunted Harry; that he had been unable to stop it. He had destroyed one of the most powerful wizards as a baby but, as a young man, had been ineffective in stopping that same wizard from killing Cedric. It tortured his dreams, and those were as frequent as the pains in his scar.

The dreams of Voldemort and his 'meetings' were getting continually more disturbing and Harry was sure that he was seeing a familiar person, hidden in the shadows of the room, but he couldn't put his finger on who it was. He knew that it was important, knew it was something that he should know, but still the person's identity eluded him. That worried him. He knew it was someone that was on Voldemort's side, but he had no idea who that could be. It worried him because this person could be doublecrossing Dumbledore, could be pretending to be on their side, and what if this person succeeded in betraying them? Harry couldn't help but think it would all be his fault for not recognising who it was.

Wishing away his nightmares, Harry fell into a fitful sleep, completely unaware that the pain in his scar had suddenly vanished. Slowly, his thrashing subsided and, for the first time in weeks, Harry slept uninterrupted. For the first time in a long time, there was nothing amiss in the dreams of Harry Potter.

*

After a dreamless sleep, Harry woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in a long time, and not even his cousin could take that away from him. Aware that something was different, yet unaware as to what it was, Harry headed down the stairs for breakfast. Passing through the hallway, he couldn't help but snicker at the latest podgy photograph of his annoying cousin Dudley that was hanging next to yet more podgy photographs of Dudley at various ages.

Sending a longing glance to the cupboard under the stairs - once his residence, now the home of his wonderful Firebolt, he sighed. What he wouldn't give to magic open the door, steal the broomstick, and fly to The Burrow, leaving the Dursleys behind.

Shaking his head, Harry decided not to let it dampen his spirits and entered the kitchen. Instantly, Aunt Petunia waved him in the direction of the cooker, where he set about preparing breakfast. He was used to chores; he had been brought up cooking, and cleaning, and gardening for his aunt and uncle. He had resented and despised them for it but now, he didn't mind so much. The knowledge that he would soon be leaving the Dursleys' was more than enough compensation. He had, of course, known throughout the summer that Dumbledore would let him spend part of the holidays with Ron, but it was only in the past few days that he had realised that the summer was more than half gone, and that meant Ron would surely owl him soon to invite him to The Burrow.

Since then, his mood had improved so radically that his aunt had punished him by giving him more chores, sure that he must have been using magic in some way, despite her knowledge that he wasn't allowed to do so. But the truth was, all Harry had to do was count. Two more summers and that was it. His life with the Dursleys would be over. Once he was of age to leave school as a fully qualified wizard, he would no longer need to stay at number four Privet Drive, with his aunt and uncle as his guardians. Two years!

Smiling, Harry put the breakfast onto plates and took them to the table. Pulling out a chair at the other end of the table from Uncle Vernon, who was still rather upset that Harry had blown up his sister last year - literally - Harry helped himself to some toast, sending an amused glance at his cousin.

It seemed that the diet that Aunt Petunia and his school nurse had come up with for Dudley had actually worked. Harry had almost died of shock upon arriving home from Hogwarts this year to find a thin Dudley sitting in the living room, munching on a breadstick. The only problem was that Aunt Petunia had been so thrilled with Dudley's achievement that she felt the need to spoil him rotten, and had proceeded to stuff him with chocolates and cakes all summer. Needless to say, Dudley hadn't put up much of a fight. Now, if it were possible, the boy was larger than Harry had ever seen him. He'd gone from looking like a beached whale to looking like a pod of beached whales!

The only wonderful thing that had occurred this summer was that Harry had grown. While it was not much of an achievement for the average growing teenager, to Harry it was the best thing that could have happened to him. Although you could still easily fit four Harrys into one pair of Dudley's trousers, Harry was now a few inches taller than his cousin. This, together with the fact that Dudley was now terrified of Harry's magical abilities, meant that he was sure to never bully the taller boy again.

"Well then, boy, what is the meaning of this?" Uncle Vernon thrust a purple envelope at Harry, holding it in front of him, but not allowing Harry to take it.

Running a hand through his ever-untidy hair, Harry scrunched up his nose and peered through his glasses. "I won't know unless you let me open it, will I?"

"Less of your cheek, boy!" Uncle Vernon puffed out his large cheeks and seemed to mull over the thought. Somehow, his experiences with wizarding folk left him a little afraid whenever anything seemed to be centred on Harry. Having decided the letter could only be harmless - Harry had failed to mention what a Howler was - he handed the letter rather reluctantly to a surprised Harry. He had expected his uncle to open it, but he wasn't about to complain.

Harry scanned the envelope for clues as to whom it could be from, but none were forthcoming. He didn't recognise the writing on the envelope and had even less idea of the content. Aware that all eyes were on him, he decided to study the letter in great detail, prolonging the suspense for his relatives. There was a faint scent to it and, although he was sure he recognised it, Harry had no idea what it was. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned the letter over in his hands before slowly opening the seal.

He risked a quick glance at the Dursleys, and smirked. Aunt Petunia had edged herself along the back wall, and all he could see of Dudley was his blonde head, as he had taken refuge behind the counter - things like pigs' tails and Ton Tongue Toffee no doubt on his mind. Uncle Vernon was simply glaring at him, but Harry felt sure that were something to suddenly happen, he would find that his uncle was more than ready to leap out of the way.

Frowning, Harry pulled out a small scrap of paper and eyed it suspiciously. There seemed to be nothing magical about it, and yet Harry could think of nothing else that it could be. The only Muggles he knew were the Dursleys and, albeit only a little, Hermione's parents. Turning the paper over in his hands, the only words Harry could see didn't seem to be words at all. In fact, Harry couldn't be sure they were even letters; they were simply swirls of ink doodled across the small scrap of paper.

Frowning even harder, Harry looked at it more closely, wondering if maybe this was Ron or his brothers' idea of a joke. Making Harry spend the remaining part of his holiday with the Dursleys wondering about a few scribbles on a piece of paper was something that the twins would get a real kick out of. Of course the scribbles could have been written in some wizarding language, for all Harry knew. If it were the twins, it was likely to say something along the lines of, "Kick me, I'm stupid," and the paper was probably charmed to stick to his back when he wasn't looking. Although, he'd really expected something more along the lines of never-ending chewing gum that screamed when you closed your jaw, and had the side effect of turning your tongue into a rainbow. He smiled at that thought; he'd have to remember that one for the twins.

"Well then?" Uncle Vernon demanded, his moustache twitching as he cast wary glances around him, as if expecting a wizard to suddenly appear before him. He didn't know, since most witches and wizards who were of age had a licences to Apparate, that wasn't exactly unheard of. Harry also chose not to share this.

"Oh." He placed the paper back into the envelope. "It's from my godfather," Harry said, simply to see the Dursleys' reaction. It was always more amusing than the previous time. Aunt Petunia looked ready to faint, and was clutching at the worktop with whitened knuckles. Dudley had fled the room, making noises that would have fit perfectly with the tail Hagrid had once given him, and, if Uncle Vernon's face was any redder, he would burst a major artery, assuming of course, he hadn't already.

Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, was currently a wanted man in the Wizarding world and, due to the severity of the crime he had been convicted of, he had also appeared on the Muggle news as a dangerous criminal. When he had first heard of Sirius Black, he had discovered that the man had been his parents' best friend, and his betrayal had resulted in their deaths. However, the truth, as Harry had soon discovered, was that Wormtail was actually Voldemort's spy and, although most of the Wizarding world thought the man dead at Sirius' hand, Harry knew he was very much alive. But until that could be proven, Sirius was on the run, and Harry could do nothing but wait.

"Yes. He just wants to make sure that everything's going all right, making sure that I'm getting everything ready for going back to school," Harry continued, trying to hide his smile.

Uncle Vernon clenched his jaw, although it was difficult to see due to his chins, and Harry swore he could see a slight shaking in his uncle's face, as if he was ready to explode. Thinking that if he did, it'd be best to be somewhere else, Harry quickly excused himself, taking pleasure in muttering strange words under his breath as he passed the door Dudley was hiding behind. It didn't matter that his cousin knew Harry wasn't supposed to do magic out of school, Dudley also knew that it wasn't wise to tempt fate.

Closing his bedroom door behind him, Harry sat on his bed, still chuckling. He'd have to be careful how many times he mentioned Sirius, or the threat would start to lose effect. He lay back on his bed, folded his hands behind his head, and thought about the last time he had seen his godfather. Sirius had been sent on an errand for Dumbledore, to go and get help in the form of his old school friends, most notably Remus Lupin. Professor Lupin had been best friend's with Harry's father and Sirius at school, not to mention the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher that Hogwarts had ever seen. Well, in Harry's time there, at least. However, Professor Lupin was also a werewolf, bitten as a child. When this had become public knowledge, Lupin had resigned, knowing that parents would request he be removed from the position. Werewolves weren't known for being friendly.

Sighing, he turned to look at the empty cage in which his snowy owl, Hedwig, usually resided. He had sent her with a letter to Sirius and the Weasleys, and she had yet to return. Harry was hoping that Professor Dumbledore, the headmaster at Hogwarts, would allow him to spend the remainder of his holiday with the Weasleys, and was currently awaiting their reply. And, although he knew that Sirius' reply, if there was one, would be very short, he had felt the need to talk with his godfather.

At the end of the last year, Sirius and many other adults that Harry knew in the wizarding world, including his most hated teacher, Snape, had been sent on 'missions' for Dumbledore. Harry knew that getting in touch with his old friends from school wasn't the only thing that Dumbledore would ask of Sirius, and he knew that whatever was asked of his godfather was likely to be very dangerous. Although what exactly these missions were, Harry had no idea, only that they were moves against Voldemort and therefore very important. It was because of this that his contact with Sirius was sporadic at best, and he wished he could hear something soon.

He also found something slightly depressing about spending his birthday presentless and alone, still having no word from either his own godfather or the Weasleys. Harry had never really known a good birthday until he had gone to Hogwarts, it had always been just another day in the horrid life of living with the Dursleys. Sure, his friends were never actually with him on his birthday, but they were always in touch, and they always would be. Or so he had thought.

As if on cue, there was a tapping at the window. He smiled, moving towards it and opening it to let the two large brown owls in. He knew that had any of the neighbours spotted the owls flying about in broad daylight and entering his window, they would likely be very curious and distressed by the abnormality of it all. He missed the wizarding world. There you could walk about with whiskers and fangs and no one would bat an eye, and owl post was the most common form of communication.

Realising that he was ignoring the owls on his windowsill, he apologised and relieved them of their packages, giving them some water from Hedwig's cage before waving them off again. He smiled as he opened a formal card signed by Professor Dumbledore, his school's Headmaster, and placed it on the bed in front of him. His smile widened as he spotted the large, messy writing of Hogwarts' Gamekeeper, Hagrid. He was someone whom Harry and his friends considered a good friend, with a rather unhealthy obsession with dangerous animals. Harry opened the small handmade card.

Happy Birthday, Harry.

I hope you're having a good holiday. Those Dursleys had best be treating you right. I made you a cake but I didn't want to send it with the owl, so you'll get it when you get back to Hogwarts. See you soon.

All the best,

Hagrid

Harry grimaced. Hagrid was one of the nicest people Harry had ever met, but if there was something he knew for sure, it was to never eat anything the Gamekeeper had made, unless you wanted your jaw stuck together for a long time. A few broken teeth wouldn't be out of the ordinary either.

He smiled, and placed the card on the bed with Dumbledore's and picked up the small book-shaped parcel. He shook his head. Only Hermione could give books almost every birthday and Christmas and still find something 'suitable' for the next one. He pulled off the envelope and opened it carefully, reading the short message. He smiled when he read that Hermione was on holiday in France again, knowing that she had loved it last time and was glad to hear that she would be joining them at The Burrow at the end of the holidays.

Turning over the parcel, he opened it carefully. He tried to make the most of every present he received, as if he was making up for all the presents he had missed out on growing up. He was not surprised to find that it was a book, as its shape had implied. He was, however, surprised to see what the book was. It would definitely come in handy.

"Playing To Win: A Practical Guide To Chess Playing. How To Win When You Least Expect To." Harry turned over the first page to reveal a small hand-written message from Hermione.

Happy Birthday, Harry! Hopefully you'll give Ron a run for his money this year and stop him being so smug. Just don't tell him I said that! And don't forget we have O.W.Ls to start studying for this year!

Love, Hermione

A sudden hoot shook Harry out of his thoughts. He looked up from Hermione's present to see Hedwig and reached out a hand to greet her. The owl, sensing his impatience, dropped two letters on Harry's lap and readily accepted the small treat Harry had managed to procure from the breakfast table. While Hedwig flew into her cage for a drink, Harry quickly opened the first letter, glad to see his godfather's scrawl on the small piece of parchment.

Harry!

Great to hear from you. I get the feeling that there's more to tell than you have done, you've had a rough year and I'm only sorry I can't be there for you. I'm sure you'll understand why this letter is short, rest assured that I'm fine and know that what I'm about to say is for both of our safety. You cannot send me any letters for a while (unless it's an emergency). I won't lie to you. What I'm doing is dangerous and it's best if we don't communicate, by owl or otherwise.

Dumbledore will keep me informed. But, if anything important happens, promise me you'll let me know, otherwise, I'll owl you as soon as it's safe. Keep your eyes open and be careful!

Love,

Snuffles

Slightly upset by the short message, Harry felt his shoulders sag a little. Placing the letter on the bed, he noticed a small arrow pointing off the end of the page and turned it over to find more writing.

You didn't honestly think I'd forgotten your birthday, did you? As if! Happy birthday, Harry, I'm only sorry I've missed every one you've had since we lost your parents and I'm missing this one as well. Just know I'm always thinking of you, especially on special days like this. I've missed out on most of your life, but I promise we'll set it right. I know I'm not around much, but hopefully you understand.

I'd ask you to try to stay out of trouble this year, but something tells me that isn't possible with you! (As if I can lecture you about that!). Just remember to keep your map and cloak handy at all times.

Dumbledore has your present and you'll get it when you're back at school.

I hope to see you soon.

Snuffles

Harry slowly rolled the letter up. He had to admit he was sure Sirius had forgotten his birthday, but he instantly felt shame at even thinking the elder man would forget. He had guessed that Sirius would caution him against sending letters, but a part of him had been so desperate to hear from Sirius and to know that he was all right. He knew Hedwig wasn't exactly camouflaged, being white, but he'd taken the chance and he hoped nothing bad came of it. Giving a small smile at his godfather's code name, he continued to roll up the letter, and tried to think positively.

With anticipation, he opened the second letter, hoping against hope that Ron had good news. Or, at the very least, not more bad news.

Hey Harry!

Dad talked to Dumbledore this morning. You can stay! Can't write long as Charlie just arrived downstairs and I've got to go see what he's got. Bill got me a Niggot (it's a luck charm) he found somewhere, wouldn't tell me where. He's doing stuff about You-Know-Who, but we're not supposed to talk about it 'cause Mum gets all weepy and starts to hug us.

Oh, Happy Birthday, mate! Didn't think we forgot, did you? Not a chance around here, I think Ginny's still got it marked on her calendar with a big love heart (don't tell her I told you that!). I've got you something, but I thought you might prefer to get it when you're here.

We'll come get you tomorrow (Friday) about 5pm. Clean out the fireplace, will ya mate? Only joking! Dad's hiring some Ministry cars, so we can confuse the Muggles by using the door ringer.

Ron

Harry had stood up and begun to pace around the room as he read the letter. He was leaving! Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts and one of the greatest Wizards of the time, had said it was okay for him to stay with the Weasleys, and that meant that he wouldn't need to see the Dursleys for another whole year. Maybe he could get Ron to bring one of Fred and George's inventions. After all, it was traditional to leave the Dursleys with a memento of his stay for the summer.

Smiling, he patted Hedwig rather energetically on the head - much to her dismay - and bounded down the stairs. Ignoring the shouts of his aunt and uncle and Dudley ("What's happening?", "What was that?", and "Are we going to die?"), Harry took as much pleasure in telling them that he was leaving as they took in hearing it.

Deciding not to let the Dursleys in on Ron's plan, Harry told them only the first part of the letter. Uncle Vernon took the news about the fireplace rather badly, and began to wander about the house murmuring something about blocking it off and locking Harry outside which, considering the fact that the Weasleys were really arriving by car, wouldn't really matter to him. Dudley took the news as a sign that he could relax, and Aunt Petunia doted on Dudley and ignored Harry as much as always, although with a little more enthusiasm in her step. Harry was so happy to be going that he forgot to be miserable about where he was, and instead he ran up the stairs, intent on finishing his homework before his real holiday began.

He picked up his cards and letters from the bed, deciding to put them straight into his truck in case he forgot them (he doubted he would, but packing made him think happy thoughts of leaving). He turned back to the bed and crossed the room to close the window, knowing it was best to keep Hedwig inside.

Pulling out his schoolbooks once more, deciding he should really finish, he threw back the covers in order to study. Harry climbed into his bed, pulling his quilt over him so that he could easily hide his things.

He decided to finish off his Potions homework. It was the worst of the lot and he wanted to get it over with before he went to The Burrow.

The Polywog Potion.

Answers must be 6 feet long and must contain the following:

Who discovered the Potion? When was it discovered? What is it for? What are the ingredients? And how is the potion made? All answers must be in depth, you will be preparing and testing this potion when you return to school.

Harry groaned. He had had to look through his Potions textbook, scouring it for any mention of the Polywog potion and finally he had come across it in one of the hidden pages. Trust Snape to have set their homework on an invisible page that they had to first find and then ask nicely to tell them the information. Enchanted pages weren't the easiest things in the world to convince of anything, especially when it came to the information that you actually wanted to know. The pages were quite happy to tell you how scruffy you looked and how messy your hair was, so much so that Harry was pretty sure that they must have the same personality as a wizarding mirror.

He had eventually had to bribe the page into giving him the information. Although how he was going to find periwinkle ink in the first place he didn't know - how did you get ink from a periwinkle? he wondered absently, but quickly got back to work. He wasn't sure what magical pages were capable of, but if they could read minds then he was pretty sure that his information was about to disappear.

Luckily, the page seemed unable to read his mind and he was able to continue with his homework.
In 1643, Terrance Powderoot discovered the Polywog potion in a disastrous attempt at creating the Polyjuice potion. Powderoot was a known alchemist with a high allergy to Filly leaves and a sneezing fit quickly turned into one of the greatest discoveries of the century.

The Polywog potion allows a witch or wizard to take on the form of an animal, much in the same way as Polyjuice potion will exchange the identity of a witch or wizard but also similar in the way one can become an Animagi. However, the results are much more temporary, than both of the above, the longest recorded transformation lasting a total of twenty minutes.

The ingredients.

Harry rubbed his eyes and resisted the urge to stop writing. He continued to write well into the afternoon, and into the early evening, stopping only when his aunt called him to tidy up the garden before it got dark. And, of course, tidying up the garden soon turned into dusting the living room, cooking the dinner, cleaning the kitchen and the list went on.

It was late into the evening when Harry returned to his room, exhausted from his rigorous cleaning - his Aunt had made him do more work in just a few hours than she usually made him do in a day. But he had done it all without complaint, his only thought being the Weasleys' arrival the next morning.

Finishing off his essay, he quickly went over it again, making sure that everything was correct and there was nothing ambiguous that Snape could claim that it didn't say what it said. He sighed and picked up his Charms textbook, knowing that this class in particular was going to get harder over the coming year. As would Defence Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration. However, having been bored for most of his summer, he had already done all his homework (only putting off his Potions essay). He was ready to start reading all of his texts, unfortunately he required a trip to Diagon Alley to get them, and, as much as the idea of the Dursleys visiting Diagon Alley amused him, he knew that was less likely to happen than Hermione failing her O.W.L's. Besides, he would never wish the Dursleys on the wizarding world.

Turning himself over onto his stomach, Harry reached out to flip on the lamp, groaning when he realised he'd have to get up to switch off the main light. He hated not being able to use magic over the holidays. Moving back to the bed, he made himself comfortable. As he shifted again, he failed to notice the purple envelope that fell from his pocket to float gently to the ground, completely forgotten.

~x~x~x~x~x~

End of Part One