Though I am unsure it will matter to anyone else, I've cleaned out the thread to eliminate the old version, which I had long wanted to correct. I corrected it by deleting it from FFnet and posting a newly edited version.
That is not in this post. It's on FFnet.
This is new material. I'm working on this actively.
Editing: Minor edits.
That is not in this post. It's on FFnet.
This is new material. I'm working on this actively.
Harry Potter lay upon his bed in the third-year boys' dorm room of Gryffindor tower; his curtains were closed, symbolically shutting out the world. It was the day after Christmas, the third Christmas he'd experienced at Hogwarts. It was better than the previous year, but not as good as his first.
Alone in the dorm room at this time, he felt the same way he had for most of the year – isolated and somewhat empty. For much of the fall term, he had been hearing whispers, and seeing his classmates stare at him or the phoenix when they thought he wasn't paying attention. When he met any of Hogwarts' resident ghosts in the halls, they would not meet his eyes. Nearly Headless Nick was the sole exception to that; he was no different than ever.
Close to seven months prior, at the end of the previous term, a phoenix had come to Harry in his hours of sleep after the events down in the Chamber of Secrets. He had not really thought much about its presence in the last days of the term, then he had returned to the Dursleys. Cut off from magic, with only the phoenix and his snowy owl Hedwig for company, Harry found no answers.
The Dursleys were not as dreadful as the previous summer, but a full summer in their home was still quite wearing. Harry had only been able to leave on the last Friday of the holiday; he had long taken to wandering the neighborhood nearly all days, sticking to the shadows. The phoenix accompanied him on all his walks, invisible to the Muggles. On some of those treks, it would sing its strange music, a piping sound which vaulted to the sky and seemed to make courage swell in him.
When he finally escaped Privet Drive, he ventured to Diagon Alley. There he bought a few new books, replenished his potions kit, bought plenty of parchment and ink, and took his wand to Ollivander's to have it inspected. The wandmaker was as mysterious as he had been before, but he had pronounced Harry's wand to be in perfect working order.
The Weasleys had turned up at Diagon Alley on the last day of the summer holidays, as had Hermione Granger, and Harry spent the evening with all of them at the Leaky Cauldron. The next day had brought the ride up to Hogwarts.
Classes were somewhat improved this year. Harry thought he was making strides in Charms and Transfiguration. Defense was acceptable now; a retired Irish law enforcement officer named Quigley had the post. Though his lessons were a little bland, he was liberal with commentary and advice.
Hermione seemed happy about Harry's increased attention and improved marks in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense. Ron too was working harder; his new wand was evidently a much better fit. He had talked about it a little on the train ride.
Not all lessons were improved; Professor Binns' History of Magic classes were even more numbingly dull than ever. Harry would take in just enough in around the first ten minutes to register the major topic, then his brain would disengage. He often played hangman on corners of parchment with Ron in those hours; Hermione shot them filthy looks in class but hadn't yet said anything later.
Professor Snape had found new levels of unfairness; he had taken to vanishing potions he found inadequate and giving zeroes for the day. The scathing comments he threw in were no help.
Divination, one of the two new classes Harry had this year, was awful; it seemed like wooly rubbish. Professor Trelawney was a spindly, wildly haired woman who draped herself with shawls and wore many rings and bangles; all of this was topped off by oversized glasses that in Harry's opinion made her look like a strange insect. Harry was fast learning dislike for the classroom, the class itself, and the professor. None of them matched Potions, but that was not a thought Harry was fond of.
Harry decided to go see Hagrid, and left his bed to go downstairs. Hagrid was greatly interested in Harry's thoughts about the Care of Magical Creatures class Harry had begun this term, and they had talked about it at length; Hagrid had sent Harry a moving book called The Monster Book of Monsters for his birthday; the book proved to be have many compelling stories, although some of them were about wizards who had died rather gruesomely, with illustrations provided. Professor Kettleburn himself was an old, bald wizard who had sustained numerous injuries from creatures in the past; he was missing his entire left arm and half his left leg. Though Harry's Gryffindor cohort shared the class with the Slytherins, so far there had been no incidents.
Outside of classes, Harry found little relief from staring eyes, and had to take it however he found it. Quidditch was his main source, with all of its energy and distraction; Oliver Wood was leading the team through exhausting practices four nights a week. The seventh year was manic about winning the Quidditch Cup this year, his final shot; and seemed keen to impress his mania on the whole team. Harry thought it was working.
Gryffindor had squashed Slytherin in the opening match of the year; the final result had been three hundred sixty to forty. Harry had caught the Snitch after more than an hour of flying through bitingly cold rainfall. Malfoy had been on the opposite end of the pitch and so Harry caught the Snitch completely without interference. Malfoy hadn't been happy about that result at all.
Ravenclaw had soundly defeated Hufflepuff at the end of November; it looked like Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw would be the lynchpin. Whichever team won would have two victories and would be favored to sweep up the Cup. But it was months away.
Harry found the common room near empty. A group of four first-year girls were sitting together by the fire, playing cards. Harry recalled three of their names off-hand; Romilda Vane, a dark-haired and eyed girl who was totally enthralled by “The Boy Who Livedâ€; Samantha Charles, a loud, rude, and foul-mouthed southerner who was not shy to level scathing criticism on any topic; and lastly Demelza Robins, who was mad for Quidditch and would join any conversation on it that she found, even with students four or more years senior, and who was also attending every Gryffindor team practice. Harry saw Romilda Vane flush as he walked past.
Hours later, on his way back from Hagrid's, he found himself admiring one of the many portraits on the walls. It showed an armored warrior wielding a sword in battle. There was nothing handsome about him but his movements; he was an ugly, gray-bearded man whose face had trenches for lines, and sported a large wart on his nose. The portrait did not talk; it was only an action sequence.
Just before reaching Gryffindor tower, Harry caught just a glimpse of a ghostly young woman dressed in rags. She was not one he'd ever met before, even at the death-day party he had attended on Halloween in his second year, where hundreds had been present.
Alone in the dorm room at this time, he felt the same way he had for most of the year – isolated and somewhat empty. For much of the fall term, he had been hearing whispers, and seeing his classmates stare at him or the phoenix when they thought he wasn't paying attention. When he met any of Hogwarts' resident ghosts in the halls, they would not meet his eyes. Nearly Headless Nick was the sole exception to that; he was no different than ever.
Close to seven months prior, at the end of the previous term, a phoenix had come to Harry in his hours of sleep after the events down in the Chamber of Secrets. He had not really thought much about its presence in the last days of the term, then he had returned to the Dursleys. Cut off from magic, with only the phoenix and his snowy owl Hedwig for company, Harry found no answers.
The Dursleys were not as dreadful as the previous summer, but a full summer in their home was still quite wearing. Harry had only been able to leave on the last Friday of the holiday; he had long taken to wandering the neighborhood nearly all days, sticking to the shadows. The phoenix accompanied him on all his walks, invisible to the Muggles. On some of those treks, it would sing its strange music, a piping sound which vaulted to the sky and seemed to make courage swell in him.
When he finally escaped Privet Drive, he ventured to Diagon Alley. There he bought a few new books, replenished his potions kit, bought plenty of parchment and ink, and took his wand to Ollivander's to have it inspected. The wandmaker was as mysterious as he had been before, but he had pronounced Harry's wand to be in perfect working order.
The Weasleys had turned up at Diagon Alley on the last day of the summer holidays, as had Hermione Granger, and Harry spent the evening with all of them at the Leaky Cauldron. The next day had brought the ride up to Hogwarts.
Classes were somewhat improved this year. Harry thought he was making strides in Charms and Transfiguration. Defense was acceptable now; a retired Irish law enforcement officer named Quigley had the post. Though his lessons were a little bland, he was liberal with commentary and advice.
Hermione seemed happy about Harry's increased attention and improved marks in Charms, Transfiguration, and Defense. Ron too was working harder; his new wand was evidently a much better fit. He had talked about it a little on the train ride.
Not all lessons were improved; Professor Binns' History of Magic classes were even more numbingly dull than ever. Harry would take in just enough in around the first ten minutes to register the major topic, then his brain would disengage. He often played hangman on corners of parchment with Ron in those hours; Hermione shot them filthy looks in class but hadn't yet said anything later.
Professor Snape had found new levels of unfairness; he had taken to vanishing potions he found inadequate and giving zeroes for the day. The scathing comments he threw in were no help.
Divination, one of the two new classes Harry had this year, was awful; it seemed like wooly rubbish. Professor Trelawney was a spindly, wildly haired woman who draped herself with shawls and wore many rings and bangles; all of this was topped off by oversized glasses that in Harry's opinion made her look like a strange insect. Harry was fast learning dislike for the classroom, the class itself, and the professor. None of them matched Potions, but that was not a thought Harry was fond of.
Harry decided to go see Hagrid, and left his bed to go downstairs. Hagrid was greatly interested in Harry's thoughts about the Care of Magical Creatures class Harry had begun this term, and they had talked about it at length; Hagrid had sent Harry a moving book called The Monster Book of Monsters for his birthday; the book proved to be have many compelling stories, although some of them were about wizards who had died rather gruesomely, with illustrations provided. Professor Kettleburn himself was an old, bald wizard who had sustained numerous injuries from creatures in the past; he was missing his entire left arm and half his left leg. Though Harry's Gryffindor cohort shared the class with the Slytherins, so far there had been no incidents.
Outside of classes, Harry found little relief from staring eyes, and had to take it however he found it. Quidditch was his main source, with all of its energy and distraction; Oliver Wood was leading the team through exhausting practices four nights a week. The seventh year was manic about winning the Quidditch Cup this year, his final shot; and seemed keen to impress his mania on the whole team. Harry thought it was working.
Gryffindor had squashed Slytherin in the opening match of the year; the final result had been three hundred sixty to forty. Harry had caught the Snitch after more than an hour of flying through bitingly cold rainfall. Malfoy had been on the opposite end of the pitch and so Harry caught the Snitch completely without interference. Malfoy hadn't been happy about that result at all.
Ravenclaw had soundly defeated Hufflepuff at the end of November; it looked like Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw would be the lynchpin. Whichever team won would have two victories and would be favored to sweep up the Cup. But it was months away.
Harry found the common room near empty. A group of four first-year girls were sitting together by the fire, playing cards. Harry recalled three of their names off-hand; Romilda Vane, a dark-haired and eyed girl who was totally enthralled by “The Boy Who Livedâ€; Samantha Charles, a loud, rude, and foul-mouthed southerner who was not shy to level scathing criticism on any topic; and lastly Demelza Robins, who was mad for Quidditch and would join any conversation on it that she found, even with students four or more years senior, and who was also attending every Gryffindor team practice. Harry saw Romilda Vane flush as he walked past.
Hours later, on his way back from Hagrid's, he found himself admiring one of the many portraits on the walls. It showed an armored warrior wielding a sword in battle. There was nothing handsome about him but his movements; he was an ugly, gray-bearded man whose face had trenches for lines, and sported a large wart on his nose. The portrait did not talk; it was only an action sequence.
Just before reaching Gryffindor tower, Harry caught just a glimpse of a ghostly young woman dressed in rags. She was not one he'd ever met before, even at the death-day party he had attended on Halloween in his second year, where hundreds had been present.
, is this paragraph important, if so why, is it random for the purpose of introducing the following ghost ? But why didn't he see it in canon ? Is it because the Phoenix is with him ? Is the phoenix with him right now ?