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Harry Potter And The Marauders Of The Phoenix
By The Englanderish

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Category: Alternate Universe
Characters:Albus Dumbledore, Draco Malfoy, Harry/Ginny, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Minerva McGonagall, Neville Longbottom, Nymphadora Tonks, Other, Remus Lupin, Ron Weasley, Severus Snape, Sirius Black
Genres: Action/Adventure, Angst, Drama, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Warnings: Death, Extreme Language, Mild Language, Violence, Violence/Physical Abuse
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 15
Summary: 'AU. Sirius Black has his name cleared and raises Harry (with help from Remus) in the Potters' ancestral home. One day a year, Harry must return to the Dursleys for a full day to keep his Mother's protection spell. He meets and befriends several characters early. On his eleventh birthday, Harry is given a diary and keeps it secret. Ginny finds out about it and they both write in the diary together secretly. They are taken slightly aback when it writes back at first but quickly get used to their new friend, Tom.

After all, it's not as if it could be dangerous, right?'
Hitcount: Story Total: 22013; Chapter Total: 1687





Author's Notes:
Aaaaaand I completely forgot to upload this chapter. Whoops. Sorry about that. This has been done since April and posted over on SV.
If we're lucky, I may have the next chapter finished by the end of August. O_O




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“Now,” the book continued, smugly — as if it were perfectly natural for a book to speak in a cold whisper. “When dear, little Ginny relayed the story of Lord Voldemort’s fall to me, I was taken greatly by surprise. I have been even more surprised to sense a rat animagus snuggling up next to me. But I was most surprised by the fact that, upon reading said animagus with legilimency, the animagus is in fact one Peter Pettigrew — legendary Death Eater spy.”

Scabbers was by now quivering in what could only be described as abject terror as the book continued.

“But fear not, I think this timing is simply too good to miss. I need you to do something for me.”

‘No… not again. Never again.’

“I heard that,” the book sharply said. “I am afraid to say, Peter, that you do not have a choice in the matter. There is no end for you that does not involve me. There is only a lifetime of servitude to me or death. If you do not capitulate, I shall force you to revert to human form — I wonder how you intend to sneak out of this hovel undetected with no wand, no mouse form and no ally in sight…”

After a few seconds of nervous twitching, Scabbers finally curled up and resigned himself to his fate.

“Very good. When your owner returns to Hogwarts, along with you, you need only do some very simple tasks. Firstly: Find the abandoned girls’ bathroom on the second floor…"


Harry breathed a sigh of relief as he stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind him. The toilet had merely been an excuse, an escape from the tense shadow-war that was Mabel Baines and The Dursleys interacting.

As fun as it was to watch Mabel give the Dursleys the run around, this was way too tense for his liking. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting from Mabel, but it definitely wasn’t this.

His thoughts were interrupted by a small crack.

‘What the-’

The house elf from the previous day stood before him. And beside him, hovered some sort of pudding. Aunt petunia’s pudding. Harry froze.

“What are you doing here?” Harry whispered in a hushed voice as he glanced nervously at the door he’d just closed.

“The Diary,” ‘Sméagol’ snapped in a low voice. “Where is it?

Harry couldn’t help but stare - ‘Sméagol’ seemed to be in pain. Ugly, red sores peeked from under the pillow case he wore and his face was sporting several cuts. The elf was even grunting as he spoke.

“What happened to y-”

“Not important. Diary. Now.”

“But-”

“Diary. Or I will drop this.”

As if for emphasis, ‘Sméagol’ bobbed the floating pudding up and down.

Harry bit his lip. This wasn’t going to end well. He sighed.

“I can’t.”

‘Sméagol’ vanished — the pudding dropped. Harry threw himself forwards to try and catch it. But he was too late.

It hit the floor with a crash, spilling its contents into the carpet. In but a moment, the door behind Harry was yanked open to reveal the Dursleys and Mabel. Mabel took one look at the mess, then fixed her eyes firmly on Harry.

“What did you do?”


The morning sun woke Draco, still curled up. He lifted his head and squinted in the bright light that creeped in through the window. Groggily coming round, he thought briefly about just laying here for ages. Unfortunately, he had things to do — for one thing, he’d not finished addressing the letter to Susan. A pale hand brushed hair from eyes before the boy groaned and began to slowly lift himself up.

“Ow.”

Draco looked down and realised the portrait of his father was under his elbow, wearing a pained grimace. He pulled it away and picked up the slightly disgruntled image.

“Sorry!”

He set the picture against his pillow and got up, stretching. Glancing at the sunny view briefly, he sat down at his desk, took up a peacock quill and began addressing the envelope for Susan’s letter.

“So,” said the picture, slightly awkwardly. “How’s school?”

Draco shrugged.

“Fine, I guess. What’s it to you?”

The younger Lucius frowned, smoothing his hair back.

“I have been hung in the entrance hall for over twenty years. I don’t really get updates. I’d like to know how things are going outside this house, if you would like to share?”

Draco paused to think.

“I suppose I could talk for a while.”

Putting down his quill, he turned in his chair to regard the portrait, which smiled at him.

“Well then, in that case, I’d like to know about my son. What sort of people are you friendly with? Who are your chums?”

“Well, there’s Ron, Susan, Neville and Harry, I guess — first and foremost. Hermione hangs around too. There’s… others I’m supposed to be friends with… but, they don’t get me.”

“Good friends, are they, these five?”

Four. Hermione’s… she’s… around, I guess. It’s like…” He cast his mind around, trying to come up with a suitable way to sum up the Granger situation. No real avail, just floundering.

“She is their friend more than yours?” The picture supplied.

Draco chewed his lip thoughtfully.

“Yes, that’s exactly it.”

“And what about the others? Tell me about them.”

“Ron’s fun to hang around with; if a bit grumpy sometimes.” Draco sniggered at the thought. “Hermione keeps telling him to take his school work more seriously. He doesn’t and he won’t.”

“Content in himself first and foremost?”

“Yyyyyep. Granted, he’s basically the only person who is actually a challenge in chess. Hm, now that I think about it, he’s slightly ahead in wins… you’d think he’d be thicker, given he’s a Gryffindor. But I suppose Crabbe and Goyle have never been especially cunning despite their house, so...”

“Well, he certainly sounds like fun — doesn’t lead you too astray, I trust?”

“Not by himself, he doesn’t. Anyway, then there’s Susan. She’s nice, but my God can she second-guess herself.”

He felt himself relaxing somewhat, easing into things. This was nice.

“Da- you- … Older-you keeps trying to get me to write to her — and reading the letters for approval.”

The younger Lucius cocked his head to one side curiously.

“Hmm… my mother did the same thing with one or two of my friends. Does this Susan have any relatives who are… important?”

“Yes,” Draco slowly said, “I think her aunt’s pretty big in the ministry.”

“Ah,” young-Lucius said with a nod of understanding. “I see, that explains a lot. I’m likely fishing for information, then.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.” Draco tugged his fingers through his hair, grimacing. Time to switch topics. “Neville’s… a walking calamity. Don’t get me wrong, he’s kind and fun, but his magic’s atrocious… and you can’t trust him with anything breakable.”

“Oh, I know the type,” the portrait replied with a rather knowing smirk. “And this Harry fellow?”

“Harry’s a classic Gryffindor through and through,” Draco said with a smug little grin. It was a fairly punchable grin.

“Reckless idiot?” The portrait was matching Draco.

“Without peer. I swear he needs me around to keep him from ruining himself.”


The evening had been uncomfortably silent; the morning after, even more so. Harry could tell, plain as night and day that Mabel was not happy. It practically seethed off her at the breakfast table, continuing all through to the afternoon. She spoke not a word to Harry and only terse, Spartan exchanges with the Dursleys when necessary. It was more than a little mercy when evening finally closed in. As it drew near to the 24-hour point, Mabel bid her thanks and farewells to their hosts, taking a last sweep around the house to ensure nothing had been left behind. Stepping up to the front door, she took out her pocket watch and began counting down the seconds. Just before the hour, she swung open the door.

“3… 2… 1…”

No sooner had the hour stuck, did she march out of the house, Harry in tow.

“You have some explaining to do, young man.”

It seemed Mabel was not planning to wait to have this discussion. Ah well.

“It was that house elf again!” Harry uttered without hesitation as they started down the driveway, turning into the street. “He showed up here, threatening to drop the damn-“

“Harry,” Mabel cut in, dangerously.

“Oh, sorry… Um, anyway, he was threatening to drop it if… um… ah…”

“If what?”

Her only answer was the sound of their shoes clapping along, down the pavement. After giving him a more than suitable amount of time to provide an answer, she scowled.

“Harry, if you’re going to use that elf as an excuse, at least have the decency to think up your full story.”

“Wha- no! I’m not lying… I… just can’t tell you what he wanted.” His answer didn’t seem to satisfy Mabel much.

“… Harry, you are not making it easy to find faith in you.”

“But Mabel! Can’t… can’t my word count for something?”

“I don’t know — you tell me. You don’t exactly do yourself many favours, you know. There’s always something — you’re always up to something and you aren’t exactly the most forthcoming. From what I’ve heard from Hogwarts, that hasn’t changed. Sneaking around in the middle of the night, flying off like a maniac in your flying lessons, playing detective, a dragon for pity’s sake!”

Harry had no answer to that. They marched on in silence, leaving him to ruminate. Looking back… was he… untrustworthy? He was certainly keeping things from her and Sirius — Remus too. But then again… what if they wanted him to get rid of Tom? And his escapades with his friends had foiled a theft, hadn’t they? And the troll incident would have gone horribly if he and Ron hadn’t managed to step in… but she hadn’t mentioned the troll.

His thoughts were shelved when he realised Mabel had started talking again.

“Tell you what, Harry. I will meet you in the middle today — I do not especially believe your tale, but if you are willing to be a bit more straightforward with me or Sirius from now on… we’ll say no more about it — no punishment. I am not asking you to divulge your personal secrets or anything. Deal?”

They stopped at the entrance to Wisteria Walk — a small, dark alley that made excellent cover for disapparition. His eyes widened. Really? Somewhat unable to believe his luck, he nodded fervently.

“Uh… yes! Definitely!”

“Good; I’ll hold you to that.”

She offered him a small, rare smile before beckoning him into the darkness of the cut through.


The morning of the Hogwarts letters was a dry summer day. Ron and Ginny had been staying over at Cwpan Tân and for the most part, they and Harry had spent the morning thus far lounging around. Ron had systematically disassembled Kreacher in a game of chess, while Harry and Ginny watched on in horror at the massacre, but otherwise it had been an uneventful day so far. That changed in the mere seconds it took for three owls to dart into the drawing room.

“Aha!” proclaimed Ron, hopping up, his copy of Which Broomstick? flopping down to the ground in a neglected heap. “Finally! Took long enough!”

“Agreed. I suppose this means Dumbledore found his Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at last.” It was Remus, speaking as he poked his head in to see to the commotion. He ducked out again to search for Sirius, returning shortly with him.

“Trip to Diagon Alley again, it seems then,” Sirius said, “Grab your things, kids. Remus, care to join us?”

“Certainly; it’s not as if I have much else do today. Perhaps Mabel too...”

As it transpired, Mabel too seemed up to come with them this time. Remus did ask Kreacher, but the elf had had no desire whatsoever to go out. Floo powder to the Leaky Cauldron proved the most expedient method of travel and the group rapidly spilled onto the cobbles. As they were trotting up the steps to the bank, they bumped into Hermione, along with her parents.

“Good to meet you at last,” Sirius jovially greeted the Grangers, wringing each of their hands. “You’re lucky Arthur isn’t here, though — he’d want to know absolutely everything and anything about your lives.”

“I might actually pay to see that encounter,” Hermione mused. Then she started and seemed to remember something. “Oh! I almost forgot! Harry, Ron, he’s here! Today! In Diagon Alley! We can meet him and he’s doing signings and-”

“Err… who?” Harry asked, taken aback — though not as much as Ron appeared to be. Ron was slightly struck dumb by Hermione practically bending over him in manic excitement. It was rather akin to that one time she’d slipped up in potions and her relaxing draught had triggered some kind of minor sugar-high.

“ONLY GILDEROY LOCKHART!”

“Ah,” said Ron, full comprehension dawning on his face. “You heard about him.”

“I most certainly have! I’m going to try and get an autograph! He’s so brave to do all the amazing things he does!”

“We are eleven and we literally wrecked a bunch of our teacher’s best efforts at magical defence.”

That,” said Harry, looking at Ron like he’d grown an extra head. “Is… a good point.”

Heading into the bank, they quickly made a round trip of the vaults and were soon just inside of Flourish & Blotts. The rest of the Weasley family was present here — greetings exchanged before the offensively handsome form of Gilderoy Lockhart, writer of all their new DADA textbooks and renowned wizarding hero, drew every eye to the back.

“Ladies. Gentlemen. So glad all of you could come — now if you could all please remain as orderly and charming as you are and I’ll be able to sign a copy for all of you-” His speech was drowned by the sheer crush of heterosexual women pressing forward, jostling for position. The few shopkeepers dotted about were managing to maintain a semblance of order, but it was a straining lid at best.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered, “It’s going to take us ages to get all your books at this rate.”

“Oh quit complaining,” a photographer to their left snapped between snaps, “you’re getting to meet Gilderoy Lockhart!”

Sirius darkly grumbled something Harry didn’t catch. And then the photographer’s eyes landed on Harry.

“Oh bugger,” Sirius muttered, his wand coming up to try and silence him before-

“IT’S HARRY FREAKING POTTER!”

Every eye was on the boy now — even Lockhart’s. He felt rather surrounded by carrion birds. They’d lost Mabel, Remus and the Grangers in the crowd and his remaining companions seemed rather insufficient to hide behind. Before he could even open his mouth, he was carted off, up to Lockhart, who proceeded to subject him to the torment that was publicity. Hermione, who was further up the queue and supporting a stack of books, raised an eyebrow as the poor boy sailed past her. To her side, she caught the sounds of a suppressed snigger. Her head turned.

Sitting in a dark alcove between the shelves, with a hand on his mouth to try and suppress is laughter, was Draco.

“Oh, it’s you.” Hermione sniffed. “What on Earth are you doing in there?”

Draco waved his hand a little, trying to quiet her.

“Hiding,” he said, almost whispering. “Could you keep quiet?”

He got a raised eyebrow.

“Who from?”

“Mpther and Father. Well, Mother mostly.” Draco’s eyes darted around the shop, keeping lookout for any sign of his parents.

“And you’re hiding from them because?” she replied, interest admittedly piqued. He looked rather nervous and almost anxious of being seen.

“Because Mother will not stop trying to run my life for me. I took my chance while she was fawning over the Lockhart queue and ducked in here.”

Hermione stared.

“What?”

“Look, I know we don’t really-”

“Draco? Draco?” Draco blanched at the sound of Narcissa Malfoy’s cooing through the crowd. Practically melding into the books around him, he shot Hermoine a pleading look. Rather unsure of the odd situation, Hermione shrugged and waited for Narcissa to pass by. When she had gone, Draco breathed a sigh of relief.

“Thanks, I guess,” he mumbled, “So… what brings you here?”

“I need books,” came her blank reply, “And, well, Gilderoy.”

Draco forcibly clapped a hand over his mouth to contain his laughter.

“Gilderoy? Wow, you are taken with him, aren’t you?” he chortled between sniggers, “Have you planned out how many kids you’ll have with him when he sweeps you away yet?”

“… No,” Hermione sniffed, rather affronted.

“Oh my God, you’ve totally thought about it!”

“I have not!”

“Of course, of course, Granger.” His tone of voice was more than a little disbelieving. “Still, at least you’re not being paraded around up there like Harry.” He gestured up to the front, just in time for Lockhart to announce himself as the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. “Oh. Well, this looks set to get a lot more fun.”

Unfortunately for Draco, his luck ran out shortly thereafter; his mother swooped out of nowhere.

“Draco! There you are, come along, we had better get some robes next. Now, I was thinking some nice shades of blue — to offset your eyes. And, of course we’ll need to have your dress-robes fitted for next week’s dinner… Your hair’s getting too long, too, you’ll have to have it cut.”

As he was led away, Draco’s expression to Hermione said quite plainly, ‘Kill. Me. Now.’


Harry winked at Ginny from the table as her name was called out. She tried to keep a level head, awkwardly clomping up the steps to the raised area that housed the staff table and, tonight, the stool and Sorting Hat. As she sat, nervous, Professor McGonagall perched the sorting hat upon her head.

‘Oh, hello. What do we have here? Another Weasley?’

‘AAH! Er, yes. Um. Are you in my head?’ Somehow, she managed to not fall off the stool.

‘Yes, indeed I am. Shall I just put you in Gryffindor with all the others, or do you have an objection to that?’

‘Oh, um, no, no, Gryffindor’s fine!’

‘Oh good. Ever since the Lovegood child earlier, I’ve really been desperate to just get through this and sleep for a day. Or a year or two.’

‘Lovegood?’

‘She seemed to think I was something else.’

Ginny felt more than heard the hat slightly rant about something called wrackspurts.

‘Er… are you still there?’

‘Oh, apologies.’ And then the hat shouted out to the whole hall. “GRYFFINDOR!”

Somewhat confused, but nevertheless glad, Ginny felt the hat lifted away and hopped up, scooting quickly over to the Gryffindor table. She high-fived Harry, sitting down between him and Neville, earning more than a few gossiping whispers from around the hall.

The year started largely uneventfully, leaving aside Lockhart’s flat out bizarre first lesson, in which he saw fit to unleash Cornish pixies into the classroom. The resulting devastation earned him the enmity of Filch and a long, angry entry in Tom. Ginny had made a few token efforts to fit in with those in her year, but rapidly defaulted to hanging out with Harry — which meant hanging with Neville, Draco, Hermione, Susan and — to his irritation, Ron. Draco had also joined the Slytherin Quidditch team, paid for in full by Lucius Malfoy’s donation of a full contingent of Nimbus 2001s. The decision, like most of those in his life, had not been Draco’s choice. Sure, he enjoyed it, but the idea and execution had been all down to his parents. Again.

More of an issue, however, was the matter of finding a place for Harry and Ginny to talk to Tom privately. The two searched up and down the castle, before finally finding a quiet little room near the top of North tower.

Unfortunately, not all of Ginny’s life was as quiet. One early morning, in a History Of Magic lesson, Ginny found her mind-numbing stupor interrupted by a “psst”. Glancing to her side, she saw a curly-haired boy with a wide smile and a camera around his neck looking rather eagerly at her.

“Uh… what’s up?”

“You’re Ginny Weasley, right?” he rushed out excitedly.

“Yes, yes, I am. Why?”

“You know Harry Potter, right?”

She stared at the boy, an eyebrow raised in confusion.

“Yes. What’s it to you?”

“Well, um, could you, um, maybe get me a picture of him signed? I can’t seem to find him as much anymore.”

Ginny’s eyes widened. Ooooh no.

“You’re Colin Creevey?”

“Oh, has Harry mentioned me?” Colin leaned forward, earnestly.

Ginny let out a pained sigh. Great, trapped in Binns’s class with Harry’s adoring fan. Lovely. She hoped she was never this awkwardly obsessed over anyone.


‘I have a fan.’

‘A fan?’

‘Yes. His name is Colin and he keeps following me around. Then he found out Ginny’s a friend and he’s now finding excuses to sit near her in lessons.’

‘Oh dear. He’s not too much of a problem, is he?’

‘Thankfully, no — he just annoys Ginny a little. He’s… weird.’

‘Well, I can safely say I’ve never had a fan, so I’m afraid I can’t really offer much advice to you. Now, have you decided about this Death Day party? Do you want to go?’

‘Yeah, I think so — Nick seemed like he could use the companie.’

‘Compan y, Harry.’


It wasn’t until Halloween that Peter finally got his cue.

That evening, sweat trickled down his forehead for the first time in over a decade as he gingerly lifted the paralysed cat by the tail. It looked wrong the way it was all stiff. He felt horrible, even as he hung it from the torch bracket. Honestly, the rooster blood had been more bearable — they had at least been dead. Mrs. Norris was just… staring, frozen, uncanny.

His thoughts were interrupted, however, by the sound of voices. Panicking, he took one last look at the unpleasant display before morphing back into his mouse form, scurrying from the scene. As he slipped into an alcove, he heard a shriek of alarm behind him. Queasy and tired, he hobbled off to find somewhere to be sick.


‘Ginny. Ginny. GINNY! Slow down please. Mrs. Norris is petrified, you say?’

‘YES! Professor Sprout reckons she can have her cured by the end of the year — something about Mandrakes — but everyone’s freaked. Hermione’s trying to find anything on the stuff all over the wall. I’m not sure if Neville or Susan screamed louder.’

There was a long pause, Tom presumably thinking hard. She was lying on her stomach on one of the comfy sofas in the little hidey hole she and Harry had found. She kicked her legs up impatiently - come on, Tom!

‘What was on the walls?’

‘Something about the “Chamber of Secrets”, whatever that is.’

‘Chamber of Secrets? You’re sure that’s what it says?’

‘Yes, why, do you know it?’

‘Of course I do — I’m the one who caught Hagrid.’

Ginny froze, staring at the page. That couldn’t be right. Not their Hagrid, surely. Putting quill back to paper, she responded.

‘What do you mean Hagrid?’

She waited, tensely. Finally, Tom’s writing faded into view.

‘It’s probably best if I show you.’

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