Chapter 1
When Harry found out that he was going to have to live on carrot sticks and apple slices for the summer -- on top of having to deal with the Dursleys -- he sent letters to his friends, begging for help. They rose to the occasion: Hermione sent him a box of sugar-free sweets (compliments of her parents), Ron's mother sent him a box of fudge, Sirius sent him several boxes of cookies, and Hagrid gave him one of his rock cakes (Harry didn't touch those; they could have been used to build a sturdy house). And on July 31st, all of them sent homemade birthday cakes.
Harry quickly hid the cakes under the loose floorboard by his bed, so Dudley wouldn't eat them.
Along with the cakes, he also had presents: Sirius had sent him a two-way mirror, which was rather like FaceTime; Hagrid's gift was a book on dragons; regretfully, he set Hermione's present of a homework planner aside, because he couldn't see himself using it; Ron had given him a Chocolate frog and sent along Mrs. Weasley's fudge; and Remus Lupin, per Harry's request, had found him a book on werewolves that didn't describe them as 'freaks' or 'monsters.'
Harry was about to contact Sirius when another owl, a magnificent Eagle owl, flew through the window and dropped a small black book on his desk, along with a little note. Harry frowned at the owl; it looked a little familiar.
Hoping the note had answers, Harry picked it up and read it.
I swear on my magic that Tom Riddle means you no harm, so mote it be.
He frowned. That just gave him more questions. Who was Tom Riddle?
The owl had flown off as soon as he'd picked up the letter, so obviously they didn't want a reply. Harry sighed and set the diary with his other gifts. Maybe he'd take a look at it later; he wanted to talk to Sirius.
Glancing over the instructions, Harry took the little hand mirror and said, "Sirius Black."
The mirror grew warm, and a moment later, Sirius appeared, grinning. "Pup! You figured it out!"
Harry laughed. "I had to do one thing, Sirius. How are you?"
"Awesome! I can't tell you exactly where I am, for obvious reasons, but I can tell you that I've been on a tropical beach!" Sirius leaned back, and Harry saw that he was wearing bright pink swim trunks and flip flops. "It's amazing! I do plan to come back at some point, to find Peter, but I wanted a break for a bit. How are you?"
"Fine," Harry lied. "Hey, um, do you know if you can switch electives after third year? I don't fancy having to listen to Trelawney predict my death every other day."
Sirius looked a mixture of amused and concerned. "Yeah, if you want to take classes with kids a year younger than you. I mean, you can go the Moony route and self-study over the summer-" he grimaced "-but-"
"Sirius, shut up," came Remus' voice, and the previous Defense professor appeared, wearing black swim trunks. Sweat dripped down the man's chest, and Harry blushed and looked away. He wasn't sure why he reacted like that.
"Hi, Professor," he said.
"I'm not your professor anymore, cub," Remus corrected, sounding curious. "You can call me Remus or Moony. Would you like me to put a shirt on?"
"Yes, sorry," Harry muttered.
Sirius laughed, then yelped. Harry turned his gaze back to the mirror and snickered; Sirius and Remus were cat-fighting, Sirius one-handed, as he was still holding the mirror.
"Give us a minute -- ow! -- pup," Sirius called, making Harry snigger harder.
Remus won; he left Harry's sight looking smug, while Sirius, panting, collapsed dramatically on the floor -- Harry caught a glimpse of a cozy bedroom before Sirius' face filled the mirror again. "Chea...ter," Sirius muttered.
"I heard that." Harry heard the sound of a drawer opening.
Sirius made a face in the mirror, and Harry had to bite knuckle to stop himself from cackling.
"We were talking about changing electives," Remus said calmly, reappearing a moment later with a blue sweater. "Now, cub, don't let Sirius' hatred of learning discourage you. I think you're very capable of self-studying; just write a letter to Professor McGonagall about the elective you want to take and the one you want to give up."
Harry frowned a little. McGonagall was a very strict woman, and he hadn't forgotten that the woman had trouble listening and believing. "I can't send it to anyone else?"
"What's wrong with Minnie, pup?"
Harry explained what had happened with the Sorcerer's Stone. Remus looked alarmed, and Sirius looked angry and confused.
"She should have at least listened to you!" He paused. "Why don't you -- what class do you want to take instead of Divination?"
"I want to take Arithmancy or Ancient Runes instead of Divination," Harry said. "I haven't been able to do much research, but Hermione loves both classes, especially Arithmancy."
"Why don't you get a summary of both classes and try doing some of the equations, then decide which one you like better?" Remus suggested. "Then send a letter to the teacher of whichever class you pick. I know both professors, and they're on good terms with Professor McGonagall. I can send you a book for each class, if you like. It won't get there for several weeks, though."
"I want to start the class as soon as possible," Harry insisted. "Is there a faster way to do it, without having to leave the Dursleys? They -- they can't take me to Diagon Alley."
"Muggleborn parents are allowed to be in Diagon," Remus pointed out.
"I'm not Muggleborn and they're not my parents."
"I suggest owl-ordering books," Remus instructed. "I have some other books I think you need to read, ones you were supposed to get, because you were raised by Muggles."
Harry scribbled down the titles and authors that Remus rattled off, then folded the paper and set it aside. "Thanks, Professor -- I mean, Remus -- I'll send it later."
They chatted for a few moments, and then ended the call. Harry put all of his presents underneath the loose floorboard with his cake, then sent off Hedwig to the bookstore Remus had suggested: Kweer Knowledge, which was apparently neutral in everything from the war to magic. They supported magical creatures and the queer community.
Harry collapsed onto his bed, grinning up at the ceiling. It might have been the best birthday he'd ever had.