Chapter 1. Owl Post.Again!
Number four, Privet Drive was a perfectly groomed house that perfectly resembled all the other houses on the block. Its hedges were neatly trimmed and a colorful, leafy riot of flowers was in full bloom. But there was one thing about it that was not ordinary at all. The boy asleep in the smallest bedroom was not what he appeared to be. He, Harry, was a wizard who had just come back from his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Britain, where Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster, where he was the youngest Seeker (not anymore since it's now fifth year) in a hundred years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and where Professor Severus Snape was his least favorite teacher. At any rate, the even more unusual scar on his forehead was the one thing that distinguished him from even those in the wizarding world. Due to this scar and its extremely unusual properties, he, Harry, was experiencing a vision of sorts while asleep.
Wormtail, a.k.a. Peter Pettigrew, a man presumed dead for thirteen years and revealed to be alive in Harry's third year at Hogwarts, had captured Hermione, one of Harry's two best friends. She was sitting in a corner of the cylindrical room, (hey, it's magic.anything's possible.) where Wormtail was raising his wand. "Crucio!" he shrieked, in his rather high-pitched and mousy voice. "No, no, no!" Hermione wailed. "You're doing it all wrong! It's Cru-u-u-cio, make the 'u' nice and long!" Wormtail sniffed, almost resembling the rat he could transform into at will. "Yeah, well, if you're such a smart little Mudblood, why don't you try it?" he practically shouted. Unfortunately enough, Hermione smiled slightly and pointed her wand at him, as calm as if she'd been practicing the spell herself. "Cru-u-u-cio!" she shouted, pointing her wand straight at Wormtail. He screamed in pain. Hermione put her wand back silently and glared at him. "Any other spells you want?" she asked coldly. "Well, then, I'm leaving now. I must go to the library, you see."
Harry woke up, gasping audibly in shock. After all, Hermione, one of his best friends since first year at Hogwarts, the school of magic he went to, had just defeated Wormtail without even blinking an eye! What was going on? He, Harry, sighed unhappily with the effort of pondering the odd sequence of events, then went downstairs from the smallest bedroom to prepare breakfast for his cruel aunt and uncle. Harry slowly stepped down the staircase, wishing term had started already, when he heard the doorbell ring. Harry jumped down the last six steps, landing catlike on his feet so as to not make any nose.
Before he could reach the door, however, Uncle Vernon opened it to an old woman selling tea cozies. If Dobby had been there, perhaps he would have wanted a new one, but the world may never know. As it happens, Uncle Vernon was not a tea cozy fan. Ever since he had discovered Dudley's secret tea cozy collection (which was what Dudley had really been spending his allowance on-no wonder he lost a couple of grams!) Uncle Vernon had been inclined to become extremely infuriated at anyone who even mentioned the word. After all, tea cozies were only for old ladies (and house-elves, if he'd known what they were.)! So there Uncle Vernon was, standing at the door, being hassled by a desperate old lady wanting to sell a couple of tea cozies.
Much to Harry's (and most likely, the entire world's) astonishment, Uncle Vernon furtively looked around, hoping nosy Aunt Petunia was gone, and pulled out.a wand. "Obliviate!" he shouted. The old lady gasped, stared blankly at him, and walked away, but only after wishing him a 'nice Bastille Day'. Uncle Vernon sighed and walked back in, muttering 'damned Muggles' under his breath. He, Harry, stared wide-eyed at his uncle in shock. Just as Harry was recollecting his extremely dazed nerves, a group of Ministry wizards Apparated and led him off. One of them looked up at Harry and said, "It's not his first offense.I'm guessing a trial, you know." Harry could say or do nothing.
Overlooked in the corner was a tiny little bubble. Although bubbles were quite common (perhaps it was those neighborhood children again), bubbles with random faces in them were not so common. The bubble quickly popped before anyone had a chance to see the face which Harry, and possibly his uncle, aunt, and cousin (if they'd actually been paying close attention, which is very unlikely) would have recognized.
Just as the Ministry wizards had seated Uncle Vernon in a rather ordinary-looking car and sped off at about 350 km per hour, Aunt Petunia yawned and came down the staircase. She glared at Harry, her bony neck craning outward. "What're you doing?" "Er-nothing, not at all," Harry said, still trying to comprehend the sudden series of events. Aunt Petunia sighed and walked right past Harry without even replying. Just to add to the events, an owl swooped in through an open window and dropped a letter on Harry's head. He opened it and looked at what was written.
-the letter-
Come soon with your stuff. I will be waiting at the corner of Privet Drive.
--A friend.
-the letter's end-
Harry frowned thoughtfully. He didn't know who the person could be, as he'd never seen that handwriting. And the owl was just a common brown owl, easily obtained. Having no other options except for staying at the empty house (Aunt Petunia and Dudley having gone off to the police station to report Uncle Vernon's mysterious disappearance), Harry packed his trunk, took Hedwig, and ran out to the corner. There, waiting for him, was Hermione Granger.
Number four, Privet Drive was a perfectly groomed house that perfectly resembled all the other houses on the block. Its hedges were neatly trimmed and a colorful, leafy riot of flowers was in full bloom. But there was one thing about it that was not ordinary at all. The boy asleep in the smallest bedroom was not what he appeared to be. He, Harry, was a wizard who had just come back from his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Britain, where Albus Dumbledore was the headmaster, where he was the youngest Seeker (not anymore since it's now fifth year) in a hundred years on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and where Professor Severus Snape was his least favorite teacher. At any rate, the even more unusual scar on his forehead was the one thing that distinguished him from even those in the wizarding world. Due to this scar and its extremely unusual properties, he, Harry, was experiencing a vision of sorts while asleep.
Wormtail, a.k.a. Peter Pettigrew, a man presumed dead for thirteen years and revealed to be alive in Harry's third year at Hogwarts, had captured Hermione, one of Harry's two best friends. She was sitting in a corner of the cylindrical room, (hey, it's magic.anything's possible.) where Wormtail was raising his wand. "Crucio!" he shrieked, in his rather high-pitched and mousy voice. "No, no, no!" Hermione wailed. "You're doing it all wrong! It's Cru-u-u-cio, make the 'u' nice and long!" Wormtail sniffed, almost resembling the rat he could transform into at will. "Yeah, well, if you're such a smart little Mudblood, why don't you try it?" he practically shouted. Unfortunately enough, Hermione smiled slightly and pointed her wand at him, as calm as if she'd been practicing the spell herself. "Cru-u-u-cio!" she shouted, pointing her wand straight at Wormtail. He screamed in pain. Hermione put her wand back silently and glared at him. "Any other spells you want?" she asked coldly. "Well, then, I'm leaving now. I must go to the library, you see."
Harry woke up, gasping audibly in shock. After all, Hermione, one of his best friends since first year at Hogwarts, the school of magic he went to, had just defeated Wormtail without even blinking an eye! What was going on? He, Harry, sighed unhappily with the effort of pondering the odd sequence of events, then went downstairs from the smallest bedroom to prepare breakfast for his cruel aunt and uncle. Harry slowly stepped down the staircase, wishing term had started already, when he heard the doorbell ring. Harry jumped down the last six steps, landing catlike on his feet so as to not make any nose.
Before he could reach the door, however, Uncle Vernon opened it to an old woman selling tea cozies. If Dobby had been there, perhaps he would have wanted a new one, but the world may never know. As it happens, Uncle Vernon was not a tea cozy fan. Ever since he had discovered Dudley's secret tea cozy collection (which was what Dudley had really been spending his allowance on-no wonder he lost a couple of grams!) Uncle Vernon had been inclined to become extremely infuriated at anyone who even mentioned the word. After all, tea cozies were only for old ladies (and house-elves, if he'd known what they were.)! So there Uncle Vernon was, standing at the door, being hassled by a desperate old lady wanting to sell a couple of tea cozies.
Much to Harry's (and most likely, the entire world's) astonishment, Uncle Vernon furtively looked around, hoping nosy Aunt Petunia was gone, and pulled out.a wand. "Obliviate!" he shouted. The old lady gasped, stared blankly at him, and walked away, but only after wishing him a 'nice Bastille Day'. Uncle Vernon sighed and walked back in, muttering 'damned Muggles' under his breath. He, Harry, stared wide-eyed at his uncle in shock. Just as Harry was recollecting his extremely dazed nerves, a group of Ministry wizards Apparated and led him off. One of them looked up at Harry and said, "It's not his first offense.I'm guessing a trial, you know." Harry could say or do nothing.
Overlooked in the corner was a tiny little bubble. Although bubbles were quite common (perhaps it was those neighborhood children again), bubbles with random faces in them were not so common. The bubble quickly popped before anyone had a chance to see the face which Harry, and possibly his uncle, aunt, and cousin (if they'd actually been paying close attention, which is very unlikely) would have recognized.
Just as the Ministry wizards had seated Uncle Vernon in a rather ordinary-looking car and sped off at about 350 km per hour, Aunt Petunia yawned and came down the staircase. She glared at Harry, her bony neck craning outward. "What're you doing?" "Er-nothing, not at all," Harry said, still trying to comprehend the sudden series of events. Aunt Petunia sighed and walked right past Harry without even replying. Just to add to the events, an owl swooped in through an open window and dropped a letter on Harry's head. He opened it and looked at what was written.
-the letter-
Come soon with your stuff. I will be waiting at the corner of Privet Drive.
--A friend.
-the letter's end-
Harry frowned thoughtfully. He didn't know who the person could be, as he'd never seen that handwriting. And the owl was just a common brown owl, easily obtained. Having no other options except for staying at the empty house (Aunt Petunia and Dudley having gone off to the police station to report Uncle Vernon's mysterious disappearance), Harry packed his trunk, took Hedwig, and ran out to the corner. There, waiting for him, was Hermione Granger.