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Harry Potter and the Eyes of Truth
Written by: Maudlin
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to J.K. Rowling. I have merely stolen them, locked them in my mind, and am controlling their every move.
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Chapter One
Slow Beginnings
The last few days of spring lingers in the air and brings with it the last few days of decent weather before the sweltering heat would plague Little Whinging as it had for many summers before. Little Whinging had become infamous over the past sixteen years as a place of odd happenings, a place where the unexpected was bound to occur. Several residents had complained of numerous owl sightings in the middle of the day, flying vehicles, and other unexplainable, if not unbelievable, events. These events were taken as jests, mere jokes told by the immaculate persons living in Little Whinging. Neighborhood patrollers assured residents that harmless pranksters were trying to liven up the monotony of their lives by spreading lies. So, for the most part, Little Whinging ignored these strange dealings and carried on their neat, dull little lives in Little Whinging, Surrey.
Unbeknownst to this blinded populace, an even larger predicament was unfolding beneath their very noses and this was surely no jest. Hidden in the belly of Little Whinging lies Privet Drive and within Privet Drive there lies Number Four Privet Drive. This is the home of the Dursley's. A large, two-floored, square house with a low garden wall out front and a perfect backyard with bright flowerbeds, a flourishing green house, and one, wooden bench towards the center of the fenced-in area. It is on this bench where the source of Little Whinging's problems sits twiddling a long and narrow stick between his fingers. The source is none other than a young boy named Harry Potter.
Harry Potter is a thin, wiry boy with straggly russet hair that fell dominantly into his face, covering a dark scar shaped like a bolt of lightening. A pair of wire-framed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose and hid his extravagant emerald green eyes. Harry was dressed in an outfit, handed down by his rather obese cousin, which made him look like an unhealthy lad who is currently fasting for some unknown cause. In his hand, what might appear as a stick to most passerbies is actually a wand. It is an eleven inch wand crafted from the finest holly wood with a single phoenix feather housed inside its shell. Harry Potter is a wizard and not only is he a talented wizard but he also carries with him the birth of a legacy, a very dangerous legacy that would soon threaten the lives of thousands of innocents. But, for now, young Harry was too preoccupied, too distracted, by the bustling of the new neighbors moving in next door to worry too much about an uncertain futuristic doom.
Harry watched as several movers walked back and forth, back and forth, along the side of the house carrying large boxes on their shoulders. The movers randomly shouted out commands to each other, sometimes little warnings about fragile boxes falling to the ground. For three hours the movers scurried about in the neighbor's yard and Harry was beyond boredom, but he remained sitting patiently, as if waiting for something.
That something came in the form of a someone. At first, all that Harry saw was a fuzzy mass of brown hair bobbing over the top of the tall, wooden fence but after a few moments of rustling on the neighbor's side, a pair of childish hands appeared at the top of the fence and was soon followed by a round face peering over the edge. She was a young girl, around ten or eleven, with wispy strands of brown hair blanketing her head in a terrible mess. Her face was covered in a disarray of freckles all the way from her forehead to her chin due to the spring's sun. Her blue eyes stared at Harry, observing him from afar.
"Excuse me, neighbor, but, um, are you called Dudley Dursley? I've heard the ladies next door to me talking about a fat boy named Dudley Dursley who lives right where you live. But you don't look fat, Dudley. You're actually very, very skinny," the little girl blabbered on before, at last, pausing to wait for Harry's answer.
Harry couldn't help but chuckle softly to himself as he pushed his body up and off of the bench and leisurely strolled over to the fence, placing his wand in his back pocket. About halfway there, he finally answered her, "No. Dudley is my cousin. I'm Harry Potter."
The girl giggled almost to the brink of insanity, before rambling, "My name is Elizabeth Grant. We just moved here from America a couple of weeks ago. When I say we I mean my Papa, my sister, and me. London is a very interesting place, you know. You Englishmen say the strangest things. Just yesterday, some old lady at the store told me to stop badgering my Papa. Just what does badgering mean? In America a badger is an animal and it just doesn't make any sense to be badgering someone. Anyway, thank goodness that you're not Dudley."
Harry rapidly blinked, trying to keep up with Elizabeth's ramblings and he found it quite hard to do so. Not only did she talk a lot, she also spoke rather quickly. He grimaced, finally picking up on the last of her babble and he became rather repulsed at the prospect of actually being Dudley, "Why?"
"Why?" Elizabeth frowned and then perked up, chuckling, "Oh, you mean why I'm happy you aren't Dudley? It's simple of course! It's only natural for a girl to want to have a cute, tall, lean boy living next door. If your fat cousin was the only boy to live there, I would surely be depressed. I absolutely adore pretty boys."
"Um," Harry grumbled, not too sure if he should blush, laugh, or die from embarrassment. He decided on shakily laughing and scratching the back of his neck with his hand.
For a change, Elizabeth fell silent and, instead, stared dreamily at Harry, her blue eyes watching him in a daze. This, of course, made Harry rather uncomfortable and caused him to shift about nervously. After a brief moment, a loud thud sounded from the girl's house and the two looked up to see a feminine face peering out from a second-floor window. The girl leaned out the window and motioned towards Elizabeth, "Hey, kiddo, Papa wants you to come in for dinner," then, as she just noticed Harry she smiles and waves at him before slipping back inside and shutting the window.
Elizabeth turned back to Harry and said, "That was my sister, Emma. She's fifteen, you know. That's about how old you are. If you marry her then you'll be my brother—or maybe you should just marry me!" She sighs happily. "My dinner awaits! Bye Harry!"
"Bye Elizabeth," Harry replied in a questioning, mandatory manner, staring after her in a confused state. Almost at that exact moment, the infamous Dudley stumbled throw the back door and ordered Harry into the house for dinner or else he would have to wait until breakfast to eat. Harry took one last look at his neighbor's house before clambering to get towards the dinner table before the Dursley's devoured his meal.
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"I hear that Mister Grant is a substitute teacher at Little Whinging Primary School," the long-necked, crow-faced Petunia Dursley gossiped after a bite of cawl. "Presumably, his wife died eleven years ago and left him to raise two daughters all on his own, the poor sod."
Vernon lifted his pudgy head from where it was busily spooning food into his large mouth at a very close range of the table. His beady little eyes looked over at his wife as he snipped harshly, "He should have stayed far from Little Whinging. I don't need any loud girls interrupting the peace. There's already enough trouble in this neighborhood as it is," Vernon hinted at Harry with obvious annoyance.
"I couldn't agree with you more, Vernon, dear," Petunia automatically answered without batting an eye.
Dudley grinned, "Are they pretty mum?" Harry rolled his eyes at the idiocy of his cousin, but was quick to regain a straight composure. There was no reason to start a fight in the middle of a peaceful meal.
"I don't know Sweetums, I haven't met them yet," she smiled. Petunia hesitated and then added, "Perhaps we should invite them over for a meal tomorrow. A little neighborly bonding could do us some good."
Vernan's face swelled purple as he protested rather loudly, "Invite over that bit of a knob? Petunia we can't just go around inviting strangers into our home." His eyebrows drew close together as he added, whispering, "What if they are connected to that Dark Lord bloke." He quickly looked towards every window, as if expecting to see a face peering in through the glass. Harry noticed this and couldn't help but to scoff at his paranoid uncle in silent humor.
Petunia shifted unnervingly in her seat and broke the eye connection with her husband and looked down at her dissipating meal. A wave of uncertainty washed over her and Vernon and Dudley gaped at her in confusion. Only Harry partly understood what his aunt felt. They were both connected to the wizarding world—whether it is willing or unwilling that they are joined and both of them felt the danger that only Harry had come face to face with on many occasions. But her uncertainty lasted for only a moment before her characteristic indifference to the wizarding world kicked in and she, figuratively, stuck her nose up to the idea and grumbled distastefully, "Don't be preposterous, Vernon. The ladies have informed me that Henry Grant is as normal as they come. I'll invite him and his daughters over for lunch tomorrow."
Vernon huffed, but didn't bring it up again, and returned to what remained of his supper. The porky Dudley, on the other hand, sought fit to bring up the manner of the daughters' appearance and asked his mum repeatedly how they looked. Petunia tried her hardest to retain her patience, while Harry tried his hardest to retain his laughter. After a few minutes, a spark lit up in Dudley's miniscule mind and he turned to Harry, "Harry was talking to someone when I told him to come in. Weren't you Harry?"
Harry opened his mouth to talk, but his uncle decided to speak for him, "Why would anybody talk to Harry? You must have been seeing things, Dudders."
"No. I'm sure Harry was talking to someone," Dudley persisted, looking and directing his recurring question at Harry, "Was she pretty, Harry?"
He looked on amused and answered with a completely straight and serious face, "Elizabeth, that was her name you know, was quite the looker. She also seemed to fancy you, Dudley. Spoke a lot about you, she did." Despite his uninterested countenance, Harry was busting a gasket inside as his laughter was boiling up in his stomach.
Dudley's grin reached from one porky cheek to the other as he accepted this as a compliment and his raging teenage hormones started putting together a half-witted plan that would inevitably collapse in ruin. Neither his mum nor dad seemed to think anything of his mischievous smirk or random spurts of slurred sentences mouthed aloud to himself. On the other hand, they congratulated him for his achievement. His dad patted him on the back and praised him saying how he inherited his father's charm and his mum's good looks. This of course, made if even harder for Harry to hold in his laughter. He quickly excused himself, ignored the commands from his aunt and uncle to clean the table, and ran up to his room. Once there, he finally gave into his mirth and laughed until tears rolled down his face.
He sat up in the stiff bed and looked about his room, observing his magical possessions with longing to use them. Scattered around his room were his trunk, his owl's cage, his broom, and a carefully placed two-way mirror on his bedside table. His eyes lingered the longest on the small item and his happiness drained from his face. Harry's green eyes darkened and filled with fathomless sadness as real tears toyed at the corner of his eyes. He hugged himself and blinked rapidly, pushing back the tears. A fluttering of wings brought his attention to his roosting snowy owl watching him with concern. Hedwig hopped over from her perch on the windowsill and settled down on his knee. She affectionately nipped Harry's finger and lifted her leg slightly, presenting him with a small piece of parcel. Wiping away his tears, Harry patted Hedwig's head and gently untied the parcel from her leg. The owl drifted off to rest in her wire cage until she was sent off by her master.
He unrolled the parcel and shakily smiled at the scratchy handwriting inside.
Harry,
How are the muggles treating you? If they get too annoying you could always come to the Burrow. Mum says it's better for you to stay with the muggles, but I don't agree with her. Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes made front page on the Daily Prophet yesterday. It had something to do with the year's greatest practical jokester inventions. Fred and George won an award along with fifteen hundred galleons! They tried to give half of it to mum, but she wouldn't let them. She told them that they earned it fair and square. I think mum has gotten used to the idea of her sons owning a prank shop. Hermione and I were thinking about getting together in Diagon Alley for your birthday? What do you think Harry? Hedwig has been badgering me for three days to send you a letter. Do you have her trained or what? Not that I wasn't going to send you a letter, Harry. Pig's been feeling a little sick today so I had to borrow Hedwig, I hope you don't mind. I think it was the chocolate frog he stole from me this morning. The barmy…
--Ron
P.S. Mum thinks she might be pregnant. She and dad will be going to the hospital tomorrow. I'll send you Pig with the news.
Harry couldn't help but to chuckle lightly and look over at his owl, who was currently pruning her long, white feathers. His gaze instinctively fell on the closed door of his room as he listened to the rustling downstairs. When he decided that none of the Dursleys' were going to barge in on him, he took out a quill and a piece of parchment. Quietly and quickly, he scratched down a reply.
Ron,
The muggles are just fine. They aren't on me as much as they used to be. Diagon Alley sounds like a nice idea, but I'll have to convince the muggles to let me go. It will be hard, with them hating magic and all. They're a lot more uptight about it now than they used to be. That's great, 'bout your mum and all that. If she is, do you want a brother or a sister?
--Harry
He whistled lowly and Hedwig obligingly glided over towards him and stood still as he tied the parcel to her leg. Harry smiled and whispered a quiet "Good girl" before letting her fly off into the dying sunset while he stayed behind contemplating, always contemplating.
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Author's Note: I apologize if any of the characters seem out of character. This is the first Harry Potter fan fiction that I have ever written, so the characters might be a little shaky for a while. I also apologize if the beginning was really slow. I seem to have that problem whenever I write. Chapter two should be filled with a good bit of comedy as the Grants come over for lunch with the Dursleys'. Chapter two should also be out by the end of the week.
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