Our story begins in England, in a small community in Surrey just north of the River Thames called Little Whinging. It begins across the street from an extremely tidy little house, owned by one Vernon Dursley, a man whose greatest failing was a complete lack of imagination, closely trailed by his total unawareness that this was, in fact, a failing. Vernon Dursley had married some years ago a woman named Petunia, who had aged rather more quickly than she was prepared to accept, and who had taken every measure to prevent it from happening, to no avail. If asked by someone to whom he felt that honesty was more important than appearance – and there were none – Vernon might have admitted that he often felt that this was the source of all of his problems. For Petunia had the misfortune to be sister to Lily Evans, a Muggleborn witch, and had been the less-favored one all of her childhood. Lily Evans lived a happy life where Petunia lived an unhappy one, but Lily's was short, for she was killed at the age of twenty-two, protecting her son, Harry Potter.
This was why Vernon Dursley had been stuck with a wizard child in his house. He had been forced to take the child in – he had not wanted to, for he had a son of his own – a stout young man named Dudley - to raise and, if possible, less than no interest in such things as magic, but he was required to hold the child in. The remains of Harry's first bedroom still remained, in what had been a cupboard under the stairs, a spare cot and not much else to speak of, though he had taken Dudley's second bedroom eventually, as time had gone by. He had taken the child in, indeed, but he had never been forced to love him, and Vernon Dursley's limited capabilities for love were already stretched taut by his wife, his son, and his sister, though he and Marjorie spoke less and less as the years went by.
Across the street, in any case, there was a van. The van had been there since the beginning of the summer, apparently broken down and gathering dust. The doors, especially, seemed to be broken, for they occasionally would open and close themselves, probably in response to the wind, though no one was nearby. Various of the Dursleys' neighbours had placed calls to the local authorities in relation to the strange van, but nothing ever seemed to get done about it. Nor did the Dursleys' ever place a call in this way, because they knew the truth about the van.
So did Harry Potter.
Harry Potter was in possession of a wonderful magical object, quite rare even as magical objects go: an invisibility cloak. Methods of making oneself difficult to see were common in magical circles, from the Disillusionment Charm that made a thing look more appropriate to its environment to the Slippery Sight Potion which, if enough of it could be procured, could cause anything it was painted on to be difficult to look directly at. The invisibility cloak, however, made whatever it covered truly invisible to all but a very few magical detectors.
One day, much like every other day so far that summer, except that on this day more than a month of those days had passed already, Harry Potter grew tired of staring outside the window of what his aunt and uncle still called "Dudley's second bedroom", of being lucky to be ignored by his remaining blood relatives, and of the nighmares that came almost every night. He took out his invisibility cloak, and, though he knew he was not supposed to, he put it on and he used it to sneak out of the house.
He approached the van with care and made sure, from long experience, not to make a sound as he opened the rear door. It was hardly his fault that the door itself creaked as it opened, was it?
The van was, as Harry expected, bigger on the inside. In the midst of a rather disorganized habitat of used take-away parcels and whirring devices was a sitting wizard, though when he heard the door creaked he was standing, facing it, and pointing his wand at it faster than Harry could blink. He was a tall, black man with a single hoop earring, and though he was scowling at present Harry knew he had a warm smile, for Harry knew him.
Very, very carefully, Harry reached up and pulled back the cloak to expose his head. "It's only me, Kingsley."
"Harry?" Kingsley looked suspicious, but a quick check of the various dark detectors satisfied him. "You're supposed to be in the house."
Harry shrugged and lifted himself inside. "I needed to get out, Kingsley."
Though Harry had never been very good at sharing his feelings, Kingsley was well-versed enough to recognize certain emotions even when a brash teenager tried to pretend he did not have them. He did not press the matter. "You can stay tonight, if you like. But only tonight, until you leave."
Harry nodded. Kingsley decided to leave the matter alone and turned back to the detectors that he was supposed to be monitoring. Harry himself took a seat against one side of the van, setting the cloak down beside him with a protective hand over it, and closed his eyes.
He awoke to the sensation of a hand on his shoulder. Harry gasped in a breath as he shoved at the hand as hard as he could and stood. He had already retreated several steps, eyes wide, before he realized where he was, and another step before he saw who had woken him, now fallen awkwardly to the floor. It was the hair that gave it away. "Tonks?"
She righted herself and stood before answering. "Wotcher, Harry." She rubbed at her head, prompting Harry to wonder if she had hit it when he'd pushed her away. "Tense much?"
"Sorry," he offered. He did not particularly want to talk about the reason for his strained nerves, and he rather doubted that his godfather's closest cousin did either. "What time is it?"
"Nine thirty. Moody's taking over for me at ten, and I thought you might want to get out of here before he saw you."
Moody's mad eye would be able to see through the invisibility cloak, Harry knew, and Moody would not be nearly as forgiving as Kingsley had been. "Thanks, Tonks."
"No problem, Harry." Tonks did not bother to watch him gather up the invisibility cloak and slip it around his frame, finding the little . "Just a week until your birthday, Harry. Then you can get out of here."
"Yeah," she heard, and then the door swung open and he was gone.
"That boy hits hard when he wants to," Tonks told a nearby Sneakoscope.
It was three days later when a haughty owl flew in through the window of Dudley's second bedroom, interrupting Harry's studies. He nodded to it pleasantly and took the rolled message it carried. He waved a hand at the owl cage across the room. "There are treats over by Hedwig, if you want one," he said. The owl reproached him with its eyes. "Fine," he said. "Don't have one."
Harry broke the official seal of the Ministry of Magic and unfurled the fine parchment.
i Ministry of Magic
Wizarding Examinations Authority
Ordinary Wizarding Levels Results
Certified by Griselda Marchbanks, WEA Director
Harry Potter,
#1738
(if this is not your name and examination number please return to the Wizarding Examinations Authority as soon as possible.)
Astronomy: Poor
Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding
Charms: Outstanding
Defense Against The Dark Arts: Outstanding
Divination: Acceptable.
Herbology: Exceeds Expectations
History of Magic: Dreadful
Potions: Exceeds Expectations
Transfiguration: Exceeds Expectations /i
Harry did not bother to read the rest of the notice; the lettering grew ever finer as it trailed down the remaining foot and a half of parchment. He knew what he needed to – he had not managed the necessary Outstanding in Potions, and he would not be able to take the N.E.W.T. class, which was strongly recommended for a career as an Auror.
He glanced back up for the owl that had delivered the message, but it had already gone out the window. He wondered how long it would take for the obvious letter from Hermione Granger to arrive, telling him how incredibly well she had done on all of her classes. The owl that came through the window not ten minutes later, however, was not from Hermione but rather from Hogwarts, bearing the Hogwarts seal upon it. Harry broke the seal open, curious, to find a script that he recognized all too well from the red ink on his Transfiguration papers.
i Mr. Potter,
During the last year, I made a vow to you that I would help you become an Auror. While that vow may have been made under insufferable distress, I remain the Head of Gryffindor House, and it would hardly be appropriate for me to break a promise made to you. I regret that I have been unable to convince Professor Snape to permit you into his N.E.W.T. Potions class(though he was complimentary of your score, as well as can be – he took care to inform me that 'exceeds expectations' was, in fact, an accurate indicator of your performance on his (O.W.L.). Nevertheless, if you continue to wish to be an Auror following your graduation from Hogwarts, I believe that it remains possible. You will be signing up for your classes shortly. As you know, your career plans will require that you take Defense Against The Dark Arts, Charms, and Transfiguration. I would also strongly recommend Herbology, which will likely be seen by those in Wizard Resources at the Ministry as an appropriate replacement for Potions; many of them have taken classes taught by Professor Snape as well, and may understand the extreme difficulty that obtaining a Potions N.E.W.T. now possesses. Because a fifth N.E.W.T. is required, you would also be advised to take Care of Magical Creatures, though Professor Trelawney made a point of informing me that despite her rather she would be delighted to have you in her class.
There has been some confusion regarding certain Hogwarts staff positions, so I am unable to provide you with further information regarding other electives. I hope to be of more assistance throughout the next year.
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
Head of Gryffindor House
Professor/Transfiguration,
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry /i
By the time he had finished, there was another letter from Hermione, confirming that she had in fact received a full eleven O.W.L.s, and one of Ron Weasley soon after, even more excited about the seven he had gotten.
Harry tried to be happy for them.
There were four days until his birthday.
