Harry awoke to the sound of a very noisy vacuum cleaner in the corridor. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, wanting very much to go back to sleep. He had been having the most wonderful dream: He had won the Quidditch cup for Gryffindor, and had been recruited by a scout to play for England's very own Quidditch team, the Rockets. Everyone adored him, and Draco Malfoy, his most potent enemy, had been begging him for an autograph just as the vacuum woke him up.
Harry sat up slowly and reached for his glasses, which were sitting on the bed table where he had left them the night before. The vacuum kept going. Harry looked at the clock on the wall opposite the bed. It was seven twenty-three in the morning. How rude of the housekeepers to be vacuuming at such an early hour, he thought. He looked around the small motel room in which he had been living for the past week. It was tiny and shabby, but it was heaven compared to Number Four Privet Drive, where his horrible aunt and uncle lived, along with their equally horrible son, Dudley.
The Dursleys had raised Harry from infancy, if you could call it "raising" at all. In Harry's eyes, they had more accurately "tortured" him from infancy. And five years ago, when they found out that Harry was a wizard, the Dursleys' dislike for him turned into downright hate. Harry had returned to Privet Drive two months before, after having completed his fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He loved going to school, for that's where his real family was. Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, his very best friends, had both invited Harry to spend the summer holiday at their houses, and even Hagrid, the keeper of the grounds at Hogwarts, had offered a place in his hut to Harry, but the Dursleys had been firm in their determination to make Harry miserable.
They made him come back to their house, only to make him their slave for the summer. Aunt Petunia employed Harry daily in the most disgusting chores she could think of, such as cleaning hair from every drain in the house and emptying the garbage can every two hours. Uncle Vernon had been equally mean, sending Harry on various impossible errands, such as finding purple moustache clippers or a belt big enough to fit around Dudley's enormous middle.
Harry no longer had the power of intimidation over them, for they had found out two years before that underage wizards aren't aloud to do magic outside of Hogwarts. Therefore, whenever Dudley got bored and decided to amuse himself by pounding on Harry with his fat fists, Harry just had to fight back.
However, Harry was no longer such an easy target for Dudley's violence. Over the past year, Harry had had quite a growth spurt, and was now taller than Dudley by several inches, though Dudley still outweighed him by two hundred pounds at least. The last fight Dudley picked with Harry had been a week ago. Harry had just returned from shopping for a double-ended shovel for Uncle Vernon, which he hadn't been able to find, and had gone up to his room to do some of his homework for Hogwarts. Dudley, having just finished his third bowl of double chocolate fudge ice cream, was bored and decided to heave himself up the stairs to bother Harry.
"What are you doing?" Dudley asked as he slammed open the door to Harry's room and entered. "More of that freak homework?"
"Yes, Dudley, I'm doing my homework," said Harry calmly, not looking up from his parchment. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to concentrate." That had been a mistake. Dudley proceeded to yell very loudly in Harry's face, "WHAT, HARRY? YOU NEED TO CONCENTRATE? IS THAT WHAT YOU SAID? SORRY, I COULDN'T HEAR YOU! HERE, LET ME HELP YOU TO CONCENTRATE, COUSIN!" And with that, Dudley picked up Harry's ink bottle and poured it over Harry's nearly-finished homework.
That was it. Harry had had enough. Throwing the parchment aside, Harry leapt up and tackled Dudley, knocking him to the ground with an enormous thud. Rage had overcome him. He had spent all these years being bullied by Dudley, and he was finished with it. Dudley let out a howl as Harry punched him over and over on the nose.
"This'll teach you to leave me alone!" Harry yelled as he beat up the flailing Dudley. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon came running up the stairs as they heard the commotion. Aunt Petunia fainted when she saw the blood on Dudley's fat face, and Uncle Vernon hurried over to stop Harry. He pulled Harry off of Dudley, who just lay there whimpering like a child.
"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" shouted Uncle Vernon, holding Harry by the collar of his shirt. Dudley managed to sit up.
"I just came up to help him with his homework," sputtered Dudley, blood still pouring from his nose, "and he jumped on me! He's gone mad, father! Harry's gone mad!"
"That's not what happened and you know it!" Harry yelled at Dudley, who was smirking at him through the swelling of his face. Uncle Vernon shook Harry.
"That's it! That is quite enough!" he said, his big purple face now turning red with rage. He released Harry's collar and went to the closet, where he began throwing Harry's few clothes onto the floor. "You'll be packed in ten minutes!" yelled Uncle Vernon, now tossing Harry's school books onto the pile. "I'll be in the car. You'll be down in ten minutes with all your pitiful belongings, and then you're out of this house for good! I've done my duty by you, and yet you insist upon being a plague in this home, so I've done with you!" Uncle Vernon's eyes were popping out of his head as he struggled to be calm. When he had finished dismantling Harry's room, he pulled Dudley to his feet and left the room.
Aunt Petunia, who had awakened and was now leaning on the doorway, hurried behind them wailing about Dudley's nose. Harry could hear her screaming from downstairs, "He's broken it! That monster of a boy has broken our Duddlekin's beautiful nose!"
A small smile broke onto Harry's face. "That stupid git deserved to have his fat nose broken," he said to Hedwig, his pet snowy owl, whose cage lay on the floor where Uncle Vernon had thrown it. He began to pack his things, wondering where Uncle Vernon would take him. He didn't really care where he took him. Anywhere had to be better than here.
Once his trunk was packed, Harry dragged it downstairs, Hedwig sitting on his shoulder. He could hear Aunt Petunia fussing over Dudley's nose as he passed the kitchen, and, out in the driveway, he could hear the motor of Uncle Vernon's large car.
Vague worry began to interrupt Harry's feeling of triumph. Where could Uncle Vernon possibly be taking him? He wouldn't just leave him on the streets, would he? After all, Harry's pockets were full of wizard money, but that wouldn't help him a bit in the Muggle world. He went outside, dragging his heavy trunk with difficulty, and found Uncle Vernon waiting in the car. He didn't make any move to help Harry load his trunk into the back seat, nor did he say anything when Harry buckled himself in next to him. He simply backed the car out of the driveway and took off, as if Harry wasn't there.
They drove for a while before Harry got up the nerve to speak. "Where are you taking me?" he asked. Uncle Vernon grinned under his thick moustache.
"I'm getting rid of you for good," he said. Harry's heart raced. What exactly did he mean by that? They drove for nearly an hour before Uncle Vernon pulled the vehicle into the parking lot of a very old, very shabby motel. He rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a fifty pound note.
"You'll take this," he said, shoving the note into Harry's hand, "and you'll do what you can with it. I shouldn't give you a single pound, seeing that you've been nothing but trouble to me since the day we found you on our doorstep. But, I am a decent citizen, so I am giving you this generous charity - and I don't expect to see your scrawny face ever again, do you understand?" He turned in his seat to look at Harry.
Harry just nodded. "Well, go on! Get out! Don't you know I've got things to do?" Uncle Vernon said quite cheerfully to him as Harry opened the door. After he had pulled his trunk out of the car, Uncle Vernon drove off without another word.
Harry stood befuddled for a while in the lot. He looked up at the motel, then down at the fifty pounds in his hand. Even though this was no extravagant place, he doubted very much that fifty pounds would last very long. Panic swept over him. What if he were forced to live on the streets and starve? What if he weren't able to ever get back to Hogwarts?
These thoughts were calmed briefly by a light nip on his ear. Hedwig, still on is shoulder, nestled her soft feathers against him reassuringly. Harry stroked her bright white feathers with his fingertips and took a deep breath. Taking hold of his trunk, he headed for the motel door.
The Muggle man at the front desk was quite polite to Harry, though he looked at him strangely. Harry supposed it wasn't too often that this man encountered teenaged boys with large trunks and owls on their shoulders. The man handed Harry his room key, Harry handed him the money, and headed off to his room, number 212.
So, Harry had spent the past week living in the motel, eating small meals, trying to save his money. He sent letters to Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid by way of Hedwig, telling them of his predicament, so now all he had to do was wait.
And here he was, on the morning of his sixteenth birthday, listening grumpily to the vacuuming outside his door. He hadn't heard from either of his friends, yet, nor had he received any notice from Hogwarts, telling him which supplies he would need for his sixth year. He was a bit worried, for the fifty pounds had run out after two nights, but he had been able to persuade the manager to take some gold Galleons as pay instead. Even though it didn't count as real money in the Muggle world, it was real gold, which had to amount to something. Still, Harry wondered how long the manager would accept large gold coins in place of real money.
He got out of bed and pulled on his clothes, then went to the mirror. His reflection stared back at him, gloomy and tired. He tried to straighten his unruly black hair, but to no avail. It insisted on doing whatever it wanted, just as always. Hedwig sat on the bureau, picking at a bit of leftover meat from the small dinner Harry had had the night before.
Suddenly, the housekeeper who was vacuuming outside Harry's door let out a tremendous shriek. The scream was followed by a familiar voice. "Oh, how amazing!" said the voice. "What sort of machinery is this? Is it cleaning? Is that what it does? What extraordinary ingenuity! You Muggles never fail to amaze me, ha, ha!"
Harry went to the door and opened it, to find Ron's father, Mr. Weasley, examining the still-running vacuum cleaner, while the housekeeper stood against the wall, her hands over her mouth in shock. Harry didn't blame her - Mr. Weasley did look odd in his bright green robes. When he saw Harry, Mr. Weasley put down the vacuum and hurried to him, his hand extended.
"Hello, Harry! What a wonderful place this is! Did you see the cleaning device?" he said hurriedly, shaking Harry's hand with excitement. Mr. Weasley was fascinated with Muggle inventions of all kinds, and Harry supposed he had never seen a vacuum before.
"Hello, Mr. Weasley," said Harry, motioning him inside the motel room. They went in and Harry closed the door behind them.
"Think I gave the poor woman quite a shock when I Apparated in the corridor," said Mr. Weasley, scratching his balding head. The hair he did have was fiery red, just like the rest of his family. "I suppose Muggles aren't used to that sort of thing."
Harry chuckled. "No, I suppose not," he said, leaning against the bureau. Mr. Weasley rummaged around in his cloak until he found a small envelope. He handed it to Harry.
"Ron was worried about you, so I promised him I'd come help if I could," he said as Harry opened the envelope. Inside was a letter from Ron:
Harry,
If you are reading this, then that means my dad is with you. I got your letter, but couldn't send a reply because that stupid excuse for an owl, Pigwideon, couldn't find you. Anyway, mum and dad said you can come and stay with us for the last couple of weeks of holiday, and we'll take you to Diagon Alley to get your school things. Hermione will meet us there. Sorry about the Dursleys. They're idiots anyway.
See you when you get here,
Ron
PS: Happy Birthday, Harry!
Harry smiled at Mr. Weasley. "Thanks," he said. Mr. Weasley nodded.
"Can't let one of the family go it alone, can we?" he said, patting Harry's shoulder. "Now, let's see, we'll gather your things and carry them downstairs - I saw a fireplace in the lobby, so we can use that."
With that, they set to work re-packing all of Harry's things, and carried them with some difficulty down to the lobby. They got a lot of strange looks from the motel employees, and Mr. Weasley asked politely if they might be left alone for a moment. The staff went hesitantly into another room, and Mr. Weasley took a small bag from his pocket. He opened it and handed it to Harry, then stepped back. "You go first, Harry," he said. "Remember, just concentrate and speak clearly."
Harry nodded. He took a pinch of the green Floo Powder from the bag, threw it onto the flames in the fireplace, which shot up green, and stepped inside. The flames tickled him as he spoke: "The Burrow," he said. That was the name of the Weasleys' small house in the countryside. He felt a tugging at his navel, and began to see a whirl of colors before him as he passed various fireplaces. He concentrated as hard as he could, because the last time he had traveled by Floo Powder, he'd found himself on a particularly shady street called Knockturn Alley.
When finally things settled, Harry stepped out into the Weasleys' kitchen. Mrs. Weasley was standing at the sink, supervising the dishes that were quietly washing themselves. She spun around when she heard Harry, and rushed to help him pull his trunk out of the fireplace. "Oh, Harry, dear, how are you? Did you get here all right? Here, let's take your things up to Ron's room," she said hugging Harry and then pulling with all her might to get the large trunk up the narrow, rickety staircase.
"Wait, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry, "I'll get that!" He took the trunk handle from her hand and began the long, heavy task of lugging it up the stairs. Halfway up, Harry stopped in front of Fred's and George's bedroom, where loud music was playing. Fred and George were Ron's older twin brothers, who were a year older than Ron and Harry. Harry laughed to himself as a small explosion sounded from inside the room. The twins were always getting into some sort of trouble.
He continued up the stairs until he reached the very top, where Ron's door stood open. Harry knocked politely on the door frame before he entered, to find Ron laying on the bed, flipping through a Quidditch magazine.
"Harry!" said Ron, tossing the magazine aside and jumping up to help Harry with his things. "Been wondering when you'd get here, Harry. Thought dad had gotten lost!" They put Harry's trunk in the corner, and let Hedwig out of her cage so she could stretch her wings. She gave a small screech at Harry and then flew out of the open window.
"Thanks, Ron, for letting me stay here. I was beginning to worry that I'd be tossed out onto the street," said Harry, sitting on the edge of Ron's bed, which was covered, as it had been for years, with a bright orange spread with black lettering that read: "Chudley Cannons," Ron's favorite Quidditch team.
"I still can't believe the Dursleys kicked you out like that," Ron said, shaking his head. Ron was even taller than Harry, and had fiery red hair and freckles. "But I still think you're better off without them."
Harry nodded. He felt the same way - that he was much better being away from his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Still, he felt a pang of hurt when he thought of them completely disowning him. No matter how much he disliked them, they were his family, and he still wished, deep down in his heart, that they would love him. Harry panicked for a moment when he felt his nose begin to tingle as if he were about to cry. He straightened up, blinked a couple of times, and shoved the Dursleys from his mind.
"Have you gotten your Hogwarts letter, yet?" Harry asked Ron. Ron shook his head.
"No. They're getting a bit lazy, I think. The letters come later and later every year." Even as they spoke, two fat tawny owls flew in through the open window, dropped two yellow envelopes on the bed, and flew out again.
"Like magic!" Harry said as they picked up their Hogwarts letters. They read through the supply list for sixth year students. It consisted of the usual things - books, ink, parchment, cauldrons. But this year there was a new addition to the list. "All sixth year students must bring their own Bandywits, per Professor Dumbledore's request," read Harry out loud. He looked at Ron, confused. "What's a Bandywit?" he asked.
Ron shook his head. "Sorry, Harry, I don't know."