— CHAPTER ONE —
Salvation Found
he crowd bustled around the performers, crowded around and distracted; the perfect targets for the young man looking for a way to eat tonight. He edged closer, appearing to all who might notice as if he were fascinated by the man wrapping himself in a straight-jacket. They wouldn't notice, however. They never did.
Harry reached casually toward the pocket of the man next to him, whose wallet bulged out like a beacon to the starving wretch. As his hand neared, the wallet just seemed to wriggle its way out, finding the teenager's hand without him even looking. When it contacted, the brown leather fold disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared.
"You! Boy!" Harry turned to the voice, startled. In shock, for after nearly five years having never been caught, he didn't even know what to do. It took several moments, the caller struggling through the crowd toward him with an intense look before Harry turned and ran.
Heading back toward the Eye, hoping to leave Jubilee Gardens before the man could catch him up, Harry bolted right into him.
"Wha—How?"
"You'll find out soon enough, boy. First things first, we need to get that man his wallet back." That said, he pulled Harry by the arm toward the gentleman still watching the performer. "Pardon me, sir, but this young man found your wallet and would like to return it."
Startled, as if he hadn't seen them approach at all, the man turned and looked at his own wallet like it were a detached limb. "Oh, well, thanks." Grabbing it up and feeling his pockets for other missing items, he didn't even notice when the man and boy faded into the background.
"That was my dinner," Harry said angrily. He no longer cared who this man was, he only felt dejected at finally being caught. He'd thought himself some sort of genius thief, always pulling in more than any other boy in the gang. He'd earned a reputation, and this was the end of it. He'd take the piss for months over this.
"You'll eat alright," the man said, seemingly threateningly.
"Yeah, in jail," Harry said, effecting a bored tone. Jail was nothing new to him, though usually it was for loitering or other things. He could have escaped every time, but he knew he couldn't be the only one to do or the others would suspect him. That's how it had gone for the first year or so, the police catching everyone but him every time.
"You a hardened criminal, are you? Well, I'm not a policeman."
Harry took a look at the man, as much as he could do without tripping up as he was being forcibly escorted out of the gardens. His clothes were old, though not just old, but actually out of date, as if from nearly a hundred years ago. They were ragged as well, but only if you looked closely. It was obvious the man took care, and maybe had once had money, but now he appeared to be struggling to maintain clothes years old and often worn. Harry suddenly felt intrigued, wondering just who this man was and where he was being taken. Yet, as always, he never felt fear. Something watched out for Harry, allowing him the certainty that harm could never befall him.
"Where are you taking me?"
The man didn't answer, instead leading him down into Westminster tube station. Harry didn't say anything when they passed through the gate without paying, nor did he question when they changed to the Northern line, or when they exited at Old Street station. He continued to follow wordlessly, simply wondering where the adventure would take him as they turned down Grimauld Place.
"Are we nearly there?" Harry looked at his fingernails, wondering if he could spare a bit of coin for a new trimmer. One of the boys had nicked his.
"It's just here," the man said, distractedly looking through his pockets.
Harry spared a moment to running, but figured it would be more interesting to see whether or not he could be paid for what he assumed this man wanted. Looking toward where he'd pointed, Harry saw row houses and assumed his escort was looking for the keys.
"I didn't nick them," he offered, in case the man wondered.
"Ah, here it is," he said, brandishing a piece of yellowed paper. "Read this."
Harry took the thick, leathery paper curiously and saw the writing was in an old fashioned script. It read, 'The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is located at Number 12 Grimauld Place.' As he finished, he could see something happening out of the corner of his eye, causing him to look up at the row houses just as it appeared they flung themselves apart, like opposing magnets, and a new house appeared between them.
"Holy shit!" Harry jumped back, a fear and awe filling him as like he'd never felt before.
"Language, boy," the man said, pulling him again toward the newly formed house. Harry struggled for the first time, actually causing the man to have to yank on his arm. Fear filled the fourteen-year-old, a feeling he was sure he never wanted to feel again.
As they entered the house, a darkness crawled along Harry's skin causing the fear to escalate. In a growing panic, he yelled toward the still open door; "Help! Help me! I'm being kidnapped!"
"Shut up boy! You'll wake her up!" the man whispered furiously.
Next to the door, what Harry had taken for closed window curtains suddenly flew apart and a painting hung on the wall began to bellow in a screeching, horrible voice, the woman in the painting moving and staring at them as if she could actually see them.
"VERMIN! VILE MUDBLOODS! DISGUSTING BLOOD TRAITORS IN MY HOUSE! GET OUT!"
The words made no sense to him, but Harry knew she was insulting someone, and obviously the owner of this dark and brooding home.
"Oh who woke the old bitch?" Came a new voice belonging to a handsome, dark haired man in similar dress to the one who had kidnapped Harry.
With a smile, he crossed the room and pulled a wooden stick from his pocket, pointing it at the portrait. "Do shut up, Mother, you heartless old cow!" A blurred wave, or some sort of shimmer seemed to emanate from the stick and suddenly a corner of the portrait started alight. The woman stopped shouting and started screaming, her face contorted in a mixture of rage and fear. Suddenly the flame ceased and she glared daggers at the dark-haired man.
Harry watched the scene in awe, fear forgotten by the shock and curiosity. Just as quickly as the flames were gone, the curtains shut themselves and the whole thing was done.
"Well Arthur, who's this then?" The man turned toward them, his face warm and welcoming, the obvious owner of the house and hardly suited to it, Harry felt.
"I caught him pick-pocketing a tourist at Jubilee Gardens."
"Well that's hardly cause to kidnap him and bring him here."
"He was using magic," the man Harry now knew to be Arthur countered, though Harry took a few moments to register just what was said.
"Ah, there is a reason." Turning to Harry with a new look, one of hunger and interest. "You're a rare specimen these days, lad." His smile was so warm, Harry felt completely safe again, as if fear were still a word he only knew how to spell. "Come, let's get some food into that skeleton you call a body."
Arthur let go his arm and disappeared into a door off the entry, leaving Harry to follow the retreating man down the corridor. Seemingly free to do as he liked, the front door standing open, Harry thought of leaving for only a fleeting moment before he chased after the billowing cape of his host. No longer surprised, Harry only gave a bewildered smile when he heard the front door close on its own behind him.
The man pushed through a door, descending into the kitchen and Harry followed behind, his curiosity growing with every step.
"What would you like, then? I could do lamb, or steak, or maybe bangers and mash?" Harry said nothing, the very concept of the food on offer so great he worried it would disappear if he spoke. "All, I think," the man decided, looking Harry over.
Without further comment, he aimed his stick at a cupboard and Harry watched, his awe growing further as a set of utensils floated their way busily towards the countertop where salad bits were suddenly finding themselves on a cutting board.
"Sorry but, who are you?" Harry asked, no longer able to contain himself.
"Ah, of course, never were properly introduced," the man said, turning and putting his stick into his sleeve before extending his hand. "Sirius Black," he said with a grin.
"Tony."
"Parents forgot a surname?" No reply, but Sirius didn't seem to expect one. Street wretches weren't commonly known for honesty, and Sirius didn't seem to mind not getting it. "Well Tony, nice to meet you!" He shook Harry's hand enthusiastically, then pulled his stick out and pointed it at a roving cutting knife that had been finding its way towards the window. "Back to work!"
"How are you doing that?"
"The same way you pick-pocketed that man, Tony; magic."
Harry laughed, his whole body tingling with excitement at the realization that things suddenly made sense. "There's no such thing," he said with a condescending tone, only a slight sense of his hope filtering in.
"Ah, but there is," Sirius said, pointing toward the ice box with his wand, out of which suddenly appeared the lamb and a slab of steak heading to be cut up by the self-sufficient cooking utensils. "Haven't you ever had anything strange happen to you before? Something no one could explain?"
"My aunt once cut my hair off and it grew back overnight. She was really angry about it." Harry's voice caught in his throat a bit at the memory.
"Where's your aunt now, then?"
"Dead."
"You miss her," Sirius asked, his face filling with genuine sympathy, something Harry was unaccustomed to.
"She was a cunt," Harry said, hardening his voice. Sirius glared, and Harry felt bad, something else he was unaccustomed to. "Sorry, but she was."
"How'd she die?"
"Freak accident; my house blew up. Killed her, my uncle and cousin." Harry didn't choke up, but inside he felt a bit tight, and he didn't want to continue this discussion. His mind made up to change the subject when he saw Sirius look at him funny at the flippant explanation; something knowing creeping into the curious eyes.
"What'd you say your name was?"
"Peter."
"No, you said it was 'Tony' before."
"Tony; Peter – What's the difference?"
Sirius grabbed him suddenly, hard, looking him right in the eyes. His face was filled with something Harry didn't recognize, but it made his heart ache.
"Harry?"
Jumping back, Harry felt panicked. How did he know his name? It wasn't a good thing, because if things turned bad it could land him back in the orphanage, and that was the last thing Harry wanted.
"Merlin's beard! HARRY!"
Sirius ran toward him, and Harry, backed against the wall could do nothing but accept his fate as Sirius grabbed him up and nearly crushed him in a hug. Unsure what to do, Harry just stood there a few moments until the pain grew a bit overwhelming. "You're crushing me!"
"Sorry!" He flung Harry away, but held on to him and looked at him at arm's length. "I never thought I'd see you again! You were just a baby the last time… I don't know how I didn't see it! Just like James! But the eyes are Lily's. Oh Harry! We all thought you were dead!" Sirius' face was smiling, but he was crying, and Harry felt only confusion. No one had ever cried for anything doing with him before, and it was weird. He just watched, unsure what to say.
"Uhm, you know me?"
"Harry Potter," Sirius said, holding back the tears and maintaining his grip on Harry's shoulders. "Your aunt, Petunia, and your uncle and cousin Dudley—Oh Harry! I can't believe it!" Sirius grabbed him closer again, and Harry suddenly decided that hugs were something he could have gone on without having ever experienced.
"Sirius? What's going on down here?" A woman's voice, which Harry was suddenly very grateful for, caused Sirius to let Harry go and turn.
"It's Harry Potter!"
"What?" She looked at Harry with disbelief, then back at Sirius. "Oh Sirius, what are you on about? He's just a street rat. Harry's dead, Sirius. We've been over this before." She looked concerned for her friend, as if he were mad and she had to watch over him.
"It is him!" Sirius turned toward Harry, confused for a moment, but his face lighting up as he grabbed the boy and pulled him closer again. Harry feared another hug, but instead Sirius attacked his mop of hair, pushing it back off his forehead. "SEE!" he yelled triumphantly.
"Gryffindor's ghost! It is him!"
Harry knew they were staring at his scar, which his Aunt had told him was from the car accident that killed his parents when he was only a baby. She reminded him every day before she died how she'd cared for him, and how much he owed her for it. Why these people knew about his scar, and why they were so excited he couldn't imagine. Where had they been all his life if they cared so much?
"Arthur! Severus! Hurry!"
Harry expected the subjects of her call to come running down the stairs, but instead they appeared in front of him with sticks pointed at his nose, only a small snap to signify they hadn't been there a moment before.
"No! No! It's alright!" The woman ran over to Arthur and hugged him, her face covered in tears. The man who must have been Severus, a greasy-haired, pointy-faced man with a scowl simply put his stick in his sleeve and affected an annoyed expression.
"What is the meaning of calling us down here like that?" He looked at Harry with a glare. "What is this boy doing here?" He said the word boy as if spitting it out, contempt obvious in his tone.
"This boy is Harry Potter!" Sirius pushed Severus aside, nearly knocking the man to the floor with disdain. "My godson!"
Severus looked suddenly frightened, but pushed the emotion aside and turned a livid glare on Harry. "Did you say this is Harry Potter?"
"See for yourself!" And with that, Sirius turned to push Harry's hair back again, but Harry shoved him away.
"That's just about enough. I will not be manhandled!" Harry glared at everyone, who all stopped to look at him. The crying woman looked ready to snap at him, but she held her tongue. "Someone will tell me what's going on here. Why do you all know about my fucking scar?"
"That's enough of that language, young man!"
"You're not my fucking mother," Harry spat. "Now answer my question!" The woman backed up, affronted, and Harry felt a slight guilt building, which was also new to him. He'd sworn at myriads of women before and never cared.
"Well," she said, suddenly busying herself fixing her patch-work skirt.
"Harry," Sirius said with an amused tone. It only made Harry angrier, and he was about to go off when Sirius held up a hand and continued. "You can't imagine how important you are to us, to everyone, and what your return means to us. I—How should I do this?" He addressed the last to the rest, but they seemed just as unsure as he. "Well, to the point I always say. Harry, you're a wizard." Harry just laughed, but didn't say anything. "Not—you're not just a wizard, but, probably, we hope, one of the most powerful to come in a long time." Sirius looked around again, hoping for support, but everyone was just watching Harry's reaction, waiting for something to happen.
"Your parents, they died to save you."
"They died in a car accident."
"What?!" Nearly everyone said it at the same time, and with such disgust Harry didn't know what to say.
"Lily and James Potter did not die in a kar accident!"
"What's a kar? Is that a muggle contraption?" Arthur asked the woman excitedly, but she just hit his shoulder and shushed him.
"Your parents," Sirius continued, "died protecting you from Lord Voldemort, a very evil wizard." Harry noticed everyone shudder at the mention of the name, only Sirius and Severus not flinching.
"My aunt and uncle told me they died in a car accident, and that's how I got this scar." Harry felt very odd, his world, his entire past suddenly at odds with what was happening. He wondered momentarily whether he'd gone mad, but decided this was all too strange to be madness.
"Well, we didn't know you weren't taught your history," Sirius said, looking at the others. "We knew there was some animosity between your mum and her sister, but…" His voice trailed off, and he looked lost. "Harry, I know this is difficult, but you have to understand, you're the only one who has ever beaten him."
"Me? How did I beat him? I've never even met him!"
"When you were just a baby, you killed him. No one knows how, but Dumbledore had some theories."
"Dumbledore?"
"He was a very great wizard," Sirius said, a note of sadness in his voice.
"This is pointless," Severus said. "He's just a rat; he can't even transfigure a quill, let alone defeat the Dark Lord!"
"Oh shut up, Snivellus!" Sirius turned dark, his stick aimed at Severus and just as quickly met in kind. Moments later, both their sticks were flung out of their hands and ropes bound them to their sides.
"Enough you two," the woman said, turning a bright smile towards Harry. "Now Harry, you must be starving, and tired, and overwhelmed. These men don't know how to mother a boy, obviously, so let's save the rest for later and get some of this food into you." Harry only nodded, his stomach growling in anticipation and his head hurting from all the new information it was gathering. "I'm Molly," she said, pushing him into a chair and pointing her stick at the plates holding all the food, which suddenly floated quickly to the table in front of him.
Without preamble, Harry grabbed up a fork and began shovelling the food in. Hardly taking the time to chew, he ate nearly half the lamb before the steak could even find its way.
"He's just a boy, Sirius," Molly worried.
"Maybe, but he needs to know everything. We can't treat him like a child in times like these. Your sons already know more than they would have done in Hogwarts. Harry needs to catch up and surpass them!"
Harry sat in the library listening at the door, the voices carrying up from the kitchen and through its open door. After a bit, he grew tired of eavesdropping and made his way over to the shelves, noting curious titles.
A Wizard's Guide to Killing Muggles, Ten Thousand Ways to Eat a Muggle, and Poisonous Pests and How to Tame Them a few he noticed.
Shaking his head, Harry sat in a chair and wondered how a typical day of pick-pocketing could turn into this. Before today, everything strange that had happened to him just seemed normal; never being caught unless he wanted to, always finding what he needed, avoiding being cut in a fight, slipping away from johns out to hurt him. Now he thought maybe it was all magical somehow. He'd always imagined magic like in the movies, all pretty silver wands and beautiful witches with pink dresses, or green mole-faced ones in black. Instead, it appeared to be far more like real life than he'd ever imagined.
Disappointed, he started to think of his aunt and uncle, wondering whether the bombing had indeed been more than just an accident with the cooker. Harry's thoughts were turning to schoolyard teasing by his cousin as he faded into sleep, suddenly interrupted by a loud crack.
Turning quickly toward the sound, Harry was surprised to see two older boys with ginger hair, obviously twins, staring at him.
"Do you think it's really him, George?"
"I don't know, Fred. Maybe we could give him a few warts and see if he does anything to stop us."
"Smashing idea, George. Let's get on with it!"
Harry, suddenly worried, turned to scream when suddenly his mouth was clamped shut and he couldn't work his jaw.
"None of that, now," the one called George said as Fred aimed his wand at Harry's face, halfway into saying what Harry took to be a curse when the door was flung open and Molly's bulk appeared. Red-faced and looking about as dangerous as a mother lion, she made to raise her wand to the boys when they both looked terrified and disappeared with a pop.
"BOYS! I'LL HAVE YOUR HIDES FOR THIS!" She screamed upward, toward what Harry took to be their room. Turning a warm expression to him, she said, "Sorry about that, dear. They're a bit mischievous, those two. I swear they'll be the death of me one day." She moved toward him, bringing with her a tray of what looked like sugar cookies and a pitcher of milk. "They'll be seventeen soon as well, which means they'll be out of my control. Not that they ever were, mind," she added with an exasperated smile.
"Ms. Molly?"
"Just Molly, dear."
"Erm, Molly, what happened to the man that killed my parents?"
She startled, then resigned to the fact and sat opposite him. "That's a long story, dear." Her wand appeared, and soon after a tea set which began to make a cup for her. Picking it up and sipping, giving a contented smile, she sat back and grimaced. Harry didn't touch the cookies, his stomach still full with lamb and steak and bangers and mash. Food, for the first time in all his memory, was something he could do without.
"I suppose it all starts with V-Vol… You Know Who." She gave him a sad look. "We fought, all of us, with your parents and Dumbledore. He was such a brilliant wizard, him. Unfortunately, after your parents died and you were sent off, things didn't go to plan. You see, we thought you'd killed him and it was done, but years later a man called Lucius Malfoy helped bring him back. It was a book, a diary he'd left as a boy. Lucius sacrificed his only son to bring the Dark Lord to life, and it worked.
"Dumbledore thought it was something to do with horcruxes, but no one knows. It wasn't long before You Know Who rose to power again. He set the Dementers on muggles—non-magic folk—before we even realized he'd come back. We tried to fight, but he was back at full glory, at his prime, still young and full of fury, and we were no match for him and his Death Eaters. He was determined to end you, but no one but Dumbledore knew where you were—except Peter Pettigrew."
She sipped her tea and looked into the past for a few minutes before continuing.
"He had been hiding out as my son's pet rat, so we couldn't have known. After his master came back, he took all his secrets right to the source. Of course, that was when we knew it wasn't Sirius that gave up your parents in the first place, so we had him released from Azkaban. We were going to come and get you, but then Dumbledore was killed, and we were all in shock." She wiped at a tear and looked at Harry. "He was great man, Harry. You'd have liked him."
"Is that when he blew up my aunt and uncles house?" Harry didn't understand half of what she'd said, names of people he didn't know, things he didn't understand, but the idea was there. Harry's family died because his parents' murderer came back to life. He silently questioned his sanity again.
"Yes," she said sadly. "Within an hour after Dumbledore's death, he was at your Aunt and Uncle's house. We all thought you'd died as well."
"Aunt Petunia made me go out for eggs. The milkman forgot to leave them, and she needed them for a cake for Uncle Vernon's boss." He shook his head. "I was glad." He looked up at her, afraid she would judge him for the hatred he felt. "They were very cruel."
Molly nodded, sympathy in her eyes. Harry felt a little better, her eyes not judging him or his pain. "Dumbledore said they weren't too happy to have you, or too comfortable with magic, but we didn't think they were mistreating you."
"They never hit me or anything, only Dudley did that." He sighed. "It was just obvious they hated me. It sucked."
She smiled at him, then began to cry.
"I'm sorry," he said, not even knowing what he was apologizing for. He just didn't like seeing her cry.
"Oh hush," she sniffled. "I'm just being a silly old girl. I have another son your age, and I just picture him in your place; living on the streets. Oh you poor thing!" And then, so quickly Harry thought she'd used magic again, she was on him, cradling him and crying full on. Harry didn't know what to do, so he just sat there and let her soak his hair with tears.
"Erm, I'm getting wet," he said softly.
"Oh dear, I'm sorry," she sniffled and pulled away. "I just get emotional, you know… Mothers…" She looked at him and got another sad expression. He was worried she would attack him again, but instead she just sniffed and made for the door.
"You'll be sharing with Ron, my other son. There's not a lot of room. Follow me, dear."
Harry was caught off-guard by the sudden change, but felt tired and was glad to know a warm bed was calling. His 'home', in an abandoned building, was unheated and had no furniture. Needless to say, sleeping on the floor in a ratty roll-up was even worse than a cupboard under the stairs.
He followed Molly up the stairs, looking at the portraits on the wall and staring curiously at what looked like stuffed goblin heads on the wall before arriving at a door. She opened it onto a room with two single beds, one of which had a gangly ginger-haired boy around Harry's age sitting on it. The boy looked up nervously, jumping up and looking around to see everything was okay.
Harry looked at him curious, and the boy blushed and looked at his feet.
"Ron, this is Harry," Molly said warmly. "I'm sure you'll help him settle in." She turned to Harry, hugged him and wordlessly moved off, shutting the door after her.
Harry sat down on the unoccupied bed and stared at the door, unable to speak to this young boy next to him. Uncomfortably, Harry knew the kid was staring at him, and having never really been noticed before, he was suddenly realizing this attention was overwhelming.
"Could you please stop staring at me?" he asked without turning his head. He could see the boy look away embarrassed and he began to relax slightly.
His whole life, Harry had been nothing to no one, and now suddenly, these people all thought he was going to save their lives. How could he? He had no idea how magic worked, let alone how to fight an extremely powerful dark wizard.
"D-do you want to, erm, read my Prophet?"
Harry turned, noticing the boy was still avoiding his gaze after the reprimand. Suddenly feeling slightly guilty, Harry donned a grin and nodded. The boy smiled nervously and looked into Harry's eyes.
"Sorry about before, but, you know, this is fucking weird." Harry got up and extended his hand. "Harry Potter."
"Ron Weasley," he replied, taking Harry's hand and shaking it enthusiastically.
"So what's this, then?" Harry took the proffered newspaper and looked at the front page, startled to see the images moving on the page. "The pictures move!"
"'Course they do," Ron said, giving Harry a sympathetic look, as if he'd never seen a picture in his life.
"They don't normally," Harry said bitingly, feeling annoyed at being looked down on. "At least not where I come from," he added.
"Really? That's creepy!" Ron shuddered as if it were the most disturbing thing he'd heard in his life. "I can't imagine looking at someone just… sitting there. I mean, it'd be unnatural!"
"I guess," Harry said distractedly, reading a few of the headlines; Death Eaters march on Ministry, Rufus Scrimgeour New Minister for Magic, Ministry Closed to Public. Harry took a moment to read the first few lines of the last, curious. 'In the wake of the recent attack on the Ministry of Magic, Ministry officials have declared the MoM closed to the public and made the location, newly appointed, unplottable. Despite public outcry, officials claimed fear of You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters cause for the decision, refusing to open the vote to the public. One local wizard, who requested anonymity, had this to say; "I for one think it's a travesty! How can I report my neighbour when he hexes my pumpkins? Hecabus Harold the third, my neighbour, is…"'
"What's 'unplottable'?" he asked Ron.
"Oh, it's when a place is spelled to be invisible and unplottable on a magical map, and against magic spells. This house is unplottable as well." Ron bit into something that resembled a toffee, chewing loudly as he spoke. "It's pretty heavy magic, and only a few wizards are powerful enough to do it." He nodded to himself, very serious. "The only reason this house is unplottable is because Sirius' grandfather was a nutter. Good for us, though, isn't it?"
Harry nodded, handing back the paper and dropping it. A few of the inner pages separated, and Harry picked them up to put it back together, noticing one picture out of the rest. "Those people are flying!"
"'Course they are! It's Quidditch!" Ron seemed to get even more excited as he sat down next to Harry, opening up the Sports section of the Prophet and showing it to Harry. "The Wimbourne Wasps just played the Holyhead Harpies! It was a great game!" Ron showed Harry the picture and he watched in fascination as the players flew around so quickly he could barely keep up, one of them seemingly scoring a goal by shooting a ball through a large vertical hoop. Harry knew right then that he wanted to give this flying thing a try, even if the idea of flying around on a broom seemed a bit silly.
The door opened and Mrs. Weasley's head came around it. "Time for bed, boys. We have a lot to do tomorrow!" She looked at Ron and added, "I hope you've done your homework, young man." She gave the Prophet a glare and closed the door.
"'Course I haven't. I hate homework," Ron said with a note of frustration. "School was closed, but she makes me do it anyway. I can't believe it."
"The school was closed?"
"Yeah, when Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were murdered. Mum says it was because Cornelius Fudge has the spine of an Agean anaspore, but I think it was just because everyone pulled out their kids. It was pretty scary," he added, chewing on his toffee.
Harry wondered if he'd ever understand anything these people said. It almost sounded like another language, and he worried again how they expected him to fight someone as powerful as this Voldemort when he didn't even know what an Agean anaspore was.
He laid back in his bed and found he was more tired than he realized, falling asleep rather quickly. His thoughts quickly lightened and he dreamt of soaring through the air on his very own broom, scoring the winning goal against the Harpies.