Disclaimer: All characters and places belong to JK Rowling, WB and the various publishing houses. I do not own any intellectual property related to Harry Potter. I do not make any money from this piece of fanfiction.
Prologue – The Train Ride
The presence of the blank screen in front of him helped to sooth his chaotic mind. The world was spinning too fast, and his thoughts had become too frantic to be truly coherent. He stood in the middle of a crowded train carriage, trying to ignore the harsh intrusion into his personal space; the elbows jabbed into his sides and the back pressed against his own. He was staring at the yellowing walls of the carriage, breath coming in short, sharp bursts. How did people do this everyday? How did they live like this? Did they not feel the suffocating pressure all around them? Then again, these were the very people causing the pressure. Feelings of urgency, tension and an insatiable need to look busy rolled off them in waves. Suddenly self-aware, he huddled in on herself, unconsciously sniffing the air around him as if trying to sense if he was giving off those awful feelings. To him, it was a scent. A musty, dried out scent that was typical of the people's hurried, hassled, yet empty lifestyle.
Taking him by surprise, the carriage doors opened and people around him started to push and shove; they had somewhere to be and they had to be there now. Feeling frantic, he let himself be carried out with the crowd. A hurried glance at the station sign indicated that he was actually at his intended stop. Eyes down, and feet in a hurried pace of distress, he exited the station and followed the directions he held in his hand. Eyes nervously glancing left and right. Lips pressed thin and tight. Oh why did he ever agree to this? What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking at all?
A tingle of familiarity pricked his senses and he brought himself out of his reverie. The building was unfamiliar. Warm, brown stone and a welcoming-looking garden. The fence was high, but not unduly so. It was more for presentation rather than actual security. The house itself was modest in size, but comfortable and cozy, one would naturally guess from the façade. All this he had never seen before. But there was a feeling, a sparkle of something he had once held dear.
Blinking nervously, he stepped across the threshold and knocked on the door. He didn't hear anything on the other side. His hands immediately started to worry themselves in his pockets. Just as his courage failed him and he began to turn around and leave, the door was thrown open with a joyous cry of, "Harry!"