This story will be told through multiple POV chapters. At the start of each chapter we will jump to a new POV character, it is my hope that through this method the story will be told with more dimension, as it is told through the eyes and inner thoughts of many people each with their own unique perspective. The number of POV characters has not yet been finalised and there may be more added as we go along. Please keep in mind that the chapters are not necessarily in chronological order and that the timeline may jump around a bit, often with chapters overlapping each other. There will be many canon situations in this story and many places where it will diverge from canon altogether. It will mostly be book canon but I have taken a few things from the films. Such as the manner of dress, as I find myself unable to picture many of the characters in plain robes most of the time. I just can't picture the baddies like Lucius Malfoy or Severus Snape spending their days in something that is so much like a dress, I just can't make it work in my mind. So the way the characters dress will be much like films, including the school uniforms.
I realise that many of you may be wondering about that parings in this story, as I often am when I begin reading. Some of them I have already decided, some I have not because I would like to see where the story flows without having to force it in one direction or another because I have a specific paring in mind. Some with be canon some will not. I will say however, that there will be no slash parings in this story for several reasons. First and foremost being that J.K. Rowling has never given any indication that any of the characters, with the exception of Dumbledore, are homosexual. I believe that changing a characters sexual orientation is much like changing their race, it is how they are born and is a large part of who they are, if a character is White, Black, Asian, Indian, multiracial, LGBT, or hetero, that is who they are and that is something that I will not change. Secondly I just don't think I could write any slash if I tried. That's not to day that I haven't read any slash parings that I've enjoyed, I am simply saying that I won't write it. I would also like to say that this story will completely disregard the epilogue, which I was not happy with to say the least. There are no OC's in this story, but you will find at least one character taken from Pottermore. Although not mentioned directly in the books I think that most of us take Pottermore as an extension of canon, which is nice because its given us in the fanfiction world a bit more to play around with. All of that being said on to the disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters mentioned in the following story. All rights belong to J.K Rowling, Warner Brothers, and Bloomsbury publishing and its subsidiaries. I make absolutely no profit from this writing.
Harry
Privet Drive
Little Whinging, Surrey
It was a very hot day, and not in the beautiful sunny summer day type of way, more like national news, record breaking temperatures type of hot. The stifling temperatures had dragged on for days, robbing everyone of their energy and sending most people in the Southeast of England indoors, where they could laze about and enjoy a break from the relentless heat. This was true for almost all of the residents of Privet only person still outdoors was a teenage boy who was lying flat on his back in a flower bed beneath the open window of Number 4.
Number 4 Privet Drive was an unremarkable house in a neighbourhood full of identical unremarkable houses. It was a neighbourhood full of dreary unexceptional people, whose biggest goals in life were to have the greenest lawn, the newest car, or the most gifted children. A perfectly normal neighbourhood, with perfectly normal houses, perfectly manicured lawns, perfectly boring people, and Number 4 was home to the perfectly dreadful Dursley family. In fact, there was only one thing, or rather, one person on perfectly normal Privet Drive, that wasn't normal at all, and he was currently lying in a flower bed.
He was a skinny, black-haired boy who wore glasses with round silver frames. He had a haggard, slightly pinched look about him, but that was probably due to the fact that he'd grown several inches in very short amount of time. His black hair stuck out in all directions and simply refused to be tamed, he'd inherited that from his father, and his eyes, a rare shade of sparkling emerald green, those had come from his mother. His denims were torn and more than a little dirty, his T-shirt was at least three sizes too big and faded, and the soles of his trainers were starting to peel away. Harry Potter's appearance did not endear him to the perfectly normal residents of perfectly awful Privet Drive. They were the sort of people who thought that scruffiness ought to be a punishable crime. Of course the fact that everyone in the neighbourhood had been warned to stay away from "that Potter boy" who, they'd been told, was a hardened hoodlum that attended St. Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys, didn't help endear him either. That was of course, a spectacular lie, but Harry's relatives, the perfectly dreadful Dursley's, thought it much better than telling the truth because the truth was anything but normal. He was neither a hoodlum nor a criminal, and he did not attend any place called St. Brutus's. Harry Potter was a wizard and every year from September through June he attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and that was definitely not something the Dursley's would tell anyone on Privet Drive. So lying hidden from passersby behind a large hydrangea bush, fifteen year old Harry Potter was anything but normal, and he was just fine with that, thank-you-very-much.
Harry was not happy, in fact it was quite the opposite, he was actually rather livid. It was now the 2nd of August and he'd been stuck with his relatives, the Dursley's, for over a month. His aunt and uncle Petunia and Vernon Dursley, were not particularly pleasant people, and they were anything but pleased about the fact that Harry was still there. The Dursley's residence, number four Privet Drive, in Little Whinging Surrey, was the place that he called home during the summer holiday, though home was a term that Harry used loosely when he thought about number 4. Home in Harry's mind, his real home, was Hogwarts. Hogwarts was a truly wondrous place, an enchanted castle full of other magical children, talking portraits, moving staircases and classes on magical subject, ghosts, elves, and even a pesky poltergeist. Hogwarts and the magical world in general, was also the very first place where he ever felt like he truly belonged. Oh, how he wished that he lived in the magical world full time like his best friend Ron Weasley. Unfortunately Harry lived here on perfectly non-magical Privet Drive, with the perfectly muggle Dursley's, who hated him and all things that had anything to do with magic. His exile to the muggle world was just one of the reasons for Harry's anger, he had many, and the list got longer with every passing day. It was partly his anger, and part desperation, that brought him to the flower bed on that hot summer evening.
Overall Harry was quite pleased with himself; he thought his idea of hiding in the flower bed was a rather clever one. Sure it was not the most comfortable place lying on the hard packed earth. He had sweat running into his eyes from the heat, there was a rather pointy rock jabbing into the centre of his back, and he was pretty sure that some sort of bug had just crawled under his trousers and was now making its way up his leg. There was nothing to do about it now though; he'd just heard his aunt and uncle make their way into the lounge. He'd just have to deal with the sweat stinging his eyes try and ignore the pointy rock, and hope that whatever kind of bug was crawling on his leg was not any sort that would bite or sting. The last thing that Harry needed was for them to catch him like this, that would lead to a confrontation that he'd really rather not have.
There would be no need for any of this his aunt and uncle, the perfectly repulsive Dursley's, would just let him sit in the house and watch the news. No need to lay in a flower bed hidden behind hydrangea bushes. No need to deal with sweat in his eyes or, pointy back jabbing rocks, and he definitely wouldn't need to deal with trouser invading bugs! On the other hand at least out here he could listed to the news in peace, no one grinding their teeth, mumbling under their breath, shooting him suspicious glares, or asking him nasty questions. Apparently wanting to watch the news warranted suspicion, but then again the Dursley's were suspicious of Harry no matter what he did.
As if on cue his Uncle Vernon suddenly spoke. "Seems like the boy's finally got the point… Where is he anyway?"
"I don't know, not in the house. I haven't seen him in hours." His Aunt Petunia answered. "Watching the news…" Petunia said like it was the worst thing in the world a person could do.
"I'd like to know what he's really playing at. No normal boy his age cares what's on the news – Dudley doesn't care what's going on, I don't think he even knows who the Prime Minister is!" Vernon said and Harry had to hold back a snort, like having an ignoramus for a fifteen year old son was something to be proud of, he thought.
"Besides it's not like anyone in his lot is going to be on our news…"
"Vernon!" Petunia snapped. "Quiet! The window's open."
"Oh – right – Sorry dear…."
His aunt and uncle fell silent. Harry was listening to an advert for Tesco when he noticed Mrs Figg, the batty old cat lady who lived over on Wisteria Walk, walking slowly past, and muttering to herself with her brows creased. Another reason to congratulate himself on his crafty hiding spot, Mrs Figg kept asking him to come by for tea and Harry wasn't particularly keen on joining her. Thankfully he remained completely hidden from anyone walking by. She had just rounded the corner when his uncle Vernon's voice came floating out the window again.
"Where's Dudders?"
"Out for tea, at the Polkisses'," Petunia gushed. "He's so popular, our Diddykins, he's got so many friends…" Harry rolled his eyes and tuned the rest of this conversation out. There was no way he was going to listen to the Dursley's going on and on about how wonderful Dudley was, again. If he didn't know any better, it would be hard to believe just how stupid his aunt and uncle were about their son. Harry knew full well that Dudley wasn't taking tea anywhere. No, Dudley was not having tea; he and his gang of simple minded miscreants spent every night occupying themselves in ways generally befitting the behaviour of proper juvenile delinquents. They spent their evenings smoking on the street corner, vandalising the play park, and beating up on small children.
The opening jingle of that signalled the start of the seven o'clock news reached his ears and he tensed turning his head slightly so that his right ear was tilted towards the window. Maybe tonight he would hear something – after over a month of waiting, maybe tonight he would finally…. Right – well maybe not. The very first story was about stranded holidaymakers, some sort of baggage- handlers strike. Well, that was somewhat anticlimactic. Surely if anything had happened it would be the top story on the news; things like massive scale destruction, deaths or mysterious disappearances were much bigger stories than that, no matter how many holidaymakers were stranded. Maybe it shouldn't, but this just added to Harry's frustration.
Every day this summer it was the same thing, over and over, he'd worry all day; fret and stress about what was going on until he was so tense he thought he'd snap. Then nothing, just nothing; he'd let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding, then it would all the tension would come rushing back. It was both extremely relieving and extremely worrisome every night, after the news, when he realised that, yet again, nothing had happened. The biggest question that plagued his mind again and again, was why – why hadn't he heard anything? Why did it seem like nothing was going on? And most importantly why hadn't Voldemort done anything? Not that Harry really wanted him to go out and cause death and destruction, but the fact that Voldemort had been back for over a month and hadn't done a thing, gave Harry a very heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.
As the news continued on to a helicopter crash and the record breaking heat and drought Harry decided it was time to move on. He was uncomfortable, sweaty, and that bloody bug was still crawling all over his leg. There was no use sticking around if there wasn't anything to hear, and the longer he stayed the more he risked getting caught. Slowly he rolled over on to his belly and began to crawl towards the end of the house, once he reached the end he crawled round the corner before standing up, making sure to step on several of his aunt Petunia's flowers for good measure. Harry brushed most of the dirt off of his clothes and gave his leg several good shakes until he saw the spider fall out of his trousers onto the top of his trainer. He watched it crawl away with a grunt, turns out it was the sort of bug to bite. Without the distraction of the television an anxious feeling slammed its way back into the pit of Harry's stomach and his thoughts were spinning in the uneasy way he'd become familiar with over the last month. He stood there for a moment and decided that he wasn't ready to go back inside Number 4. If he went inside the house he was likely to snap at the first rude or stupid thing his Uncle said, and because almost everything Vernon Dursley said to Harry was rude or stupid, going inside would not lead to anything good.
He briefly thought about where to go before he made his way through the yard and turned left. Harry was about a block away from Number 4 when a loud crack rang through the air. He jumped slightly and spun around, his heart hammering in his chest and his eyes darting up and down Privet Drive. He didn't see anything unusual and he was thinking that maybe no one else heard the noise when he saw his uncle Vernon's portly head come shooting out the window of number 4. Harry watched as his uncle gazed franticly up and down the street, apparently he'd heard the noise too. When Vernon's gaze returned to where he was standing once, twice and then three times, Harry turned on his heel and quickly trudged off down the street before his Uncle could find a way to blame him for the loud crack. It was after all, an unusual noise, and in Vernon Dursley's mind, any unusual occurrence on Privet Drive was always, somehow, Harry Potter's fault. The last thought that crossed his mind as he turned the corner off of Privet Drive was how glad he was that he'd moved out of the flower bed when he had. Two minutes longer and his uncle would have caught him hiding under the window, and that, most certainly, would not have ended well at all.