Chapter One

The Mysterious Letter

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

The Little Whinging Post Office was a small building, tucked neatly out of the way of the bigger, glossier supermarkets and department stores. It was not often visited by many except the local mailman, and as such the stranger who slipped into the post office on a late May evening went unnoticed to all but the one employee, Ernest Hathaway, who was currently working the night shift.

Ernest could not remember much about the stranger—his face, when he thought about it later, seemed vaguely out-of-focus in his mind's eye. The stranger—a man, judging by his build and voice—had asked to mail a letter to Mr. Vernon Dursley, 4 Privet Drive, Surrey. This was nothing new—of course, most people posted mail from their homes, but he might be from out of town. The man, oddly enough, seemed rather confused on some of the finer aspects of mailing a letter, and Ernest had to explain it to him, which seemed rather strange, but you never knew with these funny types. In fact, the most blatantly odd detail about the stranger was the small device that he slipped into the envelope—rather like a clear plastic ball, with a bright light flaring in the middle. Ernest was rather intrigued by this, but as he was not the nosy type, he kept his mouth shut and mailed the letter without complaint.

The stranger left with a sweep of his dark traveling coat, and Ernest resumed filing papers. He would think nothing of the incident until the following morning, when he would see the cover of the local newspaper.

AREA HOUSE EXPLODES

None injured; Police looking into gas leak

SURREY—A local house was destroyed yesterday by an explosion that left the house completely ravaged. The residents of the house— Mr. Vernon Dursley, Mrs. Petunia Dursley, and their son, Dudley—returned from brunch at a friend's house to find their house in ruins. The explosion, which harmed no other houses or people, was deemed enough to kill the Dursleys if they had remained in the house. Though the police are still investigating, Police Comissioner Elton Fitzgerald stated this morning that the case was "most likely a gas leak," and that it would be "patched up in no time." The Dursleys did not offer any comments on the case, aside from the statement that "It was perfectly ordinary, small incidents like this are absolutely normal." Police will continue to investigate the matter.

Harry Potter glanced up from the newspaper clipping placed on his desk, running a hand absently through his dark hair. It seemed an ordinary story—a gas leak, a small explosion—and yet…

"It wasn't a gas leak, was it," Harry said. He glanced up at Hermione, who was currently pacing across the room, fiddling with a brown curl.

"No, it wasn't," Hermione said. "It's unknown what exactly it is, or who targeted them. But an explosion in your relative's house, four years after the war…it's about as likely as an 'accidental' dementor. Except in this case, the target clearly wasn't you. Not directly, anyway,"

Harry looked back at Hermione, gauging the uncomfortable set of her shoulders, the way she avoided looking at him.

"DMLE wants something, don't they," Harry said.

"Unfortunately, yes," Hermione said. "This attack is just one of the latest in a string of attacks on Muggles, especially Muggles who had any connection at all with Dumbledore's Army and the Order. Whoever it is wants to cause nervousness, unease among the public, making them feel sorry for siding with Dumbledore during the war. Catch whoever's behind this…it could really help people, Harry. And of course, the Ministry wants it to be known that this is under investigation, so…"

"…They want me to do it," finished Harry. Hermione nodded and Harry pressed his hands to his temples, thinking. He had been expecting this from the moment he saw the newspaper clipping; it was a strategic move on the Ministry's part, to prevent any more people from regretting the decisions made in the second war. All the same, he felt rather uneasy about having to speak to his relatives again. But it would be worth it, wouldn't it, to solve the case? Wasn't that the reason he joined the Aurors anyway? Sighing, he spun around in his chair to face Hermione.

"Yeah, fine. I'll do it," he said. Hermione smiled (Harry had a sudden suspicion she knew this would happen from the start. It was Hermione, after all), but still looked distinctly uncomfortable.

"Well, there is one more thing…" Hermione said. "The Dursleys are at great risk of magical attack. Whoever is attacking them might strike again now he knows his target is involved in the case. To put it simply, Harry…they can't stay in the Muggle world anymore. Not until this case is closed."

"Where will they go, then?" Harry said. "They can't stay in the Muggle world, and they could hardly stay in the Leaky Cauldron…" He had a sudden, fleeting image of Uncle Vernon's face when he saw the Knight Bus.

"Well," Hermione said. "There is one place they could stay, where they wouldn't have to pass as wizards. Where they could still be secure."

"Where?"

"Grimmauld Place."

"You're kidding," said Harry.

"I'm not, I'm really not," Hermione said. "We really, really don't want to ask this from you, Harry, but there's no other option. Believe me, I hate the Dursleys just as much as you do. But—do you really want to endanger their lives, Harry?"

Harry's head spun and he gazed at a spot on the back wall, rubbing his eyes. To put up with the Dursleys…the people who had made his life a living hell for sixteen years…to have them in his house...to give them food, and shelter, when they had done nothing for him…

And yet for all their cruelty, for all their vile ways, the Dursleys had given him some measure of protection. They had given him sixteen years of a grudging place in their househould, a plate with food, although not enough. And besides, a little voice in his head sounded, how would you be any better than them, if you cast them out to get killed?

"Fine," he said. His voice sounded strange, distant. "The Dursleys can stay with me."

Hermione said nothing, only covered his hand with her own as she rose to leave. "I'll tell Sandra to send you the case files," she said as she opened the door. "Don't forget, Ron wants you to stop by the shop tomorrow." Harry mumbled a response as she left, sinking his head into his hands. Only one thought kept ringing around his brain.

This was going to be hell.

If you enjoyed/hated/have improvement for this story, please review! It makes my week.