Thousands of robed figures danced in the green firelight. Muggles
and wizards alike were dragged into the center of the Death Eater ring. A
platform of skulls rose ten feet into the fatal vapors within the circle of
brilliant fire surrounding it, casting grisly shadows along the rows of
vacant eye sockets and eerily gaping jaws. Steps of rot-colored mist
floated up to the top of the pile from the pyre and met with the flowing
black robes of the Death Eaters evil king. The green smoke illuminated his
fiendish grin, glinting from the sharp fangs that served as teeth, tickling
his snakelike slits of nostrils and shimmering in his dilated, bottomless
red eyes. The crowd sang in an unholy chorus as another innocent victim of
their evil master's curses disappeared in a jet of green fire, flashing
into the night. The ground showed to be a graveyard in the explosion, and
only one gravestone still stood. It acted as a centurion before a gaping
black hole: an empty grave. Voldemort rose from his ebon throne and
floated down the mist steps; the crowd split before him in reverent terror.
He approached the grave and raised his wand at the headstone. More deep
green fire issued from his black wand. It shone full on the cemetery rock-
this too seemed to cower before the tall, gaunt figure of evil before it-
and settled on its surface, forming strange, singing letters that danced
and flickered. Voldemort read his handiwork to his followers' delight:
"Harry Potter!"
Harry jumped up, launching a copy of Hogwarts: A History, which Hermione had finally persuaded him to read after six years, at Hedwig's cage at the foot of his wretched little bed. The snow owl gave an indignant hoot when she first opened her eyes, but when she turned to see her sixteen year old master with a look of utter fright on his face, she became concerned.
Harry Potter, who had outgrown the bed the Dursleys had given him years ago, got to his feet to avoid further discomfort from lying there any longer. "Voldemort?" he whispered to himself. "Has he returned?"
Then he thought for a moment. Of course Voldemort was back; he'd returned from his state of wretched, disembodied powerlessness two years ago...The Triwizard Tournament...Mad-eye Moody; actually, an imposter...the three unforgivable curses...
He sighed and headed for his desk. He was still weak from his dream, and his scar ached, a zigzag thunderbolt of pain on his forehead. The last time his scar had ached...Voldemort. It always came back to Voldemort. Ron, whose father had become a very prominent person at the Ministry of Magic since Voldemort's return, had sent him an urgent owl-carried message the day before. Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard and headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had succeeded in his campaign for Minister of Magic. Every vote had gone to him; it was the greatest victory for a political office ever, except for Merlin's (he had even had Muggle votes) Of course, after the incompetent Cornelius Fudge, who had flatly refused to believe that Voldemort had come back, the Wizarding community was willing to have an honest, wise Minister. Unfortunately, if Dumbledore was going to be running the entire Ministry of Magic, he couldn't very well remain headmaster at Hogwarts, could he? Ron's letter explained that Dumbledore had left someone in charge that everyone would agree to, but he hadn't told anyone who it was. Harry trusted Dumbledore, though, and he preferred the great wizard to be leading the fight against Dumbledore from an influential position where he had authority over all the available resources, even if Harry's enjoyment of his sixth year looked less promising. He tried to assure himself that Dumbledore, who had never been wrong about...well, anything before, was sure to pick the perfect successor, but Harry doubted whether anyone as capable, as fatherly, or as funny even existed. But school started in a few weeks, so he had plenty of time to keep it out of his mind.
One after another, thoughts crept into his head, and he remembered all of the recent events. First and most importantly, Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had been cleared of the false charges against him. His property and money, which the Ministry had seized after his arrest years ago, were restored to him, and...Today! Yes, that was what Harry had forgotten; that was what he'd been thinking of ever since the Ministry, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius had sent their owls to him: Harry was going to move out of his odious Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's home, was going to abandon his life of hand-me-downs and shoddy treatment, was on his way to a life without abuse and maltreatment; he was off to live with his godfather! Harry would finally be a part of the wizarding community that he loved; he would never have to leave the world of magic to return to a wretched life as a slave to his wicked relatives. From now on, there would be no more Dursleys. No more-
"Get up, boy," the piggy voice of Uncle Vernon commanded, followed by a vicious knock on the door. "Don't want to be late. It's nearly five o'clock. That fellow'll be here soon, and I don't want one dreadful foot of his past my door! Get up!" With that, the heavy tread moved down the hall to Dudley's room where Uncle Vernon cooed softly and lovingly to wake his fat son from his snoring slumber.
Harry rose from the chair awkwardly. He must have fallen asleep in the chair after he'd woken up in the night...
In a sudden flood, every horror of the dream came back to Harry. Voldemort. He sighed. With every blessing, he had to expect some complication: there's always a catch, after all. Living among wizards and becoming part of the magical world permanently also meant the threat of Voldemort. The great world he loved was vulnerable to that evil. But, he thought, I'd rather have moments of fear and troubles of my own than spend another minute in this hell. At least I'd have something to do, he thought and chuckled.
Bathed, dressed, and carrying everything Harry cared for (all of his wizard possessions, and only the clothes he had gotten at Hogsmeade, as presents, or from Mrs. Weasley) which all fit into his large school trunk. It was terribly heavy, despite Harry's few possessions, and he wished he could use a simple levitation spell, but magic is forbidden in the Muggle world. Besides, he had already packed his wand.
Uncle Vernon strode out of the house with a giddy smile on his large face. He was elated that Harry was leaving. Harry heard him muttering, "Gone forever, gone forever," under his breath.
"Why are you waiting out here?" Vernon asked suspiciously. Every time one of Harry's friends had visited him or picked him up, they had used an "unusual" method of transportation, such as broomstick flying or Floo powder. They had never come by car or bus to pick him up at the roadside, so Harry could understand his uncle's confusion.
Harry was about to say, "The letter said to wait outside," but that would never convince Uncle Vernon, who hated and mistrusted Harry's "abnormal" friends. "He's got a Mug...he's got a car," Harry explained untruthfully. Actually, he was just as confused.
Vernon Dursley looked at Harry out of the corner of his eyes with apprehension, and then he abruptly left Harry and marched back up the steps where his wife and son were waiting with huge smiles. He called back, "Goodbye, Potter," and closed the door behind him and his family with a bang. That was the end of the Dursleys.
Harry opened the trunk and rummaged in it for a minute to find the letter from his godfather. When he found it, he opened it to reassure himself about the time, but he was soon rereading the whole thing, and a smile broke out on his face.
Dear Harry,
I can't tell you how happy I am, Harry. The trial just finished, and I had to write. I'm free, Harry. With your evidence and Dumbledore's help, I was retried and found innocent. What's more, I got a formal apology and legal rights as your guardian. You're going to live with me, my boy. I'll finally be able to protect you from your side. I was also given a wonderful new job, and I've got all my friends back. Of course, most of them are, well, still a little uncertain. I know it will take them awhile before they can trust me again, and I don't blame them: those were dark times, Harry. There are dark times ahead, too, Harry, and that's why it's especially important that you stay out of trouble.
Dumbledore's a shoe-in for Minister of Magic. Fudge has lost all his support; in fact, he's in quite a pinch about not having told the Ministry about You-know-who's return. Too bad Azkaban's been abolished. It would have been justice for Fudge to serve a sentence at that blasted dungeon. Oh, well; can't have everything, can we?
I'm not wasting more than a day to fetch you, Harry. Won't allow it. I'll be over this coming Saturday to get you out of that dreadful house. Wait outside by the weird black road.
Sincerely,
Sirius
P.S. Tell Ron and Hermione to prepare for a visit from a free man!
Harry had followed the postscript instruction to a tee; he'd sent Hedwig to Ron's immediately after receiving the news. He told Ron to fetch Hermione. Harry knew that Hermione usually stayed at the Weasley's in the weeks leading up to school, and this was definitely an occasion to get her out of her Muggle household a little early. This was cause for celebration. Even in this era of tension, the magic world held moments of happiness.
As he was putting the letter back, Harry heard a sudden noise from inside the house. Aunt Petunia was screaming...no, that was Dudley! Uncle Vernon's voice rose above the screaming, and Harry could barely distinguish a crescendoed, "Not again!" The unmistakable sounds of chaos that always followed the arrival of a wizard in the little suburban home on Privet Drive met Harry's ears. He left his trunk and rushed to the house.
He threw open the door and found an all too common site. Uncle Vernon was furious and blustering, an unconscious Aunt Petunia in his arms. Dudley was crying and screaming in a fit in the corner. Mrs. Weasley, her daughter Ginny, her son Ron, and their friend Hermione were standing in positions of the utmost sympathy and apology. Hermione was calmly trying to explain that Floo powder enables wizard folk to travel from fireplace to fireplace while Mrs. Weasley seemed content to apologize over and over again and ask where Harry might be.
When she saw Harry, she gave him a quick look. She mouthed the words, "Let's just go," and he nodded. He was about to hurry outside for his trunk, but he decided against it. He couldn't very well abandon poor Mrs. Weasley to cope with the abhorrent Dursleys, and the noise was too loud to say anything. He was hesitant to use a spell, but it seemed to be the only thing manageable. Having extracted his wand from his trunk (he was going to amuse himself by practicing the wrist movements used with wands while he waited for Sirius) when he took out the letter, he gripped it, flicked it, and said, "Accio luggage." A faint scrape was heard, and the trunk made its entrance. It flew into the hall from outside, bursting the door open and splintering the hinges. The Dursleys were too overcome with rage, fear, and a million sundry dreads to pay any mind to the injury of the door; they continued a steady flow of screaming, fainting cries, and livid exclamations.
Harry, lugging his trunk to the fireplace, was about to ask Mrs. Weasley where Sirius was, but she forestalled him. "I'll explain at the Burrow," she said and handed him some Floo powder. The Muggles went on and on with incessant wailing while the wizards, Harry then Ron and Hermione, followed by Ginny, disappeared through the orange blaze. Of course, it wasn't until the Weasleys had burst through the electric fire a few years back that flue travel had been possible in the Dursleys' home. As Harry exited in the blur of his surroundings, he realized that the Dursleys' had resealed the fireplace after that...plaster, paint, and chips of wood lay strewn about the floor of the living room on Privet Drive. And with a puff of fire and a final whirlwind of shapes and colors, equal to the resonant whoosh that accompanied his brief journey, Harry Potter landed in the kitchen of the Burrow, the Weasleys' home, and that was the last he ever did see of Vernon, Petunia, or Dudley Dursley.
Harry jumped up, launching a copy of Hogwarts: A History, which Hermione had finally persuaded him to read after six years, at Hedwig's cage at the foot of his wretched little bed. The snow owl gave an indignant hoot when she first opened her eyes, but when she turned to see her sixteen year old master with a look of utter fright on his face, she became concerned.
Harry Potter, who had outgrown the bed the Dursleys had given him years ago, got to his feet to avoid further discomfort from lying there any longer. "Voldemort?" he whispered to himself. "Has he returned?"
Then he thought for a moment. Of course Voldemort was back; he'd returned from his state of wretched, disembodied powerlessness two years ago...The Triwizard Tournament...Mad-eye Moody; actually, an imposter...the three unforgivable curses...
He sighed and headed for his desk. He was still weak from his dream, and his scar ached, a zigzag thunderbolt of pain on his forehead. The last time his scar had ached...Voldemort. It always came back to Voldemort. Ron, whose father had become a very prominent person at the Ministry of Magic since Voldemort's return, had sent him an urgent owl-carried message the day before. Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard and headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had succeeded in his campaign for Minister of Magic. Every vote had gone to him; it was the greatest victory for a political office ever, except for Merlin's (he had even had Muggle votes) Of course, after the incompetent Cornelius Fudge, who had flatly refused to believe that Voldemort had come back, the Wizarding community was willing to have an honest, wise Minister. Unfortunately, if Dumbledore was going to be running the entire Ministry of Magic, he couldn't very well remain headmaster at Hogwarts, could he? Ron's letter explained that Dumbledore had left someone in charge that everyone would agree to, but he hadn't told anyone who it was. Harry trusted Dumbledore, though, and he preferred the great wizard to be leading the fight against Dumbledore from an influential position where he had authority over all the available resources, even if Harry's enjoyment of his sixth year looked less promising. He tried to assure himself that Dumbledore, who had never been wrong about...well, anything before, was sure to pick the perfect successor, but Harry doubted whether anyone as capable, as fatherly, or as funny even existed. But school started in a few weeks, so he had plenty of time to keep it out of his mind.
One after another, thoughts crept into his head, and he remembered all of the recent events. First and most importantly, Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had been cleared of the false charges against him. His property and money, which the Ministry had seized after his arrest years ago, were restored to him, and...Today! Yes, that was what Harry had forgotten; that was what he'd been thinking of ever since the Ministry, Ron, Hermione, Hagrid, and Sirius had sent their owls to him: Harry was going to move out of his odious Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's home, was going to abandon his life of hand-me-downs and shoddy treatment, was on his way to a life without abuse and maltreatment; he was off to live with his godfather! Harry would finally be a part of the wizarding community that he loved; he would never have to leave the world of magic to return to a wretched life as a slave to his wicked relatives. From now on, there would be no more Dursleys. No more-
"Get up, boy," the piggy voice of Uncle Vernon commanded, followed by a vicious knock on the door. "Don't want to be late. It's nearly five o'clock. That fellow'll be here soon, and I don't want one dreadful foot of his past my door! Get up!" With that, the heavy tread moved down the hall to Dudley's room where Uncle Vernon cooed softly and lovingly to wake his fat son from his snoring slumber.
Harry rose from the chair awkwardly. He must have fallen asleep in the chair after he'd woken up in the night...
In a sudden flood, every horror of the dream came back to Harry. Voldemort. He sighed. With every blessing, he had to expect some complication: there's always a catch, after all. Living among wizards and becoming part of the magical world permanently also meant the threat of Voldemort. The great world he loved was vulnerable to that evil. But, he thought, I'd rather have moments of fear and troubles of my own than spend another minute in this hell. At least I'd have something to do, he thought and chuckled.
Bathed, dressed, and carrying everything Harry cared for (all of his wizard possessions, and only the clothes he had gotten at Hogsmeade, as presents, or from Mrs. Weasley) which all fit into his large school trunk. It was terribly heavy, despite Harry's few possessions, and he wished he could use a simple levitation spell, but magic is forbidden in the Muggle world. Besides, he had already packed his wand.
Uncle Vernon strode out of the house with a giddy smile on his large face. He was elated that Harry was leaving. Harry heard him muttering, "Gone forever, gone forever," under his breath.
"Why are you waiting out here?" Vernon asked suspiciously. Every time one of Harry's friends had visited him or picked him up, they had used an "unusual" method of transportation, such as broomstick flying or Floo powder. They had never come by car or bus to pick him up at the roadside, so Harry could understand his uncle's confusion.
Harry was about to say, "The letter said to wait outside," but that would never convince Uncle Vernon, who hated and mistrusted Harry's "abnormal" friends. "He's got a Mug...he's got a car," Harry explained untruthfully. Actually, he was just as confused.
Vernon Dursley looked at Harry out of the corner of his eyes with apprehension, and then he abruptly left Harry and marched back up the steps where his wife and son were waiting with huge smiles. He called back, "Goodbye, Potter," and closed the door behind him and his family with a bang. That was the end of the Dursleys.
Harry opened the trunk and rummaged in it for a minute to find the letter from his godfather. When he found it, he opened it to reassure himself about the time, but he was soon rereading the whole thing, and a smile broke out on his face.
Dear Harry,
I can't tell you how happy I am, Harry. The trial just finished, and I had to write. I'm free, Harry. With your evidence and Dumbledore's help, I was retried and found innocent. What's more, I got a formal apology and legal rights as your guardian. You're going to live with me, my boy. I'll finally be able to protect you from your side. I was also given a wonderful new job, and I've got all my friends back. Of course, most of them are, well, still a little uncertain. I know it will take them awhile before they can trust me again, and I don't blame them: those were dark times, Harry. There are dark times ahead, too, Harry, and that's why it's especially important that you stay out of trouble.
Dumbledore's a shoe-in for Minister of Magic. Fudge has lost all his support; in fact, he's in quite a pinch about not having told the Ministry about You-know-who's return. Too bad Azkaban's been abolished. It would have been justice for Fudge to serve a sentence at that blasted dungeon. Oh, well; can't have everything, can we?
I'm not wasting more than a day to fetch you, Harry. Won't allow it. I'll be over this coming Saturday to get you out of that dreadful house. Wait outside by the weird black road.
Sincerely,
Sirius
P.S. Tell Ron and Hermione to prepare for a visit from a free man!
Harry had followed the postscript instruction to a tee; he'd sent Hedwig to Ron's immediately after receiving the news. He told Ron to fetch Hermione. Harry knew that Hermione usually stayed at the Weasley's in the weeks leading up to school, and this was definitely an occasion to get her out of her Muggle household a little early. This was cause for celebration. Even in this era of tension, the magic world held moments of happiness.
As he was putting the letter back, Harry heard a sudden noise from inside the house. Aunt Petunia was screaming...no, that was Dudley! Uncle Vernon's voice rose above the screaming, and Harry could barely distinguish a crescendoed, "Not again!" The unmistakable sounds of chaos that always followed the arrival of a wizard in the little suburban home on Privet Drive met Harry's ears. He left his trunk and rushed to the house.
He threw open the door and found an all too common site. Uncle Vernon was furious and blustering, an unconscious Aunt Petunia in his arms. Dudley was crying and screaming in a fit in the corner. Mrs. Weasley, her daughter Ginny, her son Ron, and their friend Hermione were standing in positions of the utmost sympathy and apology. Hermione was calmly trying to explain that Floo powder enables wizard folk to travel from fireplace to fireplace while Mrs. Weasley seemed content to apologize over and over again and ask where Harry might be.
When she saw Harry, she gave him a quick look. She mouthed the words, "Let's just go," and he nodded. He was about to hurry outside for his trunk, but he decided against it. He couldn't very well abandon poor Mrs. Weasley to cope with the abhorrent Dursleys, and the noise was too loud to say anything. He was hesitant to use a spell, but it seemed to be the only thing manageable. Having extracted his wand from his trunk (he was going to amuse himself by practicing the wrist movements used with wands while he waited for Sirius) when he took out the letter, he gripped it, flicked it, and said, "Accio luggage." A faint scrape was heard, and the trunk made its entrance. It flew into the hall from outside, bursting the door open and splintering the hinges. The Dursleys were too overcome with rage, fear, and a million sundry dreads to pay any mind to the injury of the door; they continued a steady flow of screaming, fainting cries, and livid exclamations.
Harry, lugging his trunk to the fireplace, was about to ask Mrs. Weasley where Sirius was, but she forestalled him. "I'll explain at the Burrow," she said and handed him some Floo powder. The Muggles went on and on with incessant wailing while the wizards, Harry then Ron and Hermione, followed by Ginny, disappeared through the orange blaze. Of course, it wasn't until the Weasleys had burst through the electric fire a few years back that flue travel had been possible in the Dursleys' home. As Harry exited in the blur of his surroundings, he realized that the Dursleys' had resealed the fireplace after that...plaster, paint, and chips of wood lay strewn about the floor of the living room on Privet Drive. And with a puff of fire and a final whirlwind of shapes and colors, equal to the resonant whoosh that accompanied his brief journey, Harry Potter landed in the kitchen of the Burrow, the Weasleys' home, and that was the last he ever did see of Vernon, Petunia, or Dudley Dursley.