One can't say this bold move wasn't a crazy idea, but, on the other hand... (shrug) Before Deathly Hallows actually comes out in less than two weeks and I (figuratively speaking, of course) get my paws on it, well... In the meantime, I'm going to research with what J. K. Rowling herself has said in interviews. Apparently there's a wizarding form of the Internet.

But, for now... (evil grin) The moment you've all been waiting for... I present to my version of Harry Potter Book 7!

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In all their twenty-seven years of living at Number Four, Privet Drive, the Dursleys had been perfectly normal people before that fateful gray Tuesday morning. On that day, almost sixteen years ago, strange things started to happen. Strange things that changed them once and forever. Strange things that, though little did they know it, would someday change the course of the history for ages to come.

Now, on this foggy morning in late June, history was about to repeat itself. Ever since that day, the Dursleys, though they had acted normal, weren't. They preferred to be normal, and considered themselves as such. But they knew they weren't, no matter how much they tried to stamp it out of him, tried to live the lives they used to live.

No, one couldn't exactly say that the Dursleys were normal when the only person on the entire planet who had survived the Killing Curse and destroyed the Dark Lord before he could even talk was sheltering under their roof.

It was a foggy evening that day, for sure, and the man of the household, Vernon Dursley, was about to leave. He was the director of a drilling firm called Grunnings, and a busy man such as himself had business to attend to at these late hours. He tried to seek out his wife and son, respectively Petunia and Dudley; quite a time had passed before he found them huddled behind the living room window. It was a window his nosy wife Petunia had often peered out, keen eyes catching sight of everything her neighbors did and said, and it gave a nice view of the front lawn. Not just the front lawn, but also the doorstep, the doorstep on which stood a stranger.

"Dear?" asked Mr. Dursley, setting his briefcase on the floor. "Dear, what's the matter?"

Wordlessly, Mrs. Dursley shook her head and pushed their son, Dudley, aside. Confused, but thinking he understood, Mr. Dursley gave a barely suppressed shout.

"It's the boy again, isn't it?" he grunted, abandoning his briefcase and appearing at the window between his wife and son. Dropping to his knees, he scanned the scene behind the glass as he felt them cluster around him. "I wondered what was happening to him. I was hoping he'd—"

But just what Mr. Dursley wanted to have happened to him, the others never found out. Instead, with a very loud gulping sound, he was answered by his son. "It's worse than that," Dudley said, piggy eyes searching through the glass as he wormed away from his parents and went to stand by the door, breaking out in shivering. "It's—" he gulped again—"just scary."

What Mr. Dursley saw would have scared him had he not happened to despise the person on the doorstep.

A tall teenage boy stood there, determined, not about to move from where he was anytime soon if his expression had anything to say of it. His brilliant green eyes, hidden behind round glasses and fringed by untidy black hair, glowed with both wisdom and pain, strength and sorrow. His arms were crossed, his expression was set, his jaw was clenched. He was clad in a sweeping black cloak with silver fastenings, from underneath which worn trainers poked. One hand was buried in a pocket, from which the tip of a holly stick was visible.

That it was a haunting sight indeed, to see their teenage nephew standing there with the light of determination in his eyes. It was in that instant that they finally realized that treating him as badly as they had for almost his entire life was going to have an effect on their lives, an effect much worse than anything they had ever imagined.

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"What do you want, boy?" grunted Mr. Dursley as Mrs. Dursley opened the door, looking weak, fragile, sick, as if she could be blown by the wind at any time. Mostly, though, like Dudley, she seemed afraid. "What do you want, boy? And why is your wand in your pocket like that? You're not allowed to do magic yet, according to that freak school of yours." Despite his affronted tone, the teenager on the doorstep knew he was panicked; his words were coming out fast and thick and his eyes were jumping from side to side.

"I— I'll explain once I'm allowed in." The teenager on the lowered his wand, watching his aunt's furtive movements, his uncle's body shaking despite his harsh words, and his cousin glaring at him from behind his parents. "If I'm allowed in, that is."

They drew back, their voices coming as a furious tangle of whispers from behind the door as Mrs. Dursley closed the door till it was a crack of light. As usual, they didn't explain why; the hiss that floated in the air was, quite plainly, "Wait here, boy." The teenager listened from his position on the doorstep, his attention intent and rapt.

"What should we do, Petunia? When the boy left, I thought he'd be out of our lives forever, but now he's back." Growling emanated from behind the crack of light, accompanied by pacing feet. "What are we to do, with him back here again?"

"I don't know, Vernon, but it can't be good." A nervous pause. "He never left for that long, you know."

"When he did leave the house, he never stayed away from us for over two weeks. And when his school ended for the summer, he never stayed behind. He always came back here, then left again when term started."

"I thought it was a good thing, for us." A pause, coupled with what sounded distinctly like someone shuddering. "I never thought he was dangerous, though…"

"Maybe he isn't… What do you think, Petunia?"

"I… I don't know what to think anymore." There was another pause, and the teenager knew exactly why. "His things are still in his room. If he's leaving…"

"I don't know, though. Why would he leave, now? Last year, last year when that ancient pillock came and severely damaged our heads—" now the voice held an outraged note in it, and the teenager smiled suddenly, remembering "—he told us he couldn't do magic before he was seventeen. He's not seventeen, not yet."

"His birthday's coming up." The teenager could imagine Dudley grimacing. "Trust me, I remember these things. His birthday usually makes me miss some of my favorite shows on the telly."

"We should let him in, Vernon. And, I think, something's wrong." Her words were getting faster and faster, jumbling up and around each other. "He's never done anything like that before to us. The world is dangerous. Times are dangerous. He's dangerous."

"Yes, Petunia, but why be scared? I know he despised us, but he'd never, you know—" the voice was strangled, choking "—kill us."

"Mum… Dad… I don't want to die." The whisper was a whimper now, the whimper of someone about to die. "If I'd known— If I'd known, I never— I never would have made so much fun of him. I— I never realized…"

"He's dangerous, but it's not meant for us." The whisper had calmed, becoming calm, solemn. "We can't undo the past. This is how things are. We should just let him on his way. He… He has things to do, I know."

Another pause. The teenager listened in absorbed silence to the voices behind that wooden portal. Finally, someone spoke. "Are… Are you sure, Petunia? We've never liked him, and he's never liked us… How do you know?"

A resigned sigh. "Because, Vernon, I know…"

A half-hearted laugh, but the teenager knew that Mrs. Dursley had won. "We'll, Petunia, at least we'll be rid of him forever, eh?"

There was hesitation; the teenager sensed that she was going to say something before stopping herself. Instead, there was what appeared to be a hand turning a doorknob. "I'll let him in."

Seconds later, the door opened again. It was the three Dursleys against the teenager, armed with nothing but a wand which he couldn't use. "You can come in," announced Mr. Dursley to the teenager grudgingly. Mrs. Dursley opened the door and Dudley hid behind him, barely concealed by their combined bulk. "But that doesn't mean we want you here, boy," he grunted as an afterthought.

"Thank you." One hand on the wand in his pocket, the boy stepped through the doorway, watching as the door was closed behind him.

"What do you want?" Moustache quivering, Mr. Dursley leered at the teenager; it was clear that he was trying to hide his evident fear. "What do you want this time?"

The teenager silently watched the only family he had left: his uncle, sheltering his wife and son as best as he could behind his broad backside, his aunt, standing there, snappish-looking as ever but with something like grim determination in her movements, and his cousin, confused but trying as well as he could to look menacing by lifting one bulky fist.

"I just wanted to say goodbye." The teenager's words were clear, steady; he was finally doing it. "I… I'm going to be leaving tomorrow. I'm going to be gone from this house—" his voice wavered slightly "—forever." Still pressed on, holding their stare, brave green eyes looking solidly into their fearful ones. "I have to save the world. I don't know if you know, but everyone's in danger." He paused, searching their faces for any sign of expression. "Even you."

There was a stiff, awkward, uncomfortable silence. Finally, Mr. Dursley made a move. "Boy," he growled, jabbing an accusatory finger toward him, "you're lying. I know it."

The teenager continued to look calmly at them. "No, I'm not."

Mr. Dursley calmed down, and the teenager was left to wonder at his outburst – had he been feeling, dare he think it, guilty? He didn't have much time to ponder, however; before long, his uncle was back in the game.

"Well, good riddance, I say," he muttered, moustache quivering, eyes narrowed. "You'll be finally gone from us forever. Took you long enough." He backed up, allowing Dudley and Mrs. Dursley to gather in the doorway, one at a time. "Any words?" he grunted to his family, though it was clear that he didn't intend for there to be any.

Dudley glowered, standing in the doorway before the teenager. "I know you're my cousin, but I never liked you," he began. The person in question merely continued to look back at him without a word. "But now that you're going, I feel odd… Bad inside, because I did all that."

"Guilty?" offered the teenager, feeling a savage kind of pride.

"Not quite." Dudley glared. "Anyway, goodbye, I guess. I'll be happy to never see you again." A pause. "Though some more bullying would have been nice, I'm still happy I'm never gonna see you again."

"Petunia, dear?" Seeing that Dudley had finished, Mr. Dursley ushered Dudley away from the doorway. "Do you have anything to say to this—this scum?"

The teenager, noticing Mr. Dursley's sudden vehemence, forgot about it as Mrs. Dursley appeared before him. She had something to say, he knew, something more meaningful than anything else he'd ever hear in his life. He just did.

Mrs. Dursley stood there, looking at him, a strange glint in her eye. Not knowing what to think, the teenager gripped his wand in a tighter grip. He watched, as if in slow motion, his aunt came forward.

"I— I don't think anyone's ever told you this, but—" Nervously, Mrs. Dursley posed a trembling hand on the teenager's shoulder. Stunned, the teenager watched it, showing a trace of emotion for the first time. He knew, however, that Mrs. Dursley was going to tell him something – he just didn't know what.

"Lily— Your mother—" She broke off, but the teenager was more confused than ever. He had never heard her mention his mother by name; suddenly, with a sinking feeling, he knew that there were more pieces of the puzzle, pieces that he had yet to discover and fit together. "Lily knew— Lily knew that it would happen." Mrs. Dursley's voice choked as she stood there, sharp eyes staring at her nephew, the fear in her eyes mixed with something that seemed to be—to be worry. "Lily knew that–- that he would come."

By the way she said the word, the teenager knew exactly to whom she was referring. "She knew that she and that—that husband of hers would die, but the only person she ever told was me." Mrs. Dursley's hand jerked away impulsively from the teenager's shoulder, without warning. She was regaining herself, though she needed time to compose to deliver her message, a message that the teenager knew was reserved for his ears and his ears alone.

"She knew, but she only told me. I think—" and here she shuddered, her hand shaking as she posed it again on the teenager's shoulder. "That night— I think she was planning to escape, with you and her husband; it was the perfect night, being Halloween and all. No one would suspect. Lily was going to leave, going to say that she needed to bring you somewhere else, somewhere where you could meet your own kind, as a cover-up. She was planning to leave later on, but he got to her first. They were stopped. Her husband— He never knew she did." She paused to sigh, and the teenager sensed a trace of remorse.

"How did you know?" asked the teenager, eyes never leaving her face. Venom lined his voice, sharp and somewhat demanding, but it was tinged with shock and sadness.

Mrs. Dursley shook her head and drew back, her tone once more gaining an unpleasant edge. "Now, then, I'm happy you'll be out of our life." She glared. "You always were too ungrateful for everything we've done for you, anyhow."

The teenager looked on, not surprised, though a bit unsettled. He'd been expecting more.

Mr. Dursley briskly moved his wife away. "Go, boy," he declared, practically spitting the words. "We don't care – you said we're in danger, but I don't believe it."

"I'll do it, then. I have to go," whispered the teenager, looking into their eyes. His own reflected with pain, sorrow, loss, sadness.

And then was gone, running away from one life and into another.

Harry Potter was off to save the world again. And this time for good.