Harry Potter and the Undeniable Truth
Prologue
Harry found that with a little desperation, and a hefty portion of motivation, the cupboard under the stairs wasn't actually all that terrible. In fact, it made quite the perfect little hiding spot and, as he had realized belatedly the night before, the ideal place to listen to the news. At any rate it was better than hiding in the flower-beds again or crouching precariously at the top of the stairs.
Eyes closed tight in concentration, Harry frowned as he strained to hear the open lines of the newscast. The auditory acuity he had carefully cultivated in his month-long pursuit of his daily, if completely futile, quest for information only accounted for so much distance (and mass) before it was only a modest advantage.
He listened intently for a minute, thankful that his Aunt and cousin weren't home to make this mission even more difficult than it already was, and after deeming the day's program as unsatisfactory as its predecessors moved silently to open the cupboard.
As Providence would have it though, he had only just managed to push the door open a hair when the doorbell rang and once again proved that the universe was wholly and irrefutably against one Harry James Potter.
Moving faster than Harry had ever heard him, his walrus-sized Uncle was at door almost instantaneously, welcoming the visitor with a boisterous, "Do, come in!"
Leaning forward on the small army cot that had been his bed for so many years Harry pressed an ear against the door and endeavored to find out just who would willingly seek out the company of anyone who resided at Number Four.
He soon wished he hadn't though, as over the sound of his Uncle's labored breathing he heard an altogether too familiar voice hiss darkly, "Shut up you filthy muggle scum. I've come for the boy."
Harry's blood turned to ice in his veins and he stilled against the cupboard door. Beyond the suddenly too-thin barrier between him and his collector he heard his Uncle grunt that he was upstairs.
Harry dared not breathe so much as a sigh at twin pairs of footsteps, one set distinctively lighter than the other, ascended the staircase. He briefly wondered how long he would have until they realized he wasn't there and whether or not he could get out of the house before they returned.
A great bellow of rage followed the thought, and as his Uncle and the wizard came thundering back down the stairs, Harry had to marvel at just buggered he was.
His heart jumped into his throat as the cupboard door was flung open and he found himself sprawled unceremoniously on the hall floor.
"New bow Mr. Malfoy?" he quipped, tone intrepid, as he stared up at the business-suit clad wizard.
A/n: this fic was inspired by my brother- who, in all his unwitting glory, asked "Would Vernon turn Harry over to Voldemort if he had the chance?" and I answered unthinkingly "Yes."
Begins, right after Dudley is Demented
Disclaimer: no claims of ownership…blah, blah, blah
