Dedication: Over this past weekend, the fan fiction world lost a pillar of our community with the passing of broomstick flyer. Her stories were some of the first I ever read on this site, and got me into writing. I loved reading her compilations of one-shots as well as the short stories that were posted here and she will be greatly missed. Broomstick flyer's family shall be in my prayers during this difficult time.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is NOT mine, I don't own any of JK Rowling's masterpiece. There will be some recognizable lines from "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" and they aren't mine. The OC, Andrew Lucas Evans, is mine though.
18.5. 444. 26,640. 1,598,400. 1,598,401…1,598,402.
These numbers were etched in the mind of Harry Potter, constantly growing larger with each passing second. 18.5 days, 444 hours, 26,640 minutes, 1,598,430 seconds had passed since Sirius had been killed. Killed by Bellatrix Lestrange, killed because he had been trying to protect Harry from Harry's own foolishness. It was Harry's own fault that Sirius was dead, if he had listened to Hermione, if he had remembered the mirror that Sirius had given him, if Snape had taught him Occlumency properly. If, if, if.
"Argh!" Harry cried as his frustration boiled over into rage; rage at Bellatrix, Snape, Voldemort, Dumbledore and most importantly, himself. Harry's cry of rage turned into one of pain as he punched his bedroom wall, which only served to hurt his hand.
"Boy!" Vernon's shout made Harry cringe in reflex. "What in the bloody hell are you doing up there?"
"Nothing Uncle Vernon," Harry said in a strangled tone, trying to keep the pain from his throbbing hand from affecting his voice. Hearing his uncle grumble about disrespectful degenerates, Harry sucked in a breath through clenched teeth.
"Where are you going boy?" Vernon growled from the sitting room, looking up from the newspaper. Harry noticed the vein throbbing in Vernon's forehead, telling Harry that Vernon was not in a particularly good mood, if he ever was. Harry guessed that Vernon was thinking about the scolding that members of the Order of the Phoenix had given him when the Dursleys had picked Harry up from King's Cross a little over a week before. As soon as they had returned to Privet Drive, Vernon had gone on a loud rant about the Order, and Harry could tell that Vernon had wanted to vent his anger on his nephew but Moody's warning had probably stayed the man's hand.
"I am going for a walk," Harry said in a tone of forced politeness.
Vernon's small eyes narrowed at his nephew. Harry could easily tell that Vernon was wracking his brain, trying to figure out what Harry was up too, not that Harry was up to anything. He finally snorted and went back to his paper, deciding that it was more important than Harry.
Harry quickly left Privet Drive, not wanting to give Vernon any excuse to try and forbid Harry from leaving the house. The weather seemed to be mocking Harry, as there was not a cloud in the sky and it was nowhere as hot as it had been last summer. Harry heard the occupants of Privet Drive enjoying it the summer sunshine, and as he approached the play park that spilt Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent, the sounds of children laughing and playing grew louder.
As Harry entered the play park and began walking along the path that ringed the park he noticed that some of the laughter had died away. Harry knew that the vast majority of the inhabitants of Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent believed that he was a delinquent and troublemaker who spent the school year at St. Brutus' Center for Criminally Incurable Boys, conveniently ignoring the fact that St. Brutus' didn't exist, and that if it did, why would they let him leave for the summer holidays if he was such a hardened criminal like the Dursleys claimed?
Harry slowly walked around the park, letting his feet lead him as his mind wander. And the main thought that occupied Harry's mind when he wasn't thinking of Sirius was the prophecy. The hoarse and halting tones of Professor Trelawney haunted Harry's dreams just as much as Sirius' last moments had in the last two weeks since Dumbledore had finally told Harry why Voldemort kept coming after him.
A spike of anger surged through Harry at the thought of his long-bearded Headmaster. Dumbledore had known why Voldemort had wanted Harry dead since before Harry was even born and yet only told Harry after he had had too. Part of Harry wondered if Dumbledore had ever planned on telling Harry about the Prophecy, he had deliberately walked around the issue at the end of Harry's first year. Perhaps if Dumbledore hadn't ignored Harry the previous year, then Sirius would still be alive.
Harry's thoughts drifted to the letter that had arrived yesterday, a letter from Dumbledore. It had said that the Headmaster would be arriving at Privet Drive in three days time to take Harry to the Burrow where he would spend the rest of the summer holidays. Harry was astounded that he would be leaving Privet Drive after only spending what would be two weeks there especially after Dumbledore had told Harry why he had to stay at the Dursleys for his own 'protection'.
"Watch it Potter," a familiar but unwelcome voice sneered, drawing Harry from his thoughts. It was Piers Polkiss, and the remnants of Dudley's gang. Piers had taken the reins after Dudley had stopped hanging around the boys last year, in fact Dudley hadn't been as bad as he had been this summer. 'I wonder if those Dementors actually put a new soul into Dudley,' Harry thought.
"Hey, I'm talking to you Potter," Piers snarled as Harry sidestepped the group of five overindulged bullies. "You should respect your betters Potter, or there will be problems."
Harry rolled his eyes at the childish threat. He briefly wondered if Malfoy and Piers had the same handbook listing their threats. Harry had faced down dozens of more dangerous threats than a schoolyard bully, and Harry was no longer the small and scrawny twig that he had been in his youth. The years of near starvation he had suffered under the Dursleys' roof had been nearly completely offset by the meals at Hogwarts and care packages sent by Mrs. Weasley. And Quidditch had turned Harry's body from near skin and bones to a lean and muscled youth.
"Leave off Piers, I don't want any trouble," Harry said. "And besides when I see someone who is better than me, and I'll show them the proper respect."
"Why you!" Piers snarled but one of his mates proved to have more than two brain cells when he stopped Piers from reaching for something in his pocket.
"Not here Piers," the boy hissed.
"Get off me," Piers growled, shouldering the boy aside. But he stopped reaching for his pocket. "You got lucky here Potter, but soon that luck will run out."
Harry had gone tense when Piers started reaching for his pocket. He knew that he could use magic in defense of himself and others, but being surrounded by Muggles gave him pause. He wasn't completely sure what the Ministry of Magic would do to him, even if the Prophet had taken to calling him the Chosen One, and with Fudge ousted, Harry didn't know the political climate.
Harry finally released his held breath when Piers and company had moved on. He knew that he would need to watch his back for the next few days, he wasn't afraid of Piers or anything but without his magic, Harry was at a severe disadvantage.
"You know lad, you should try and not get into these scrapes," an amused voice said from Harry's right. "Your reputation in these parts isn't the most flattering."
Harry turned and saw that the speaker was an older man, probably in his sixties judging from the thinning white hair and lined face and hands. He was sitting on one of the benches that were placed around the play park to let people sit and watch the children play or to rest during a walk or run.
"But why should you care, most of these people can't see farther than their own nose," the old man chuckled. "You don't look like a criminally insane delinquent. If you were, then those boys would be heading to the hospital instead of home."
Harry felt a small bubble of warmth appear in his chest. Here was someone who didn't believe the lies that the Dursleys had been spreading about him for years.
"I'm Harry Potter," Harry introduced himself to the old man.
"I already know that lad," the man said. "Everyone knows your name but I want to know your story lad."
"If you know my name then you probably know my story sir," Harry said.
"I am not a sir lad, name is Colonel Andrew Lucas Evans, retired of course," the man chuckled.
Harry felt like he had been struck by lightning. "Evans? Your last name is Evans?" he asked quietly, his voice cracking slightly.
"That's right lad, but I am not related to your mum," Mr. Evans said heavily.
"How did you know…"
"Harry, I know exactly who you are," Andrew said, looking right into Harry's wide green eyes.
"You're a…wizard then?" Harry whispered, mindful of the people walking around the pair.
"Not exactly," Andrew chuckled. "Perhaps it is best that I tell you my story before you tell yours," he mused.
"But sir, if you know who I am, then you know my story already."
"I don't want to know that Ministry-approved twaddle or the Prophet's lies, I want to know the true story of Harry Potter, straight from the source," Andrew said firmly.
Harry blinked, trying to not show how he was being affected by this man's simple gesture of wanting to know Harry Potter, not the Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One but just Harry.
"Ok," Harry agreed sitting down next to the older man.
"Good," Andrew said. "Now then, my story starts long before your time. I was born in 1921 here in Little Whinging."
"Wait but that means you're almost 75 years old, you barely look over sixty!" Harry exclaimed. "How?"
"Magic," Andrew answered with a grin that looked like it belonged on one of the Weasley twins making Harry grin as well. "While I never went to Hogwarts, I still had magic in me."
"But if you could use magic, why didn't you go to Hogwarts?" Harry asked. He had never heard of anyone who could use magic but hadn't attended Hogwarts though now that Harry thought about it, there had to be more magical children than what attended Hogwarts living in England.
"I have no idea," Andrew said. "I didn't perform any magic until I was facing down the barrel of a German SS bastard's gun, I thought that I was dead to rights when suddenly this red light shot from my hand and knocked the man's gun from his hands, and it allowed me the chance to kill the bastard and I did."
"You performed wandless magic, a wandless Disarming Charm! That's supposed to be impossible!" Harry exclaimed.
"Well so is surviving the Killing Curse," Andrew commented. Harry tried to answer back but couldn't. "Harry, before you got your letter from Hogwarts, did you believe magic was possible?"
"No," Harry admitted.
"Exactly," Andrew grinned. "Just because something is considered impossible doesn't mean it is impossible. Your own story is proof of that. Now back to my story, after escaping that German, I still had no clue how I survived of course, that is until one of my squad mates took me aside explained things. His name was Nathaniel Granger, and he told me he was a Squib. Nate told me all about the wizarding world, how he had been disowned by his own family because he couldn't do magic, how the magical world was dealing with its own war against the German sorcerer Grindelwald."
"You fought against Grindelwald?"
"Against his and Hitler's," here Andrew paused and spat on the ground, "forces," he finished. "I saw that atrocities that the Nazis did all in the name of Hitler," another spit, "and cleansing the world of undesirables and such. And now this Dark Lord, Voldemort, is trying to do the same thing. And lad, the only way to stop men like that is to end them, permanently."
"But I am only fifteen, I'm no soldier," Harry exclaimed.
"That you aren't Harry," Andrew agreed with a nod. "But the only thing evils needs to succeed is for good men to do nothing. Harry, I'm not telling you to go and join the military or something like that, but what you did last year tells me that you will not bow to pressure. No matter how much the Prophet and the Ministry sought to discredit you, you never wavered. And that takes serious courage and bravery."
Harry fought, and failed, to keep the blush from rising up his neck. "Thank you," he said.
"Harry, now you know some of my story, what about your own?" Andrew asked.
Harry took a deep breath and began. He told Andrew everything, from being dropped off at the Dursleys after that night, all the way up to the events of the past year. Andrew kept quiet all throughout, letting Harry speak without interruption, knowing that the boy had to get it all off his chest. Andrew saw a lot of his younger self in Harry, being thrown into a situation with no warning or preparedness.
Harry felt completely drained after finishing his story, like a dishtowel that had been wrung out too many times. "And that's it," he said, sitting back on the bench. Even though he felt exceedingly tired, Harry also felt lighter than he had in quite some time.
"Thank you lad, for trusting me with all that," Andrew said after a few moments of digesting. "You probably have heard some words of comfort already but I do understand what you are most likely going through. During the war, I led my squad right into an ambush and we lost two buddies of mine. It was my fault that they were killed, I was in charge, and it was my decision to go into that village. And I have had to live with that guilt all these years. So Harry, let me tell you that your godfather's death was not your fault."
Harry looked up and straight into Andrew's warm brown eyes, so much like Hermione's or Ginny's. Then the floodgates opened, tears began pouring down Harry's cheeks. Harry barely felt Andrew place an arm around his shoulders as Harry poured out his pent up grief for the loss of his godfather.
"Let it all out Harry," Andrew said. "Sirius would not want you to keep this all bottled up."
Harry nodded, wiping his eyes and nose clear.
"Feeling better lad?"
"Yes sir I am," Harry said.
"Good, and don't call me sir," Andrew said. "Now Harry, I still can tell that you haven't told me the whole story."
Harry looked up at the old man who he couldn't help but trust. He had just knew that he could trust Mr. Lucas even though Harry had just met the man not even three hours ago. "The Headmaster told me why Riddle came after me in the first place," Harry said. "Riddle believes that I'm the only one who can stop, the only one who can kill him."
Andrew blinked slowly behind his glasses and then whistled lowly. "Well that's quite a doozy," he said. "And you believe Dumbledore then?"
"Of course I do," Harry said hotly. "Why wouldn't I?"
"Harry, I don't know Dumbledore personally, only his reputation," Andrew said. "But the chances that you, out of all the people in this world, is the only one who can kill him, that just sounds very far-fetched."
"I know," Harry admitted. "But it also answers a lot of questions that I've had. And Riddle is the one who killed my parents, I want him to pay."
"And that's understandable," Andrew said. "Grindelwald killed several of my squad mates and comrades and I wanted him to pay. When Dumbledore captured Grindelwald and threw away the key, I was furious. It was like Dumbledore was letting the bastard get away will all the horrible and evil acts that he committed, and all in the name of his so-called Greater Good."
"Wait, I thought that Grindelwald was killed by Dumbledore?" Harry asked.
"No Harry, Dumbledore only best Grindelwald in a duel, and then threw the bastard in Nurmengard," Andrew said with a low growl. "A dozen of my friends were killed in that assault, and when we who had survived found out that Grindelwald was just going to be locked up, we were furious. We wanted him to pay for his crimes, but there is a fine line between justice and revenge Harry."
"How do you know if you've crossed it?" Harry asked, his mind flying back to the Atrium of the Ministry, when he used the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix Lestrange after she had killed Sirius. He had been so filled with thoughts of revenge and making Bellatrix pay that he used an Unforgivable without even thinking.
"That is something only you can answer Harry, when the time comes," Andrew said. "Now, it's getting late. You should get back to the Dursleys but if you want, we can talk again. An old-timer like me would like to have some to talk with," he chuckled.
"I would like that too Mr. Evans," Harry said. "Maybe we can talk tomorrow."
"Come by the house tomorrow," Andrew said. "Think of it as a thank you for saving my grandson, Mark, from your cousin's gang last year."
Harry flushed in embarrassment.
"None of that Harry," Andrew said. "Don't be embarrassed for doing what is right."
Harry nodded before rising from his seat. "Thank you Mr. Evans," he said. "I will see you tomorrow then."
"Til then lad," Andrew said watching Harry walk off, noticing that the teen's shoulders were higher like some of the weight that was pressing down on them had been lifted. A wan smile tweaked at the old man's lips.
Where the devil have you been boy?" the booming shout of Vernon Dursley greeted Harry as soon as he entered Number Four Privet Drive through the back door.
"I went for a walk in the park," Harry answered.
Vernon snorted in disbelief. "As if I would believe such tripe," he muttered. "Now go help your aunt with dinner, and be quick about it."
Harry went into the kitchen without a word and saw his aunt standing by the stove, looking quite agitated as she usually did when she was waiting on something.
"Start making a salad," Petunia snapped without looking around. "And set the table while you are at it."
"Yes Aunt Petunia," Harry complied, quickly gathering the cutlery from the drawer. Once the table had been set, Harry rummaged through the icebox for lettuce, tomatoes, carrots and other ingredients for the salad.
As Harry was tossing the salad in a large wooden bowl, he heard the front door open and close followed by the heavy footfalls signaling that Dudley had returned home. Sure enough, Aunt Petunia turned away from her cooking, and snooping, to greet her son.
"Dudders! You're home and just in time for dinner," she said warmly as Dudley entered the kitchen.
"Hi mum," Dudley said, taking his seat at the table. Dudley and Harry caught each other's gaze and Harry was stunned to see Dudley quickly look away as if he was afraid of Harry.
After dinner, and cleaning up for Vernon, Dudley and Petunia, Harry retreated to his room. On his desk was the letter from Dumbledore; it stood out from the other letters that Harry had gotten from his friends. Harry sat down at his desk and picked up the letter from the Headmaster and read it for what must have been the hundredth time.
He still could not believe that he was leaving Privet Drive so quickly. He had only been at the Dursleys for less than two weeks, why so little time? Each year Dumbledore had always said that Harry had to return to Privet Drive each year for some sort of protection that he had put up when Harry had been left here as a baby. Anger once more surged through Harry at the thought of the ancient Headmaster, what right did he have in keeping Harry at a place that Harry wasn't wanted or wanted to be? That was certainly something Harry would ask Dumbledore when the Headmaster came to pick him up.
The soft rustling of feathers took Harry's attention away from the Headmaster's letter. He looked up and saw that Hedwig had returned from hunting and had settled herself on the open windowsill.
"Hey there girl," Harry said, reaching over the desk and began gently stroking Hedwig's breast. "We'll be gone from here soon, and we're never coming back."
Hedwig hooted softly, obviously happy with Harry's decision.
"Dumbledore is coming to get me in a couple of days," Harry said. "I am going to send you off with a letter to Ron and Hermione, and you'll stay at the Burrow until I get there ok?"
Hedwig bobbed her head. Harry grabbed a piece of parchment and quickly scratched out a letter to Ron and Hermione, since he knew that Hermione was at the Burrow already, though why he wasn't sure. Wouldn't she want to spend time with her parents? A spike of guilt coursed through Harry at the realization that Hermione had spent more time at the Weasleys and with him and Ron than her own parents, because of him. Harry couldn't remember the last time that Hermione had spent the majority of a holiday with her parents.
"Here you go Hedwig," Harry said, tying the letter to her leg. "I'll see you in a couple of days, ok?"
Hedwig hooted, nipped Harry gently on the finger before flying silently out the open window. Harry watched his owl and only friend on Privet Drive ghost away on open wings and fade away into the night.
"Come in Harry, come in," the warm voice of Andrew Evans said as he welcomed Harry inside.
"Thank you Mr. Evans," Harry said. "It is good to see you again."
"Harry, you make it seem like we haven't seen each other in years," Andrew laughed as he led Harry down the hallway and into a sitting room.
Instantly Harry felt at peace in the house. While it had the same layout as the Dursleys but Number Four Privet Drive was Spartan, almost medically spotless and had a cold feel to the house much like a show house on those programs that Aunt Petunia would watch. The Evans' house felt like a home, the walls were painted a soft off-white, not the stark, harsh white that the Dursleys' walls were colored. On a side table in the hallway, keys, spare change and other odds and ends were scattered across its top as if thrown there. At the Dursleys, if everything were not in their proper places, Aunt Petunia would have had a heart attack.
"Have a seat Harry," Andrew said. "Anything to drink?"
"No thank you Mr. Evans," Harry said.
"No need for formalities," Andrew chuckled, taking a seat opposite from Harry in a squashy armchair. "So Harry, what do you want to talk about?"
"I wanted to know more about the war," Harry said without preamble. "You know what I am supposed to do, and you are the only person I know and available that has fought in a war before."
"So what would you like to know?"
"What was it like in World War II?" Harry asked. "I need to know how to deal with being in a war."
"Harry, war is hell," Andrew said bluntly. "There is no possible way for me to tell you how it feels to be in the middle of a war, the crippling fear, the sickly sweet smell of blood, the screams of pain from your friends or the shrill whine of bullets flying overhead. Harry, unless you live through war you will never understand what it means."
Harry fell deeper into the chair. He had hoped that Mr. Evans would be able to help him but it apparently all for naught.
"But don't lose heart Harry," Andrew said noticing the falling of Harry's expression. "Just because for you to get the full picture of what it means to be in war doesn't mean I can't help you in other ways. You are afraid that you are in over your head in having to defeat this Riddle because Riddle has years and magical knowledge over you, right?"
Harry nodded. "Yes, I am only fifteen years old and only have just taken my OWLs," he said. "Voldemort knows so much more magic than I do. I have no idea how I am supposed to beat him. I am supposed to have this 'power that he knows not' but I don't know what it is."
"Well from what you have told me, you are more likely to meet Riddle again sooner rather than later," Andrew said. "So my advice would be not to try and learn all new magic. Focus on mastering the basics and your current abilities. It might sound harsh but there is no way you can learn enough magic to match Riddle, not in the limited time you most likely will have, he is too advanced in his magical knowledge and he won't just wait until you equal him. Your best bet is to keep it simple, a master with a rock can kill a novice with a knife."
"Mr. Evans, you said you managed to produce a wandless Disarmer? Do you think you can teach me?" Harry asked. A sly smile came to the old man's face.
"That lad I think I can do," Andrew said. "It will be very difficult Harry, my first use of magic was fueled by fear. I think it was more accidental magic than anything else but after the war, it took me a nearly a full year before I could produce anything at will. Wandless magic is not impossible as they say, but it is very difficult and demanding."
"I want…no, I need to know how to do this type of magic," Harry said fiercely. "It could be the key to beating Voldemort."
Andrew grinned at the determination gleaming in Harry's eyes. "All right Harry, then let's get started."
A hazy mist had descended over the neighborhoods of Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent, and the temperature had dropped as well. Harry had gotten another letter from Ron and Hermione, telling Harry that they couldn't wait until he arrived at the Burrow. Again Harry wondered why Hermione was already at the Burrow, and promised himself to ask his bushy haired best friend when he arrived at the Weasley home. As he set down the lone letter from Dumbledore again, Harry noticed the leaflets that had come from the Ministry of Magic and scoffed.
The Ministry had thought that they were being helpful by sending out these leaflets with advice in what to do during these dark times, and while some of the ideas were good in theory, much to Harry's surprise, there were others that left Harry shaking his head. Like how the Ministry of Magic assumed that the average witch or wizard could perform a Shield or Disillusionment Charm. From what Harry remembered about his interactions with the average witch or wizard, it would be a struggle for them to perform either spell in the best circumstances, but in the face of a Death Eater attack…Harry remembered how the crowd had panicked at the Quidditch World Cup at the possibility of a Death Eater attack, and yet they outnumbered the rioters over ten to one.
Next to the Ministry pamphlets was a trio of Daily Prophet articles that had been printed earlier in the summer and that Harry had cut out of the paper. The first reported that Fudge had been ousted from the Ministry due to incompetence and failure of duty where just some of the charges against Fudge. When Harry had seen the article, the teen couldn't contain the smirk that crossed his face. 'It couldn't have happened to a better person,' Harry thought savagely. The Minister had been a thorn in Harry's side for over a year, he still hadn't received any apologies from the Ministry or anyone else that had believed him a liar about Voldemort's return.
The second article was about the naming of the new Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. It listed Scrimgeour as the former Head of the Auror Office, and gave a brief recap of his career in the Ministry. Reading the article, Harry could see why the Prophet and the wizarding world were throwing everything they had behind Scrimgeour, really extolling his years of service within the Ministry and chronicling his rise through the Auror office during the first war against Voldemort. Above the article was a photo of the new Minister and Harry had to admit Scrimgeour did look more like a leader than Fudge ever had.
The third article was a somber one, announcing the murder of Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement earlier in the summer. The article reported that it had been Voldemort himself that had killed the formidable witch. Harry remembered that Madam Bones had been the only one who had spoken up for him at the spectacle and farce of a trial the previous summer. She wanted to know why Harry had produced a Patronus in the first place, not just convict him to shut him up. The article also chronicled Madam Bones' career throughout the Ministry, including her actions during the first war against Voldemort, especially her partaking in the capture of Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers after their attack on the Longbottoms.
Reading the article on Madam Bones made Harry realize that he knew next to nothing about the first war against Voldemort. How was he supposed to fight a war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters when he knew nothing about how wizards fought in the first place? Harry decided to pick the minds of the some of the Order members for advice; Moony, Tonks, Kingsley and Mad-Eye would be first on his list since three were Aurors, or had been, and the fourth was a Defence against the Dark Arts Master, surely they knew how the Death Eaters fought.
The thought of Remus made Harry think of Sirius once again, and a numb feeling filled Harry. He had spoken about Sirius to Mr. Evans and the older man had somewhat soothed the ache in Harry's chest. Mr. Evans had repeatedly told Harry that he wasn't at fault for Sirius' death, and with each repetition the ache grew fainter and fainter. Colonel Evans, as the man claimed he would rather be called, said that the ache would never truly leave Harry but that only meant that he had truly cared for that person. The person who was truly at fault for Sirius' death was Bellatrix; she was the one who cursed Sirius. She was the one who killed him, made it so that Harry would never again see Sirius' face in the Gryffindor Common Room's fire or have Hedwig deliver letters to and from Sirius.
A streetlight suddenly went dark out on Privet Drive. Harry stood up and looked out his window in time to see a very familiar figure walking up the garden path. Harry gathered up the letters and articles that littered his desk and shoved them into his trunk. Just as Harry closed his trunk, the bell rang.
"Who in blazes is calling at this time of night?" Vernon's shout came from downstairs. Harry rolled his eyes, he had told the Dursleys that he was leaving tonight but of course they didn't listen, they never did.
Harry made his way out of his room and reached the top of the stairs just as Vernon reached the front door, and threw it open.
"Ah good evening Mr. Dursley," the soft voice of Albus Dumbledore carried up the stairs as clearly as if he was standing next to Harry. "I have come to collect young Harry and take him away for the rest of the summer holidays. Judging by your expression, Harry did not tell you I was coming."
"Actually sir, I did," Harry said, announcing his presence to the Headmaster and Vernon. "They just didn't listen."
"Ah Harry, excellent," Dumbledore said with a grin. "Now Mr. Dursley, perhaps we should continue this conversation in your lovely sitting room. It is not wise to be out in the open in these troubled times. Shall we presume that you have invited me inside?"
Dumbledore sidestepped Vernon and walked briskly into the sitting room of Number Four Privet Drive.
"Hello Petunia, I am Albus Dumbledore, we have of course corresponded before on several different occasions," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I must say your agapanthus are flourishing. And this must be your son Dudley. Excellent you are all here."
"Ah, sir, aren't we leaving?" Harry asked.
"We shall in a few moments," Dumbledore said. "However there are a few matters in which I must discuss with your family first."
Harry frowned at Dumbledore's use of the word, family, to describe the Dursleys but didn't speak up.
"Now, why don't we all take a seat?" Dumbledore suggested. He drew his wand so rapidly that Harry barely saw it; with a casual flick, the sofa zoomed forward and knocked the knees out from under all three of the Dursleys so that they collapsed upon it in a heap. Another flick of the wand and the sofa zoomed back to its original position.
"We may as well be comfortable," Dumbledore said pleasantly.
As he replaced his wand in his pocket, Harry saw that Dumbledore's hand was blackened and shriveled; it looked as though his flesh had been burned away.
"Sir, what happened to your…"
"Later Harry," Dumbledore said. "Please sit down."
Harry took the remaining armchair, choosing not to look at the Dursleys outside of a brief glance. They looked to be in a state of stunned silence.
"Now, how about some refreshments?" Dumbledore asked. "However evidence so far has shown that is being far too optimistic to believe you would provide them, so…"
A third flick of Dumbledore's wand, and a dusty green bottle appeared with five glasses floating next to it. The bottle tipped and poured a healthy amount of honey-colored liquid into each glass, which then floated to each person in the room.
"Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead," Dumbledore explained, raising his glass to Harry, who took his own and sipped at the drink. He had never tasted anything like it but enjoyed it immensely. Lowering the glass, Harry noticed that the Dursleys hadn't indulged and were trying to ignore the glasses, which must have been difficult as the glasses were nudging them gently on the sides of their heads. Looking over at Dumbledore, Harry could not suppress the suspicion that Dumbledore was rather enjoying himself.
"Sir perhaps, you could let the Dursleys decide if they want a drink," Harry said. "They don't seem to be enjoying your little use of magic against them."
Harry saw Dumbledore's eyes widen slightly and the glasses floated slowly down to the table and settled there.
"Forgive me Harry," Dumbledore said. He turned to the Dursleys, "Though it would have been better manners to accept the drink."
Uncle Vernon swelled up like a balloon in indignation but Harry spoke first. "Sir, would you accept a drink from a stranger that had just appeared out of thin air?"
The Dursleys looked at Harry in shock, the one thought in all their heads, 'Why is he defending us?'
"My apologies," Dumbledore said. "But I was led to believe that your stays here were not very pleasant."
"They were not but that doesn't mean you can use magic to intimidate them," Harry said. "I would never have expected such a Malfoy-like behavior from you Headmaster."
Dumbledore gave Harry a searching look before nodding. "Yes, I apologize for my moment of weakness," he said. All five glasses vanished and Dumbledore's wand returned to his pocket, and all three Dursleys visibly relaxed. "Now Harry, a situation has arisen that we must take care of before we depart."
"And that is?" Harry asked.
"Sirius' will was discovered last week and he has left everything he owned to you," Dumbledore explained. "These belongings include a sizable amount of gold that has already been added to your vault at Gringotts, all of Sirius' personal possessions and…"
"He's dead?" Vernon interrupted. "His godfather's dead then?"
"Yes," Dumbledore answered simply before turning back to Harry. "Our issue is that Sirius has also left you Number Twelve Grimmauld Place."
"He's been left a house?" Vernon cut in again. Harry saw the man's piggish eyes narrow.
"You can keep it," Harry said. "I don't care, or want the place." Harry never wanted to return to the dark and dank house, being assaulted by memories of Sirius, and how his godfather had been imprisoned in a place that he desperately wanted to leave. 'Much like himself and Privet Drive,' Harry thought.
"That is very generous," Dumbledore said. "But for the moment we have had to abandon Grimmauld Place."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"Because there is some confusion regarding who the house will answer too," Dumbledore said. "The Blacks were a very traditional family, and quite possibly would have set up precautions to ensure that the inheritor of the estate to be only of pureblood."
"I'll bet they have," Harry said remembering the portrait of Sirius' mother and the blood purist leanings that she had screamed and ranted on and on about.
"However there is an easy way to discern if the house has passed into your ownership," Dumbledore said.
"How do we do that?"
Dumbledore drew his wand and gave it another flick. With a loud CRACK, a very familiar and unwelcome figure appeared in the middle of the sitting room. And several things happened at once, Petunia screamed, Dudley yelped and Vernon swore.
"Kreacher won't!" the aged house elf shouted. "Kreacher won't obey the nasty half-blood brat!"
"Give him an order," Dumbledore said loudly to be heard over Kreacher's shouting. "If you are his master, then he will have to obey you."
Kreacher continued to shout, reminding Harry of Dudley as a baby when the boy threw a tantrum.
"Kreacher, be silent!" Harry barked. Instantly, Kreacher's shouts ceased and his eyes bulged as the elf tried to speak.
"Well that simplifies things," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Kreacher has passed into your ownership and so has Grimmauld Place."
"I said you all can keep using the place for meetings," Harry said. "I don't want the place, it was Sirius' prison and he hated it."
"Ah yes," Dumbledore said, sounding slightly contrite. "Now that has been settled, perhaps you could send Kreacher to Hogwarts to work where the other elves will keep an eye on him," he suggested.
Harry nodded. "Kreacher," the silently wailing elf looked up at Harry with loathing, "you will report to Hogwarts to work with the other elves. You will not speak with anyone, or contact anyone without my express permission," Harry ordered. "Now go."
The aged house elf shot Harry a look of pure loathing though Harry thought there was something like respect in the elves' dark eyes before vanishing with a deafening CRACK.
"Excellent, excellent," Dumbledore said. "Interesting set of conditions you added there Harry. Was that really necessary?"
"Kreacher found the loophole in Sirius' orders, and it cost Sirius his life," Harry said. "I won't make the same mistake."
Dumbledore nodded, giving Harry a look of pride. "Now then Harry, have you finished packing?"
"Yes sir," Harry said.
"Good, if you would be so kind as to gather your belongings and bring them down here," Dumbledore said. "We shall of course wait here."
Harry nodded and left the sitting room. He took the stairs two at a time and quickly entered his room. His trunk and rucksack were at the fooy of his bed, ready to go. Harry hefted his rucksack onto his shoulder and grabbed his trunk's handle and dragged the heavy trunk from the room and downstairs. Harry put his trunk down by the front door and went back to the sitting room. Dumbledore and the Dursleys were still sitting in their seats when Harry returned.
"Professor, I am ready to go," Harry said.
"Good," Dumbledore said. "Now before we leave, there is one more thing I must speak to your family about." He turned to face the Dursleys and began, "As you will no doubt be aware but Harry comes of age next summer…"
"No he doesn't," Petunia spoke up. "The…he is a month younger than Dudley, and Dudley doesn't turn eighteen until the year after next."
"Ah yes, however in the wizarding world, we come of age at seventeen," Dumbledore responded. Both Vernon and Petunia looked at one another and muttered something under their breaths, something that Harry didn't catch.
"Now, as Harry has already informed you, the wizard known as Lord Voldemort has returned to this country. The wizarding community is currently in a state of open warfare against Lord Voldemort and his followers, known as Death Eaters."
"Now hold on a moment there," Vernon roared. "You are telling me that there is a bunch of fre…people like you, running around the country killing people, normal, hard working people!"
"Yes, the Death Eaters have the ability and the attitude to kill indiscriminately," Dumbledore said. "And those of non-magical blood are among their favorite targets. The protections that I invoked all those years ago will remain strong as long as Harry can still call this house 'home'. These protections give Harry and yourselves safety, but they will fall the moment Harry turns seventeen, the moment he becomes a man. I will only ask you this; that you will allow Harry to return here, once more before his seventeenth birthday, which will ensure that the protections continue providing for your safety until then."
The Dursleys each had varying reactions to Dumbledore's 'request'; Dudley was looking down at his feet, refusing to face Harry or Dumbledore, Petunia looked thoughtful and to Harry, his aunt looked almost remorseful, and Vernon was trying to work his way through Dumbledore's words.
"Well Harry, I believe it is time for us to be off," Dumbledore said after a few moments of silence. The Headmaster rose and straightened his long black cloak. Harry rose with him, and after a hasty farewell to the Dursleys, followed Dumbledore out into the front hall.
"Now, we do not need be weighed down by these," Dumbledore said. "I shall send them onto the Burrow to await our arrival. However, if you would be so kind as to retrieve your Invisibility Cloak, just in case."
Harry nodded and pulled his Cloak from his rucksack before stuffing the Cloak into his jacket pocket.
"Excellent," Dumbledore beamed and with a wave of his wand, Harry's trunk, rucksack and Hedwig's cage vanished. "Now Harry, let us be off into the night to pursue that flighty temptress, adventure."
"Aren't we going right to the Burrow?" Harry asked as he and Dumbledore made their way toward the underpass that separated Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent.
"Ah not immediately Harry," Dumbledore said. "There is a small school matter that I need your assistance with, and then we shall go to the Burrow."
Harry frowned at Dumbledore's words. "And why do you need me sir?" he asked. "I am not part of the staff, and don't have any say on school matters."
"Oh, I am sure that you will find yourself useful Harry," Dumbledore said vaguely. "This will do. Now Harry, have you ever Apparated?"
"No, I thought you had to pass a test to Apparate?" Harry asked.
"Correct," Dumbledore smiled. "Now, please hold on tightly to my arm, my left arm, as you saw my wand arm is not fully whole at the moment. And do not let go."
"Sir, what did happen to your hand?"
"Not now Harry, it is quite the thrilling tale and I wish to do it justice," Dumbledore said. "Now Harry, please."
Harry did as he was asked and gripped Dumbledore's offered arm. What followed was a sensation that Harry had never felt before and hoped that he would never go through again. It felt as Harry was being sucked through a tiny straw, being compressed on all sides but just as quickly as it began, the sensation was gone.
"Quite unpleasant I presume," Dumbledore commented, watching Harry shake his head.
"That was horrible," Harry said. "I might even prefer Portkeys to that, are all forms of magical transportation that uncomfortable?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "It does seem that way," he said. "Though you are handling it better than most."
"How?"
"Many people throw up their first time," Dumbledore said. Harry snorted.
"Where are we?" Harry asked, gaining his bearing and looking around the dark clearing that he and Dumbledore had appeared in.
"This is the charming village of Budleigh Babberton," Dumbledore said. "Now Harry, please make sure your wand is at the ready."
"But I'm not allowed to use magic outside of school."
"If there is an attack, I give you permission to use magic to defend yourself," Dumbledore said. "But you need not worry about being attacked tonight."
"Why?"
"Because you are with me."
Harry blinked at the Headmaster's reply, to most it would have sounded the height of arrogance but coming from Albus Dumbledore, there was quite a bit of merit to that statement. There were very few people who would be crazy enough to attack the Headmaster. However how many of those crazy enough were after Harry too?
The pair made their way deeper into the village, passing a dark church and several homes.
"Harry, has your scar been hurting you at all this summer?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry blinked at the question. "No, it hasn't," he said. "And I've been wondering about that, with Voldemort being back and having a real body now, wouldn't it be burning all the time?"
Harry heard Dumbledore make a satisfied sound before answering. "That is an excellent observation," he said. "I, however, have thought otherwise. It seems that Lord Voldemort has realized the dangers of letting you have access to his thoughts and feelings. I believe that he is now employing Occlumency against you."
"Well I'm not complaining about that," Harry said, thinking about how much pain and suffering those dreams and flashes of insight into Voldemort's mind had caused. "Sir, you still haven't told me why exactly we are here? You said it's a school matter but I am tired of being always kept in the dark, you know what happened last year when you didn't tell me about the link."
Dumbledore winced. "Yes quite right," he said. "My apologies Harry, the reason we are here is because I hope to convince a former colleague to come out of retirement. As you are no doubt aware, Hogwarts is once again short a staff member."
"But if this person is a former colleague of yours, why do you need me?"
"I am sure that you will find yourself useful Harry," Dumbledore answered. Harry frowned at the vague answer but before he could comment, Dumbledore continued, "Now we take another left here Harry."
The pair turned down a dimly lit street a block past the village's church.
"Sir, why didn't we just Apparate directly to your old colleague's house?" Harry asked.
"Because Harry, that would be as rude as kicking in the front door," Dumbledore said. "Common courtesy dictates that we let fellow wizards the chance to deny us entry. Also, most wizard dwellings are protected against unwanted Apparitions."
"Like Hogwarts," Harry said. "Well that's what Hermione tells me and Ron."
"She is not wrong," Dumbledore said. "Now then…oh my."
The Headmaster trailed off as the pair came around a corner to a frightening sight. Spell fire was illuminating the interior of a house at the end of the street, and Harry saw several dark robed figures standing around the house. Harry's heart clenched at the sight of the bone white masks of the Death Eaters.
A/N: Well, welcome to my newest story, Harry Potter and the Impending Storm. As you can see, it begins after fifth year and the disaster at the Department of Mysteries. "Half-Blood Prince" was my least favorite of the Harry Potter books and films, it has so much potential after OotP but never lived up to that potential in my opinion. I loved the backstory that we got for Tom Riddle, the memories were my favorite parts of the film and book but both Harry and Hermione's characters took such a nose dive that it stole pretty much all the enjoyment I had gotten from the memories. Harry reverted back to Chamber of Secrets-Harry, just plodding along and not trying to better himself like he did in books 3-5, even after learning about why Voldemort came after him. I've started this story in an attempt to change that, as well as being inspired by Harry Potter-podcast, Alohomora. If you haven't listened, do so. It is a brilliant way to reignite your love of all things Potter. Til next time,
SlytherinNinjaKnight