Harry Potter loved the feel of wind in his hair. He loved the cool breeze whispering as it tickled his scalp. He loved the harsh screech of the gale as it whipped past his face. He loved the gentle crooning of the gusts as they caressed his head. He loved the wind and everything about it…for it let him be happy. It let him pretend he was normal. It let him believe that he knew what would be around the next corner. It let him think that he was part of the crowd, flowing easily with the common people. Harry Potter loved the wind…because it let him forget.
Because Harry Potter wasn't normal. In fact he was possibly as not normal as it was possible to be. Harry Potter was a wizard- with a wand, with an owl, with potions and fizzing magical concoctions; he could fly, could bring objects to life, could brew a potion to change one person into another, could even kill with just an incantation (although this was, of course, highly illegal and if Harry had decided to do so he would have been facing a life sentence in Azkaban, the wizarding maximum security prison). But it wasn't this that made Harry so… abnormal. No, it wasn't his wand, nor his broomstick, his cauldron, his snowy white owl or his pointy hat that made Harry Potter so strange- but his scar.
Harry Potter was an average looking thirteen year old- medium height, rather scrawny, untameable black hair and round glasses, behind which sat startlingly green eyes. But upon his forehead was a lightning bolt scar. It wasn't often visible- Harry had taken to covering it, where possible, with his long black hair, but to any from the wizard world who saw it, it was a beacon of abnormality. For it was a curse scar- inflicted upon Harry by the Dark Lord Voldemort himself when Harry was just one year old. A curse scar in itself wasn't so strange though- it wasn't rare to find that your next door neighbour had been the unfortunate victim of a spell gone wrong- but if you delve deeper you'll find another oddity. For Harry's curse scar came from the Killing Curse. The incantation 'Avada Kedavra'. A curse which guaranteed the victim an immediate death and the user a life sentence in Azkaban. No adult wizard had ever been able to block it… millions had died because of it. But Harry Potter, at only one year of age and with no magical training whatsoever had not only blocked it but managed to reflect it. When he was just one year old Harry Potter killed a Dark Lord. But he had no idea how.
He wasn't an extraordinarily powerful wizard. Well, his DADA (Defense against the Dark Arts- a class taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, of which Harry was just finishing his third year) told him that he was, but Harry, who had grown up with an un-loving family had rather low self-esteem, could not believe that. He wasn't skilled in the complex arts of Potion making- in fact he was only slightly better in Potions class than Neville Longbottom, a pudgy classmate of Harry's who spent the majority of every lesson in the Hospital Wing. He wasn't good at Herbology; he was far more likely to kill a plant than to water it successfully. He was average at both Transfiguration and Charms and slightly above average in DADA. In fact the only place in the wizarding world he really stood out was on a broom (his current location, in fact), flying for fun or for Quidditch.
Suddenly a sharp whistle cut through Harry's musings. No he wasn't an exceptional wizard… but he was late for the train. In the distance Harry could just make out the scarlet of the Hogwarts Express as students started to board, heading home for the summer holidays. He brought his Firebolt racing broom into a steep dive, struggling in vain not to panic. He had missed the Hogwarts Express once before and it hadn't ended well. In fact, it had ended with Harry and his friend Ron Weasley driving a flying Ford Anglia into a rather aggressive tree, which had snapped Ron's wand and nearly caused them both permanent (and painful) damage. He was in no hurry to repeat the experience.
"Sorry… sorry… pardon me… excuse me… yes, sorry… SORRY!" yelled Harry as he dodged between the others queued up at the station. If he didn't get there quickly he wouldn't have time to say goodbye to Hagrid, Hogwarts gamekeeper, CoMC (Care of Magical Creatures) teacher and one of his first friends. He hopped over a particularly large red trunk being pulled by a Slytherin witch who turned around angrily as he scraped its top. As she began to rant and rave he turned back, trying to apologize but in doing so tripped over another witch, this time from Gryffindor. He had seen her around the Common Room a few times- a fourth year he thought absently as he glanced at her. She had startlingly blue eyes, a small nose, pale, freckled skin and shoulder- length black hair. She was, in Harry's opinion rather beautiful and he had to try hard to keep himself from staring at her.
"Erm… sorry…" he muttered embarrassedly, a blush rising as he realized that he was still lying on top of her. Quickly he rose to his feet and offered her his hand, which she took. She laughed.
"No problem! I'm a klutz myself- if you hadn't tripped over me I'd have tripped over you!" she said. He laughed too and they both collapsed into a fit of giggles. The Hogwarts Express whistled once more, cutting shrilly through their laughter and Harry glared at it, annoyed. Hurriedly he hoisted his trunk, which he'd dropped in the collision. He couldn't see Hagrid… he must have missed him, but somehow he didn't really care. Running towards the train he yelled back "See you next year!" Hopping onto the train he collapsed in the first empty carriage he could find. He couldn't be bothered to find Hermione and Ron (his two best friends, who had already boarded the train)- he was too tired. He'd get up and look later, or they could come to him.
Suddenly the compartment door shot open and the girl from before stood in the doorway. She smiled.
"Or," she said. "I was going to suggest we sit together." Harry just had time to nod before the train jolted away from the station, throwing the girl, who was still clutching her trunk, into his lap. She shrugged. "Klutz." They both laughed as she moved away.
"So," Harry asked. "What's your name?"
"Tonks." She said. "So… Gryffindor Seeker?"
Harry grinned at her. A talk about Quidditch with a pretty girl. Suddenly, he didn't feel so tired.
"HARRY!" Hermione's shrill voice cut through Platform 9 ¾. Tonks glanced over at the bushy-haired figure rushing towards Harry and smiled at him.
"Well… I'd better go. See you around." Harry tried to stop her, but despite his best efforts she managed to slip away. With a cute little wave she turned and ran off. Harry gave a small wave of his own before turning to face Hermione's bombardment of questions.
"WHERE WERE YOU? WE DIDN'T KNOW IF YOU'D GOT THE TRAIN, OR YOU WERE AT SCHOOL, OR IF…," she looked around furtively and dropped her voice. "…Pettigrew," she raised her voice once more. "…HAD GOT YOU! YOU EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW!" she screamed.
Harry held his hands up in surrender. Spotting Ron over her shoulder he mouthed 'help!' but Ron just winked and grinned- 'you're on your own mate!'
"Alright 'mione, alright, I went for a fly and I was a bit late to the station."
"And where were you on the train?" she demanded.
"I was with…," he paused, spotting Tonks' smiling face as she waved at him once more and grinned back. "… a friend." This did not, apparently, appease Hermione.
"What carriage were you in? Why couldn't we find you!" she screamed. For a moment Harry was puzzled- why couldn't they find him? - but he quickly recalled the events of the train journey.
"Malfoy showed up quite early on in the trip. He was being an idiot, badmouthing you and Ron, but Tonks hexed him right out of the compartment! It was brilliant! And then he threatened to come back with more Slytherins, so she cast some charms on the door, I guess they were git-repelling- er, I mean Notice-Me-Not charms…," he replied. This seemed to calm Hermione. Magic, she could understand.
"Well… you still should have told us where you were! We were worried." She said indignantly.
"Ok, I'm sorry, but I was tired and I knew I could find you here at the Station." He replied. Hermione huffed but then let her face relax into a smile.
"Ok, then. Oh, and Harry, before I go," Hermione leaned in closer. "I wanted to invite you to go with our family on holiday. It's for four weeks, and we're going to France. Its not a hotel or anything- it's a converted farm with two buildings. It's quiet and very Muggle so we won't be bothered. There's another family staying there as well, but you probably won't see much of them, we're in separate houses, although we share the pool. I've asked Ron too, he said he'll be able to come. We're paying for it all and you can come in the car with us, we're going through the Channel Tunnel. We're leaving the day after tomorrow. Send me an owl or ring me, you've got my number or-". Harry cut her off with a laugh.
"Ok, 'ermione! I'd love to go. I've got a little bit of… persuasion for the Muggles this year." He winked, putting his hands in front of him like a dog and growling in the back of his throat. Hermione's eyes widened. "If you owl me later with all the details, I can get ready. I can catch the Knight Bus to your place can't I? Oh, and I'll pay for-" This time Hermione cut him off.
"Oh no you won't Harry James Potter! WE are paying for this."
"…fine." He muttered sullenly. Spotting the whale-like figure of Vernon Dursley over the crowd of people he excused himself. "See you later then 'mione!"
Maybe, he thought as he carried his trunk towards his uncle, just maybe, this summer won't be so bad after all!
As the door slammed shut in front of Harry, leaving him standing in the pouring rain, his trunk on the ground behind him and Hedwig protesting loudly from her cage, Harry disagreed violently with his earlier thought. Harry could just make out his cousin Dudley laughing wildly through the semi-transparent door panes. Hedwig gave another indignant hoot and Harry sighed.
"Yeah, I know girl, I hate them too… Well, better get comfy, I doubt they'll let us in till morning." Harry slumped down against the trunk. It wasn't very comfortable, but what could he do? Wait! He thought suddenly. I think I have… He began to rummage around in his trunk, fingers scraping against various odds and ends. "The scarf!" he proclaimed. He pulled out the item in question, a woolly scarf knitted in Gryffindor colours, a present to him from an 'anonymous source'. Also known as creepy stalker #1- Collin Creevey. He bundled it up, placing it on his trunk and then resting his head upon it. "Well… night girl." Hedwig hooted loudly. "What?" Another hoot. Slightly annoyed now, Harry sat up. Hedwig was gazing fixedly at the wall. But why would she be staring at- the wall! The wall that Dudley and his gang had climbed on when they were little which had broken, leaving a crevice in the side which had never been fixed. It might just be in reach. He had a way inside!
"Okay girl," Harry whispered to her. "I'll climb over and unlock the door. Then I'll bring you upstairs. My 'family' should be asleep by now." Harry was almost bouncing with excitement. Somewhere in the back of his head he realized this was a stupid plan. He was counting on being tall enough, silent enough and lucky enough to pull this off. He didn't even know if the back door was open! But still, he was annoyed at his relatives, burning with the injustice of it all. He jogged up to the wall, stretching his fingers. He raised himself up on his toes. DAMN! He was just too short! He stretched, stretched, stretched, willed his fingers to be longer. Come on! Taller, taller! Finally, miraculously his fingers curled around the top of the wall. He pulled himself up, Quidditch training finally paying off and his feet scrabbling up the wall. He perched on the top of the wall, one leg on either side and allowed himself a victory grin. He slipped his other leg over the wall and dropped down. He winced slightly as a sharp jolt ran through his braced knees. Still. He had achieved his goal! He was in.
It was lucky for Harry that Petunia Dursley was so meticulous about maintaining her garden. The neatly trimmed lawn was completely twig and leaf free and Harry's journey across it to back door was completely uneventful. He arrived at the door, a squat, white thing with small windows set in the middle and a curved brass handle curving from the side. He tried the handle with one hand, crossing the fingers of his other behind his back. It swung open smoothly. Success! Harry stepped inside, careful to wipe his muddy shoes on the mat. The kitchen was the same as ever, clean sparkling chairs, clean sparkling oven and clean sparkling island sat right in the middle. He sighed. If he knew the Dursleys (and he did) he'd be scrubbing this kitchen all day tomorrow. Ah well. Best to enjoy the night while he could.
Within a matter of minutes both Harry and Hedwig were dry in his room (if, indeed, you could call the small grotty space in which Harry spent the summer months a room). As soon as Hedwig was happy Harry collapsed onto the bed, a wave of intense exhaustion hitting him like a physical wave. He tried to cast his mind back- what had he done that had tired him so? One thought flittered through the edges of his mind- the Dursleys always locked their back door. Groaning, Harry sank into the blissful oblivion of sleep.
"BOY!" Vernon Dursleys voice echoed loudly through the house. "BOY!" he bellowed again. Stomping across the hall toward Harry's room he threw open the door, sending it crashing into the hallway. He waddled angrily over to the bed where Harry still lay. He poked his fat face into Harry's. "You got in. You unlocked the back door. How?" he hissed. "Your freakishness boy? Well, the jokes on you freak! Now you'll be expelled from your school. But we're not putting up with you here, oh, NO! I've already sent off St Brutus' Boarding School. On the first of September you are OUT!" He prowled over to Harry's trunk. "In the mean time this is going!" Harry looked him in the eyes. He didn't what it was but he was buzzing with energy. He felt better than he had in a long time. He sprang from the bed, the exhaustion from last night forgotten. He vaguely noticed he now stood a good inch taller than his uncle but he pushed the fact to the back of his mind.
"No." Harry stated. His Uncle looked at him.
"No?" Vernon's face started to turn purple. "What are you going to do about it? No freakishness allowed."
"I didn't use magic last night Uncle." He said.
"Well boy, even if you didn't use your strangeness that doesn't help you now. This is my house. MY HOUSE!" he thundered. Harry snatched his wand from the bedside table. He walked slowly towards his Uncle wand held threateningly. Vernon repeated his warning. "No mag-" his voice trailed off as Harry's fist connected with his jaw. Vernon went down cold.
"Goodbye Uncle." Harry hefted his trunk and unlocked Hedwig's cage. She fluttered and he packed the cage into his trunk. "Good girl." He crooned, stroking her head. "Can you fly to Hermione's house?" The snowy owl gave a condescending hoot. Harry laughed. "Okay, sorry, of course you can. Oh, wait, take this." Dipping into his trunk he retrieved a dirty piece of parchment and a battered Self-Inking Quill. He scrawled a quick note and attached it to Hedwig's leg. "See you there." Hedwig glided majestically from the window and Harry continued downstairs, out the door onto the pavement. With a quick slice of his wand a triple decker purple bus appeared before him. "Hey Stan. 192 Falcon Avenue, ASAP. Get me out of this hell-hole.