Chapter One - Letters and Escape Plans
Harry Potter sat inside his room at Number Four, Privet Drive, writing a letter to his former professor, Remus J. Lupin. At the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Lupin and five other members of the Order of the Phoenix had stopped at Kings Cross Station to meet him as he got off the train. They had informed the Dursleys that if they didn't hear from Harry for three days in a row, they would come and get him.
What had seemed like the perfect plan had somehow gone awry. The Dursleys, well aware of the fact that, as an underage wizard, he couldn't use magic outside of school. Wanting to keep Harry as miserable as possible, they had locked up his owl, Hedwig, and made him send all of his mail by Muggle post to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. If he didn't say he was happy, well....
Were this a year ago, they would not have been able to do this. Harry blamed himself for the fact that he was so miserable now. Feeling thouroughly depressed once, he had accidently let it slip to Dudley that his godfather had died. Sirius was the only thing that kept the Dursleys from doing anything horrible to him. He was convicted for murder, and Harry had convieniently forgotten to tell them that he was innocent. But it was no use brooding. He was gone now.
He looked out his window, hoping to see Ron Weasley arrive in his flying car, like he had four years earlier. No such luck. The car was running wild in the Forbidden Forest on the Hogwarts grounds, who knew how many miles from him.
I WANT A RESCUE!! He yelled inwardly. But, remembering what Dumbledore had told him only weeks ago, he had to call Privet Drive home. He was safe there. But, he reminded himself, as though desperate to prove Dumbledore wrong so that something might save him, Dementors turned up in Magnolia Crescent last year!!! Two of them! Safe here!
As he remembered that night in the alley almost a year ago, something tweaked in the back of his mind. Mrs. Figg!
Arabella Figg was an old lady that lived down the street from the Dursleys. A Squib, she had had to take care of Harry when he was younger and the Dursleys went out. She had owned many cats in her lifetime, and her house smelled vaguely like cabbage. But, in her words, "I wanted to be nicer to you, but I couldn't. Didn't want them to think you were having a good time. Otherwise they wouldn't let you come back." He knew he could easily use magic to contact Lupin or anyone else, no one would expel him. He was sure of that. But using magic under the Dursleys' noses. they might throw him out. And Privet Drive was the only place that he was truly safe. Even if last year Aunt Petunia had kept him, he didn't think she would again.
But couldn't he visit Mrs. Figg- now that he knew-
He pocketed the letter and raced downstairs into the sitting room, where the Dursleys were having tea, making sure they noticed him.
"Where're you going?" asked Aunt Petunia suspiciously, eyeing him as though he were about to destroy the house.
"Out."
"Out where?"
"Mrs. Figg caught me when I went for a walk last night, and she wants me to clean out her attic," Harry lied quickly.
"Well. Maybe that'll knock some ruddy sense into you," said his uncle Vernon.
Before they could tell him otherwise, he was out the door, down the street, and knocking on number six.
Mrs. Figg answered the door, clad in a bathrobe and slippers. Her face lit up when she answered the door.
"Harry!" she squealed. "Come in! Come in! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Sit down! Shall I make you some tea? How was your year at Hogwarts?"
"Er," Harry replied, not wanting to think about the events of last year. He had consecutively lost his mother, father, and godfather, and the best thing to do at the moment was to try and not think about it.
He shook his head. "Mrs. Figg- er- can I ask you something?"
"Anything!" said Mrs. Figg, still quite overexcited upon seeing him.
"Er- well- do you have an owl? Because I've got this letter I need to send and-"
The whole story came pouring out. Mrs. Figg looked on sympathetically. When he was finished, she leapt up and scurried into her kitchen.
Moments later, she reappeared with an owl that looked like a brown version of Errol.
"Here, dear, use Demoks. He hasn't had a job in ages, but I think he'll be alright."
Harry hastily pulled his letter to Lupin out of his pocket. "I'll- er- just finish this, then."
Dear Lupin,
Thanks for your last letter. Are Ron and Hermione there? How are they? How's Buckbeak?
Please reply to this pronto, because I'm in a bit of a tight spot right now. The Dursleys have been monitoring my letters, and this may be the only honest one I get to write. Ignore all the others.
I want out of here. Anything you can do?
Sincerely,
Harry
He tied the letter to Demoks's leg and sent him off, praying that the Dursleys wouldn't see the owl swooping out of the house two doors down.
A minute after he had released the owl, he realized how much information he had included. But, anyway, he reassured himself, what was the chance that it would be intercepted? Just about zilch. But, still...
Trying to shake the thought out of his head, he picked up a scone off the plate that Mrs. Figg had set down in front of him, and took a large bite. What he really wanted to do was fly out of the house on his Firebolt, straight to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place in London, the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. He knew he wouldn't get expelled. After avoiding it once a year ago, he felt that there was nothing anyone could really do to him any more. He just wanted to see Ron and Hermione. And get away from Privet Drive. Besides, was flying a broomstick really underage magic? The broomstick was bewitched to fly, it wasn't as though he was bewitching it. and it wouldn't be a problem, unless he was seen. And being the skilled flyer that he was, that wasn't likely. And, last year, hadn't he flown away with Moody and Tonks and a dozen others? He had had his hearing for conjuring a Patronus, not for flying.
But then there was the matter of his trunk. he couldn't very well carry it on his broom, nor could he bewitch it to be feather-light and then carry it that way, as he had wanted to do when he was thirteen. Or he could just live out the summer with the Dursleys.
No, no, he wouldn't do that. He was going to get out.
Harry Potter sat inside his room at Number Four, Privet Drive, writing a letter to his former professor, Remus J. Lupin. At the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, Lupin and five other members of the Order of the Phoenix had stopped at Kings Cross Station to meet him as he got off the train. They had informed the Dursleys that if they didn't hear from Harry for three days in a row, they would come and get him.
What had seemed like the perfect plan had somehow gone awry. The Dursleys, well aware of the fact that, as an underage wizard, he couldn't use magic outside of school. Wanting to keep Harry as miserable as possible, they had locked up his owl, Hedwig, and made him send all of his mail by Muggle post to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. If he didn't say he was happy, well....
Were this a year ago, they would not have been able to do this. Harry blamed himself for the fact that he was so miserable now. Feeling thouroughly depressed once, he had accidently let it slip to Dudley that his godfather had died. Sirius was the only thing that kept the Dursleys from doing anything horrible to him. He was convicted for murder, and Harry had convieniently forgotten to tell them that he was innocent. But it was no use brooding. He was gone now.
He looked out his window, hoping to see Ron Weasley arrive in his flying car, like he had four years earlier. No such luck. The car was running wild in the Forbidden Forest on the Hogwarts grounds, who knew how many miles from him.
I WANT A RESCUE!! He yelled inwardly. But, remembering what Dumbledore had told him only weeks ago, he had to call Privet Drive home. He was safe there. But, he reminded himself, as though desperate to prove Dumbledore wrong so that something might save him, Dementors turned up in Magnolia Crescent last year!!! Two of them! Safe here!
As he remembered that night in the alley almost a year ago, something tweaked in the back of his mind. Mrs. Figg!
Arabella Figg was an old lady that lived down the street from the Dursleys. A Squib, she had had to take care of Harry when he was younger and the Dursleys went out. She had owned many cats in her lifetime, and her house smelled vaguely like cabbage. But, in her words, "I wanted to be nicer to you, but I couldn't. Didn't want them to think you were having a good time. Otherwise they wouldn't let you come back." He knew he could easily use magic to contact Lupin or anyone else, no one would expel him. He was sure of that. But using magic under the Dursleys' noses. they might throw him out. And Privet Drive was the only place that he was truly safe. Even if last year Aunt Petunia had kept him, he didn't think she would again.
But couldn't he visit Mrs. Figg- now that he knew-
He pocketed the letter and raced downstairs into the sitting room, where the Dursleys were having tea, making sure they noticed him.
"Where're you going?" asked Aunt Petunia suspiciously, eyeing him as though he were about to destroy the house.
"Out."
"Out where?"
"Mrs. Figg caught me when I went for a walk last night, and she wants me to clean out her attic," Harry lied quickly.
"Well. Maybe that'll knock some ruddy sense into you," said his uncle Vernon.
Before they could tell him otherwise, he was out the door, down the street, and knocking on number six.
Mrs. Figg answered the door, clad in a bathrobe and slippers. Her face lit up when she answered the door.
"Harry!" she squealed. "Come in! Come in! Oh, I'm so glad to see you! Sit down! Shall I make you some tea? How was your year at Hogwarts?"
"Er," Harry replied, not wanting to think about the events of last year. He had consecutively lost his mother, father, and godfather, and the best thing to do at the moment was to try and not think about it.
He shook his head. "Mrs. Figg- er- can I ask you something?"
"Anything!" said Mrs. Figg, still quite overexcited upon seeing him.
"Er- well- do you have an owl? Because I've got this letter I need to send and-"
The whole story came pouring out. Mrs. Figg looked on sympathetically. When he was finished, she leapt up and scurried into her kitchen.
Moments later, she reappeared with an owl that looked like a brown version of Errol.
"Here, dear, use Demoks. He hasn't had a job in ages, but I think he'll be alright."
Harry hastily pulled his letter to Lupin out of his pocket. "I'll- er- just finish this, then."
Dear Lupin,
Thanks for your last letter. Are Ron and Hermione there? How are they? How's Buckbeak?
Please reply to this pronto, because I'm in a bit of a tight spot right now. The Dursleys have been monitoring my letters, and this may be the only honest one I get to write. Ignore all the others.
I want out of here. Anything you can do?
Sincerely,
Harry
He tied the letter to Demoks's leg and sent him off, praying that the Dursleys wouldn't see the owl swooping out of the house two doors down.
A minute after he had released the owl, he realized how much information he had included. But, anyway, he reassured himself, what was the chance that it would be intercepted? Just about zilch. But, still...
Trying to shake the thought out of his head, he picked up a scone off the plate that Mrs. Figg had set down in front of him, and took a large bite. What he really wanted to do was fly out of the house on his Firebolt, straight to Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place in London, the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. He knew he wouldn't get expelled. After avoiding it once a year ago, he felt that there was nothing anyone could really do to him any more. He just wanted to see Ron and Hermione. And get away from Privet Drive. Besides, was flying a broomstick really underage magic? The broomstick was bewitched to fly, it wasn't as though he was bewitching it. and it wouldn't be a problem, unless he was seen. And being the skilled flyer that he was, that wasn't likely. And, last year, hadn't he flown away with Moody and Tonks and a dozen others? He had had his hearing for conjuring a Patronus, not for flying.
But then there was the matter of his trunk. he couldn't very well carry it on his broom, nor could he bewitch it to be feather-light and then carry it that way, as he had wanted to do when he was thirteen. Or he could just live out the summer with the Dursleys.
No, no, he wouldn't do that. He was going to get out.