A/N:Just a little one-shot. It was originally written for a challenge. The challenge was the write the opening for book 7. I had to add in a couple of lines at the end though, just so it would be complete. Enjoy!
Harry was pacing restlessly as he looked, for what seemed like the hundredth time, out his small window at #4 Privet Drive. The street was dark, the lights were a dull orange, and you could barely see the perfectly manicured lawns and the hedges trimmed just so. It seemed to paint a perfect picture. If any Muggle looked down the street, they never would've guessed what was about to happen.
In fact, the seventeen-year-old wizard would be the only one who knew. Harry anxiously pushed his spectacles up his nose, and flopped down on the unmade bed. His green eyes flicked over to his five birthday cards.
The one from Remus Lupin was surprising to see, not that it held anything but birthday wishes. Indeed, he had not had much news about the wizarding world at all.
Hermione's was full of the usual-a nice long letter in her miniscule handwriting. It was all about 'keeping busy' and 'waiting for the right moments'.
Ron's on the other hand, was a little brasher. "We'll bust you out of the hellhole soon enough."
The card from Hagrid filled Harry with a longing for Hogwarts. "I'll be makin' a cake for when ya return. Fang'll be 'appy to see yer."
Then, there was the card from Ginny. Since the end of the school year, they had talked, but not as much as he would've liked. Harry often found it hard to go back to the way things were. Half of him was still kicking himself for letting her go. However, a very defensive part said it was for the best. He was keeping her safe. His eyes still lingered on her card the longest.
He sighed as he ran his hand through his unruly black hair. It had gotten a bit longer over the summer and fell into his eyes, causing him to constantly push it back. It was no good trying to tame it; half the time Harry didn't even bother with a brush.
A loud snore was audible from down the hall. Lately, Vernon had taken to hitting the bottle before bed. And just when Harry had thought it was possibly, the snoring grew louder at night. Poor Petunia (dare those words be uttered together) had gone into sleep therapy.
Actually, Petunia was in therapy period. Although, Harry thought grimly, it can't be doing her much good if she has to lie about half her problems anyway. Harry smirked as he tried to imagine the situation. He could just see it-Petunia's stretched frame lying on a couch with an ice pack to her forehead, her beady eyes dotting all about the room, while trying to explain everything. Well, you see everything was fine until seven years ago. You see the vermin that is my nephew is actually a wizard. As in can do magic. And well, it's simply horrid. She's scared Diddykins so badly I can hardly recognize him! Somehow, he doubted that would go over so well. The thought of the therapist smiling to himself, knowing he would get his money's worth with this case, caused him to stifle a laugh.
Harry would be glad to leave here. The only question remaining was when he would leave. He'd been waiting for his birthday all summer-not for celebration-but to finally be able to leave the Dursleys once and for all. To be able to experience the freedom that Sirius had once offered him. The trouble is waiting of course. Harry had never been known for his patience, rather for his lack thereof. There was no dealing with a Harry that has been cooped up like some kind of animal.
The Weasley's and Hermione had promised that he would be out of Privet Drive as fast as possible after he became of age. So far, it had been three days and nothing but his birthday cards as far as correspondence. It's not like those were much concern anyway-all of them were filled with little shards of hope of rescue, but nothing concrete. Nothing solid that told him anything. He assumed this was for his 'protection' or some other bullshit. Frankly, he had had enough.
Sighing (he had taken to doing that a lot lately), Harry thought about where the next stage of his life might take him. What with Horcruxes on his mind, Hogwarts nagging at his heart, and if he would even survive the Last Battle that was clearly looming ahead, he had a lot to mull over this summer.
On one hand, Horcruxes were his first priority. What with Dumbledore gone, the responsibility of destroying them went to him. While, half of him agreed with Hermione's logic of going back to the Hogwarts library for sources, Harry wasn't sure he had that kind of time. Voldemort was growing stronger every day, and his army was expanding at an alarming rate. He wasn't even sure where to find Hufflepuff's cup and didn't have a clue as to what possession of Rowena Ravenclaw's Voldemort had chosen for part of his soul. It was a large task that had fallen to him, and as much as he wanted to enjoy his last year at Hogwarts, this was more important.
Harry only wished that Ron and Hermione weren't giving it up for him. As much as he knew that he needed their help, he still hoped that they wouldn't have had to be caught up in this. Laughing bitterly to himself one day, he realized they were caught up in it whether he wanted it or not. They had made their choice in First Year. He only wished they would be able to admit their feelings to each other before it was too late.
Suddenly, one of the many silver garbage cans lining the street knocked over suddenly, causing a deafening clang to be heard around the neighborhood. Harry immediately jumped up, knocking several dusty schoolbooks over, and practically collided with the window. He could make out two vague figures, but by the arguments that wafted through the night air, Ron and Hermione were dusting themselves off at the edge of the driveway. Their journey was set to begin. And though he knew not where it would take them, somehow Harry knew they'd make it through.