The Summer had been eventful enough in the first few weeks. The school year ended on such a high note, with the capture of real, live Death Eaters and the indisputable knowledge that He-Who-must-not-be-named had truly returned from form to body once again. Aside from the occasional scare here and there though, he'd been quiet. On the move no doubt, in the shadows. As for the newly imprisoned Death Eaters, only two met their fate with death. The others made their escape shortly there after.
The first to die was Lucius Malfoy. Without much of a trial, and with great haste on the part of the Minister, his execution was a welcomed surprise to most of the Wizarding world. Survived by a wife, son, distant aunt, and a few close cousins, his funeral was a small, private affair. The second death was reported in a second edition of the Daily Prophet for that same day, a rare instance indeed. With the ever turning chain of events, it appeared Theodore Nott Sr, the elderly widower and long time friend of the Malfoys, killed himself. Apparently, he was driven into a maddening depression under the will of the Dementors. The article said he violently ripped through his wrists and bled to death in his cell. Other in mates reported him saying over and over, "I'm sorry, Elizabeth".
Public approval on the matter was met with mixed feelings. Yes, a horrible man was dead, but something was sickening about the whole matter. The Minister seemed to take full credit, and when confronted about it, only dug himself a hole to make even his supporters question how morally sane he was. No more than a week passed before the breakout of Death Eaters. The event is still under investigation and little in known about it. Many have taken to blaming the Minister. There have been no out of the ordinary deaths in the world though. A few missing reports were issued, but nearly all have been revoked due to the fact the persons in question have been found (Or rather, have come home from the store).
And as for Little Whinging, Surrey, it's as uneventful as ever. Not one bespectacled feline, no roaring motorcycles (giant or not), no sight of big black dogs in the shadows, nothing out of the ordinary except for a boy laying on the roof of the fourth house on Privet Dr. He was a thin boy, six foot from head to tippy-toe. His scraggly black hair was short and messy. It still welcomes attention from those who care. The lady of the house has begun to threaten him again, saying she'll shave him bald if he doesn't do something about it. And though he trims and cuts it every day, it's still a ruddy mess. Glasses rested on his chest. He did not need them to daydream. Blurry clouds moved across the afternoon sky. He took a deep breath, just now remembering to breathe. He exhaled with a sigh. There's a calm in feeling alone. You just don't expect too much from the world when everyone around you has been taken from you. For almost fifteen years, this boy has had so much taken from him. And the man responsible is still out there. He's still plotting. And when he strikes, this boy does not know what he'll do anymore. He could stand and fight, but is that really what he wants? Is that really what he wants? No. It isn't what he wants to do. But it's what he needs to do. He needs to stand up and fight and save the rest of the world from the pain that he's been through over and over again. You see, this boy had his parents ripped from him at the age of one, and the only memory of the event lies with the scar etched so roughly into his forehead. Less than two years ago, a friend was snatched from his grasping fingers with no remorse. With no effort. And just one month ago today, a figure from his past, a godsend to a boy with nothing, was killed. And it was so haphazard, so accidental, unpredictable, and pathetic it just couldn't have been true. But it was. And again, this boy is alone. Alone on a rooftop, staring at shapes in the sky wishing he was there instead of where he was.
"Potter! Harry Potter!"