Author's Note: I have had a very hard year. I say this in explanation to any of you who've been wondering where I was. Well, all I can say is that I'm back, hopefully for a while. I am still suffering a severe case of writer's block so don't expect this material to be my best. I know this is a really short chapter...sorry, but like I said, I had a hard time writing it. It'll probably change before I write chapter two, in which case I'll let you know at the beginning of chapter two should you want to re-read it. Hope you like it at least!
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I keep him locked up in my closet.
Chapter OneA heavy and awkward silence hung over Privet Drive. Though it was a Saturday afternoon, there were no children out playing in the street, nor were there any people tending to their yards. It was obvious that the latter had been the case for awhile, as the lawns of Privet Drive, usually neat and tidy, were overgrown and choked with weeds. In all the houses, the curtains were pulled tightly closed, and the doors were all firmly locked.
A lonely wind blew past, sweeping a newspaper from a garbage bin.
More Attacks Imminent, Prime Minister WarnsThe public is warned that more attacks similar to the recent bombings are most certainly forthcoming, according to the Prime Minister. He refuses to name his sources, but rumor has it that a secret organization of some sort is relaying this information to him.
"There is no such thing," stated one Kingsley Shacklebolt, a secretary of the Prime Minister's, "but these sources must remain anonymous, for their own protection of course."
People are being urged not to panic. Although the risk of more attacks is high, those in power remain hopeful that the perpetrators will soon be caught. However, they provide no explanation as to the fact that several brutal murders that have taken place lately as of yet remain unsolved. Though police deny that the attacks and the murders have any correlation, public opinion remains otherwise.
"I tell you, I'm not leaving my house unless I have to," said Myrna Ingles of Lakecrest, "not until all this rubbish is taken care of. My husband is taking a job closer to home, and my children are going to the local school—as if I'd risk letting them go to boarding school this year," she stated.
Further reports suggest...(ctd. page 5, column 3)
In the house at Number Four, Privet Drive, the air of fear and uncertainty was strong. In the living room, the three Dursleys sat transfixed before the local news. Even Dudley, who usually complained loudly if he was forced to watch anything that wasn't mindlessly entertaining, was glued to the words of the television reporter, who had long since lost his cheerful persona after many evenings of reporting the same horrible news...deaths, disasters, attacks. His voice, far from jovial, was hollow as he gave details of the most recent murder.
"Don't know what the world's gotten to," said Petunia Dursley with a waver in her voice. "These...these horrible things happening..." She glanced quickly towards the door, which sported not one or two, but three locks (which had been installed by Vernon at the beginning of the summer).
Vernon grunted in reply, as the news had just switched from the murder to an explosion of a house in Sheffield that had killed five people. They were so engrossed with the television report that they didn't notice a footfall on the stair. Harry Potter noted the newscaster's topic and shook his head.
"Horrible, isn't it?" he said. The three Dursleys jumped in their seats. Vernon turned quickly to face the bespectacled, messy-haired young man who had joined them.
"And what do you care?" he said nastily, as if Harry were some sort of heartless troll.
"I went to school with one of the boys that was killed," he said quietly.
"To...school?" sputtered Vernon. "Then they were...were you-know-whats, like you?"
"Of course," said Harry. "Most of the people being killed are."
Vernon didn't know what to say. Despite the fact that he didn't like Harry's lot, he had never wished the bunch of them dead. All that he cared about was...
"Does that mean we're safe?" he asked quickly.
"I guess as safe as any muggle is," he said, which didn't answer Vernon's question.
But Harry didn't know how to answer such a question any other way. In these days, nobody was safe, muggle, witch, or wizard. But the person who was most definitely in the most danger was Harry Potter himself, because the one person who wanted Harry dead more than anything was the one person...the one monster...who was calling the shots.
"Any idea when you'll be leaving?" said Vernon finally. Harry looked up, the thoughts he had been thinking flying from his head like owls.
"Today, hopefully," he said. "At least, that's what Hermione has decided on."
Petunia snorted at the mention of Harry's friend. There had certainly been no love lost between the two of them. Harry supposed it was because, on some level, Hermione must have reminded her of Harry's mother (although this was purely hypothesis on his part).
Hermione, on the other hand, was certain of the reason Petunia hated her so much.
"Crookshanks! Get...in...your...carrier!" she called from upstairs.
A moment later, a ginger hairball came flying down the stairs, yowling irritably. A young woman with bushy brown hair came running after it, catching the cat as it began clawing it's way up the Dursley's sofa.
"Naughty, naughty Crookshanks!" she said.
The cat meowed, obviously not pleased with it's handling. It wasn't used to having to be corralled everywhere and kept locked up in one room, but Hermione had insisted on bringing her cat along when she came to stay at Harry's. She had quickly discovered that this was the only way to keep Crookshanks without any complaints from Harry's Aunt Petunia. (Well, hardly any.)
"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Dursley," she said. "Crookshanks got away from me and I didn't realize the door was open a crack."
"Hmph," Petunia snorted, obviously not buying it, or at the very least not caring. Harry gave Hermione an 'I-told-you-so' look, as he had been trying to convince her that apologies and niceties didn't work on the Dursleys, but Hermione had insisted on remaining as courteous as possible while there, a feat which was quite difficult to accomplish with a family such as Harry's.
"Is Ron still asleep?" Harry asked, as his friend (who was not quite used to life without schoolwork or chores) had taken to sleeping in, especially on the weekends.
"No, he's finally woken up," said Hermione in exasperation—she had been trying to get him to awaken for the past two hours.
"How'd you manage that?" Harry asked.
"I asked him if he wanted to leave Privet Drive or not. That got him going," she said, laughing before she realized what she had said, and right in front of the Dursleys as well.
Harry smiled at her and her now half-hearted attempt to be polite (which she had so obviously just ruined).
"Anyway, he'll be down in a minute, and then we can get going," she said.
"All right. Might as well summon down our trunks," he said.
"All right," she said, raising her wand. Seeing this, Dudley let out a noise of horror (as he had never had a good experience with magic) and exited the room towards the kitchen. Petunia stood up and was in the process of following him, when all of a sudden...
BANG!
Startled, but not in the least surprised, Harry dropped to the floor. As the smoke from the exploded front door cleared, a young man Harry had met once before entered the room.
"Blaise Zabini!" Hermione gasped.
Though in their year, the young man was a Slytherin and therefore not well known to Harry.
"Where is Harry Potter?" he said smugly.
Harry, hearing this, and realizing that he was out of sight of Blaise for the time being, began crawling towards the cupboard and slunk in, pulling his wand out of his back pocket.
"What're you doing here?" said Hermione, extending her own wand towards him (which Harry could see, having left he door open a crack).
"I'm proving myself to the Dark Lord," he said. "Once and for all. He says I'm not experienced enough to be a Death Eater," he spat in irritation. "We'll SEE how experienced I am when I kill the precious Chosen One."
"You...kill...Chosen One..." Uncle Vernon was stammering. "NOW WAIT A MINUTE! WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?"
"You'll be his muggle uncle, I suppose?" said Zabini coolly, making it obvious what he thought of muggles.
"Where is the boy?" he said sharply. Then he noticed Petunia, who had taken a guarding stance between the living room and kitchen, where Harry was sure that Dudley was hiding.
"He's not in here, I can tell you that much!" she said.
A smile of triumph crossed Blaise's face. "Since you say otherwise, I must assume that he most certainly is," said Blaise, raising his wand. "Get out of the way, foul woman, and let me at him."
Petunia raised her arms and grabbed at either side of the door that led to the kitchen. "He's not in here, it's only my son..."
"And how am I to know that's really your son? I've heard rumors from a professor that he's brewed Polyjuice Potion before...perhaps I should kill him anyway, just to be sure." Blaise advanced on Petunia, who screamed in horror but wouldn't back down.
It was then that Harry realized something. Aunt Petunia, as unpleasant as she was, loved her son, just as much as his own mother loved him. And when he saw Blaise raise his wand, he also realized that Petunia would be willing to die for Dudley. And he knew that he could let nothing happen to them...at least part of his family should remain whole, however much he disliked them.
"Leave them alone," he said, bursting forth from the cupboard.
"Ah, so there you are..." Blaise said.
"Harry! Apparate out!" Hermione screamed.
"Why? Blaise isn't a threat. I've faced real Death Eaters before."
"I'm as strong as any of them," Blaise snarled. "And I'll prove it! Cruci—"
"Expelliarmus!" three voices cried out. Ron, who had just appeared to see what the commotion was, Hermione, and Harry had all used the same curse at the same time (as they had once before, on an unsuspecting Professor Snape).
Blaise was out cold. "Pathetic," Harry said, using his foot to turn him over so that his face wasn't imbedded in Aunt Petunia's carpet.
"Who is that?" gasped Aunt Petunia.
"A boy from school," said Harry. "Just awannabeDeath Eater. Hermione, Apparate to the ministry and tell them to come collect our friend here."
Hermione nodded, and with a loud crack disappeared. Now, the sudden disappearance of Hermione was enough to send Aunt Petunia over the edge and she passed out right on the spot.
"Petunia, dear!" Vernon said, rushing forward to catch her. Harry shook his head, unable to think after the chaos that had just occurred.
"Well, that was exciting," said Ron, who was making his way down the stairs.
"Tell me about it," Harry replied.
Ron chuckled half-heartedly, looking at Zabini who was still lying there on the carpet.
After a few minutes had passed two Aurors Apparated in. Thankfully, Petunia had made it up to her bedroom and didn't pass out again upon this occurrence.
"Shame," said the female Auror, a blonde who looked extremely tired. "I knew his mother, she was a good witch."
"Don't worry about him, we'll give him some time in Azkaban and let him think over his ambitions to be a Death Eater," said the wizard.
The witch shook her head. "Ruined his life," she sighed. "All right, let's get him out of here."
She grabbed the unconscious Blaise by the arm and the three of them Apparated out. Harry sighed then, suddenly tired.
"Hermione, Ron...let's get out of here," he said.
Hermione nodded. "I'm in agreement with you on that," she said.
After summoning down their trunks, they made their way to the curb (ignoring the neighbors, who were looking out their curtains to see what the commotion was), and hailed the Knight Bus.
It appeared after just a moment. Harry felt a little stab of anger when he saw that, rather than Stan Shunpike, yet another overworked Auror was working the Knight Bus.
"Well, get on, get on," he said, raising his wand and stowing their trunks neatly in the luggage compartment. "No time to linger."
Harry turned one last time to look at Number Four Privet Drive. "Be safe, Dursleys," he said, not sure himself where the sentiment came from, for he was sure that no such thing had existed. And then he turned away, armed with the knowledge that he would never see the house where he had spent most of the first ten years of his life, or his family, ever again.