Author: gamegeek2
Category: Action&Adventure, Romance
Keywords: Harry, Voldemort, The Burrow
Spoilers: PS/SS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Harry has a horrific nightmare, involving Hermione, her family, Wormtail, and Voldemort.The day after, Harry recieves a letter from Ron, and is allowed to stay at The Burrow for the rest of the summer holidays.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling, Warner Brothers, and its various publishers. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. Don't sue me; I haven't got enough money as it is.
The Power of Emotion
Chapter 1:- The Letter
Harry looked around. He saw and felt that he was sitting in a comfortable, squishy black armchair. A plush, red rug lay on the wooden floor, flickers of light from the fireplace beside it were dancing momentarily on it, then disappearing.
The walls were coated in a luxurious black paint, firelight bouncing on and off the surfaces. Across from where Harry was sitting, a large, solid, brown colored door was shut. A knocking sound emitted from the outside of it, reaching into his study, and echoing off the walls in his partially-empty room.
"Come in," Harry hissed. The person on the other side of the brown door obeyed, and a horrendously loud creaking sound was heard. A short, plump man entered, his squat body covered completely by pure black hooded robes. "What is it?" Harry asked.
"My Lord, the capture of the Grangers is complete. What do you want me to do with them?" a squeaky, slightly scared voice spoke out under from the hood of his robes.
"Excellent. I was beginning to think that you were murdered, or eaten in your animagus form, you took so long, not that it would be much of a loss. However, you have brought one of Potter's loyal friends and her family to me. You should have been rewarded greatly, for accomplishing this task, but you took an extremely long time getting them to be. Lord Voldemort does not have patience, Wormtail."
"I'm sorry, my Lord, it shall not happen again." the voice of this person rose a pitch higher, clearly afraid of his master.
"It shall not. Consider yourself lucky, Wormtail, as you will not be punished for your lack of speed. Now, bring them here." Harry spoke, an evil grin plastered onto his thin, blood-red lips.
"Yes, my Lord," Wormtail bowed to his Master, and he rushed towards the door, which he left wide open, his footsteps echoing loudly along the wooden floorboards, robes billowing out behind him in rhythm. A few moments passed, and Wormtail was heard coming back towards the room in which Harry sat. He outstretched his arm, a wand in the grasp of his right hand. Behind him, stunned Grangers were levitating in the air. Wormtail lowered his wand, thus lowering the Grangers onto the floor with a hard 'thud!'. He moved right infront of the family, muttered a spell, and invisible ropes shot out of his wand, which wrapped around the Grangers, leaving them unable to move even a fraction. 'Enervate' he cast, restoring the family of three back into a conscious state.
Hermione gasped inwardly. In front of her, was unmistakably Peter Pettigrew, alias Wormtail; his hood had fallen down whilst he was reviving the Granger's. Wormtail stepped aside, revealing to Hermione and her parents, a smirking Voldemort. Hermione did not bother to silence her gasp, this time.
"How wonderfully nice of you to drop in." Harry's voice was silky like velvet, and no emotions but hatred was shown on his remarkably pale, snake-like face. "You see, I just need to have a slightly important conversation with you, Granger." He spat the name disgustingly, as if it was contaminated mud. "I just want to know where the location of the Order of the Phoenix is. Tell me, and you and your dirty, muggle parents will go, no harm done. Refuse to give me this tidbit of information, and you shall be tortured or, ah, murdered? Surely, you want your mud-blood self, and filthy family saved, don't you?"
Hermione's eyes widened, obviously wondering how Voldemort knew the name of the Light army. Even though Hermione was undoubtedly frightened of the monstrosity in front of her, her voice did not betray her, as she spoke distinctly, "I'm not telling you a single thing." Not a trace of fear was heard in her voice. Gathering confidence, she proceeded to utter, "I'll never tell you!"
"You Gryffindors are brave. Stupid, but still brave. I'll give you credit for that. But how unfortunate it is that you will not give me the location where the Order is staying...Even more unfortunate, however, is that you are going to have to be tortured until you finally disclose the whereabouts of the headquarters of The Order of the Phoenix and live, or be murdered. No, make that tortured into insanity; it would make everything more fun, wouldn't it?" Harry cackled evilly. "Your choice, Ms. Granger, of the fate which you and your parents reside in. Which do you pick?" he hissed.
"Hermione, just tell him! Tell him where the headquarters are!" Hermione's mother and father shouted in unison to her. However, she had already picked, and her answer was final.
"Torture me all you want, kill me if you wish, just don't hurt or murder my parents! I'm never going to even think of telling you! You'd only kill me anyway!" she shouted to the evil red-eyed monster that was standing infront of her.
"Your choice," Harry spoke, never taking his eyes off of her. "Wormtail, please ever so kindly take the mudblood's parents home."
"Hermione, don't do this!"
"Don't give up your life to him! Take me instead!"
"Just tell him what he wishes!"
Mr. and Mrs. Granger's pleas were silenced immediately, as Wormtail stunned them both, their words residing into nothingness. He once again levitated Hermione's parents in the air, and they hovered behind him, following him out of the door, and back to what was presumably their home.
Once Wormtail had left, Harry narrowed his blood-red eyes. "Crucio!" he shouted, and Hermione's screams echoed painfully off of the black walls, pearl-white tears streaming down her slightly tanned face. It was though sharp, white-hot knives were repeatedly stabbed down into her skin. After a few minutes of the painful torture, Harry lifted the curse.
Hermione was left gasping for air on the floor. She was sweating uncontrollably, her body shuddering both from the agonizing pain, and from the continuous sobs escaping her. The taste of saltiness mixed with blood from biting her lip was both unpleasant and sour.
"It's your last and final chance," Harry uttered softly, but clearly. "Now either tell me where the Order of the Phoenix headquarters is, or die!" he shouted, his voice rising.
"N..N-never." she gasped, her voice hoarse from the pain of the Cruciatus curse.
"Then, your delightful and ever-so pleasant death is evidently your wish. Avada Kedavra!" he bellowed. Everything happened as if it was in slow-motion; a jet of green light protruded from his wand. The light was heading towards Hermione agonizingly slow. After what seemed like a long time, the beam hit its target. The sound of rushing death was heard. Everything in the study was surrounded in the blinding green light for a few moments, then darkened down. A pain-strickened, open-mouthed Hermione was lying on the wooden floor, in Harry's wake.
"Arrgh!" Harry screamed, splitting pain bursting in his head. His skinny hands flew up to his forehead, clutching his scar. 'Shut up in there! It's only ruddy four thirty in the morning!' His Uncle's shouts could be heard, alongside Dudley's deafening punches on Harry's bedroom wall.
He didn't care if his Uncle and cousin were screaming themselves silly however, as he grabbed a parchment, quill and ink from his desk, sat down, and immediately wrote,
Dear Sirius,
Sorry to be disturbing you, I had a dream where one of my friends was kidnapped and murde --
Oh yes, he thought bitterly. Sirius is gone, and your still complaining about your problems to him. He miserably crumpled up the parchment, and threw it roughly into the already half-parchment-full bin, where all of his partially completed letters to Sirius were.
Rising moodily up from his chair, Harry decided not to inform anybody about his nightmare (or what he hoped was a nightmare), since if it was true, then he was sure that Dumbledore would notify him straight away. Harry sighed, and then settled himself back into his bed, into a sleep which was plagued with images of his friends being brutally murdered by Voldemort.
Harry was greeted by a loud rapping noise on his bedroom door. "Get up in there! I need you to fix up the entire back garden up, as you so kindly woke me Petunia and Dudley up at 4-ruddy-30 in the morning! And if a tiny, minuscule piece of that lawn and flowerbeds have gone awry, then you'll wish you were never born, boy!" his Uncle's gruff voice spoke."Actually, as a matter of fact I wish I never was born...Then I wouldn't have a mass murderer going by the name of 'Lord Voldemort' looking for me, along with his army of giants, enormous snakes, dementors and death eaters hoping to torture me and then murder me, every day and night." Harry snapped back.
His Uncle chose to ignore that comment, and headed down the stairs for his usual morning breakfast; one rather large piece of grapefruit, which was going to be devoured by his obese cousin Dudley anyway, as Dudley's diet wasn't going very well at all; Harry often saw him sneaking dozens of miniature chocolate cakes into his room over the summer holidays, unbeknownst to Aunt Petunia. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia finally had to get a special Smeltings uniform for Dudley which was unsurprisingly XXX-L.
Streching and yawning uncontrallably, Harry climbed out of his bed, and dressed himself. He picked out a selection of rather large clothes (the hand-me-downs were still too big for him), and proceeded down the staircase, and into the kitchen to cut some grapefruit for himself. He thought he would shower after he finished the garden, as he'd only get dirty from all the soil and grass stains that were likely to appear on his cousin's former clothes.
After eating a pitifully small portion of bitter grapefruit for his breakfast, he advanced out into the garden. After pulling up numerous amounts of weeds, planting many Amaryllis', Anemone's, Bouvardia's, and Hyacinth's, digging up dry moss, and attending to the newly-planted flowers, he was finally allowed to re-enter the kitchen hours later, with the suprising approval of Harry's handiwork on the garden from Aunt Petunia. He had consent to shower, which he graciously took after eating his dinner, which was a cold turkey-sandwich; the remants from the meal which Dudley, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had eaten.
Knowing he was unwelcome to remain downstairs for much longer, or rather, knowing he was unwelcome to reside wherever his Uncle, Aunt and cousin were for even a short amount of time, Harry climbed up the stairs, and locked himself in his room, this time falling into a slumber with dreams he did not remember, almost forgetting to take his glasses off.
Harry woke up, to find the presence of a very annoying owl circling somewhat hyperactively around his blurry bedroom. He panicked; why was his bedroom blurry? Oh right, Harry realized, I need my glasses.
"C'mere, Pig," he spoke groggily to the small, owl. Pigwidgeon did not comply, so Harry had to reluctantly climb out of his bed, and snatch the irritating owl out the air, which was plainly excited that he had delivered a letter to the right person. He untied the small piece of rope from Pig's leg, and the letter fell noisily onto the floor. After giving Pigwidgeon some of the smaller owl treats (to which Hedwig loudly objected), and literally chucking the tiny owl out of the window, which fell afew feet before rising again to fly back to its owner, he picked the letter up off the cream-coloured floor, which was considerably heavy.
He considered reading the letter, and decided not to; judging by the darkness that crept inside his bedroom from the gap in the curtains, it was about three in the morning. He settled back down into his bed. His eyes drooped, and he could not overpower the sleep that was washing over him, even if he tried.
Harry was struck with bewildering relief; tomorrow, he would be travelling from 4 Privet Drive, to the Burrow! He grinned with happiness, as he re-read Ron's letter for what seemed like the hundereth time, settling down on his comfortable although moth-eaten chair in his bedroom.
Dear Harry, it said,
Me, Ginny, and the twins literally begged Mum and Dumbledore for you to come over to our house this summer. We finally persueded them in the end, but mind you, it did take alot of grovelling and ward charms around the house for Mom to even consider letting you stay!
Harry smiled; he knew it was like Mrs. Weasley to be over-protective of her family and himself.
Dad's going to take some Ministry cars to your house at exactly 12.25PM tomorrow, whether the Muggles like it or not. He managed to nab some off of Fudge after the Department of Mysteries i-
Here, was an ink blob, signilifing that Ron didn't seem to want to mention this paticular event. At least, Harry thought bitterly, not to me. He's worried if he'll upset me...
Although he was still mourning over the loss of his beloved godfather - the only one person who Harry looked up to as a loving and caring father-figure, whom Harry gravely killed, nevertheless unintentionally or indirectly or not - he wished he could express his feelings to someone who was a close and considerate friend, or somebody who was empathetic, and could understand his problems, aswell as giving him advice on how to cope; he didn't think that he could manage anything anymore, with all of the guilt and fear that had been thrown harshly onto his shoulders.
-ncident. Speaking of the Ministry, Fudge isn't doing very well with all the pressure that's been put on him lately; many people are turning against him now, after he declined the fact that You-Know-Who was back, for over a year. In my own opinion, I don't really think that he's gonna stay on as Minster for Magic for much longer - there's been rumours that a new Minister is going to be elected. Also, if you're wondering about what's happened to Percy, then just hear what the slimy, stupid, dense, thick, jackass of a git has done!!
Harry smiled grimly; it was just like Ron to describe his treacherous brother as cacophonous and dim-witted very...adjectively.
You see, about a week after we returned home from Hogwarts, he let himself in through the back-door of The Burrow, sat down at the table in the kitchen (I was sitting there too) and merely asked, 'What's for tea?', to Mum; she was doing the cooking, cutting some potatoes with her wand, and she nearly dropped her it onto the floor. She turned around, and her face was all red, and just repeated at the twat, 'What's for tea?', then,
'WHAT'S FOR TEA?! I'LL TELL YOU WHAT'S FOR TEA! YOU'RE NOT HAVING ANY! HOW IN THE WORLD CAN YOU EXPECT TO, TO JUST WALK IN LIKE THAT, WHAT, WITH THE WAY YOU TREATED ME AND ARTHUR, YOUR FAMILY AND HARRY, AND JUST THINK THAT EVERYTHING'S GOING TO BE ALRIGHT!?'. Go Mum!
But then, Dad just apparated into the kitchen from the Ministry, smiled somewhat tiredly at Mum (the Ministry's making him work harder, with You-Know-Who, the death-eaters and whatnot around), 'Hello, Mol-', then stopped. He'd noticed that she was staring at Percy, so he turned, and then he saw the prat-of-a-brother-I've-got, and he was, well, shocked to say the least. No, that's an understatement. More like terribly pissed off. He turned a shade of magneta,
A contest between him and Uncle Vernon, Harry thought amusedly.
then spluttered dozens of some meaningless words,
Definatly a contest between him and Vernon; a very close one indeed, he reconsidered.
and then just glared at Percy, and shouted at him to get out, and never, ever come back again, until he atleast decides to treat everyone better, without expecting anything in return. I say he shouldn't ever bother of thinking to come back to The Burrow; the selfish prick doesn't deserve living under our roof, not with the way he messed up badly, and believing that bonehead Fudge all the time.
Well, sorry for dumping some of our family trauma on top of you, Harry. Hope you have a nice time with the muggles 'til tomorrow, and I can't wait until you get here; there's loads we can do, like play some quidditch, play a few pranks on Hermione -she's arriving the same day as you -
Atleast Hermione is okay - that means Voldemort was just trying to get to me, Harry thought, glad that Hermione was genuinely safe.
- with the twins sweet collection. Oh, speaking of Gred and Forge, they've invented some new candy! They're called Fluttering Faeries; I won't tell you what they do though. Scratch that, I can't tell you what they do, I don't even know myself! Just be warned though; they've set them up in every room of the house.
Harry suddenly made a short and quick mental note to remember this.
They've also made something called Frog Fudge. This, I do know; it's enchanted to act like a chocolate frog - just made of fudge though - , and when the buyer eats it, or when the buyer plants the frog somewhere for someone to unexpectedly eat it, they turn into a frog for about a quarter of an hour. They plan to honour Umbridge for the inspiration, though I'd say that she's more of a toad then a frog, don'tcha think?
-- Ron.
P.S. Please don't feel guilty over Sirius, Harry..After all, it wasn't your fault. Ginny says that he knew the consequences of joining the Order, and that if Sirius could chosen which way of dieing, he would have picked dieing in battle, rather then being cooped up in Grimmauld Place with that toe-rag Kreacher all the time.
Remember, you've got me, Ginny and Hermione to speak to; it'll make you feel better, honestly, if you just get it all out of your system.
Harry was touched by the affection that his friends were plainly showing him; it took a small amount of the weight that was on his shoulders off. Atleast he had some caring people to explain his problems to...
His problems...He had alot of problems...Too many problems...Such as Sirius' death...Problems...Voldemort returning and terrorizing anyone in his wake...Problems...The Prophecy...Probl--
The Prophecy. Instantly, it was if a giant hand was grasping painfully around his heart; his body felt like a giant anvil was flung carelessly on top of him. Die at the hand of the other...for neither can live...while the other survives...
He felt as if the weight of the world was on top of his shoulders. Then he immeadiatly realised; it was. He was the One, the chosen One, to 'vanquish the Dark Lord', with this..this 'power'. Or die trying. If he suceeded, then the wizarding world would not be plagued with the fear of the un-human, serpentine monster that bought death and destruction upon many heart-broken, devestated families and friends.
But, if he failed, then..then..he didn't want to think about the horrific results that his eradication would bring. The Muggle world would cease to exist; Muggle-borns would be treated like house-elves, being tortured and wounded constantly; pure-blood and half-blood wizards and witches would have to exploit hazardous and fatal taks that Voldemort would command; the whole world would only consist of slavery, and wreckage of the buildings that had been destroyed in the fateful conflict between the side of the Light and Dark, bloodshed and debris lying all over the battlefield...
Die at the hand of the other...
Harry shivered; he felt ill, queasy, shaky, and stressed all at once. He just couldn't cope; the fate of the world was towering over him, taunting him. How could he, 15 year-old Harry Potter, defeat the experienced, highly powerful, near-invincible Lord Voldemort?
For neither can live...
Sure, the prophecy said that he had to use the 'power' to vanquish Voldemort. But what was this power? Was it a magically-enhanced ability? He had no idea. And if he had no idea, how was he supposed to defeat the core of evil and havock?
While the other survives...
He couldn't take it anymore. Harry weakly walked across the room from his chair, and collapsed down onto the warmth and softness that his bed provided. He lay back, his head drawn to the thin, ragged coverless pillow, his eyes slowly fluttered closed, the contents of the prophecy and the what-ifs buzzing agonizingly throughout his mind...
"The One with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."
What if he couldn't defeat Voldemort?
Harry awoke to the annoying twitters and tweets of the birds outside. He yawned, sleepily brushing his untidy jet-black hair out of his eyes, as he glanced at the digital clock that lay upon a shelf, which read, 11.00AM. Harry grimaced; how did he get up so late, and why didn't Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia bully him into doing chores around the house? Why wasn't Dudley repeatedly jumping up and down in his bedroom, his weight causing miniture earthquakes amongst the floorboards and walls?
Oh yeah, Harry remembered, the threat that Mad-Eye Moody gave them is probally not going to be forgotten for some years. Yawning yet again, he climbed awarkedly out of his bed, - he noticed that he gained an inch or two of height since he was previously at Privet Drive - and dressed into his slightly short, but still baggy hand-me-downs. Harry opened the bedroom door caustiously, - incase if Dudley was brave, no, stupid enough to punch him as soon as he stepped outside - and descended down the staircase, the second-last step creeking squeakily.
Harry stepped into the kitchen where his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin sat wolfing down their food, or rather, where his cousin was wolfing down his own, his moms and his dads food, which consisted of grapefruit varying in different sizes and shapes (Aunt Petunia must've made the heart-shaped ones for her 'ickle Duddekins', he mused). Breakfast was late today, he realised, as he sat down onto a chair postitioned at the end of the table.
As if answering his unspoken question, his Uncle growled at him, "Dudley, your Aunt and I were waiting ever so paitently since 10.55 this morning, for you to get your lazy arse up from that bed, and make us some damned breakfast!" Dudley's overweight body jumped from the table, noisily knocking over his chair, which crashed onto the ground. He looked horrified at being spoken to by his dad, until he realised that the growl was directed at Harry, not him.
"Your Aunt had to kindly prepare our food for us, as you would not, ah, grace us with your presence, until now. You do know what this means, don't you, boy?" his Uncle glared at him.
"It means, that you're going to help with the gardening out back again; there are still some weeds that need taking care of. I shudder to think what the neighbours would say if they saw them!" said Aunt Petunia, actually shuddering.
"Yeah, yeah...I'll do all of the work around the house," Harry muttered, and mentally added, 'you lazy sods'. "Oh, did I tell you that the Weasleys are going to come and pick me up today at five, so I can go around their house for the rest of the summer? I think Mad-Eye Moody will be there aswell, escorting us. He also might want a nice word or two with you." he informed his relatives innocently.
His Aunt and Uncle glanced at each other, breifly, and Dudley squirmed, immeadiatly placing his chubby hands and stubby fingers over his large bottom, clearly afraid that a wizard would just burst into their house, and turn him into a deformed pig. "On second thoughts, Harry, Dudley can help work on the garden; I'm sure he won't mind, will you, little tyke?" Uncle Vernon rushedly spoke to him, his voice a pitch higher then it normally was.
Dudley opened his mouth up to protest, but was easily silenced by a look from his mother. He closed it, a second later, and repeated this for a few more times, his enormous three chins wobbling. He was undoubtedly looking like a fish which was tragically breeded with a pig. Finally, Dudley managed to mutter, "Fine," and what sounded suspiciously like, 'stupid, lazy, bloody, effing sod'.
"Great! I'm just going to pack my stuff then, and let the ever so kind and thoughtful Duddiekins do my chores for me." Harry grinned at his cousin, and recieved a death glare back.
Still smiling at his good fortune (that was probally the last time his Uncle ever made Dudley do something so 'hard and exhausting', when Harry was an option to pick on), Harry hurriedly darted up the stairs, opened up his school trunk, and practically chucked everything he owned into it. He threw in his school robes in a somewhat haphazardly manner, along with dozens of other items that had to be unfortunately wrecked in Harry's haste, such as his three foot potions essay on the properties, advantages and disadvantages of the fortitundo potion that he had to complete for his greasy-haired, beak-nosed git of a Professor.
After unsuccessfully trying to close his trunk multiple times, Harry finally decided to unpack, and repack, but this time, more neatly. As he laid all of his possesions on the ground, Harry noticed some broken, shattered pieces of - something - which he had not noticed before. He peered closer, and finally recognised the reflective 'something' as a mirror. But not just any mirror; the mirror that Sirius gave him last year, the two-way mirror that he'd neglected to speak with his Godfather on.
Why did he have to use Umbridge's fire at Hogwarts to try and contact 12 Grimmauld Place? Why couldn't he have remembered that Sirius gave him a two-way mirror, and that he could have just easily spoke into the glass, Sirius Black, and check whether Sirius was at Grimmauld Place or not? Why the hell did he have to run off to the Department of Mysteries to try and 'save' Sirius, when he wasn't even there in the first place, which only resulted in his Godfather's death?
Shaking his head, trying to rid all of the thoughts in his mind, Harry carefully collected all of the tiny fragments of glass, and delicately placed them in a small but useful compartment in his trunk.
After folding his school robes neatly, and decreasing the crinkles on his essays, Harry closed the lid of his trunk effortlessly. Harry sat down on his messy bed, and looked at the time which was displayed on his clock; 12.20. After rechecking the time of which Ron and his parents would pick him up at, he figured he had five minutes left until they arrived. May aswell do a quick scan around my room to see if I've forgotten anything, Harry decided.
A few minutes later, with no items forgotten, except for one of Uncle Vernon's smelly, orange socks which he immeadiatly discarder, Harry heaved his trunk (with Hedwig positioned on top) out of the door, only struggling slightly with the weight, and down the stairs. A clunk! clunk! could be heard from every step it hit.
"Stop making such a racket up there, boy!" his Uncle could be heard grumbling menacingly from somewhere in the kitchen.
Ignoring his Uncle, Harry carefully lay his trunk and Hedwig on the left-hand side of a squishy, floral armchair, and sat down, comfortably. Harry glanced at the mantel-piece, where a small analouge clock lay. It read 12.25. I hope that they won't go by floo powder again, Harry wished, please, please arrive by car; I don't want the Dursley's house trashed, again.
Luckily, only second later, a car could be heard driving down the road of Privet Drive, and parking outside number 4. Harry could hear a gate being unbolted, and atleast two pairs of footsteps getting louder with every step the owner took. Harry instantaneously rose from the armchair, and rushed towards the door, where he saw an abundant amount of distinct red hair through the diamond-patterned glass.
Grinning, Harry opened the door to see the hand of Arthur Weasley, clenched as if to knock on the door. Mr. Weasley quickly lowered his hand to reveal a smiling face.
"Hello, Harry," he said. "Things are going, er, alright, I presume?" Harry nodded. "Have you got your luggage ready?"
"Yes, Mr. Weasley; it's just by the armchair. I'll just go and get it." Harry headed for where his trunk and Hedwig lay, but before he actually picked them up, he turned around to face Mr. Weasley. "Er, Mr. Weasley? My Aunt and Uncle are in the kitchen."
"Yes, Arthur," a gruff voice could be heard from behind Mr. Weasley. "We need to go and talk to the boy's relatives. See if they've bothered to take any notice of our words back at King's Cross or not." The balding Mr. Weasley stepped foward into the Dursley's house, and Harry could now see the gruesome, scarred face of Mad-Eye Moody.
Mad-Eye Moody's eye swivelled madly around, until it landed on the closed door of the kitchen. His face suddenly contorted into a smile, making him looking even more horrific and terrifying then ever.
"They're all cowering madly underneath the table," Moody grinned. "Except for that cousin of yours, Potter; he's currently listening to us through the gap between the floor and the door." A crashing sound was heard, the next moment, followed by a miniture earthquake which caused afew picture frames - which a teenager Dudley occupied, aswell as some embarassing baby photoes - to fall to the floor, shattering.
A high-pitched shriek reverberated throughout the walls of the house, evidently Aunt Petunia's, or more likely, Dudley's. The door of the kitchen opened, showing the ugly and purple face of Uncle Vernon, which paled almost immeadiatly when he saw Mad-Eye Moody.
"Have you treated Potter well this summer?" Mad-Eye Moody asked Uncle Vernon.
"Y-yes, sir," Uncle Vernon replied shakily to the bizzare 'freak' who stood infront of him. "V-con-considerably well."
"Good, good," came the voice of Mr. Weasley. "I believe we will be going now then, Mr. Dursley. I hope you'll have a good summer."
"Goodbye." Harry called to his Uncle as he picked up his luggage. His Uncle grunted a reply, and Harry took that as 'Brilliant; now that you're finally going, you won't cause any more disruption'.
Harry followed Mr. Weasley and Mad-Eye Moody outside to reveal the perfectly manicured lawns of Privet Drive which were all full and lush. He climbed into the backseat of an old-fashioned, dark green Ministry car, which was going to drive him to a blissful, Dursley-free summer.
Authors Note:- Just a small note to say that this is my first fanfiction I've ever wrote. Firstly, I don't know when the next update will be; secondary school is very tiring; I'll only have about half an hour a day to work on this fic, so if you expect a hasty update, then sorry! Secondly, fortitundo is Latin for 'strength'. Lastly, I'm looking for a beta reader. hint hint Please read & review! )