The Path to Darkness

Harry Potter shifted and awoke. He had slept, as usual, in the cupboard under the stairs in Number Four, Privet Drive. It was musty and cramped and there was a stench of dry rot that grew stronger as the days passed. Harry yawned, and brushed a spider out of his hair. Harry recalled he had been dreaming of a flying motorbike. It was not the first time. He wished he could fall asleep and recapture the dream... oh what bliss.

But then an ear splitting shriek sounded from outside the cupboard. It was his Aunt Petunia calling him. "Get up! Get up!" Her grating voice threatened to split his skull. "I want you to look after the bacon and don't you dare let it burn. I want everything to be perfect on Duddy's birthday." Harry groaned. He didn't keep track of Dudley's birthdays. They were simply an ordeal that came round once a year.

Soon Harry was in the kitchen, shaking the frying pan, making sure the spluttering strips of bacon attained the perfect level of crispiness. Dudley was making a fuss about the number of birthday presents. The telephone rang and Petunia answered it. She frowned at what she heard and replaced the receiver.

"Bad news Vernon," she said. "Ms Figg has broken her leg, she can't take him." She said, inclining her head towards Harry.

"Aren't there any teenage girls in the neighbourhood who are short of a few quid?" Grunted Vernon.

"I won't have anything so dirty in my house, thank you very much," snapped Petunia. "Harry is quite bad enough." She scowled. "I suppose he'll have to come with us."

Dudley screwed up his face; "I don't want him to come, I – I d-don't want him to come he always spoils everything," he wailed, shooting Harry a nasty sidelong grin.

"Sorry Dinky Duddydums," said Petunia, "Mummy won't let him spoil your special day."

At that moment there was a crack and a flash. Petunia screamed. Dudley squealed and rolled onto the floor into a corner of the room. A tall man in billowing black robes and shoulder length greasy, black hair now stood amongst them. "Who the Hell are you and how did you get in?" Roared Vernon. The strange man pointed a long yellow finger at him. "Silence," he whispered and Vernon fell back into his chair his jaws apparently locked together. His watery eyes bulged frantically in their sockets. Petunia had stood transfixed. "You," she hissed. "I never, ever wanted to see you again."

The stranger smirked. "And hello to you Petunia," he said, a sneer in his voice. "I assure you, the feeling is entirely mutual." He raised what looked like a twig a foot long in his right hand and twirled it at Petunia whose jaws clamped shut just as Vernon's had. She collapsed into a chair, her eyes cold with fury.

Harry had been staring wide eyed. The stranger turned and his fathomless black eyes bored into Harry's. He had a prominent, hooked nose and sallow skin. His face was less lined than Mr Dursley's, but Harry could not begin to guess how old he was. "Harry Potter," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "I take it you don't know why I am here."

"No sir," whispered Harry.

"Well I assure you I did not beg for the job, but come, I have much to show you." Said the man, and with that he grasped Harry by the hand and with another crack, they were both gone.