Disclaimer: I wish that I owned the computer I type this on, let alone the Harry Potter series…alas, that belongs to JK Rowling, whom I could never hold a candle to. I'm only borrowing her ideas; please don't sue me. You wouldn't get much if you were to.
Chapter Two
The summer continued to drag on; Harry slowly got used to the humdrum life that he was confined to here. Every day, he would rise early, shower, cook breakfast for the Dursleys (they had not asked him to do this, but Harry was so close to insanity from lack of things to do that he had volunteered), and then lay around the house. After the first three days of this, Petunia had grown tired of him, and suggested that he find something useful to do with himself.
His summer homework was done within the first week of his return to Privet Drive. So it was that Harry found himself watching a crew of workers trimming hedges up and down the street, slowly moving from north to south along one side of the street, and then slowly back up the other direction. He was sprawled out on the lawn, paying no attention to the ants crawling over his toes.
A few months ago one of the more money-conscious residents of Privet Drive had crunched the numbers to find out the difference between commercial hedge-trimming companies doing individual hedges, or group rate discounts for the whole street. As a result, the residents of Privet Drive now hired one company to do all the trimming along the street, and split the cost between them. Harry wished they hadn't done this; trimming the hedges usually took him all day and he would rather have not had this job deprived of him.
A shadow fell over him, and without looking up he could tell who it was. Harry glanced up lazily at Dudley, who was sweating profusely and glaring at him. He said nothing; if Dudley had something to say he would eventually say it.
For a few seconds Dudley just looked at him, and Harry wondered if Big D had forgotten what he came out to say and was just going to leave. No sooner had he gotten his hopes up than –
"Why do you carry that everywhere?" Dudley blurted out, pointing to the wand wedged into Harry's belt.
Harry squinted up at him, and slowly sat up, crossing his legs. "Do you want the long answer, or the short answer?" he said slowly.
Dudley shrugged noncommittally, so Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose fiercely and chose his words carefully. "How much do you know about my world?"
"That you're all freaks?" Dudley ventured, and Harry sighed. But Dudley still seemed to expect an answer, and Harry was loathe to open hostilities so soon in the summer vacation.
"About twenty years ago," Harry started, talking fast because he wanted Dudley to leave, "a wizard named Voldemort started murdering and killing to gain power, and fourteen years ago he was…stopped. Now he's back, and the attacks and murders are coming back too…"
Harry paused. "And he wants me dead more than probably anyone in the world. That, Dudley, is why I carry my wand everywhere."
Dudley looked worried. "Will he come here?"
Harry uncrossed his legs and stood up, brushing the grass off himself. He glanced at Dudley, still waiting. "I don't know, Dudley. I wish I knew what was going on in my world right now."
Although Ron, Hermione and Ginny had sent him more letters in the last week than he had received all of last summer, they were devoid of any real concrete information. He knew that Voldemort's existence was now accepted as fact by most of the wizarding population, and that emergency legislation authorizing the creation of a draft lottery had been pushed through the Wizengamot without much effort last week.
Fudge had immediately signed it into law, but even his backing of this high-profile, well-accepted bill didn't seem to alter the public's perception of him, and it was expected that any day the Wizengamot would rebel and demand a vote of no-confidence.
Harry and Dudley's pseudo-conversation was brought to a halt by Aunt Petunia's screeching voice from the kitchen window. Harry saw from the corner of his eye, the new girl across the street – Kelly, was it? – whip her head around in alarm at the ungodly sound. Harry sprang to his feet quickly and turned away from her; she was now glaring at him as if he had made the noise.
"HARRRRYY!"
Dudley's worried expression disappeared and was replaced by a smirk, and Harry groaned softly. Had Petunia heard him talking to Dudley, and was now going to punish him for attempting to corrupt her Diddykins? Harry grimaced.
He pushed the door open and was greeted by the snarling visage of his aunt brandishing a newspaper and very nearly foaming at the mouth. Although she was waving the paper with short, jerky movements, Harry managed to glimpse the image of the Dark Mark on the front page before she seized him by the collar and dragged him forcefully into the kitchen, throwing the paper down on the table.
"You will tell me everything you know about this. Now."
Harry reached gingerly for the newspaper, tugging it toward him and skimming the article. The picture was, of course, nonmoving.
Worst Shooting Spree in British History
The small town of Lyons, Manchester, was rocked early this morning when two gunmen armed with automatic rifles blocked the doors of the local community center and killed everyone inside – thirty-four people in total. The last shooting spree in British history that even comes close was the shooting spree perpetrated by Michael Ryan in 1987 which resulted in the deaths of 14 people. According to the Metropolitan Police Service, which has taken over control of the investigation, the gunmen then went outside, set off some type of homemade fireworks display, and committed suicide. There were no survivors. "This is a horrible tragedy, and our hearts go out to the families of the victims, but it appears there are no suspects left alive." Frank Alesco, mayor of Lyons, said in a written statement. At press time the gunmen had not been identified. The Metropolitan Police Service is in the process of tracing the rifles and other clues, but as of yet no announcements have been made to the public regarding the tragedy. Cont – page 3.
Petunia was staring avidly at him as he sighed and set the paper down, feeling the beginnings of a migraine coming on. Dudley, apparently not wanting to let it be known that he did not know how to read, left the kitchen.
"Well, this wasn't a shooting spree." Harry said slowly, placing his finger on the protruding snake in the picture. "You've seen this mark before, haven't you, Aunt Petunia?"
She nodded, but didn't elaborate further.
"I haven't heard about this in the Daily Prophet yet," Harry said softly, "but I expect it was Muggle-baiting…Voldemort used to do it in the first war, to keep the Aurors running around covering it up."
Petunia wrung her hands uselessly, looking around her spotless kitchen with an air of despair.
"If he can do it in Lyons…" Petunia spoke, her words trailing off. "Can he come here?"
Harry paused. He seemed to be doing a great deal of careful word-choosing this holiday.
"Professor Dumbledore has placed very powerful protections on this house," he said slowly, "but I think it safe to assume that nowhere is secure as long as Voldemort is on the loose."
Petunia seemed somewhat placated by this. At least, she stopped her fidgeting with the handtowels. "When are you leaving?" she asked savagely.
"As soon as my friends come and get me," Harry returned, with equal venom. "Although, Aunt Petunia, I think you are probably safer when I am here than when I am not."
Petunia looked like she had swallowed a grapefruit. "As far as I am concerned, you have brought this trouble on us, when we had given you shelter and sustenance for the last fifteen years – How exactly is my family safer now?" she shouted, rising from her seat. Harry rose as well, their noses about three inches apart.
"Having an armed wizard around the house, when you are in danger of being attacked by wizards, can only be a good thing!"
Petunia's mood instantly changed; she glanced desperately at the open window. "Don't shout about your freakishness with the window open," she hissed, much quieter now. Harry sat back down heavily, but shot back to his feet when the doorbell rang. Petunia glared at Harry apprehensively, her look telling him in no uncertain terms that if he had been heard by their visitor, he would regret it.
The doorbell rang again, and Petunia hoisted a cheery smile and drew the door open. It was Kelly.
For the first time Harry actually noticed her. She had short, stringy blonde hair which probably would've been very attractive on her if it had been washed recently. She looked pale and there were bags under her eyes, giving the impression that she hadn't slept in a while. She looked…worried, tense. Harry got the feeling that this was a girl that had let herself go; who didn't have a clue where her life was headed. In that instant Harry felt a surge of solidarity with Kelly.
"Erm," she said eloquently, peering past Petunia's arm at Harry, "is this a good time? I can come back – "
"No, no, dear, what can I do for you?" Petunia rasped. Harry thought he might have cut the tension in the air with a knife.
"Well," she said, looking at Harry peculiarly, "I was just going to ask Harry if he might be able to help Dad and me mount the mirror on my vanity?"
Harry nodded, smiling easily at her and Petunia moved aside to let him pass. Kelly grimaced at Petunia and pulled the door shut behind them. They stepped off the porch and paused to let a car pass.
"So, Kelly," Harry said awkwardly, suddenly realizing how little experience he had talking to girls and wishing desperately for a subject to broach. "Where are you from?"
She glanced at him, tossed her hair and replied, "My dad's a Brit and my mum was American, but I was born in Manchester. You?"
"Er –" Harry said, and crinkled his brow. Where had he been born? He'd never given it much thought. His parents had once lived in a place called Godric's Hollow, he knew, but was that where he had been born? He looked at Kelly, who was watching him with the same peculiar look she had before. "Well, as far as I know, I was born in London," he said, thinking of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. "But I've never really asked my family where I was born. Privet Drive is all I ever remember, though," he finished.
"You don't… like your family very much, do you?" she asked tentatively.
"What was your first clue?" Harry returned, grinning, and she laughed as well. She had, by Harry's judgment, the prettiest smile he had ever seen.
Ben was waiting for them on the step, a cigarette hanging off his lip and a pair of work gloves tucked into his belt.
"Harry, m'boy!" he said, standing up and giving Harry a firm handshake. "Hate to bother you, but I'm not so tough as I used to be."
"It's no trouble, Mr. Winthrop, I wasn't doing anything special anyway," Harry replied as Ben took a Herculean drag on his cigarette, finishing and snuffing it out before exhaling a stream of smoke.
Ben nodded and turned towards the house, motioning for Harry and Kelly to follow him. "Please call me Ben, Harry, Mr. Winthrop was my dad."
"Er, right," Harry replied, grinning at Kelly as she rolled her eyes.
The trio moved towards the steps, where an oak vanity complete with four-foot mirror waited to be hauled up the stairs.
"I think it looks heavier than it is, Harry," Ben said bracingly, and Harry shrugged at him, trying not to think about how easy this task would be with magic.
Kelly gave them moral support as the two men wrestled the – extremely heavy - vanity upstairs and into her bedroom.
"Yeah, that'll work," Kelly guided them to the spot she had chosen and Harry and Ben mounted the mirror.
"Thanks, Harry," said Ben as he tightened the last screw and stood up. "For letting us use you for heavy lifting, that is. Now, how much do I owe you?"
Harry found himself protesting vigorously as Ben forced a five-pound note into his fist, and then protesting more when Ben and Kelly invited him to dinner.
"Seriously, Harry," Kelly said, and Harry noticed she had a look in her eye that hadn't been there earlier, "it'll be fun. Dad's making his famous meatloaf – "
"It's famous for a reason, Harry – "
"Well, I don't know…" Harry trailed off, glancing out the window toward Number Four, where, he knew, an invisible Order member stood guard.
"Of course," Ben said hastily, misinterpreting Harry's look, "If your aunt and uncle expect you for dinner, we won't hold you to it, Harry."
"No, it's not that –" Harry began, and stopped. Kelly was giving him that inquisitive look she had before, with an odd…hopefulness? "I can't pass up famous meatloaf," he finished awkwardly.
"Excellent," Ben said, looking pleased with himself. "Tell you what, Harry, if you want to shower or change or whatever, it won't be ready for another forty-five minutes or so, so what say you come back around, oh, 6:30?"
"Works for me," replied Harry, and turned to leave.
As Harry crossed the street and stepped onto the lawn of Number Four, he realized he hadn't thought of Sirius in some time. And for the first time since his godfather's death, Harry had a reason to soldier on – even if that reason was only a pretty girl and hot meatloaf.
Hope you liked this recent addition. I plan to update more frequently from now on, especially since I am now on Christmas break. As always, review please!
