The hike to London was not as bad as it could've been. Most of the trouble came from trying to avoid cars. I was following a major road, so it was a bit difficult to avoid side-streets. I had less trouble finding food than I expected. Fast food chains and restaurant throw out their old foodstuffs, so all I had to do was be lingering at the correct time – and look pathetic, but that's not very difficult, these days. I did have to be careful how much I ate, however, especially with all the walking I was doing. My stomach can't handle much, as a dog or as a man.

London itself was fairly navigable. Most people don't see strays, even if we are monstrously huge. Once I got into Grimmauld Place and got my hands on some dead relation's wand (one of the Arcturuses, I think) I was able to effectively glamor myself and get cleaned up a bit.

Surprised I could do that much, rusty as I am. I don't trust the bathrooms in that house, the whole place has been infested with... things. And some things have always been there.

So, with a new wand, some fresh, if very dusty, clothes, a still-empty stomach (I don't trust the kitchen either, nor the house elf that was mad when Walburga was alive) and aching feet, but a destination in mind, I set out.

And then belatedly cast a notice-me-not after someone who ran into me screamed.

Then, on the way to Surrey, and Privet Drive, I... didn't get very lost. And it had nothing to do with being too lost in reflecting on my recent travels to notice that I was walking the wrong direction until just now, when a bus nearly hit me.

It took me a while to remember the name of Lily's sister – Petunia, those Evanses must have had a thing for flowers – and then to recall the location of her house beyond 'in Surrey', but I managed. She'll be able to tell me where Harry ended up being placed. I can't exactly go to anyone else. They'll all know I've broken out by now.

Ah, Privet Drive. The stuff of nightmares, at least for the creative, inquisitive mind.

Doesn't help that the place is named after a type of shrubbery. Wasn't there something in a movie about that...?

There's a theme right there! Privet, type of shrubbery. Petunia, flower. And I crossed through Wisteria Walk to get here. Heh. Although, real wisteria is much prettier. All the gardens here just look depressingly perfect. How does anyone have time to maintain lawns like those in a middle-class neighborhood? They don't have house-elves.

And I'm rambling. In my own head. Can't talk out loud right now, certainly. People might freak out about the barking. Maybe I should've drunk more water before walking all that way, eh? Or even eaten real food? Well, no help for it now.

Number four, number four... How do people live in such ... conforming houses? They might go to visit a neighbor and forget they were the ones doing the visiting.

Wow, nice roses on that place. Really, kind of oddly nice, they smell mouthwatering, almost like... Ah. This is four Privet Drive. That would explain roses that smell like roast chicken and sweet potatoes, and look like they actually... sparkle in the moonlight?

Does Harry like gardening, then? Or was that just a really pleasant prank he played when visiting?

Oh, dear. Looks like not all is well in the conformist's paradise after all. Even on such a perfect-looking street, people still have fights. Shouting matches actually. Really, is it necessary to call people freaks? Even I never did that, not even to Snivellus, and I was a right terror in school. Oh, low blow there, too, bringing in someone's parents' shortcomings. Why isn't this other person shouting back, anyway? Even after prison, I'd probably have already blown up at this bloke. Just because I hated my mother doesn't mean I'll take other people calling her things like that. I might even rudely snap my teeth at him.

Wait a second. Isn't that shouting coming from number four?

Hey, the bastard is putting down Lily and James! But then, he must be yelling at... Harry? Little Harry is living here? In suburbia hell with muggles who say such horrid things about Lily and James?

Maybe I'll put off heading to Hogwarts just a bit longer. Get a good look at the kid. Make sure he's really alright, and not depressed from living with this ass, and even then, I intend to get him out of that bloody house as soon as possible. No one, but especially not my little Harry, should be made to listen to codswollop like that.

… Azkaban did not do wonders for my swearing vocabulary. Codswollop? Really?

Which probably is a good thing if I want to interact with the boy without scarring him for life.

Ah, the fight stopped, or at least turned quiet. How did the neighbors not hear all that and come knocking to tell the man what-for? Surely someone on this street would rather interfere publicly than leave a child in that house? Anyone?

Well regardless, I'd best settle down for the night. Away from those roses, they actually make my stomach rumble more than it has in years.

Tonight, there will be dreams of roast chicken feasts... and fluffy sweet potatoes... with real butter...

Morning light does nothing for Privet Drive. In fact, it makes it more depressing in that it shows just how forced the cheeriness of the neighborhood is. And how fake the occupants. All the husbands, in their nicer-than-necessary suits stroll out to their perfectly-washed-cars, kiss their perfectly-made-up (at this hour?) wives on the cheek, and drive dutifully off to their probably-not-very-satisfying jobs.

This would make a good musical. They were almost in tandem.

And one of them was the obnoxious bloke was yelling at my Harry last night. I didn't get a good look at him - too busy watching the backup chorus - but I got a glance in. That man needs a diet. Desperately. And Petunia could use some good, filling English meals. The woman is all bones. I remember she's always been bony though, so maybe it's just the way her clothes fit her. Or maybe Lily got all the pleasant genes in the family?

I was expecting it would be a few hours till little Harry showed himself. After all, teenager plus summer vacation equals sleeping in and lazing about, right?

Apparently, wrong. Not an hour after the final flourishing notes of Morning in Suburbia Hell, here comes Harry out of number four with the lawn mower, and I almost could not hold my growls, nor force my hackles flat. Love muffling charms.

My little Harry's a mess. His clothes are too big (really too big), he's thin, scrawny even, and he moves as though he's in pain. Admittedly, most kids Harry's age would have some trouble pushing that monster of a lawn-mower, but Harry's favoring his right wrist and is therefore using his arm to push the thing, and the going is slow. There's blatant bruising on the boy's face, and I'd be willing to bet, elsewhere less visible.

I glance around as Harry's stowing the machine to see just what the neighborhood will do about such blatant injuries on a child who is clearly overworked. Nothing? Well no, not quite nothing. They do apparently feel the need to shoot the boy disgusted sneers once in a while, or stare at him suspiciously. What? What could he possibly have done, to warrant such treatment? Broken a window? How many kids have done that who were mostly forgiven within the week?

Besides, Harry doesn't look like he has the strength to do much of anything. The boy is thinner than me for merlin's sake, and I'm the escaped convict!

Over the course of the day, things become progressively more grim, no pun intended. One thing after another is not right. The boy's injuries, I discover with very little surprise, were inflicted by Petunia, her overweight husband, and their overweight son.

They overwork him and underfeed him, in Petunia's case. They trip him, hit him, shove him, and chase him, in the young pig-in-training's case (and the damned brat employs the rest of the neighborhood children to this endeavor as well. They call it 'Harry Hunting'.) And, at the very end of the day I discovered, they outright beat him bloody whilst verbally assaulting him, in Vernon's case.

At that point I do try to go and intervene. It doesn't work out. First, I bound for the house, out from where I'd been spying through the windows from under a bordering yard's hedge, then, I find myself turned around and a bit dizzy.

Wards. Some sick fool placed wizard-repelling wards around the Dursley residence. Or maybe they're intent oriented.

Whichever. It takes someone powerful and knowledgeable to set wards beyond those temporary sorts that disallow eavesdropping or stealing. Especially something as big as the Dursley house.

There are wards like that on Hogwarts, against muggles. Maintained by the current Headmaster – the power and knowledge to do so is a prerequisite of the job.

There are wards like that on the Black family home in London to keep away anyone not of Black blood, made when the place was built and contracted for continued maintenance with the goblins (last I checked, they weren't too happy about that.)

There are wards like that on Azkaban, to keep those within it miserable and unmotivated towards escape. It took me over a decade to work up the willpower escape, and I did finally realize that it wasn't really just the dementors that affected the inmates so negatively, though they were a huge part. In fact, if those wards were anchored to the keep itself, they were probably powered by the dementors' life forces. Why would the ministry bother finding another source, when unwilling subjects were right there for the draining? Who cares about the well-being of dark creatures, anyway? Make the guards hungrier, they'll feed on the inmates more... Damn.

I have to get Harry out of there.

But the wards. And whoever placed them there.

I have some research to do.