by CharmofLove
Chapter Two© November 19, 2002
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all of its entities belong to J.K Rowling. No infringement intended.
Harry was sitting on the steps, packed and ready to go when Vernon Dursley hobbled out of his bedroom at 7:30 that Sunday morning with a sleepy snarl. He scowled at his young nephew and took his time getting dressed.
Harry took note that Uncle Vernon was deliberately moving as slow as Snape was in forming a sly smile and he sighed. His stomach twisted with excitement and nervousness – excitement at soon being able to see his best friend Ron and nervousness in knowing that something, and probably just about everything, was going to go wrong.
"We have to be there at nine o'clock," Harry dared to say loudly enough for Vernon to hear him in the bathroom. "Exactly."
Vernon Dursley stuck his head out from behind the door of the bathroom, "Don't – you – rush – me – boy. I know perfectly well what we're supposed to do and I'm just as happy to be rid of you as you are of me. Now, go make yourself useful and take your-- your things out to the car."
Harry was only too happy to comply as he dragged his trunk and Hedwig in her cage out to his Uncle's car, safely loading them in the back seat (though he was sure his Uncle would demand his 'bloody bird' be stored in the trunk).
What seemed like eternity and thirty minutes later, they were on their way driving to Kings Cross Station. Harry watched as the small houses that composed his neighborhood passed by outside of his window. He watched as the sky turned dark, the clouds gathering for what was probably going to be a rather impressive storm.
"Now," Uncle Vernon began, interrupting the quiet and Harry rolled his eyes. "When you're with the- the- what are they called? The Weasles, do not contact us. Do not say anything about us. If they ask – you can't tell them! Keep your mouth shut."
"Why do you think they'd be interested in you?" Harry drawled.
Vernon sputtered. "I know your kind, I know the sick pleasure they got out of tormenting Dudley last time! The less they have on us the better."
"And what of your torment of me," Harry asked. As soon as the words were out of his mouth he couldn't believe he had said them. He shocked even himself. Where had that come from? That verbal acknowledgement of the neglect they had put him through for almost fifteen years now?
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!" Vernon roared, the car swerved and Harry cringed. "HOW DARE YOU IMPLY – "
The train station was only a block away. It was now or never, it was all building up and he had to finish what he had started.
Years of suppressed thoughts, emotional stress and physical suffering surged through, "I don't need to 'imply' anything! The truth of the matter is – I am sick and tired of your abuse and I'll tell whomever I please!" Had he just said that? Harry could feel himself shaking.
Vernon Dursley slammed on the break and threw open his door, charging out and around to open Harry's car door as well.
Harry saw his Uncle charging towards him and all he wanted to do was duck and cover.
Vernon Dursley's hand snatched painfully onto his nephews arm as he tugged him out of the automobile and practically threw him onto the ground. Harry was shocked and winded at everything that had transpired. He stayed on the ground, sitting there, watching his Uncle and wondering . . . wondering. . .
Vernon Dursley shoved Harry's trunk out of the backseat and set the owl in her cage on the ground with such a clatter that it made her flap her wings in fury.
He bent down, staring at his nephew who sat on the ground, his eyes wide with fear, "And I am sick and tired of your existence."
Harry's heart clenched and he closed his eyes. The sad thing was, Harry himself was almost in agreement with his Uncle. He was tired of it all.
"Don't come to Privet Drive ever again. Tell that – that old fool at that crazy school of yours that other arrangements have to be made. It's a shame, you know," he smiled and Harry knew that wasn't a good sign. "A shame that you were ever born. Maybe then your parents would be alive, hm?"
Harry's jaw dropped. 'How did he know – how could he tell – what I fear the most,' he watched with a frown as his Uncle got back into his car and drove off. Harry looked around, no one was paying him any mind. What few people were at or near the train station that Sunday morning were either preoccupied with themselves or their normal every-day scenarios. He seriously doubted they could handle anything out of the ordinary.
Sighing and pushing himself off of the ground, he brushed off the dirt that clung to his already dingy clothes and soothed Hedwig as best he could.
"Well, at least we made it on time," he said glumly to his white, snowy owl. "Come on then," he picked up her cage and proceeded to slowly drag his heavy trunk across the street to the train station. The dark clouds above him in the sky opened themselves up and rain poured down to soak everything in its path.
* * *
Harry sat on his trunk and glanced at the large clock that was posted above the entry doors to the station. 9:11 am. He sighed and scratched his head, making his already unruly hair go even wilder. A flash of lightening illuminated the dim station and then the thunder broke through, making everything around him shake with a fury.
'I know something isn't right,' Harry's stomach dropped as the words floated through his mind. 'So why am I not doing anything about it?' It was as if he – didn't care?
Harry looked at the lock on his trunk. His Uncle had refused to remove it and Harry hadn't thought much of that since he was faithful Ron's family would take care of it with a simple alohomora. But now, he wished he had at least tried to pick the lock – his wand and other useful things were still stored inside of it. At least when Uncle Vernon had practically slammed Hedwig's cage down outside earlier, the smaller lock that had kept her prisoner had been broken enough to pry loose. He had free access to his owl – that was a fortunate thing in a rather unfortunate situation.
"Excuse me, excuse me, M'am," he said from where he sat as an elderly old lady passed him by. "Do you have a quill and –" he paused – that was all wrong and she was giving him that look, "Er, I mean do you have a pen and piece of paper I might borrow?"
"I might," she replied gruffly, a bit unsettled at being interrupted by a stranger, let alone a young boy who was sitting in the station all alone with nothing to do. "Here," she thrust the two articles at him after having dug around in her stained and torn purse.
"Thanks," Harry looked down at the paper, trying to think of what to write. "It'll only take a minute and I'll– " Harry started to say but when he looked up the woman was gone. No one had any time anymore. 'Let alone me,' Harry snorted to himself. It could all end any minute.
Harry set the tip of the pen to the paper and watched as the ink began to flow . . .
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
I am writing to you to let you know that my Uncle received a letter that he claimed to have come from
Hogwarts – from you. I sincerely hope you sent that letter, Sir as I am currently at Kings Cross Station
waiting for Ron and his family to pick me up and take me back to the burrow as you requested.
Uncle Vernon would not let me see that letter so I was unable to try and discern whether or not it really was from
you. As you already know of the events at the end of last year you can already guess why I am suspicious of anything
that would take me away from Privet Drive. At this point, however, there's not much I can do but wait.
The Weasley's are late – so I am even worrying about their safety as well as my own. I know that Privet Drive
was to be a place of protection for me but it Has failed to do so – though through no fault of yours or my own.
In the meantime, I wanted to make sure That one way or another you did know of the events that had transpired.
I am going to go wait by platform 9 ¾ since it is the only place I know of in the area that has a connection to our world.
Sincerely,
Harry Potter
Harry walked towards a dark side of the station, opened Hedwig's cage, and tied the note to her leg. "Take this to Professor Dumbledore," he whispered. "But don't let too many muggles see you take flight. Fly as quick as you can, Hedwig. Something isn't right," he stroked her white feathers and she nipped gently at his fingers before flying quietly away, careful to stay in the shadows and out of muggle sight.
Harry sighed and debated, once again whether platform 9 ¾ was the place to be. Then again – what were his options? He didn't know where Diagon Alley was in relation to the train station; he couldn't flag the knight bus in front of early morning pedestrians with or without a wand and he knew that if there was an attack planned on him that anywhere he went inside of London would leave him vulnerable as he did not have the protection of Privet Drive anymore. All he had was himself. With that thought in tow, he went to find a trolley for his trunk and then set off to wait in between platforms 9 and 10 for someone, anyone to come.
* * *
Continued in Chapter 3