Chapter 2: Realizing Everything Was A Lie
"So... you work in a coffee shop," the red haired boy said. Compared to other occurrences of the stranger phenomenon as Harry had come to call it, this obvious statement was not as bad as others he had heard, such as so you're here on the street.
The three of them, Harry and the two strangers, were sitting at one of the customer tables. They had waited nearly an hour for him to go on lunch break. Looking back on things later, Harry would single out that as the identifiable moment where he knew this wasn't just another chance meeting.
They had spent that hour drinking coffee. Well, the girl did anyway. After learning that there was no butterbeer to be had, the boy settled on cocoa. Then they whispered to themselves and stared as Harry made coffee. He felt like an animal in a zoo. It was discomforting, at best. Sometimes the girl would nudge the boy and shortly afterwards they would argue about something.
Sarah had moved on from her gentle teasing about the girl to full on harassment about the boy. But it was just for fun and Harry knew it was because she noticed the look of concern on his face. As his best friend, she had suffered through talks about his family, the mysterious "hush hush" policy about his parents and how his aunt had always rushed him away from these types of strangers. But Harry felt himself oddly attracted to them. He was simply curious, and nineteen years of odd meetings hadn't changed that.
"Yeah, I do work here. Look, I can't talk long. One of the girls had to go home sick," Harry said as he remembered the absolute horror on Susan's face as she proclaimed she was about to vomit. She ran out of the shop quickly and now they were short handed.
"Oh, Ok." The two strangers looked at one another but neither of them seemed to have anything to say.
"I suppose you wanted to talk about my parents?" Harry offered, leading them on.
"What makes you think that?" the girl who had previously introduced herself as Hermione asked.
"It's just what most people ask me about." They looked relieved.
"I actually wanted to know why you tell people you got that scar in a car accident," Ron asked.
"Uh." Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Because that's how I got it." The reply came off sounding a tad more defensive than he had intended and as a result, they changed the subject.
Harry's first impression was that Ron talked a lot and Hermione was pushy. The red haired boy just stammered on while she looked around nervously. It was as if she was worried someone would find her here. The rest of the conversation was going as it always did though. Your parents, great people. So glad I ran into you. Can't wait to tell all my friends that I met Harry Potter.
Ron hadn't asked for an autograph yet, but experience told Harry it was only a matter of time.
"My brother Bill, went to school with your parents. They were in the same House of course. My entire family has been in Gryffindor."
That was new information for Harry. He tucked it away along with other bits and pieces he had learned over the years in these conversations. He had an entire journal dedicated to it. This tidbit would go right along with notes about a school named Hogwarts, which Sarah was unable to find a reference to online. That was okay though because some other strange chap had alluded to the fact that it was a sort of secret school. Harry remembered he had jotted that down in blue ink and highlighted it in yellow.
After that little encounter when he was thirteen, Harry had thought his parents might be spies of some sort, living secret lives and going to great lengths to protect him from the enemy. He thought maybe that was why his parents had left him with the Dursleys. After all, any spy agency researching the Dursleys would realize how much Aunt Petunia hated her sister and there was no way Lily Evans would ever leave her son with them. It made perfect sense to Harry until he was about seventeen when he gave that idea up along with all of his other foolish childhood fantasies.
"And my other brother Charlie, he's in Romania now working with dragons." Dragons? That was childhood fantasy number 73 and it earned Ron another sharp elbow in the ribs as Hermione looked around nervously.
"What?" Ron asked her, somewhat annoyed.
"Not so loud. They're going to think you're a raving lunatic," Hermione said in a low voice.
It took all of Harry's tact to keep from telling Ron that he thought him a lunatic already. But maybe 'dragon' was a secret code word; Harry allowed himself a brief moment of pure fantasy and thought perhaps he should indulge himself in the spy scenario for a few minutes. He also didn't want these strangers to stop talking to him; it was fascinating, so he pretended to understand what 'dragon' meant, nodded his head and drank his tea.
"So, Harry," Hermione began, clearly intending to turn the subject away from dragons. "Where did you go to school? I would have thought you'd go to your parents alma mater."
"Ah. No. My Aunt and Uncle would never pay for me to go to a private school. I went to Stonewall High."
Hermione gave him a sort of funny look. "Oh? Is that in Britain? I didn't realize there were other special schools in the country. And Hogwarts is free, you know. It's run and paid for by the Ministry."
"The Ministry?" he asked in between sips of tea. "I'm sorry, I haven't heard of that. I don't know a lot about my parent's lives."
And as expected, that's when Hermione realized something was wrong with Harry. She got a look of half shock, half horror and inability to breathe just like everyone who trampled this far into conversation with Harry had. She grabbed Ron by the scruff of the neck and ran out the door shouting. "We'll be right back, don't move."
Usually they didn't stick around to chat, so that was a plus, Harry figured. Ron and Hermione were now outside speaking directly into each other's ears attempting to keep passersby from listening. They looked nervous, unsure and Harry thought he might even use the word frantic.
"No way. Absolutely no way," Ron said quietly to her.
"It's obvious isn't it? He has no idea! Stonewall High? I bet that's a public Muggle school. Ron, he doesn't know his parents were wizards."
"But wouldn't that mean he doesn't know he's one either?"
"Yeah," she said with the duh look on her face.
"We have to tell him," Ron said excitedly.
"Are you crazy? We can't tell Harry Potter he's a wizard!
"Would you listen to yourself? This is Harry Potter! He's... he's a bloody wizard, why shouldn't he know? It's not like we'd be telling some Muggle that he's a wizard."
"Okay, good point, but it shouldn't be us."
"Why not? Hermione, think about it! If he had come to Hogwarts, we might have been friends. Both of his parents were in Gryffindor, so he would have been also! He would have been my roommate! We have to tell him!"
Hermione sighed in that way she did when about to give in to one of Ron's harebrained schemes. She could tell he had thought this through already. There would be no stopping him.
"Okay, but we can't do it here or now. He's about to go off break, and the last thing we need is the Ministry sweeping in on us because he demanded a demonstration or something. We should ask him to meet us later."
"But what if he doesn't. Gods, Hermione he probably thinks we're lunatics."
"Yeah, with you mumbling about dragons and what not."
"Think!" he urged on frantically while ignoring her insult. "Where should he meet us?"
"How about the Leaky Cauldron? We'll ask for a private room."
"Brilliant. Let's go ask him."
When they returned, they sat down quietly, looked around and then they leaned in close.
"Look, we know you have to go, but we'd like to chat later about something important," Hermione began.
"Really important," Ron added.
"Can you meet us tonight at say, six? Alone? There is a restaurant we like to go to."
Harry was flabbergasted. This was definitely farther than anyone else had ever wanted to take the conversation. Now they wanted him to go to dinner? But he immediately remembered something; he was poor and couldn't afford to eat out. Then again, this was too tempting. This was too precious. What if it turned out he learned something profound about his parents? What if they really weren't dead? Yeah, this was worth it, he figured. He'd just order a glass of water or something else cheap from the menu.
"All right," he replied. They looked thrilled. Harry fetched a pen and a napkin from behind the bar counter and Hermione wrote down the address. She had neat curly writing - typical female penmanship (Sarah had it as well). But Harry began to think Ron a little strange when he stared at Hermione's writing as if he'd never seen anyone do such a thing. He picked up the pen and looked at it funny. Harry had told him he could keep it. Maybe he just collected pens.
Sarah wasn't as sure about this as Harry was. What if they try to kill you? It was as valid point. They were strangers and they were about to lure him alone into a strange restaurant. But it was still daylight and if things didn't seem safe he would just leave.
Harry stood on Charing Cross Road by himself, attempting to look as normal as possible. The crumpled napkin that Hermione had so neatly scribbled onto was in his pocket, soaking up the sweat on his hands. He realized this might possibly be another memento for the journal he had kept. He took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them on his jeans, hoping he hadn't smeared the ink too badly.
He heard a woman call his name and turned around to see Hermione and Ron rushing across the street, dodging a few cars. She was carrying something black in her hands.
"Hey. Come on, it's this way."
The three of them walked together back to the other side of the road and down a ways. Then they stopped and Hermione unfolded the black cloth in her hands.
"This is going to sound really strange, but you need to put this on," she instructed. It was a big coat of some kind, with a hood. This was quickly becoming more than alarming on the psycho killer front.
"I don't think so. Look, this is really weird. You two are really weird and as curious as I am, I just don't think this is wise." With that, Harry began to back away.
"Wait! Let me explain." He began to walk faster and so did she. "You know how we recognized you? Well we're about to go to a place where everyone will recognize you. This is just to hide your identity until we get somewhere private. I swear."
He stopped. Her argument made some sort of sense to him and they turned back. He reluctantly put the coat on and she covered his head. "Just keep it covering your forehead."
"Aren't people going to think I look a little strange in this? I look like the Grim Reaper or something."
"Where we're going, this is far from strange." Maybe it was a Goth nightclub, Harry thought.
They stopped in front of a tiny shop whose storefront was only as wide as the door. It was painted black and the sign above them was so faded that Harry could barely make out the words The Leaky Cauldron. Cauldrons? That brought interesting imagery into Harry's' mind. When Hermione pushed the door open, Harry's dark and dangerous alarm went off. There wasn't a single ray of natural lighting inside and he wasn't sure this was a good idea. The idea of turning and running seemed good. What was it Sarah had said? Oh yes, maybe they're going to try to kill you. Dark rooms, candle lighting and a black cloak definitely made this sound like some sort of cult ritual killing. His heart began racing, but for some reason he felt the need to be here.
When the three of them stepped inside, the door slammed closed behind them and Harry could see now that the room was well lit with candles. It was a pub of some kind with a bar and tables. He kept his head down as much as possible like Hermione had instructed, but he could still see the faces sitting around the room. Old ugly women, men with long pipes and people in stranger garb than he was in. They had been right. Here, no one seemed to mind that he looked like some sort of kid on Halloween. Is this the sort of people his parents had been?
"Hello there, what can I do for you three today?" asked a man behind the bar in a thick Scottish accent.
"We need a private room, Tom."
"Sure thing lads, and will ya be havin' dinner tonight?"
"Yes," Hermione answered.
"And probably a lot of drinking, too," Ron followed up.
"Excellent. That's what I like to hear! This way."
Tom led them to the back of the pub where there was a medium sized room with a quaint table. He set down menus and waited for them to be seated.
"Well then, what shall I start you out with tonight?"
"How about a pitcher of butterbeer? Oh, and do you have those tasty lamb sausages tonight?" Ron asked excitedly.
"Anything for you Mr. Weasley. Coming right up."
Tom left and shut the door. Harry timidly lifted his head.
"You might want to leave that on for a while, at least until Tom doesn't need to make anymore visits," Hermione suggested. She picked up the menu and began to read. Harry did the same, but was quickly distracted by something on the wall behind Hermione.
It was a picture of a man in a suit of armor. And it was moving. Harry dropped his menu.
"Hey, Hermione, how about splitting a roast? Mum hasn't made it in forever and I love the sauce they use here."
"Okay, but I was really looking to have toad in the hole. I hear it's good here."
Harry heard them talking but wasn't really listening. The suit of armor bowed to him and waved. It was as if it knew he was there and was responding to him. Maybe this was one of those interactive televisions? Technology was a good sign. It really played into the spy fantasy well. He looked down at his menu.
Haggis - 9 sickles per pluck. Feeds 12.
Sheep Brains - 5 sickles per half brain.
Raw Chicken Livers - 4 sickles per liver.
Harry thought he might be ill, what kind of restaurant was this? And what in the world was a sickle?
"I don't think I'm really hungry," he said, timidly putting down his menu.
"What?" Ron said. "You have to try the..." but he stopped when he realized Harry was staring at something behind Hermione. Everyone turned to find the knight picking up his bow and arrow and killing a white hart with it. Then he plucked it limb from limb and began to roast it over a fire.
Hermione and Ron looked at each other and then back at Harry.
"I guess explanations are better soon rather than later?" she suggested in an amused voice.
Harry merely nodded silently, mouth open in shock.
Tom opened the door and set down a silver pitcher of something, three glasses and a plate of thin sausages.
"Ready to order?" he asked.
"Yes!" Ron said enthusiastically. "We'll have a small roast with potatoes, yams, all of that, an order of toad in the hole. What do you want mate?" he asked Harry, who suddenly wasn't feeling well.
"Nothing. I didn't bring any money."
"Don't worry about it. This one is on me."
"No, I can't let you do that," Harry shot back timidly.
"Trust me when I say I owe you more than dinner. Pick out something."
"Uh, ok. Um. Do you have hamburgers?"
Harry could barely see Tom's face, but he could tell he was somewhat confused. Hamburgers didn't seem to be a problem though and when Ron was finished ordering just about everything else on the menu, Tom nodded and left.
"You can probably take that off now," Hermione said, referring to the black tarp Harry was hiding under. It was almost a relief to take it off as it was swelteringly hot underneath, but now he felt somewhat exposed.
Ron poured a glass of a cold butterscotch colored liquid into a glass and pushed it towards Harry.
"Good stuff, butterbeer. Can't imagine someone who has never had it. Go on, mate, try it."
Harry lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed it. It smelled like candy. When he drank it, he discovered it was sort of buttery, tangy and sweet all at the same time.
"Good huh?"
"Yeah, thanks."
The three of them sat in silence for a moment or two. Hermione and Ron seemed to be communicating to each other in a silent sort of way. Ron's eyebrows raised and Hermione shook her head. Then Harry figured Ron must have kicked her under the table because she yelped quietly, jumped and then gave him a dirty look.
"So we have something rather... shocking to tell you. And it's going to sound really strange, and in fact you might already know and I'm hoping you do because I don't know how else to tell you because it's not really like people get to say this to Harry Potter everyday and honestly I don't know where to begin." Ron kicked her again.
"You're beating around the bush Hermione."
"Right, well what I mean to say is that we're, that is Ron and I, and you too, well you're..."
The door to their private room opened and Tom walked in with five big dishes. Only he wasn't carrying them. They were floating in air in front of him and they floated right onto the table where Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting. Instead of looking at their food, Harry's two new friends were watching his face closely. But Harry didn't notice that, he was too busy looking at the plates levitating in the air. He didn't even realize when Tom the bartender gasped, said his name loudly, and reached out to shake his hand.
"How did you do that?" Harry asked numbly. Tom just stood there with his hand extended in awe. He looked to Ron and Hermione.
"Now is really not a good time, Tom. Can you get us some uhh...?"
"Some of Ogden's firewhiskey," Hermione finished for Ron.
"Yeah. Like the whole bottle."
"Sure thing," Tom said quietly while turning to go, taking a moment to look back curiously at Harry.
"What was that?" Harry asked.
"We're wizards," Hermione said bluntly. "And so are you."
"Way to go Hermione, right to the point," Ron said sarcastically at her side.
Harry felt his legs move, he rose from the table and ran out into the main part of the pub. He wanted out of here. This was some sort of freak show nightmare he was in and he wanted no part of it. But he was forced to stop when he had gotten four steps out of the private room. Everyone was staring at him, forks held midair, steins of beer dripping onto their owner's laps, and mouths hung wide open. It was as if time was standing still.
Harry felt Hermione's hand on his arm and her gentle voice in his ear.
"Trust me. You want to come back into this room with me. Don't make a scene here."
He turned and walked with her reluctantly and felt more confused than he had ever been in his life. She closed the door and sat down. But Harry didn't sit. He paced instead. Could this be real? He had seen some extraordinary things in here, but was it all just smoke and mirrors? Had they drugged him? Yes, that must have been it! There was something in that butterbeer stuff that Ron had given him.
"What is going on?" he asked dumbly.
"This is a pub. We're all wizards." Lunatics. They were all lunatics Harry realized
"Okay, so people know who I am because they're wizards? They can read minds?" He asked sarcastically.
"No, they know who you are because you're famous," Hermione answered.
"Famous? For what?" He wouldn't even have considered that as a possibility if it hadn't been for the people he'd met over the years.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other.
"Stop that!" Harry yelled. "Stop looking at each other as if you have some profound and horrible thing to say to me. Just say it already!"
"It's not that easy. God, we shouldn't be the ones to tell you any of this," Hermione said as she stood quickly. "Honestly, you should know already!" Harry noted to himself how upset she seemed over this. Why was it so difficult? What was so horrible about the situation that made her uncomfortable?
"Fine, then will you just answer some questions I have?" he asked instinctively. He wished he'd known to bring the journal. He had about a hundred questions listed in there.
"Sure," Ron said. "Anything you want to know."
"What is Hogwarts?"
"Phew, an easy one," Hermione said as she sat down at the table. "It's a school in Scotland. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's where everyone in Britain goes to learn magic,"
"Everyone?"
"Well everyone who is a witch or wizard."
"And I'm a wizard?" Harry asked just to make sure.
"You sure are, mate."
"Then why didn't I go to this school?"
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, confused.
"We were sort of hoping you would know."
"Oh," Harry answered. "I guess it's because I didn't grow up with wizards. You think?"
"I don't know," Hermione said. "I didn't grow up with wizards either. I found out I was a witch when the letter arrived. Did you ever get a letter?"
A letter.
Oh, Harry had gotten not a letter, but thousands of letters. He felt his blood begin to boil.
He sat down at the table and stared off into space. The reality of it hit him like a bolt of lightning. Vernon Dursley, leader of the ant-Harry Potter movement, had seen those letters. He and his prissy wife had read them. They knew what he was. They knew what his parents were. Harry wanted to collapse under the weight of it all. He wanted to curl up in his dark cupboard where he used to dream of a better existence and just die.
Hermione seemed to sense this and she moved her chair over to sit closer to him. The door opened and Tom brought in a big bottle of red liquid and three shot glasses. He poured them out and set one in front of Harry.
"Had no idea did he?" Tom asked. He seemed to have caught on.
Harry picked up the shot glass and downed the liquid inside. Simultaneous burning and tickling sensations with a chest lightening after effect rushed through Harry's veins. It no longer felt as though there were a piano on his chest.
"Not a bloody clue," Ron said in a daze as he watched Harry pick up a second shot glass and down it as well.
"Let me know if you need anything." Tom left.
"I got letters," Harry said in a voice that quivered. "Thousands of them. The house was covered in them and he wouldn't let me near them." He noticed Hermione and Ron looking at each other again.
"Oh my god," Hermione said, covering her mouth. She looked distraught. "I'm so sorry, Harry. We had no idea."
"What am I famous for?" Harry asked quickly.
"We should eat first," Hermione said motioning at the food on the table.
"I suddenly don't feel hungry. Just tell me." He could feel he was on the edge of emotional breakdown. He wanted it all over with.
She sighed and looked at Ron for help. He shrugged his shoulders. But before Hermione could start, Tom barged in again and handed Hermione a big book.
"Figured you might want a visual," he said darkly. Harry read the spine of the book as Hermione took it from Tom. Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord. Tom left again.
She set the book on the table, flipped through the pages until she was at a suitable one and then pushed it aside. She took a deep breath.
"Understand, that we shouldn't be telling you this. Someone else should. Someone who was around then."
"Just tell me," Harry pleaded. Hermione nodded.
"Your parents didn't die in a car crash. In fact the mere idea of that is comical and... well... that's not important. Your parents were killed by a Dark wizard named Voldemort."
Harry felt his eyes get really big. Ron seemed affected to. He was flinching.
"Voldemort was, well is, a powerful Dark wizard who wants to take over the wizarding world. Your parents opposed him and because of this he came to kill them. When it was time to kill you, well... " Hermione looked at Ron. Ron looked helpless.
"Well what?"
"He couldn't."
"He couldn't kill me?"
"No. He tried. He had killed your mother, Lily and your father, James already. And they suppose you were just sitting there in your mother's arms when Voldemort cast the killing curse and you somehow... blocked it."
"You're famous because it rebounded and crippled You-Know-Who..." Ron said.
"He means Voldemort," Hermione said. "Just say his name Ron, he's not going to jump out and get you."
"Fine. You're famous because it crippled Voldemort and you didn't die. You just got landed with that scar," Ron finished saying as he pointed at his forehead.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. Could this possibly be true? Hermione pushed the book in front of him and Harry began to read. There were two long passages on his family, their struggle against this wizard, Voldemort, and how they had all died. All except Harry. The chapter heading was appropriately titled The Boy Who Lived. On the next page was a picture of a woman, a man who looked strikingly like Harry and between them they held a baby.
Harry's stomach turned, and then so did his head and before he realized what was happening, he was on his hands and knees, vomiting all over the floor. Hermione and Ron were at his side, holding him up. He kept heaving and shaking. He felt the tears running down his cheeks and what poured forth afterwards was years of pain, torment and the torture of not knowing his parents or his self.
When it was over, they had seated him back in the chair and Hermione was rubbing a hand lovingly on his back. Harry had his head in his hands.
"This isn't happening to me," he stated out loud. Hermione and Ron didn't say anything but he could imagine that they were looking at each other mysteriously again. Everyone sat in silence for a while.
"Do either of you have a car?" There was a brief moment of silence.
"No. Why?"
"I need to go somewhere."
"You could take the Knight Bus," Ron offered. Harry sat up, sniffled and took off his glasses to wipe his eyes clean. Hermione offered him a handkerchief.
"What's that?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling better despite the fact that he couldn't breathe out of his nose.
"It's a magical bus. It will take you wherever you need to go."
"But he'd need a wand to call it," Hermione said.
"I'll call it for him. Where you heading? They don't go under water or anything so it will only be good if you're staying on the island." Harry gave him a sort of nonsensical look and Ron soon realized how crazy he sounded and smiled.
"Just to Surrey and back. It's not far."
"Surrey?"
"It's where my Aunt and Uncle live."
Hermione and Ron looked at each other again, but Harry ignored it.
"Are you sure? You want to go there now?" Ron asked timidly.
"Yeah. I need to have a little chat with them."
"Maybe we should go with you," Hermione offered. "Just in case." There was as hint of fear in her voice.
"You don't have to."
"But we should... We should make sure that nothing happens," Ron followed. "It's probably our duty or something now. But we should eat first. No use wasting all this food."
Harry saw Hermione giving Ron a look that said don't be so insensitive. He turned to look at the table and the hamburger did look appetizing. Surprisingly, it wasn't cold at all.
"Thank goodness for self warming plates," Ron said as he picked up a fork and dug into his roast.
Harry thought the Knight Bus would be more appropriately named the Nightmare Bus. Hermione had insisted he wear the black cloak onto it for anonymity sake and he was now paying for it, sweating in the heat. They took a bed in the back and suffered through the sickening ride to Surrey in silence. Harry couldn't believe they'd ever give someone like Ernie, the bus driver, a license. He kept driving on the sidewalk and heading straight for lampposts that they never seemed to hit. Then Harry realized that maybe you didn't need a license to drive in the wizarding world.
After a few minutes, he decided it was best just to look at the floor and not the scenery. It was too nerve racking.
"Privet Drive, Surrey. Your stop, you three," shouted a man from the front. They hopped off the bus and stared down the street. It was dark out already and Harry wondered what the Dursleys were doing right now. They were probably watching the television.
When the big purple bus had left, Harry took the cloak off and handed it gladly to Hermione. The three of them then marched up to Number 4. He pounded loudly on the front door and waited.
"You!" were the first words out of Vernon Dursley's mouth. "Well, well, said you'd never come back eh? Here you are! I bet you want money or some such nonsense. Well you're not getting it from me!" Uncle Vernon went to slam the door in Harry's face, but he was stopped when he stepped over the threshold.
He got into his uncle's face, close enough to force him to back up. Harry kept the door open for his two new friends and they closed it as they entered.
"I want the letters," was the first thing Harry said.
"What are you babbling about?"
"The letters, from Hogwarts. I want them! You better still have one," Harry said in a low dangerous voice. He thought he saw his Uncle go ghost white.
"Vernon? Who was that at the door?" His aunt came into the hallway and stopped dead when she saw Harry.
"Why didn't you tell me what I was?" Harry asked her point blank. "Why didn't you tell me about my mother?"
"I will have none of this in my house. Get out! All of you!" shouted Vernon Dursley.
"Vernon?"
The fat old man turned to see his wife looking pale and afraid.
"Go get the box," she instructed.
"Petunia?"
"Please?" she asked. Harry stood there and watched his uncle waddle up the stairs. No one moved, but he noticed Ron looking curiously at the pictures on the walls.
Uncle Vernon returned carrying a small box that he shoved into Harry's arms.
"Now get out of my house," Petunia said firmly. "Everything we know is in that box. I don't ever want to see you again."
"That isn't good enough for me," Harry said, clutching the box firmly to his chest. "I want answers! I want to know why you never let me go! And why you locked me in a cupboard for ten years! Why you hated me so much! I refuse to leave until you tell me!"
Vernon Dursley looked like he might pick Harry up and forcibly remove him from his house when there was another firm knock on the door. Everyone jumped.
"Look what you've done! You've aroused the neighbor's suspicions! Get out of the way, all of you and don't you dare say anything!"
They did, and Vernon Dursley opened the door just wide enough to stick his thick head through. Harry heard the voice of a man.
"I am looking for Harry Potter," it said.
Ron and Hermione looked at one another. This time they seemed to be panicking as if they recognized the voice.
"There's no such person here. Don't come here again!" Uncle Vernon shouted, but before he could close the door the man spoke again.
"I believe he just arrived, with two friends?" At this, Uncle Vernon opened the door reluctantly.
"Professor Dumbledore? Professor Snape?" Hermione asked in disbelief.
---
A few notes. Thank you very much to Flamin' June for the Britpick. Much appreciated and I will go back to fix my mistake when I have a chance.
I want to comment on a few things in this chapter because I'm taking a few leaps of faith. First off, I'm making the assumption that despite Harry being absent in their lives Ron and Hermione are still friends. It's a big leap, but I think it's logical and I'll explain that at some point in the future.
The second biggest 'whoah hold on there' is probably the reaction of the Leaky Cauldron to Harry when he walks out of the private room in TLC. Do they all recognize him immediately? Well, I'll just say wait for future chapters.
There is a hint in there about what Voldemort is up to. Look closely.
And why did Snape come with Dumbledore? Well, why does Snape do anything? =)
"So... you work in a coffee shop," the red haired boy said. Compared to other occurrences of the stranger phenomenon as Harry had come to call it, this obvious statement was not as bad as others he had heard, such as so you're here on the street.
The three of them, Harry and the two strangers, were sitting at one of the customer tables. They had waited nearly an hour for him to go on lunch break. Looking back on things later, Harry would single out that as the identifiable moment where he knew this wasn't just another chance meeting.
They had spent that hour drinking coffee. Well, the girl did anyway. After learning that there was no butterbeer to be had, the boy settled on cocoa. Then they whispered to themselves and stared as Harry made coffee. He felt like an animal in a zoo. It was discomforting, at best. Sometimes the girl would nudge the boy and shortly afterwards they would argue about something.
Sarah had moved on from her gentle teasing about the girl to full on harassment about the boy. But it was just for fun and Harry knew it was because she noticed the look of concern on his face. As his best friend, she had suffered through talks about his family, the mysterious "hush hush" policy about his parents and how his aunt had always rushed him away from these types of strangers. But Harry felt himself oddly attracted to them. He was simply curious, and nineteen years of odd meetings hadn't changed that.
"Yeah, I do work here. Look, I can't talk long. One of the girls had to go home sick," Harry said as he remembered the absolute horror on Susan's face as she proclaimed she was about to vomit. She ran out of the shop quickly and now they were short handed.
"Oh, Ok." The two strangers looked at one another but neither of them seemed to have anything to say.
"I suppose you wanted to talk about my parents?" Harry offered, leading them on.
"What makes you think that?" the girl who had previously introduced herself as Hermione asked.
"It's just what most people ask me about." They looked relieved.
"I actually wanted to know why you tell people you got that scar in a car accident," Ron asked.
"Uh." Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond to that. "Because that's how I got it." The reply came off sounding a tad more defensive than he had intended and as a result, they changed the subject.
Harry's first impression was that Ron talked a lot and Hermione was pushy. The red haired boy just stammered on while she looked around nervously. It was as if she was worried someone would find her here. The rest of the conversation was going as it always did though. Your parents, great people. So glad I ran into you. Can't wait to tell all my friends that I met Harry Potter.
Ron hadn't asked for an autograph yet, but experience told Harry it was only a matter of time.
"My brother Bill, went to school with your parents. They were in the same House of course. My entire family has been in Gryffindor."
That was new information for Harry. He tucked it away along with other bits and pieces he had learned over the years in these conversations. He had an entire journal dedicated to it. This tidbit would go right along with notes about a school named Hogwarts, which Sarah was unable to find a reference to online. That was okay though because some other strange chap had alluded to the fact that it was a sort of secret school. Harry remembered he had jotted that down in blue ink and highlighted it in yellow.
After that little encounter when he was thirteen, Harry had thought his parents might be spies of some sort, living secret lives and going to great lengths to protect him from the enemy. He thought maybe that was why his parents had left him with the Dursleys. After all, any spy agency researching the Dursleys would realize how much Aunt Petunia hated her sister and there was no way Lily Evans would ever leave her son with them. It made perfect sense to Harry until he was about seventeen when he gave that idea up along with all of his other foolish childhood fantasies.
"And my other brother Charlie, he's in Romania now working with dragons." Dragons? That was childhood fantasy number 73 and it earned Ron another sharp elbow in the ribs as Hermione looked around nervously.
"What?" Ron asked her, somewhat annoyed.
"Not so loud. They're going to think you're a raving lunatic," Hermione said in a low voice.
It took all of Harry's tact to keep from telling Ron that he thought him a lunatic already. But maybe 'dragon' was a secret code word; Harry allowed himself a brief moment of pure fantasy and thought perhaps he should indulge himself in the spy scenario for a few minutes. He also didn't want these strangers to stop talking to him; it was fascinating, so he pretended to understand what 'dragon' meant, nodded his head and drank his tea.
"So, Harry," Hermione began, clearly intending to turn the subject away from dragons. "Where did you go to school? I would have thought you'd go to your parents alma mater."
"Ah. No. My Aunt and Uncle would never pay for me to go to a private school. I went to Stonewall High."
Hermione gave him a sort of funny look. "Oh? Is that in Britain? I didn't realize there were other special schools in the country. And Hogwarts is free, you know. It's run and paid for by the Ministry."
"The Ministry?" he asked in between sips of tea. "I'm sorry, I haven't heard of that. I don't know a lot about my parent's lives."
And as expected, that's when Hermione realized something was wrong with Harry. She got a look of half shock, half horror and inability to breathe just like everyone who trampled this far into conversation with Harry had. She grabbed Ron by the scruff of the neck and ran out the door shouting. "We'll be right back, don't move."
Usually they didn't stick around to chat, so that was a plus, Harry figured. Ron and Hermione were now outside speaking directly into each other's ears attempting to keep passersby from listening. They looked nervous, unsure and Harry thought he might even use the word frantic.
"No way. Absolutely no way," Ron said quietly to her.
"It's obvious isn't it? He has no idea! Stonewall High? I bet that's a public Muggle school. Ron, he doesn't know his parents were wizards."
"But wouldn't that mean he doesn't know he's one either?"
"Yeah," she said with the duh look on her face.
"We have to tell him," Ron said excitedly.
"Are you crazy? We can't tell Harry Potter he's a wizard!
"Would you listen to yourself? This is Harry Potter! He's... he's a bloody wizard, why shouldn't he know? It's not like we'd be telling some Muggle that he's a wizard."
"Okay, good point, but it shouldn't be us."
"Why not? Hermione, think about it! If he had come to Hogwarts, we might have been friends. Both of his parents were in Gryffindor, so he would have been also! He would have been my roommate! We have to tell him!"
Hermione sighed in that way she did when about to give in to one of Ron's harebrained schemes. She could tell he had thought this through already. There would be no stopping him.
"Okay, but we can't do it here or now. He's about to go off break, and the last thing we need is the Ministry sweeping in on us because he demanded a demonstration or something. We should ask him to meet us later."
"But what if he doesn't. Gods, Hermione he probably thinks we're lunatics."
"Yeah, with you mumbling about dragons and what not."
"Think!" he urged on frantically while ignoring her insult. "Where should he meet us?"
"How about the Leaky Cauldron? We'll ask for a private room."
"Brilliant. Let's go ask him."
When they returned, they sat down quietly, looked around and then they leaned in close.
"Look, we know you have to go, but we'd like to chat later about something important," Hermione began.
"Really important," Ron added.
"Can you meet us tonight at say, six? Alone? There is a restaurant we like to go to."
Harry was flabbergasted. This was definitely farther than anyone else had ever wanted to take the conversation. Now they wanted him to go to dinner? But he immediately remembered something; he was poor and couldn't afford to eat out. Then again, this was too tempting. This was too precious. What if it turned out he learned something profound about his parents? What if they really weren't dead? Yeah, this was worth it, he figured. He'd just order a glass of water or something else cheap from the menu.
"All right," he replied. They looked thrilled. Harry fetched a pen and a napkin from behind the bar counter and Hermione wrote down the address. She had neat curly writing - typical female penmanship (Sarah had it as well). But Harry began to think Ron a little strange when he stared at Hermione's writing as if he'd never seen anyone do such a thing. He picked up the pen and looked at it funny. Harry had told him he could keep it. Maybe he just collected pens.
Sarah wasn't as sure about this as Harry was. What if they try to kill you? It was as valid point. They were strangers and they were about to lure him alone into a strange restaurant. But it was still daylight and if things didn't seem safe he would just leave.
Harry stood on Charing Cross Road by himself, attempting to look as normal as possible. The crumpled napkin that Hermione had so neatly scribbled onto was in his pocket, soaking up the sweat on his hands. He realized this might possibly be another memento for the journal he had kept. He took his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them on his jeans, hoping he hadn't smeared the ink too badly.
He heard a woman call his name and turned around to see Hermione and Ron rushing across the street, dodging a few cars. She was carrying something black in her hands.
"Hey. Come on, it's this way."
The three of them walked together back to the other side of the road and down a ways. Then they stopped and Hermione unfolded the black cloth in her hands.
"This is going to sound really strange, but you need to put this on," she instructed. It was a big coat of some kind, with a hood. This was quickly becoming more than alarming on the psycho killer front.
"I don't think so. Look, this is really weird. You two are really weird and as curious as I am, I just don't think this is wise." With that, Harry began to back away.
"Wait! Let me explain." He began to walk faster and so did she. "You know how we recognized you? Well we're about to go to a place where everyone will recognize you. This is just to hide your identity until we get somewhere private. I swear."
He stopped. Her argument made some sort of sense to him and they turned back. He reluctantly put the coat on and she covered his head. "Just keep it covering your forehead."
"Aren't people going to think I look a little strange in this? I look like the Grim Reaper or something."
"Where we're going, this is far from strange." Maybe it was a Goth nightclub, Harry thought.
They stopped in front of a tiny shop whose storefront was only as wide as the door. It was painted black and the sign above them was so faded that Harry could barely make out the words The Leaky Cauldron. Cauldrons? That brought interesting imagery into Harry's' mind. When Hermione pushed the door open, Harry's dark and dangerous alarm went off. There wasn't a single ray of natural lighting inside and he wasn't sure this was a good idea. The idea of turning and running seemed good. What was it Sarah had said? Oh yes, maybe they're going to try to kill you. Dark rooms, candle lighting and a black cloak definitely made this sound like some sort of cult ritual killing. His heart began racing, but for some reason he felt the need to be here.
When the three of them stepped inside, the door slammed closed behind them and Harry could see now that the room was well lit with candles. It was a pub of some kind with a bar and tables. He kept his head down as much as possible like Hermione had instructed, but he could still see the faces sitting around the room. Old ugly women, men with long pipes and people in stranger garb than he was in. They had been right. Here, no one seemed to mind that he looked like some sort of kid on Halloween. Is this the sort of people his parents had been?
"Hello there, what can I do for you three today?" asked a man behind the bar in a thick Scottish accent.
"We need a private room, Tom."
"Sure thing lads, and will ya be havin' dinner tonight?"
"Yes," Hermione answered.
"And probably a lot of drinking, too," Ron followed up.
"Excellent. That's what I like to hear! This way."
Tom led them to the back of the pub where there was a medium sized room with a quaint table. He set down menus and waited for them to be seated.
"Well then, what shall I start you out with tonight?"
"How about a pitcher of butterbeer? Oh, and do you have those tasty lamb sausages tonight?" Ron asked excitedly.
"Anything for you Mr. Weasley. Coming right up."
Tom left and shut the door. Harry timidly lifted his head.
"You might want to leave that on for a while, at least until Tom doesn't need to make anymore visits," Hermione suggested. She picked up the menu and began to read. Harry did the same, but was quickly distracted by something on the wall behind Hermione.
It was a picture of a man in a suit of armor. And it was moving. Harry dropped his menu.
"Hey, Hermione, how about splitting a roast? Mum hasn't made it in forever and I love the sauce they use here."
"Okay, but I was really looking to have toad in the hole. I hear it's good here."
Harry heard them talking but wasn't really listening. The suit of armor bowed to him and waved. It was as if it knew he was there and was responding to him. Maybe this was one of those interactive televisions? Technology was a good sign. It really played into the spy fantasy well. He looked down at his menu.
Haggis - 9 sickles per pluck. Feeds 12.
Sheep Brains - 5 sickles per half brain.
Raw Chicken Livers - 4 sickles per liver.
Harry thought he might be ill, what kind of restaurant was this? And what in the world was a sickle?
"I don't think I'm really hungry," he said, timidly putting down his menu.
"What?" Ron said. "You have to try the..." but he stopped when he realized Harry was staring at something behind Hermione. Everyone turned to find the knight picking up his bow and arrow and killing a white hart with it. Then he plucked it limb from limb and began to roast it over a fire.
Hermione and Ron looked at each other and then back at Harry.
"I guess explanations are better soon rather than later?" she suggested in an amused voice.
Harry merely nodded silently, mouth open in shock.
Tom opened the door and set down a silver pitcher of something, three glasses and a plate of thin sausages.
"Ready to order?" he asked.
"Yes!" Ron said enthusiastically. "We'll have a small roast with potatoes, yams, all of that, an order of toad in the hole. What do you want mate?" he asked Harry, who suddenly wasn't feeling well.
"Nothing. I didn't bring any money."
"Don't worry about it. This one is on me."
"No, I can't let you do that," Harry shot back timidly.
"Trust me when I say I owe you more than dinner. Pick out something."
"Uh, ok. Um. Do you have hamburgers?"
Harry could barely see Tom's face, but he could tell he was somewhat confused. Hamburgers didn't seem to be a problem though and when Ron was finished ordering just about everything else on the menu, Tom nodded and left.
"You can probably take that off now," Hermione said, referring to the black tarp Harry was hiding under. It was almost a relief to take it off as it was swelteringly hot underneath, but now he felt somewhat exposed.
Ron poured a glass of a cold butterscotch colored liquid into a glass and pushed it towards Harry.
"Good stuff, butterbeer. Can't imagine someone who has never had it. Go on, mate, try it."
Harry lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed it. It smelled like candy. When he drank it, he discovered it was sort of buttery, tangy and sweet all at the same time.
"Good huh?"
"Yeah, thanks."
The three of them sat in silence for a moment or two. Hermione and Ron seemed to be communicating to each other in a silent sort of way. Ron's eyebrows raised and Hermione shook her head. Then Harry figured Ron must have kicked her under the table because she yelped quietly, jumped and then gave him a dirty look.
"So we have something rather... shocking to tell you. And it's going to sound really strange, and in fact you might already know and I'm hoping you do because I don't know how else to tell you because it's not really like people get to say this to Harry Potter everyday and honestly I don't know where to begin." Ron kicked her again.
"You're beating around the bush Hermione."
"Right, well what I mean to say is that we're, that is Ron and I, and you too, well you're..."
The door to their private room opened and Tom walked in with five big dishes. Only he wasn't carrying them. They were floating in air in front of him and they floated right onto the table where Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting. Instead of looking at their food, Harry's two new friends were watching his face closely. But Harry didn't notice that, he was too busy looking at the plates levitating in the air. He didn't even realize when Tom the bartender gasped, said his name loudly, and reached out to shake his hand.
"How did you do that?" Harry asked numbly. Tom just stood there with his hand extended in awe. He looked to Ron and Hermione.
"Now is really not a good time, Tom. Can you get us some uhh...?"
"Some of Ogden's firewhiskey," Hermione finished for Ron.
"Yeah. Like the whole bottle."
"Sure thing," Tom said quietly while turning to go, taking a moment to look back curiously at Harry.
"What was that?" Harry asked.
"We're wizards," Hermione said bluntly. "And so are you."
"Way to go Hermione, right to the point," Ron said sarcastically at her side.
Harry felt his legs move, he rose from the table and ran out into the main part of the pub. He wanted out of here. This was some sort of freak show nightmare he was in and he wanted no part of it. But he was forced to stop when he had gotten four steps out of the private room. Everyone was staring at him, forks held midair, steins of beer dripping onto their owner's laps, and mouths hung wide open. It was as if time was standing still.
Harry felt Hermione's hand on his arm and her gentle voice in his ear.
"Trust me. You want to come back into this room with me. Don't make a scene here."
He turned and walked with her reluctantly and felt more confused than he had ever been in his life. She closed the door and sat down. But Harry didn't sit. He paced instead. Could this be real? He had seen some extraordinary things in here, but was it all just smoke and mirrors? Had they drugged him? Yes, that must have been it! There was something in that butterbeer stuff that Ron had given him.
"What is going on?" he asked dumbly.
"This is a pub. We're all wizards." Lunatics. They were all lunatics Harry realized
"Okay, so people know who I am because they're wizards? They can read minds?" He asked sarcastically.
"No, they know who you are because you're famous," Hermione answered.
"Famous? For what?" He wouldn't even have considered that as a possibility if it hadn't been for the people he'd met over the years.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other.
"Stop that!" Harry yelled. "Stop looking at each other as if you have some profound and horrible thing to say to me. Just say it already!"
"It's not that easy. God, we shouldn't be the ones to tell you any of this," Hermione said as she stood quickly. "Honestly, you should know already!" Harry noted to himself how upset she seemed over this. Why was it so difficult? What was so horrible about the situation that made her uncomfortable?
"Fine, then will you just answer some questions I have?" he asked instinctively. He wished he'd known to bring the journal. He had about a hundred questions listed in there.
"Sure," Ron said. "Anything you want to know."
"What is Hogwarts?"
"Phew, an easy one," Hermione said as she sat down at the table. "It's a school in Scotland. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's where everyone in Britain goes to learn magic,"
"Everyone?"
"Well everyone who is a witch or wizard."
"And I'm a wizard?" Harry asked just to make sure.
"You sure are, mate."
"Then why didn't I go to this school?"
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, confused.
"We were sort of hoping you would know."
"Oh," Harry answered. "I guess it's because I didn't grow up with wizards. You think?"
"I don't know," Hermione said. "I didn't grow up with wizards either. I found out I was a witch when the letter arrived. Did you ever get a letter?"
A letter.
Oh, Harry had gotten not a letter, but thousands of letters. He felt his blood begin to boil.
He sat down at the table and stared off into space. The reality of it hit him like a bolt of lightning. Vernon Dursley, leader of the ant-Harry Potter movement, had seen those letters. He and his prissy wife had read them. They knew what he was. They knew what his parents were. Harry wanted to collapse under the weight of it all. He wanted to curl up in his dark cupboard where he used to dream of a better existence and just die.
Hermione seemed to sense this and she moved her chair over to sit closer to him. The door opened and Tom brought in a big bottle of red liquid and three shot glasses. He poured them out and set one in front of Harry.
"Had no idea did he?" Tom asked. He seemed to have caught on.
Harry picked up the shot glass and downed the liquid inside. Simultaneous burning and tickling sensations with a chest lightening after effect rushed through Harry's veins. It no longer felt as though there were a piano on his chest.
"Not a bloody clue," Ron said in a daze as he watched Harry pick up a second shot glass and down it as well.
"Let me know if you need anything." Tom left.
"I got letters," Harry said in a voice that quivered. "Thousands of them. The house was covered in them and he wouldn't let me near them." He noticed Hermione and Ron looking at each other again.
"Oh my god," Hermione said, covering her mouth. She looked distraught. "I'm so sorry, Harry. We had no idea."
"What am I famous for?" Harry asked quickly.
"We should eat first," Hermione said motioning at the food on the table.
"I suddenly don't feel hungry. Just tell me." He could feel he was on the edge of emotional breakdown. He wanted it all over with.
She sighed and looked at Ron for help. He shrugged his shoulders. But before Hermione could start, Tom barged in again and handed Hermione a big book.
"Figured you might want a visual," he said darkly. Harry read the spine of the book as Hermione took it from Tom. Rise and Fall of the Dark Lord. Tom left again.
She set the book on the table, flipped through the pages until she was at a suitable one and then pushed it aside. She took a deep breath.
"Understand, that we shouldn't be telling you this. Someone else should. Someone who was around then."
"Just tell me," Harry pleaded. Hermione nodded.
"Your parents didn't die in a car crash. In fact the mere idea of that is comical and... well... that's not important. Your parents were killed by a Dark wizard named Voldemort."
Harry felt his eyes get really big. Ron seemed affected to. He was flinching.
"Voldemort was, well is, a powerful Dark wizard who wants to take over the wizarding world. Your parents opposed him and because of this he came to kill them. When it was time to kill you, well... " Hermione looked at Ron. Ron looked helpless.
"Well what?"
"He couldn't."
"He couldn't kill me?"
"No. He tried. He had killed your mother, Lily and your father, James already. And they suppose you were just sitting there in your mother's arms when Voldemort cast the killing curse and you somehow... blocked it."
"You're famous because it rebounded and crippled You-Know-Who..." Ron said.
"He means Voldemort," Hermione said. "Just say his name Ron, he's not going to jump out and get you."
"Fine. You're famous because it crippled Voldemort and you didn't die. You just got landed with that scar," Ron finished saying as he pointed at his forehead.
Harry shook his head in disbelief. Could this possibly be true? Hermione pushed the book in front of him and Harry began to read. There were two long passages on his family, their struggle against this wizard, Voldemort, and how they had all died. All except Harry. The chapter heading was appropriately titled The Boy Who Lived. On the next page was a picture of a woman, a man who looked strikingly like Harry and between them they held a baby.
Harry's stomach turned, and then so did his head and before he realized what was happening, he was on his hands and knees, vomiting all over the floor. Hermione and Ron were at his side, holding him up. He kept heaving and shaking. He felt the tears running down his cheeks and what poured forth afterwards was years of pain, torment and the torture of not knowing his parents or his self.
When it was over, they had seated him back in the chair and Hermione was rubbing a hand lovingly on his back. Harry had his head in his hands.
"This isn't happening to me," he stated out loud. Hermione and Ron didn't say anything but he could imagine that they were looking at each other mysteriously again. Everyone sat in silence for a while.
"Do either of you have a car?" There was a brief moment of silence.
"No. Why?"
"I need to go somewhere."
"You could take the Knight Bus," Ron offered. Harry sat up, sniffled and took off his glasses to wipe his eyes clean. Hermione offered him a handkerchief.
"What's that?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling better despite the fact that he couldn't breathe out of his nose.
"It's a magical bus. It will take you wherever you need to go."
"But he'd need a wand to call it," Hermione said.
"I'll call it for him. Where you heading? They don't go under water or anything so it will only be good if you're staying on the island." Harry gave him a sort of nonsensical look and Ron soon realized how crazy he sounded and smiled.
"Just to Surrey and back. It's not far."
"Surrey?"
"It's where my Aunt and Uncle live."
Hermione and Ron looked at each other again, but Harry ignored it.
"Are you sure? You want to go there now?" Ron asked timidly.
"Yeah. I need to have a little chat with them."
"Maybe we should go with you," Hermione offered. "Just in case." There was as hint of fear in her voice.
"You don't have to."
"But we should... We should make sure that nothing happens," Ron followed. "It's probably our duty or something now. But we should eat first. No use wasting all this food."
Harry saw Hermione giving Ron a look that said don't be so insensitive. He turned to look at the table and the hamburger did look appetizing. Surprisingly, it wasn't cold at all.
"Thank goodness for self warming plates," Ron said as he picked up a fork and dug into his roast.
Harry thought the Knight Bus would be more appropriately named the Nightmare Bus. Hermione had insisted he wear the black cloak onto it for anonymity sake and he was now paying for it, sweating in the heat. They took a bed in the back and suffered through the sickening ride to Surrey in silence. Harry couldn't believe they'd ever give someone like Ernie, the bus driver, a license. He kept driving on the sidewalk and heading straight for lampposts that they never seemed to hit. Then Harry realized that maybe you didn't need a license to drive in the wizarding world.
After a few minutes, he decided it was best just to look at the floor and not the scenery. It was too nerve racking.
"Privet Drive, Surrey. Your stop, you three," shouted a man from the front. They hopped off the bus and stared down the street. It was dark out already and Harry wondered what the Dursleys were doing right now. They were probably watching the television.
When the big purple bus had left, Harry took the cloak off and handed it gladly to Hermione. The three of them then marched up to Number 4. He pounded loudly on the front door and waited.
"You!" were the first words out of Vernon Dursley's mouth. "Well, well, said you'd never come back eh? Here you are! I bet you want money or some such nonsense. Well you're not getting it from me!" Uncle Vernon went to slam the door in Harry's face, but he was stopped when he stepped over the threshold.
He got into his uncle's face, close enough to force him to back up. Harry kept the door open for his two new friends and they closed it as they entered.
"I want the letters," was the first thing Harry said.
"What are you babbling about?"
"The letters, from Hogwarts. I want them! You better still have one," Harry said in a low dangerous voice. He thought he saw his Uncle go ghost white.
"Vernon? Who was that at the door?" His aunt came into the hallway and stopped dead when she saw Harry.
"Why didn't you tell me what I was?" Harry asked her point blank. "Why didn't you tell me about my mother?"
"I will have none of this in my house. Get out! All of you!" shouted Vernon Dursley.
"Vernon?"
The fat old man turned to see his wife looking pale and afraid.
"Go get the box," she instructed.
"Petunia?"
"Please?" she asked. Harry stood there and watched his uncle waddle up the stairs. No one moved, but he noticed Ron looking curiously at the pictures on the walls.
Uncle Vernon returned carrying a small box that he shoved into Harry's arms.
"Now get out of my house," Petunia said firmly. "Everything we know is in that box. I don't ever want to see you again."
"That isn't good enough for me," Harry said, clutching the box firmly to his chest. "I want answers! I want to know why you never let me go! And why you locked me in a cupboard for ten years! Why you hated me so much! I refuse to leave until you tell me!"
Vernon Dursley looked like he might pick Harry up and forcibly remove him from his house when there was another firm knock on the door. Everyone jumped.
"Look what you've done! You've aroused the neighbor's suspicions! Get out of the way, all of you and don't you dare say anything!"
They did, and Vernon Dursley opened the door just wide enough to stick his thick head through. Harry heard the voice of a man.
"I am looking for Harry Potter," it said.
Ron and Hermione looked at one another. This time they seemed to be panicking as if they recognized the voice.
"There's no such person here. Don't come here again!" Uncle Vernon shouted, but before he could close the door the man spoke again.
"I believe he just arrived, with two friends?" At this, Uncle Vernon opened the door reluctantly.
"Professor Dumbledore? Professor Snape?" Hermione asked in disbelief.
---
A few notes. Thank you very much to Flamin' June for the Britpick. Much appreciated and I will go back to fix my mistake when I have a chance.
I want to comment on a few things in this chapter because I'm taking a few leaps of faith. First off, I'm making the assumption that despite Harry being absent in their lives Ron and Hermione are still friends. It's a big leap, but I think it's logical and I'll explain that at some point in the future.
The second biggest 'whoah hold on there' is probably the reaction of the Leaky Cauldron to Harry when he walks out of the private room in TLC. Do they all recognize him immediately? Well, I'll just say wait for future chapters.
There is a hint in there about what Voldemort is up to. Look closely.
And why did Snape come with Dumbledore? Well, why does Snape do anything? =)
