Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. They belong to J.K. Rowling and the WB.
A/N:Yeah I know, first chapter seemed kind of pointless. But don't worry, things make more sense in Chapter Two. So, read on and enjoy!J
Harry bolted up in bed and pressed his fingers to his scar. His ragged breathing slowed down a bit and he allowed himself to relax and fall back amongst the pillows. His forehead had the familiar ache to it.
Harry reached over and put on his glasses. He barely registered the calendar on his wall. He never ticked the days off anymore. Harry rubbed his eyes and allowed them to come into focus. Sunlight streamed through his window and he glanced at the clock. 9:28 am. He hardly ever slept in past eight.
Ruffling his hair, Harry headed downstairs to have a bit of breakfast. As he entered the Dursley's living room, all of them looked up at him,
"So, have you sent your friends a letter, telling them all is well?" asked Uncle Vernon, trying to sound calm, but his quivering mustache betrayed his inner fears.
"They're not going to come and blow you all to pieces," said Harry tonelessly.
"Good, good," said Uncle Vernon, smoothing his mustache. "Well, we fixed you some breakfast."
"Well, that's a first," remarked Harry. "Usually I have to make it for all of you nitwits. What's changed?"
Uncle Vernon forced out a strange, robotic laugh. "I wouldn't want to disappoint your ,um, bodyguards, would I?"
Harry laughed inwardly at Uncle Vernon's not-so-well masked fear. "Well, if they come, you can hide behind Dudley. You and Aunt Petunia could fit behind him and there'd be room to spare."
Dudley made as to lunge at Harry, but Aunt Petunia held out her arm and stopped him Dudley slumped back into the couch, his round, flabby face livid with suppressed anger.
A sudden POP! startled them all and they all stared at Mr. Weasley standing in the living room, smiling benignly at them all.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" spluttered Uncle Vernon. "We've been nice to Harry! We haven't done anything!"
Mr. Weasley smiled a calming at smile at Uncle Vernon. "I know that, but something has happened that makes Dumbledore wish to have Harry brought to headquarters immediately."
"But Mr. Weasley, I can't Apparate!" Harry stuttered.
Mr. Weasley nodded his head. "I brought us a wonderful Portkey for you to use." He held up a decaying soccer ball.
"Um, ok," replied Harry. "Let me go pack up my stuff and —"
Mr. Weasley held up his hand as if to stop Harry. "That will not be necessary. Tonks and the others will come pick it up."
"Are you sure Tonks should be handling my stuff," Harry asked nervously. "I don't want anything to be broken."
Mr. Weasley laughed. "Trust me, Harry, your stuff will be fine. Have your wand? Good, let's get going then."
He held out the soccer ball. Harry walked over to him and he gave a last-minute glance at the open-mouthed Durlsey's.
"Ta," he said, suppressing his laughter. With that, he grabbed the soccer ball. He felt the familiar jerk beneath his navel and he was whirling into space.