There's an angel on you leaning down to kiss your cheek.
Feathers floating on air.
This is my prayer for you

FIVE DAYS LATER, August 11th

The taxi pulled up in front of #4 Privet Drive around 10AM in the morning. I had tried to find a phone number to call but when my search turned up nothing I decided that the number must be unlisted. My only available course of action was to go directly to the house and hope that Petunia Dursley still lived there. Or, if she didn't, that the current owner would know where to find her.

As I walked towards the house a feeling of dread came over my. The house was quite plain and simple but at the same time it seemed quite ominous. The paint on the front was chipped and peeling, the flowerbed in front was overgrown with weeds and the most startling thing about the house was a boarded up window on the second floor. Covered with what looked like rotted out two-by-fours it seemed to be completely out of place.

After a few minutes of internal argument, I tentatively rang the doorbell and waited to hear some signs of life from inside. I swayed from one foot to the other nervously as I heard the sound of someone making their way down a staircase. A moment later the door slowly creaked open and a short, stocky man with shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes looked at me from around the corner.

"May I help you with something?" The man asked slowly, still not opening the door any further. I gave him a nervous smile which he returned.

"Yes, I was wondering if you knew where I could find Mrs. Petunia Dursley?" The man's smile dropped and a dark shadow seemed to cover his face.

"She doesn't live here anymore," he stated and began to close the door. I became scared that I would lose my only lead and quickly stuck out my foot before the door could close completely. After all, I am a journalist and rarely let a lead get away.

"Do you have any idea where she moved to?" The door stopped closing and opened once again.

"She didn't move anywhere, she passed away many years ago," he said and then stared at me for a long moment as if waiting for me to say something.

"O, I'm sorry, my information must have been old," I said as he began to close the door again, I knew I had to ask one final question before I left, "You wouldn't happen to know a Ronald or Hermione Weasely would you?"

"Can't say that I have ever heard of those people, I'm sorry, good day." The door kept on closing further and further.

"How about Harry J. Potter, do you know him?"

That was the question that stopped the man in his tracks. That was the question that brought the door open all the way. The men glared at me furiously.

"It's one of you again is it?! Trying to weasel some information out of me?! I've told you before, if Harry wanted to be found then he would be, why can't you just leave him be!?" There was a moment of silence as I stood there with my jaw hanging open.

"I'm sorry," I began, "I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that," my voice began to falter, "I-I-I've just lost my Father and he left me a key and it was for a storage locker and it had a trunk that said "Property of Harry J. Potter." The end of the sentence was barely a whisper but the man seemed to hear it just as well. His eyes lit up as he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside. His eyes swept the street once before he closed the door behind us. The man pulled me into the living room, sat my in a chair and began to bombard me with questions.

"Who are you? How do you know Harry? Have you talked to him? Is he alright? How did you get his trunk?" I put up a hand to stop him. I could tell by the look on his face that this Harry Potter character must mean a lot to him.

"My name is Jenny Lillian Riddle," I said politely as I stuck out one hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you, uh, um..." I faltered. The man hadn't said his name.

"O, sorry about that," he answered with a grin and shook my hand fiercely, "Dudley Dursley." My mouth dropped open as my arm fell lifelessly to my side.

"So you did know Petunia Dursley?"

"Of course," he said with a sad smile, "She was my mum. Now answer my questions! No wait; I'll go get some tea!" Dudley ran into the kitchen and I just sat there in shock. A small smile lit up my face as I realized that I had struck gold, even if he may be slightly off balance.

A few moments later Dudley returned with the tea. I had never liked tea, that was more of my father's kind of thing, but I took it anyway to be polite. After a few sips Dudley stared at my expectantly.

"This all started when my father passed away last week, his name is James Riddle, did you know him?" Now it was my turn to look at Dudley expectantly but he just dropped his head.

"Sorry, I don't think I remember a James Riddle," he answered, and then added, "Sorry about your father."

"Thanks," I said quietly. There was silence for a moment before I continued on, "Well, at the reading of my father's will I found out that he had setup guardians for me in case something would have happened to him before I turned eighteen. The first choice was a Ronald and Hermione Weasely, second choice was Petunia Dursley. I have no idea who any of these people are and my Dad never spoke much about his past so I decided that after he passed I would find out on my own."

"But how did you know Harry, did your Dad know him?" Dudley asked.

"He must've known him at some point but if he did he never talked to me about him," I answered, "but I do have his trunk. My Dad left me a key and an address for a storage locker in New York. When I got there all I found was a trunk and an old birdcage. I still haven't been able to open the trunk. I've tried locksmiths and everything and no one can seem to open it." Dudley began to laugh loudly at this, "What did I say?" I asked, now very confused.

"If that is really Harry's trunk you've got then you'll never break it open, you'll have to find the key, or..." his voice trailed off like he just thought of something but didn't know if he should say it out loud.

"Or what?"

"Are you a muggle?" He asked firmly while looking me straight in my eye.

"I don't know, what's a muggle?" I asked. Dudley shifted in his seat nervously and his eyes traced around the room as if he thought someone was watching.

"I don't think I'm supposed to tell you if you don't know," he answered.

"Well what can you tell me?" I asked, now frustrated beyond belief.

"I can tell you one thing," I leaned in so I could hear him as he whispered; "If that is Harry's trunk there is only one person who can open it."

"What do you mean only one person?" I was now not only frustrated, but irritated as well.

"Only one person would have the power," and that was all Dudley said about that as he walked back towards the kitchen, "feel free to look about the house," he yelled back, "Harry's bedroom was on the second floor, we kept it just how he left it 19 years ago."

Harry's trunk was almost nearly forgotten as I raced up the stairs. I slowed somewhat when I remembered that this search was about finding information about my father, not Harry Potter. But, I reasoned, if Harry knew Dad then any information on Harry could bring me closer to information on Dad.

With a small amount of anxiety I slowly opened the door to the smallest bedroom, on the second floor of #4 Privet Drive. From the outside I knew that this was the bedroom with the boarded up window.

The air was dank and dusty and it was apparent that the room had not been used since Harry J. Potter had left 19 years ago. With the window boarded up no light was able to get through so I was forced to flip the light switch, bathing the room in unnatural light from the bald light bulb overhead.

If the room was the same as when Harry had left, I was glad I didn't grow up like he did. The bedroom consisted of an old cot, a desk and a dresser with a small closet like cabinet in the corner. The feeling of the room was horribly off and just looking around made me feel like I was standing on a place where someone had died, not viewing a place where someone had lived.

There were a couple drawings on the wall and I pulled out my notebook full of clues and began to make small notes on what I was seeing. One drawing featured a beautiful snow white owl, in the corner of the page was written "Hedwig, 1992". It was easy to see that Harry must have been young when he made it. Over the bed there was a pennant in red and gold. I was quick to note that the lion on the pennant was the same as the one on Harry's trunk.

As I wandered about the room trying to find more clues and interesting artifacts there was a groaning noise under my left foot. I stepped down harder and moved my foot around a bit. Reaching down I realized that the floor board was loose and with only a slight pull it came up easily. I got down on my knees and stuck a hand underneath, not even thinking about what sort of creepy, crawly creatures could be hiding in the darkness.

After a fair bit of groping around I pulled out a tattered photograph and two pieces of wood, which on closer inspection turned out to be a thin, rounded stick broken in two. I stuck the two small pieces into my backpack so that I could examine them further once I was back in my hotel room.

With the photo still held tightly in my hands I pushed myself up off the dirty floor and leaned into the light. The photograph was of a thin man with long, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. His blue eyes appeared to be sunken in and his face was gaunt, but he had a wide toothy grin that seemed to be infectious as I smiled back at him.

I smoothed the photograph out as much as possible and turned it over. On the back was written "Sirius Black". A frustrated sigh escaped me as I realized that I now had another name to track down.

As I finally turned off the light and shut the door a feeling of sadness fell over me. For some reason I felt more like I was closing the door to a museum then the door to a bedroom that belonged to a young boy.

Dudley was sitting in the living room drinking tea once again as I made my way downstairs. He motioned for me to sit down and I thanked him as I collapsed into the fluffy cushions of the couch. Sleuthing, I decided, is very hard work.

"There wasn't much up there," I said to him and he nodded in agreement, not saying anything in return, "Do you know a Sirius Black?" I asked. He seemed to mull it over in his mind for quite awhile before answering.

"I think I remember my mum telling me about a man named Black when I was younger," he answered, "I'm not entirely sure but I think she may have said he was Harry's godfather. If you could talk to him you might have a better chance at finding something out about your father. I didn't know any of Harry's friends in school but I bet his godfather would" I took a sip of tea as I thought, strangely getting more used to the drink by the moment.

"Where did Harry go to school?"

Dudley seemed to clam up at this question and he glanced around the room nervously like he had done before when I asked about who could possibly open Harry's trunk. He leaned towards me and motioned me closer. I leaned down in return.

"My Dad, Vernon Dursley, never liked where Harry went to school. Harry was a bit different and my Dad didn't want anyone to know about it so he told everyone that Harry went to a school for juvenile delinquents called St. Brutus'. It wasn't true though, Harry went to a boarding school in Scotland, mum never told me the name though. Harry did but I can't remember it now."

"What do you mean he was a bit different?" I said with an emphasis on the word 'different'. Dudley's hands began to shake and a small amount of tea dripped over the side onto the floor.

"Damn!" he yelled, "Mum will kill me for spilling on the floor. Maybe you should go before she gets home." I backed my way towards the door as Dudley rushed around the room in an attempt to clean up. Things had gotten out of hand and I now knew that Dudley had a host of mental problems, paranoia being the most prominent.

"Yes, I think that would be best," I said as I picked my backpack up from the floor and slung it over my shoulder, "I'll just show myself out." I headed towards the door once again and was half way out before Dudley cornered me once more.

"Wait a second," he said, "I think I remember something."

"Really, what is it?" I asked while still inching my way out the door.

"Dad dropped Harry off at to go to school. He would catch a train at Kings Cross at the end of August," he answered, I was already halfway down the walk.

"Thanks for your help Dudley," I called over my shoulder.

"No problem!" he yelled back happily and then added, "The Leaky Cauldron!" before turning around and going back inside.

"What?" I said as I turned around and found myself looking at the Dursley's closed front door once again.

Part of me wanted to walk back up to the house and ask Dudley what the hell The Leaky Cauldron was but I quickly changed my mind. One run-in with the mentally disturbed shut-in was enough. As I walked down the sidewalk of Privet Drive I flipped out my notebook and wrote down:

Kings Cross – Where Harry would leave for school at the end of August by train

The Leaky Cauldron – Dudley shouted this before I left, no idea what it means