Chapter 2 Number Two Wisteria Walk
Harry had left the house in a huff three years ago, but this was different. As he reached the end of the Dursleys' drive, the pain in his scar seemed to calm down and his senses started to kick in: he was completely unprotected. The biting rain and unexpectedly cool summer wind brought the situation into clearer focus, and he pulled his wand from his jeans waistband. Still, he couldn't imagine that a member of the Order wouldn't have been tailing him—someone would be sure to spot him and take him back to Headquarters.
No good going back now, he thought. He clutched his wand even tighter and took a step onto the sidewalk. In the miniscule instant he stepped over the boundary of the Dursleys' tiny front lawn, a flashbulb of light shot around the perimeter. Harry glanced down at his own arms, which seemed to have taken on an unearthly shimmer. Yet as quickly as the tingling glow had covered him, it tricked off into darkness, like the remnants of a spectacular firework. The charm had been broken. He was completely exposed.
Harry knew it would be a matter of minutes before he was found—either by the Ministry of Magic, the Order, or (he shuddered at the thought) Lord Voldemort. Preferring it be an Order member, Harry turned his feet toward the north end of Privet Drive and set off in a determined sprint toward Wisteria Walk. The storm had picked up pace—a gale whistled past his ears and he could just barely make out the shape of an unfamiliar brown owl zoom over him, a soggy letter in its beak.
Must be a Ministry owl, Harry mused. Wonder if I've been expelled again. Harry smirked to himself, confidant that any Ministry warnings would be delicate, little slaps on the hand after the episode at the Ministry headquarters last June. Still, his pace unconsciously quickened and he pulled his sweatshirt hood up over the onslaught of rain. He looked down hopelessly at his squishing sneakers as he splashed through small puddles. There has to be a faster way to get to safety, he thought as his scrawny legs failed to keep pace with his pounding heart. His Firebolt, though no longer confiscated, remained at Hogwarts—there seemed to reason to bring it home if he couldn't fly in muggle territory. Then suddenly, the idea smacked him in the head and he skidded to a halt—The Knight Bus.
Disgustedly, he trudged to the end of the sidewalk, berating himself—Your stupidity is going to get you killed one day, Potter. Shaking his head, he went to raise his wand to summon the triple-decker haven of the highways. As his wand rose, he caught a glint of green on his watch face and stopped dead. A bright green, he thought...emerald green. Breath caught in his chest, his eyes widened as the ghostly green glow grew behind him, throwing his shadow on the ground. Slowly, he turned to greet the dreaded sight.
A block away, sinister green emeralds were rising in formation over a lone house. Harry's throat fell to his stomach, which seemed to have left his body all together. As the Dark Mark took form over number four Privet Drive, Harry yelled—not because of the terrorizing sign rising high above the trees, but due to the black-cloaked figure running straight at him.
"Expellaramus!"
Harry had shouted the first incantation that came to his mind. Despite the wind, the spell soared straight at the chest of its victim and hit it with surprising force. The cloaked figure flew back and hit a nearby light pole, where is crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Harry did not move toward his victim, but kept his wand at the ready. There was no movement, but a moment later a tiny 'clink' caught Harry's attention and something rolled out from under the mass of crumpled material and began to float down the gutter toward the storm drain. Harry squinted, trying to see what the object was, which still keeping his wand trained on the lump. It bobbled back and forth, rushing closer to the drain. Finally, when it was in two feet of Harry, he saw it: an eyeball. A large, electric blue eyeball, glancing every which way, finally resting on 'up' as it was sucked into the drain and echoed a great 'kerplop' a moment later.
Terrified, Harry dropped his wand and turned toward the immobile lump. Abandoning his better sense, he reached down at the layers of black cloth and pulled them away. The unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody rested before him, one eye closed, the other gaping open, and a small trickle of blood dripping down his forehead.
Harry swore, gently shaking the enormous, disfigured frame.
"Professor Moody," he urged, "Professor Moody wake up!"
But Moody didn't rouse. Panicked, Harry started muttering under his breath, the obscenities pouring out and he turned back to pick up his wand.
My wand, Harry looked around alarmed—it was not where he had dropped it. He ran over to the edge of the sidewalk, where he spotted his wand making its way down the street gutter, like a discarded piece of driftwood.
"NO!" Harry yelled as he sprinted off after it. He slipped off the edge and threw his hand into the storm drain just as his wand disappeared underneath it. Incredibly, Harry pulled his hand back with a fist full of...water.
No wand, the feeble voice in Harry's head began to swim around his brain over and over. You lost your wand, the voice began to tell him. Harry reached out and did the only thing he could.
"Accio wand!" He yelled at the drain. Nothing.
"Accio wand!" He shouted again, his arms stretching into the drain. "ACCIO WAND!"
Nothing hit his hand but the murky water pouring in. The panic was suffocating him. He turned to see the Dark Mark, still high in the sky jesting him, as his stomach tied itself in knots and his brain jammed. No wand, no Knight Bus, no Moody. He shivered and realized his injured shoulder was starting to ache. He looked around wildly for the solution when he noticed the street sign for Wisteria Walk. He stumbled up and began to trot toward the place he had meant to go in the first place: Mrs. Figg's house.
As he went, he picked up his pace, keeping one eye on any activity, the other on Mrs. Figg's house. Her front porch was just coming into view when Harry distinctively heard two small popping noises in the distance—apparation. He pushed himself to run harder despite ragged breaths and a stitch in his side and vaulted onto her porch at a breakneck speed as he heard another 'pop', much closer this time. He raced to the door, which threw magically open and he skidded inside and slammed it behind him. A slew of meowing, clawing cats greeted him and in another second, Mrs. Figg took a step out of her bathroom.
"Where have you been!?" Mrs. Figg lamented, "I've been worried sick!"
Harry had left the house in a huff three years ago, but this was different. As he reached the end of the Dursleys' drive, the pain in his scar seemed to calm down and his senses started to kick in: he was completely unprotected. The biting rain and unexpectedly cool summer wind brought the situation into clearer focus, and he pulled his wand from his jeans waistband. Still, he couldn't imagine that a member of the Order wouldn't have been tailing him—someone would be sure to spot him and take him back to Headquarters.
No good going back now, he thought. He clutched his wand even tighter and took a step onto the sidewalk. In the miniscule instant he stepped over the boundary of the Dursleys' tiny front lawn, a flashbulb of light shot around the perimeter. Harry glanced down at his own arms, which seemed to have taken on an unearthly shimmer. Yet as quickly as the tingling glow had covered him, it tricked off into darkness, like the remnants of a spectacular firework. The charm had been broken. He was completely exposed.
Harry knew it would be a matter of minutes before he was found—either by the Ministry of Magic, the Order, or (he shuddered at the thought) Lord Voldemort. Preferring it be an Order member, Harry turned his feet toward the north end of Privet Drive and set off in a determined sprint toward Wisteria Walk. The storm had picked up pace—a gale whistled past his ears and he could just barely make out the shape of an unfamiliar brown owl zoom over him, a soggy letter in its beak.
Must be a Ministry owl, Harry mused. Wonder if I've been expelled again. Harry smirked to himself, confidant that any Ministry warnings would be delicate, little slaps on the hand after the episode at the Ministry headquarters last June. Still, his pace unconsciously quickened and he pulled his sweatshirt hood up over the onslaught of rain. He looked down hopelessly at his squishing sneakers as he splashed through small puddles. There has to be a faster way to get to safety, he thought as his scrawny legs failed to keep pace with his pounding heart. His Firebolt, though no longer confiscated, remained at Hogwarts—there seemed to reason to bring it home if he couldn't fly in muggle territory. Then suddenly, the idea smacked him in the head and he skidded to a halt—The Knight Bus.
Disgustedly, he trudged to the end of the sidewalk, berating himself—Your stupidity is going to get you killed one day, Potter. Shaking his head, he went to raise his wand to summon the triple-decker haven of the highways. As his wand rose, he caught a glint of green on his watch face and stopped dead. A bright green, he thought...emerald green. Breath caught in his chest, his eyes widened as the ghostly green glow grew behind him, throwing his shadow on the ground. Slowly, he turned to greet the dreaded sight.
A block away, sinister green emeralds were rising in formation over a lone house. Harry's throat fell to his stomach, which seemed to have left his body all together. As the Dark Mark took form over number four Privet Drive, Harry yelled—not because of the terrorizing sign rising high above the trees, but due to the black-cloaked figure running straight at him.
"Expellaramus!"
Harry had shouted the first incantation that came to his mind. Despite the wind, the spell soared straight at the chest of its victim and hit it with surprising force. The cloaked figure flew back and hit a nearby light pole, where is crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Harry did not move toward his victim, but kept his wand at the ready. There was no movement, but a moment later a tiny 'clink' caught Harry's attention and something rolled out from under the mass of crumpled material and began to float down the gutter toward the storm drain. Harry squinted, trying to see what the object was, which still keeping his wand trained on the lump. It bobbled back and forth, rushing closer to the drain. Finally, when it was in two feet of Harry, he saw it: an eyeball. A large, electric blue eyeball, glancing every which way, finally resting on 'up' as it was sucked into the drain and echoed a great 'kerplop' a moment later.
Terrified, Harry dropped his wand and turned toward the immobile lump. Abandoning his better sense, he reached down at the layers of black cloth and pulled them away. The unconscious form of Mad-Eye Moody rested before him, one eye closed, the other gaping open, and a small trickle of blood dripping down his forehead.
Harry swore, gently shaking the enormous, disfigured frame.
"Professor Moody," he urged, "Professor Moody wake up!"
But Moody didn't rouse. Panicked, Harry started muttering under his breath, the obscenities pouring out and he turned back to pick up his wand.
My wand, Harry looked around alarmed—it was not where he had dropped it. He ran over to the edge of the sidewalk, where he spotted his wand making its way down the street gutter, like a discarded piece of driftwood.
"NO!" Harry yelled as he sprinted off after it. He slipped off the edge and threw his hand into the storm drain just as his wand disappeared underneath it. Incredibly, Harry pulled his hand back with a fist full of...water.
No wand, the feeble voice in Harry's head began to swim around his brain over and over. You lost your wand, the voice began to tell him. Harry reached out and did the only thing he could.
"Accio wand!" He yelled at the drain. Nothing.
"Accio wand!" He shouted again, his arms stretching into the drain. "ACCIO WAND!"
Nothing hit his hand but the murky water pouring in. The panic was suffocating him. He turned to see the Dark Mark, still high in the sky jesting him, as his stomach tied itself in knots and his brain jammed. No wand, no Knight Bus, no Moody. He shivered and realized his injured shoulder was starting to ache. He looked around wildly for the solution when he noticed the street sign for Wisteria Walk. He stumbled up and began to trot toward the place he had meant to go in the first place: Mrs. Figg's house.
As he went, he picked up his pace, keeping one eye on any activity, the other on Mrs. Figg's house. Her front porch was just coming into view when Harry distinctively heard two small popping noises in the distance—apparation. He pushed himself to run harder despite ragged breaths and a stitch in his side and vaulted onto her porch at a breakneck speed as he heard another 'pop', much closer this time. He raced to the door, which threw magically open and he skidded inside and slammed it behind him. A slew of meowing, clawing cats greeted him and in another second, Mrs. Figg took a step out of her bathroom.
"Where have you been!?" Mrs. Figg lamented, "I've been worried sick!"