Chapter Six:
"Prepare to die, Potter," said Ron, raising his wand high. "Noooooooooo!" Harry screamed. "Yes," Ron replied. "No, Harry said simply. "Then what shall we do?" Ron asked. "How about a cup of tea?" Harry suggested. "Nah, I'd rather you die," Ron said, his voice returning to the icy, cold one. "AVADA KEDAV-"
Harry woke with a start. What a strange dream he had just been having. Ron wanted him dead… Well, it made sense, he remembered. Ron did hate him now. Come to think of it, Harry missed his old best friend. But then again he hated him. Harry began foaming at the mouth again, his breathing quickened, and he was sweating all over. He could almost feel his blood boiling within his veins. Such hatred!
But then Harry heard his stomach growl. Time to get some breakfast. Harry returned back upstairs after a quick bit of toast, and resumed his stop on his bed, hating Ron. If he could get a hold of Ron right now, he'd throw himself at him, tearing him his limbs off. First, he'd take a great, big knife and chuck it. Straight at that stupid, freckly face of his. But he'd never actually do this, would he? Well, he probably would if he had the chance. But he needed to get started with the Horcruxes. Maybe he could fit it into his schedule soon. He decided he'd present the idea to Hermione tomorrow afternoon and see what she thought.
Harry spent the rest of the day being angry with the world. He thought about what he'd do to not only Ron, but loads of people, if he had the chance to punish them. He even got out a bit of parchment and began taking notes on it. Later on, he added this long scroll to his other notes. All summer, he'd been writing down odd ideas- all ranging from how to destroy Horcruxes, to questions he should have asked Dumbledore, and now to violent encounters he'd like to experience.
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The next morning, Harry's alarm clock woke him up at 8 o'clock. The first thing he though of, was that it was his birthday! This was the first time he was actually excited for it to be his birthday. He was of age, could do magic anytime now. Just for fun, Harry got out his wand and did some random magic. Along with that, he fixed the window and his bed frame. Then he headed downstairs for breakfast.
The rest of the Dursley's were sitting down, and ignored Harry as he entered the room. Of course they wouldn't mention anything to Harry- they had never once told him 'Happy Birthday' in his life. But while he was making his toast, what he didn't notice was aunt Petunia shooting him odd glances. Harry ate his breakfast quietly over the sink, instead of at the tables with the rest of the Dursley's. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were having a conversation about television programs, but aunt Petunia remained silent. Harry found this quiet odd, and glanced over at her, only to find her staring back at him too. Harry broke the eye contact, and cleaned up his breakfast, but his aunt continued to stare.
"May I see you in the living room for a moment, Harry?" she asked suddenly. Harry noticed she looked incredibly uncomfortable. Uncle Vernon and Dudley had stopped talking now. "What-" his uncle began, but Petunia just walked out of the kitchen, Harry following.
She began pacing in the living room. Harry thought he knew what this was about. "Er- I'm seventeen now," Harry began. His aunt stopped pacing and nodded. "Yes," his aunt finally replied. "The charm is done. This house won't protect you anymore." It seemed so strange to hear his aunt talk about magic. "Right, well, I'm leaving soon," Harry continued. His aunt looked questioning. "The school's not open anymore. I'm not going back for my last year. I'm going to live in my godfather's house," he explained. "Right," Petunia replied. Well…" And his aunt stuck out her hand. Harry hesitated for a moment, then shook it.
The moment was awkward, and they let go quickly. It was nice of her to say goodbye, Harry thought. But Harry would never forgive her. Never. For all she put him through. She may be his mother's sister, but he still hated her. He fixed his face with no emotion, then walked out of the room.
And that was that. He spent the rest of the morning in his room, making sure everything was ready to go. He packed everything he would ever need. He was never coming back to the Dursley's. At ten to eleven, he performed a spell to make his trunk feather-light, then sent Hedwig on her way to Grimmauld Place. She would arrive there later tonight. Harry picked up his trunk, turned on the spot, and with a small 'pop', he was gone from the Durlsey's forever. He never had to go back to the house he'd never called home. He was seventeen and full of angst. A few moments and another 'pop' later, and he stood on the doorstep to his new home. Number 12 Grimmauld Place loomed in front of him like an intimidating memory. He tapped his wand to the door handle, and walked inside, bracing himself for the pain that waited to escape his heart.