The sun was sinking slowly over the horizon and the little suburban street of privet drive was silent in a state of serenity. Brilliant golden and purple rays cast holy hues on the perfect lawns of every matching house.
All of this was quietly observed by a young man in at his window, his face pale, contrasting deeply with his bright green eyes. He was sitting utterly still in a chair by his desk in a poorly lit room. The floor was littered with clothing articles: socks, shirts, and various other garments. Sprawled across the desk was books with odd titles such as; So You Want to be an Auror; One Hundred and One Useful Curses That are Hardly Legal; Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts (Auror Approved!); and other such oddly titled books.
Harry Potter had been reading these and others seemingly nonstop for the past several weeks – each book had been read about four times to his count.
Harry sighed and leaned back, picking up another book, trying to cram as much information as possible into his already overwhelmed head. He was surprised that he could stand reading all day, like his bookworm friend Hermione. He supposed it was because Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been his strong point.
Harry grudgingly put down the book, Dark Artifacts and How to Destroy them (it was one of the many books he had ordered specially from Flourish and Dotts)and slowly got up out of his chair. He stepped unsteadily, yawning and rubbing his eyes as he did so.
He stumbled down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where his beefy uncle and extraordinarily large cousin were seated. Neither acknowledged Harry as he sat down at the square table. They sat in silence for a while, before Harry said, "I'm leaving tomorrow-"
His cousin, Dudley and his Uncle, Vernon both turned to him, their mouths open, in what Harry deducted was either shock or disbelief. He had, after all, been the bane of their household for nearly sixteen years.
Harry continued, "I won't be coming back-"
Their mouths, if possible, dropped a little further.
Harry, slightly unnerved at their silence, went on, "It's my seventeenth birthday Monday you see, and I'll be able to do magic then-"
Both Vernon and Dudley became a few shades paler.
"So I'll finally be out of this place." Harry finished with distaste.
The two of them looked like they had lost the ability to speak, and after about a minute of silence, Harry became slightly concerned. He was about to voice a question about their health when his uncle Vernon quietly and quite suddenly asked, "So you'll really, never, never, come back, boy?"
Harry nodded.
There was another moment of silence before Harry's cousin and uncle, two of his last living relations, levitated out of their seats simultaneously – with a completely absurd amount of cheering and yelling. They proceeded to dance around the kitchen and dining area, Uncle Vernon called out, "Petunia! Petunia! He's leaving! He's nearly gone for good! No more unnaturalness in our home!"
Harry watched Petunia crash in through the door from what Harry assumed was the bathroom, her face crazed with a manic smile across it. She said something to Vernon that Harry couldn't hear because of Dudley bouncing his formidable body around the room, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Apparently the reply Vernon gave her was satisfactory, because she let out a large "WHOOP!" and hurried to the liquor carnet, bringing out more than a few bottles of Champaign.
Harry, appalled at the spectacle, quietly left the table, and stomped his way upstairs just as Petunia ripped out the cork and downed a more than generous amount of the sparkling liquid straight from the bottle.
It was a long time before the festivities ended. Harry had tried to read some more, but found that he no longer had the concentration. He idly watched the clock as it counted the minutes.
11:55
11:56
11:57
11:58
11:59
Almost there– Harry's heart raced.
12:00
Finally. Harry let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
He was Seventeen, and he could do magic. It was funny how he felt absolutely no different then he had the day before. Yet today he was free.
He crawled back into bed, to get a few hours of sleep.
Ten O'clock the next morning found Harry up and moving around his room. He was grabbing all of the things he felt he would need.
He released Hedwig out of her cage with orders to fly to the Burrow.
Suddenly struck with a moment of clarity, Harry whipped out his wand, and with a little wave, all of his belongings zoomed off the floor and crashed into his trunk. Harry quickly closed the lid and stepped back. Concentrating hard, Harry tapped the trunk with his wand, and it shrunk down to about the size of a matchbox. He picked it up, and with one final glance at his room, he strode through the doorway and down the stairs.
He was surprised to see everyone at the table, considering the late hour. They all looked a mess. It didn't take Harry more than a glance at the empty bottles lying around the room to deduct why. They all turned their heads when he walked in as if prepared for some sort of speech, but Harry only said one thing.
"Good-bye."
He whipped around and without looking back; he strode through the threshold, he hoped, for the last time.
Reaching the street, he stopped to admire the beautiful sky and shield his eyes from the bright sun. Today was going to be a good day, he could tell.
He strutted forward, ignoring the odd looks he was receiving from the windows and thresholds of every house in Privet Drive. Aunt Petunia had apparently been quite eager to spread the news of the departure of her rotten nephew. He smiled broadly as he strode out of his past and into his destiny. No one would stop him or approach him. It was common knowledge in the muggle world that it was too dangerous to be out at night, and the people of Privet Drive only left their houses at all for important tasks such as mowing their lawn, or pruning their hedges.
Harry promptly turned into an alley. It was the very same alley he had been attacked by Dementors two years previous. He glanced around as if worried that Dementors might actually appear again, before concentrating very hard on a certain drive way at Grimauld Place.
Harry was suddenly struck with the sensation of being sucked through a water hose before finding himself in the middle of a gloomy street. Feeling around his body, making sure he had all of his limbs, Harry was relieved to have Apparated intact. He wondered if the Ministry of Magic could tell if someone had an apparition license or not. Feeling quite decidedly unconcerned, he hurried to the sidewalk, saying the words Number Twelve Grimauld Place over and over in his mind. He was surprised of course, when no house popped into existence. Harry looked carefully at the houses and then noticed that Number Twelve was already in plain sight to him and to everyone. Curious as to why this would be so, Harry reasoned that with Dumbledore's death, the Fidelius charm he had cast was voided.
Harry quickly changed this line of thought, and stepped up to the door. It was locked, as Harry had expected, so he concentrated on the word Alohamora while tapping the door with his wand. He heard the lock click, and sure enough, when Harry pushed down on the handle, the door creaked open.
Smiling grimly, Harry stepped forward into dark hallway. Harry was suddenly hit with a musty smell and stifled a cough. No one had been in the house for at least a year, and the layers of dust covering the moldy carpet were testament to this. Harry soon grew used to the smell as he walked through the deadly quiet house. Harry didn't have much of a purpose for coming. He just didn't know where to start his hunt, his quest for the Horcruxes. This seemed like a sensible place to start, seeing as it was an old pureblood house, filled with knowledge and things that screamed dark.
Soon Harry found himself in the kitchen and realized how hungry he was. He had left the Dursley's without any breakfast, and was now paying the price. He looked through the cabinets but found nothing. Harry was suddenly struck with the idea that he was being completely stupid, deserting his friends who had wanted to come with him. No!
He would not let them come with him. He needed to find the Horcruxes alone. He would not endanger their lives. Hermione of all people, deserved to finish school. Not get her-self killed on a wild goose-chase.
Harry forced the thought of Mrs. Weasley's cooking out of his mind. He had work to do.
Harry cleared his throat, and called out, "Kreacher."
At once he had to back away as the senile house elf appeared before him.
"Greetings Master." He wheezed, "What would mistress think of poor Kreacher, obeying a filthy half-blood, in her own home."
"That's enough Kreacher, I have a job for you. I want you to clean, now listen to me! To clean this entire house – all of it! As fast and best you can. I want you to star now!"
Kreacher looked like he would rather kiss a skrewt, but sure enough, scurried out of the room to complete the task.
Harry, glad that Kreacher had obeyed him, sat down in a dusty chair, to contemplate his next move.
What Harry needed, was to find somewhere to start. He needed to find out the possible places that Voldemort could hide his Horcruxes. He knew that Nagini, Hufflepuff's chalice, and the locket were all Horcruxes. The locket though was missing, and hopefully already destroyed. It would be worth finding though, to make sure. After that, Harry guessed that something of Ravenclaw or Gryffindor's was the second last. If he could manage to destroy all the other Horcruxes, he would have a final chance at getting Voldemort, the last Horcrux.
First he would scour the house for any clue to where he was most likely to find dark artifacts.
He sighed, and shuffled out of the kitchen and upstairs to begin.
For the next few lonely weeks, Harry worked everyday, reading through scrolls, looking at the objects around the house, even braving his way through each and every book in the black library. He had not studied so hard in his life. Not even before the Triwizard tournament or the O.W.L. exams. Though he did not find anything about the locations of the Horcruxes, he did find a number of painful and lethal looking spells that he imagined, would prove invaluable if he were to run into any death eaters, especially his old Professor, Severus Snape. He remembered vividly the night he had watched Snape murder his beloved Headmaster in cold blood. He had even attempted to cast an unforgivable on the traitor several times. The potions master had gotten the better of him, but he swore that he would exact revenge.
Every night, he practiced these curses, and the ones he had read up on at the Dursleys. Most, he could cast nonverbally. He had gone on to the task of learning these and all of his spells silently, with unmatched determination, and found that with the right focus and concentration, anything could be accomplished. He had more than tripled his repertoire of offensive and defensive spells.
He would go to eat at Diagon Alley almost every meal. The others, he would make himself on conjured pots and pans. Sometimes he left just to hear people's voices and observe the ordinary lives around him as he sat, hooded, in the corner. Voldemort disrupted their lives too, he could tell. The streets were usually empty. It was rare fore anyone to be out alone, and every face looked wary, even while they browsed their various shops.
He would return each day to Diagon Alley, and would feel go back to Grimauld house knowing that he was doing the right thing. He was still frustrated though. It was true he had learnt new spells, but he was stumped by the continuous lack of information the house held that would benefit his search for the remaining Horcruxes. He still had yet to find the necklace, or where Hufflepuff's goblet, and the object of Gryffindor or Ravenclaw's were. He didn't even know what the latter looked like.
Harry began to feel it was a lost cause and he would go and sit alone in thought, more and more often. His thoughts would wander from his search, to his home, to Hogwarts, to most of all, his friends. He wondered what they thought of his disappearance. He had told them not to send any mail to him, and they were undoubtedly saving his birthday presents for when he came to stay with them. It had taken a lot of persuasion to get them to go back to their respective homes instead of with him. In the end, he had promised to meet them at Bill and Fleur's wedding on August 29th. Then they would go together, to find the Horcruxes. Harry intended to be prepared for it.
He was sitting in a poorly lit, semi-dusty room (Kreacher had been working somewhat) in which the gray walls were adorned with rectangular spots of paleness where paintings used to hang. The only tapestry left, was the family tree that hung stubbornly to one of the walls, its silvery threads almost glowing in the dim light. Harry stared at it for a while, fingering a locket that he had taken to wearing around with him. He had read the attached note so many times that he had memorized it by heart.
It was the locket he and Dumbledore had retrieved. The note it held was signed R.A.B. - his only clue to any of the Horcruxes. Harry put down the locket but continued to gaze at the family tree. He could see where Sirius' name used to be. Instead of his name, there was a hole, where his mother had presumably blasted it off. Harry quickly looked away and found his eyes on Bellatrix Black. She was his cousin, after all. His murderer also. Someday, he would get revenge on her too.
His eyes moved on, past Narcissa Black Malfoy, and on to Regulas Albert Black, Sirius' brother. He had used to be a Death Eater, but apparently had found the error of his ways, and had tried to quit. He was murdered on Voldemort's commands. Harry's eyes were just about to move on, when something clicked in his mind.
Regulas Albert Black! R.A.B. He was the one who stole the Horcrux! Of course, it now all makes sense. Regulas must have seen Voldemort hide the Horcrux, so he knew how to take it. Hopefully he destroyed it, but if he didn't… I'll still have to find it to make sure.
Harry let out a large "Whoop!" but quickly looked around self-consciously after he did so.
All he would have to do now was look to see if the necklace was in this house. It would be the perfect place to hide something, after all. With all of the enchantments on the house, it would be incredibly difficult to find without already knowing where it was.
Struck with another stroke of brilliance, Harry called out, "Kreacher!"
Immediately Kreacher appeared, "You called, Master?"
Harry observed again the lack mutterings from the house elf; Kreacher had seemed to be in a better mood ever sense he started working, as if the work made him happy. Harry was suspicious at first, but soon realized that work truly was what House elves lived for.
"Kreacher, I want you to bring me every single golden necklace, or necklace with gold on it in this house Do it as fast as you can, please."
Kreacher didn't respond, but hurried out of the room to begin the task. It was only one hour until Kreacher came back.
Kreacher dumped the pile on the floor in front of him. It was a meager looking pile compared to the one he had expected. He was sure he had seen at least double the jewelry two years before, while cleaning the house. Still, he bent down silently and sorted through the assortment, looking for a necklace with the telltale symbol of Slytherin on it.
Harry, frustrated, double and triple checked the pile, but could not find it.
Harry had read a few books involving information on destroying dark artifacts, and all of them said that heavily magical artifacts could not be vanished. The only way to vanish it was to get all of the magic in it, out of it. The process would take hours of unbroken concentration. There were other ways, though. Harry, in his second year, had destroyed the diary by stabbing it with the Basilisk's fang. But knowing how to destroy a Horcrux would be useless if he couldn't get his hands on it.
Harry angrily got up and kicked the kicked the wall, acquiring several swollen toes. After momentarily ridding himself of useless aggression, Harry lay down on his bed and thought all through the night before coming up with an answer.
Mundungus Fletcher. He had been stealing from the Black estate. Harry had seen, with his own eyes, a bag of valuable items that had been stolen from Grimauld place. That's why the pile of silver, Kreacher had found was so small, he concluded.Fletcher had taken most of the valuables. Now all he needed was to find Fletcher and retrieve the stolen article.
Smiling to himself despite the fact that he had no idea where to look for a petty criminal in the wizarding world, he fell back into his soft pillow, asleep.