Harry Potter was bored, as usual. Back at the Dursley's, this summer seemed duller than last, with now Sirius and Dumbledore gone.
I'll kill him, he told himself over and over. I'll kill Snape and Bellatrix, and Voldemort with them. Kill the people who took everything from me.
And when they would be dead, Ginny would be his. Her hair like fire, just like her personality. Wild, sexy, unafraid. Many nights he would lay awake, envisioning killing Voldemort, with her at his side, Ron and Hermione behind them, the Order behind them, cheering on the battle, while they themselves fought the Death Eaters.
Fighting Snape.
His Hogwarts letter had come, with what seemed like hundreds from Ron and Hermione (especially Hermione) demanding he finished his education at Hogwarts.
I'll think about it, he wrote back. He even had some letters from Bill and Charlie Weasley, stating the importance of education, with multiple postscripts from Mr. & Mrs. Weasley.
He had no lead on any of the remaining Horcruxes, or the mysterious R.A.B. He wracked his brain for every person he knew, and could only think of the name Regulas Black.
It couldn't be him though, he was long dead, Sirius told him.
The fake Horcrux locket was around his neck, and although Harry has memorized the message, he read it over and over.
To the Dark Lord . . .
Had to be someone who'd been behind him, taking the real Horcrux, while Harry learned Snape's true identity.
I know I will be dead long before you read this . . .
Been right there . . .
but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret . . .
Had Dumbledore told him anyone was helping him with the Horcruxes?
I face death in the hope that when you meet your match . . .
He knew about the Prophecy. . . .
you will be mortal once more . . .
Right behind him . . .
R.A.B.
Hedwig knocked on the window, a letter on her leg. It was from Ron, by the writing. Hedwig soared around the room while Harry read the letter:
Harry,
Pack your stuff, and we'll be there in twenty minutes.
Ron
This was the shortest note Ron had sent yet. How would the Weasley's get there in twenty minutes? They had always shown up, but, twenty minutes . . .
Harry went downstairs, where Uncle Vernon was watching the morning news this Saturday morning. Aunt Petunia was flipping pancakes in the kitchen, and Dudley was sitting at the table, his piggy eyes following his mothers' every movement. Harry walked up to Uncle Vernon.
'Uh, Uncle - '
'Hm?' Came his uncle's response, and his gaze never left the television set.
'My friend is going to be picking me up shortly.'
'Will you be coming back?' Uncle Vernon suddenly seemed interested.
'No.'
His face split with pleasure.
'Did you hear that Petunia? The boy's not coming back!'
Aunt Petunia came in, her arms crossed, glowering.
'We house you, feed you, clothe you, and this is our thanks?'
'I've put up with your bullying, your tormenting, your dinner parties, and your obnoxious sister.' Harry said, throwing a look worthy of Vernon Dursley at his uncle. 'And this is my thanks?'
Uncle Vernon leapt to his feet, his face purple, charging at Harry.
'Don't touch me.' He said, pulling his wand and pointing it at Uncle Vernon's chest. 'Or I'll do to all of you what I did to your sister.'
'You can't do magic outside of your school!' Aunt Petunia bellowed, triumphs diluting her voice.
'Not anymore. I'm seventeen today, and aren't under-aged now. I can do whatever I want.'
Uncle Vernon opened his mouth to say something, but shut it quickly.
'Thought so.' Harry laughed. 'Smart move. You should see what I can do.' He flicked his wand at the television, which turned off, and he rushed up the stairs.
He opened his suitcase, flicked his wand, and all his things flew out of theirs places, and into his suitcase. He zippered it shut, and waited for the Weasley's.
With a small pop ten minutes later, there stood Mr. Weasley, looking oddly un-chipper.
'Let's go, come on!'
Harry grabbed his bag, joined his arm, and with another small pop they were off.
When they arrived, it wasn't in the Burrow. It was a grubby sitting room with mismatched chairs, and a large wall covered with books.
Mr. Weasley sat in a large armchair.
He now had long, greasy black hair.