Privet Drive glistened brightly at noon, white and quiet from the first snowfall of the year. Ice glistened on the sidewalks, threatening to send passer-by sprawling, however there were no passers to slip on it. The autos were all half buried under hard, compact snow, threatening a hard hour's work for any whom might want to drive them, however the cars remained buried, and would be for quite a long time. The tense calm lingering on the very air of the street was unusual, even for the hours after the worst blizzard of the year. The reason that the atmosphere was so tense, as well as the reason why all the windows on the houses of privet drive were boarded up was simple: It was the start of August.
Generally, the residents of privet drive detested anything out of the ordinary. However they were all too scared to be too indignant, and went about their daily business (locked of course, in the perceived safety of their homes) in a quiet manner, rarely speaking to eacch other. They were more frightened then they ever dreamed of being. Not frightened of the snow, but of the terrorist that said he would cause it, and did. The man who went by the name of Lord Voldemort, and caused terror with the magic they were all, as was the rest of the country, unwillingly aware of.
At number four, a solitary figure stood behind the frost-caked glass. A bespectacled young man with determination and desperation both etched onto every feature of his face. A man who left his boyhood behind not too long ago, and at the moment couldn't afford to look back. He brushed the hair on his forehead with his hand breifly, and if anyone had been bold enough to go outside, and bolder enough to walk accross the lawn to the window, they would see a livid scar, forked like lightning. This man was Harry Potter.
Harry had the feeling of early dawn, despite the clock on the wall reading just past noon. At noon there was supposed to be people walking on Privet Drive. Of course, he thought, there also wasn't supposed to be any snow on the ground, and it was supposed to be warm. Harry smiled to himself humourlessly. He sounded a bit like Uncle Vernon in his head, which he didn't approve of. Then there was a sound behind him, and he turned away from the window at last, and faced his best friend, Ron Weasley.
"Hey" Said Harry, trying to read his friend's expression.
"Hey yourself. I needed a break, Harry. They might be too scared to say much, but your Aunt and Uncle can certainly glare a lot."
"Not surprised, honestly. As far as my uncle is concerned, none of us are wanted here, and I don't just mean the house, I mean the entire country."
Ron chuckled hollowly as he sank onto the couch. Harry walked over and sat down. "Where's Hermione?" he asked.
Ron smiled faintly. "Upstairs. Still sleeping. You'd never have believed it, would you? Imagine her, sleeping later than me? And until noon!" He smiled slightly wider, and then suddenly realized he was, and forced his face back into the strange expression he carried beforehand. This annoyed Harry, he felt that if people were afraid to smile or be happy in any way, then Voldemort had already won.
Ron seemed to sense this, and let himself relax a bit. Sometimes he got used to trying not to smile around the unhospitable muggles in the house. "Of course," he added "She didn't get much sleep last night. We were up quite late, we were..." His eyes darted around, making sure they were still alone.
"You were waiting up for Pig." he said. Pig was the small owl that Ron kept.
"Yes, or Hedwig, either would be a pleasant sight at this point." Both owls had been sent out, one to Hogwarts and one to the house Harry owned in London. Although it was no longer a wise idea to send out owls since the death eaters had revealed themselves to a terrified muggle populace, they both felt it was a risk worth taking to hear from their friends and allies.
"You know, I didn't want to say anything before..." Ron begain. "But I had a thought that this might happen, our world being exposed to the muggles I mean. You-Know-Who...I mean...V-v-Vuh-Voldemort, he must be thrilled right now that there's no Dumbledore around to stop him." Harry looked at his shoes. The memory of Dumbledore's death was still so close to him. "That's not to say that he's right though!" said Ron, rallying immediately. He's forgotten about you hasn't he? I bet he figures that you're not a threat to him without Dumbledore, I bet he'll live just long enough to rergret that!"
Harry's head shot up, as a matter of fact his entire body did, as he stood erect. He didn't even realize he was standing. His features were suddenly hard. "I'll make him regret every choice he's made since he was eleven years old." Harry said this as a simple statement, but with a feirceness that emmanated not from his words, but from his presence. Ron looked up at Harry with something very much like amazement in his face. "You know harry, you're a lot like him. Like Dumbledore, I mean. Only V-Voldemort isn't smart enough to be afraid of you."
Harry smiled to himself. Ron was right, Voldemort should be afraid of him. However his breif inner triumph did not last, as they were suddenly jerked out of their mutual dazes by a rapid tapping at the window. "It's Pig!" declared Ron. As Ron still looked a bit too shocked to do more than goggle at the window, Harry got up and wrenched the window open (which proved to be difficult as it was practically frozen shut) and let Pigwidgeon in. Never short of energy, the tiny little owl flapped around Ron's head excidedly hooting.
By the time Ron had managed to calm Pig down enough to grab the letter, Hermione had appeared, most likely due to all the noise. She yawned and looked over at the clock, frowning. "Why didn't you wake me up?" she asked, sitting down next to Ron. and stretching out for another yawn.
"Well, I didn't feel much like having my throat ripped out, I'm too young to die that way." Hermione gave him a half-amused look and then pointed at the letter. "Are you going to open that, then?" Ron hastily turned the letter over and looked at it. "Blimey! This is the letter we sent out, Harry! It wasn't even delivered!" He looked down at Pig, who was happily bouncing around on the carpet (Aunt Petunia would have screamed if she saw.) "What are you getting at, then? You're supposed to deliever this!"
"Maybe he couldn't deliver it, Ron" said Hermione, looking over the letter, which was indeed the very letter they had sent out to London, still sealed. "I was afraid this might happen, I suspect that there might have been nobody there to deliver to. I mean, Dumbledore was the secret-keeper for the Order, wasn't he? I'm not sure that the house would be safe now that he's...gone." Ron looked disgruntled. "Why didn't you mention that before we sent the letter?" he demanded.
"Well I thought it was worth a try, and at least now we know that the order has moved elsewhere."
"But where would they move their headquarters to?" Harry wondered aloud, more to himself than to the others.
"Well," begain Hermione "I'm sure we'll find that out when Hedwig returns. After all, you sent her to Hogwarts, didn't you? With both Professor Mcgonnagal and Hagrid in the order, I'm sure we'll be able to find out. Of course they probably won't tell us outright, it's not safe, but I'm sure that once we establish some sort of communication that we'll know, well, something." She heaved a sigh and then continued on a completely different note. "Is there anything to eat? I'm positively starving." Ron was giving her an amazed sort of look, as if he had never see her before. "You're something else, you know that Hermione? In less than a minute you've managed to set my mind at ease a bit and then make me realize how hungry I am." He stood up, saying "I think there's some cold chicken in the fridge. I'm sure Harry's aunt and uncle will mind us eating it..." "And I'm sure that I don't care" finished Harry, smiling. It had been a recurring joke they had devised in the few days they've been staying here. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon certainly did not approve of Harry being there, much less with two other magic-folk. But they remained too intimidated to do more than grumble, mostly when they believed all "weirdos" to be out of earshot. Their son Dudley Dursley, who didn't loath magic as much as he feared it, had remained hidden, which was quite a feat for such a large boy. Harry suspected that they could stay here all summer and not see Dudley at all, which suited him just fine. Except summer seemed to have already ended.
Ron returned with some cold chicken and slices of bread, most of which was snatched up immediately by Hermione, who tore off large bites and swallowed with such haste it was a wonder she didn't choke. "Honestly!" ron exclaimed. "You'd think that you've never eaten before!" He passed half of his meager share to Harry and continued to look at Hermione in a half-amazed, half-annoyed way.
"We should leave." Harry said suddenly. Ron looked up with a bit of chicken skin dangling out of his mouth, his expression quickly changing to puzzlement. Hermione's hand darted forward and broke it off, however instead of snatching it towards her, she poked it into Ron's mouth. He gave a muffled "Thanks" and blushed deep scarlet. Harry inwardly rolled his eyes, Honestly, it was sometimes better when they fought. Or at least less embarrassing for him. When Ron finally composed himself and swallowed he asked "What, right now?"
"Well I daresay you can finish eating." Said harry "But we should leave after, we're not accomplishing anything here. We got a responce from Pig. I mean we didn't but, it was all the responce we needed, right? We could wait for Hedwig, but she's always been able to find me, no matter where I am. We ought to get to where my parents lived, Godric's Hollow."
Hermione, who seemed to have not eaten so much as devoured the food, wiped her mouth with one of Aunt Petunia's tea cozys and said "I think you're right. And to be honest, I can't stand this place much longer. I think I'd feel more welcome in a house of death eaters than around your family, Harry." "No offense though!" she added hastily. Harry waved his hand lazily. "You think that's bad, I've felt that way for all of my life, or at least all that I could remember."
"How are we going to get there?" Ron asked, seeming suddenly also very eager to leave. "I mean, we'll be apparating there, won't we? Can't use fire, as we don't know any fireplaces to go there," "And we can't fly" interjected Hermione "well maybe you could Harry, but if that blizzard starts up again..." Ron continued "So we'll have to apparate, right? But the problem is, we've never been there! You have to focus on where you're going!" Harry understood Ron's nervousness about Apparition. Disappearing from one place and appearing in another is quite a feat even under the best of conditions, much less going to a place unfamiliar.
"Don't worry, I've got it all worked out." Harry reached over to the coffee table, where he picked up the photo album he had since the end of his first year at Hogwarts. "We've never been there, but there's enough photos in here of my parents in the viliage to be able to do it. And I can help you two along, if needed. Ron and Hermione were both nodding, Hermione with approval and Ron with attentiveness. The way I figure it, I can't botch it up that badly, either it will work, or it won't. I think it will, and if it doesn't, we'll have to think of something else. But let's not worry about that at all. He slipped out a photograph of his mother, standing outside a house that he didn't remember. Harry supposed his father wasn't in the shot because he took the picture. His mother waved cheerfully at him as he placed the photo gingerly down on the table.
Without needing to be told, Ron and Hermione gathered closer, strongly contemplating the photo. Harry concentrated with some difficulty not on his mother, but on her surroundings. He invisioned the quiet little villiage that they had lived in during Voldemort's first reign of terror. If he had looked up he would have seen his friends also concentrating, Ron gritting his teeth and a bead of nervous sweat arcing accross Hermione's forehead.
He picked up the photograph gently, trying not to move it, trying not to break their concentration. He would want to take it with him, of course. He knew that if he left a picture of his mother here as he left, her sister would see it into the bin faster than you could say "magic". Almost instinctively, Hermione firmly grasped his arm, and he felt ron's arm encircle his other. He glanced up very briefly, his breathing quick and intense with his concentration, and saw that they were also holding on to each other.
He closed his eyes. He saw in his head the place he yearned to go to. He thought of the countryside around the house, trying not to think of the house itself, as he knew it wouldn't be there. "On the count of three" he said in a barely audible whisper.
"One..."
"Two..."
"Three!"
And on the count of three he turned, pulling his friends through the void as they disapparated.