Author's Note: Just my little beginning to Book Seven. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K.Rowling, my hero.
The look on Vernon Dursley's face was one Harry Potter was sure he would never forget.
"What do you mean they're coming with you?" Vernon growled at his nephew.
Harry shrugged. "We won't be staying for long."
"Too right you won't be," said Uncle Vernon. "I agreed to let you come back, boy, but I won't hear of this. That old bender" — Harry felt his blood boil — "didn't say anything about me having to allow your friends into my house!"
Harry attempted to keep his face calm, although he could feel it reddening with anger. Uncle Vernon didn't know that Albus Dumbledore was now dead, didn't know what kind of insult he had just given; nor did Harry see any reason to inform him.
"You have no choice," said Harry. "They're coming."
Perhaps Uncle Vernon had learned all too well what was capable of happening when Harry got mad, because he glanced back at his wife and son, and said through gritted teeth, "There isn't enough room in the car."
"We don't need the car," said Harry. "We have our own way of getting places now."
Without pausing to question what that way might be, as though he had been waiting for a good place to end the conversation, Uncle Vernon turned and hurried out of the train station, his wife and son following along behind him.
Harry sighed and turned back to his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.
"Are you sure you want to put up with that for the night?"
"You're not getting rid of us, Harry," said Hermione simply.
Harry sighed. He had never gotten along with his relatives, and for good reason; the Dursleys hated anything out of the ordinary, and Harry Potter was just about as weird as he could possibly be. You see, Harry was a wizard; a wizard who had just completed his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
But even by Wizarding standards, Harry was not considered normal. He was famous for surviving an attack as a baby, an attack that had killed his parents and left him with only a lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
That scar was the only thing that stood out about his physical appearance. Harry's hair was jet black and stuck up at odd angles, always refusing to lay flat. His eyes were bright green, hidden behind round-framed glasses, and his lean build had just finished maturing.
Ron's mother, Molly Weasley, walked over to them. Harry noticed with a pang of guilt that there were tears in her eyes.
"Ron," she said, her voice shaking. "Please. Please. Don't go."
A dull pain filled Harry's chest and he looked at Hermione. She had her head down.
"Mum," said Ron, "this is something I have to do."
Mrs. Weasley closed her eyes and covered her mouth with her hands as Ron's father and sister joined them also. Arthur Weasley put an arm around his wife's shoulders.
"Come on now, Molly. He's not going anywhere yet."
"Yeah, there's still Bill's wedding," said Ron's sister, Ginny.
Bill's wedding, Harry thought. He had agreed to go to the eldest Weasley's wedding before doing anything else.
But after that, his adventure would begin.