There was a thunderstorm on the night of Harry's seventeenth birthday. Harry loved thunderstorms (who didn't, really), but didn't like it when the power went out. The power flickered that night, and Harry was left watching a blinking clock. Was he seventeen yet? He wasn't sure. Was he even excited? He wasn't sure about that, either. Being seventeen meant that whatever protection the Dursley's gave him would be gone. What would happen to him? Mr. Weasley and Tonks were going to be by the next morning. Harry's trunk was tightly packed already, and he hadn't let Hedwig out for fear she wouldn't be back in time. She didn't want out anyway. She merely perched in her cage, hooting softly at the larger peals of thunder.
Harry glanced at his watch, remembering it's presence on his wrist. 11:57. Three minutes until he was seventeen.
There was another peal of thunder as Harry's watch switched from 11:59 to 12:00. That was it. He was seventeen. And like every other year that he had stayed up, nothing felt different. Harry placed his glasses on the table and rolled over and went to sleep.
Thunder clapped, and Harry's eyes shot open. That one sounded odd, he thought. I'm just being paranoid. He closed his eyes. But as soon as he did he was sure that something was definitely not right. There was a shuffling downstairs, the sound of a broken window. This wasn't good. Was it just a coincidence that it happened as he lost his protection? He didn't want to find out. Grabbing his wand and glasses from the table, Harry leapt out of bed.
He was seventeen now. He could perform magic. And he was afraid that he would need to.
"HARRY POTTER, WHAT THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU DOING?" Harry heard Uncle Vernon roar from downstairs.
Even from downstairs, Harry could see the flash of green. Then there was silence.
Lord Voldemort was in the den of number 4 Privet Drive, and he had just killed Uncle Vernon.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Okay, I realize that was crazy short, but I couldn't NOT stop there.
No one has reviewed this story yet, so I will just continue to write it… I think I actually have some good ideas!
"I wish I lived back in the old west days, because I'd save up my money for about twenty years so I could buy a solid-gold pick. Then I'd go out West and start digging for gold. When someone came up and asked what I was doing, I'd say, "Looking for gold, ya durn fool." He'd say, "Your pick is gold," and I'd say, "Well, that was easy." Good joke, huh."
-unolimbo
