Reports of a Missing Boy
Earlier that morning, on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, a bizarrely-shaped house barely stood above the surrounding trees.
The base looked to be a large stone pigpen with windows and a roof, with crudely-constructed extra rooms supported by beams sticking up from the bottom. Topping the house was a red roof with four or five chimneys built in.
Near the front door, a crooked sign was hammered into the ground near reading, The Burrow.
As the sun shined through the Burrow's windows, a familiar-looking snowy owl was roosting at the window of a bedroom whose walls were covered in burnt orange burnt wallpaper.
The peeling wallpaper was covered with posters of witches in wizards in bright orange robes, flying on broomsticks, which read Chudley Cannons.
Sleeping in a camp bed at the corner of the room was a lanky boy with red hair, feckles, and a long nose. His bedspread was also orange and also adorned with the words, Chudley Cannons. This was Harry's best friend, Ron Weasley.
Ron slept over the edge of the bed, snoring until a familiar hoot jerked him awake. He rubbed his eyes and searched around for the source of it, finding the owl at the window.
"Hedwig!" he gasped.
Hedwig hooted again as she stuck out her leg, which was still clutching the envelope Harry had prepared the night before. Ron took the envelope and was bemused by the address, which read,
The Weasleys
The Burrow
Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon
Ron scratched his head, as Harry had never sent anything addressed to the whole family before. Yet, that didn't stop him from tearing the envelope open to read the letter himself.
It seemed that Ron always wanted to be the first to hear from Harry, even if he had a sister who never stopped talking about him.
Ron flipped open the letter, nearly dropping it as he read; as far as he was concerned, Harry never left Privet Drive for anything besides visiting the Burrow, buying Hogwarts supplies, or to get to King's Cross Station to catch the Hogwarts Express.
Ron burst the door to his bedroom open and ran down the hall, completely disregarding the looks two others presented him; a couple of twins with a shorter, stockier build, but the same red hair and freckles as Ron.
These were two of Ron's older brothers, Fred and George. Never ones to miss a thing, presented each other with a devilish grin before darting after Ron, who was now dashing down the crooked stairs of the house.
"Mum!" he cried.
A short, slightly plump woman with the same red hair was in the back of the house, steaming sausages in pan and mashing up potatoes. This was Ron's mother, Molly Weasley, who was caught by surprise, hearing the sound of his voice.
"Mum!" Ron repeated.
"Ron, what is it?" she asked. "You're never awake this early. Unless you were awoken by the smell of breakfast."
"No!" Ron panted. "Not like that! It's this..."
Ron was about to hand the folded letter to his mother, when they were interrupted by two voices at the bottom of the stairs.
"Well, well, well..." Fred teased."It seems that Ickle Ronniekins has got letters on the brain instead of food, eh Georgie?"
"Aye Freddie," George agreed. "We'd better keep an extra close watch on you, in case you turn into another Percy."
"He can't wait for the next letter from his girlfriend!" Fred added.
"It's from Harry," Ron interrupted.
"Well, of course..." George dismissed.
"Couldn't wait time hear back from the Youngest Seeker in a Century, could we, Ron?" Fred continued.
"Oi!" Ron cried. "It's not just me. It's addressed to all of us."
Ron handed Molly the torn envelope, bearing the Weasleys' address, which her face lit up at upon reading it.
"What a thoughtful gesture," Molly replied. "Harry wants to speak to us all during the summer holidays."
"Yeah, that'll do Ginny some good." Fred snickered.
"Now she'll have an autograph from her precious scrawny, specky git," George added.
Molly presented two of her older sons with a traditional death glare, as was disciplinary at the Burrow before pushing the three of them in the direction of a large wooden table with eight mismatched chairs.
"You three gather around the kitchen table," Molly demanded. "I'll call the others so we can read it together."
"Awww, Mum!" they both cried in unison.
But better still, Molly's look was enough to silence them as she hustled back to the stairs to call out,
"Ginny! Percy! Come downstairs at once! We have an important letter waiting to be read."
It didn't take long for the floorboards in the stairs to start creaking as two more children slowly descended them; the first was a girl with a petite figure, a flaming red mane, and the same freckles as her brothers. The second was a taller, much older bespectacled boy with still the same red hair and freckles.
Both of them came down the stairs quite slowly; the girl looking like her beauty sleep was disturbed, the boy trying his best to look dignified, first thing in the morning, regardless of the sour taste in the mouth.
"Good morning, Mother," Percy drawled.
"Please join your brothers at the kitchen table, dears." Molly instructed.
"Oh, Mum!" Ginny yawned.
"Ginevra, this is a matter of the family," Molly scolded. "If Percy is willing to join us, you should do the same."
"Of course, Percy would be willing to join us," Ginny muttered through her teeth.
Molly shot her daughter another look as she and Percy gathered with the rest of their brothers at the kitchen table.
Through the open back window slipped a tall, middle aged man with the same red hair, who was balding due to his age. This was Arthur Weasley, the father of the family, returning home after a long night of work at the Ministry of Magic.
"Morning, Weasleys!" He called.
"Morning, Dad!" replied the Weasley children.
"Good Morning, Arthur," Molly replied, kissing her husband on the cheek.
"Another long night at the Ministry," Arthur complained. "Thankfully, they haven't sent me anymore inquiries about the misuse of our old car."
"Dear me, no," Molly cried. "Instead, we're being sent letters from a friend of your son's."
"Which one?" Arthur asked.
"Harry Potter, of course." Molly replied. "It seems he wants to speak to all of us."
"There must be something he wishes to tell us," Arthur suggested.
"I can't image what," Molly puzzled.
Arthur pulled up a chair and joined his children at the table as Molly slowly unfolded the letter.
"What does it say?" Percy asked.
"It says," Molly began, clearing her throat. "That Harry's gone out of the country."
Arthur and the Weasley children perked their heads up, murmuring and gasping. Ron, having already read the letter, sat back, knowingly.
"Where has he gone to?" Arthur asked, worriedly.
"He hasn't said," Molly replied.
Arthur took the letter from Molly to get a look for himself. The other children leaned in after, but Arthur waved them back into their seats.
"He says he's gone to see a muggle who was acquainted with his parents, somehow." Arthur continued.
"What?!" Ron cried. "He's got a chance to come and visit us this summer and he chooses to meet some muggle?"
"Ronald!" Molly scolded.
"Sorry Mum," Ron apologized, his ears turning as red as his hair.
"Besides Ron, we might be going to Egypt to visit Bill for a month," Arthur pointed out.
Ron's face lit up at the prospect of a family holiday, until his sister presented him with their mother's death glare to remind him that his best friend had run off.
"We best contact Dumbledore about this," Arthur suggested.
"Right," Molly agreed as her husband stood up from the table.
Once their parents were gone, the Weasley children huddled together for a group discussion like the ones they had at Hogwarts; either at the Gryffindor table or in the Gryffindor common room.
"Where do you reckon Harry's gone off to?" Ginny puzzled.
"Well, wherever he is, he can't be missing much," Ron dismissed.
"Are you barmy?" Ginny cried. "Besides Egypt, or Hogwarts, what place could be more interesting than the Burrow?"
"Not that house of his," Ron replied. "I mean, talk about those relatives he's got."
"What about them?" Ginny requested.
"You mean we didn't tell you?" Fred asked, jokingly.
"Blimey, Gin Gin," George continued. "I thought knew about that time last year we borrowed Dad's car to go get Harry..."
"...And there were bars on his window," Ron finished.
"So it's true," Ginny gasped, straightening up.
While Ron, Fred and George seemed to know Harry well enough, Ginny only seemed to from afar. Yet the closest they'd ever gotten to each other was about a month earlier when he saved her life;
Ginny was dragged into a hidden section of Hogwarts called the Chamber of Secrets, home to a deadly reptilian monstrosity called the Basilisk. Brainwashed by the preserved memories of former student Tom Riddle, Ginny set the beast and its deadly gaze on several Hogwarts students with Muggle parents, including Hermione. In doing so, she nearly wiped out her life force to restore Riddle's.
By killing the basilisk and destroying the diary where Riddle's memories were preserved, Harry returned Ginny's life force to her.
Funny enough, while Molly and Arthur were told how all of that happened, there was still plenty that their other sons hadn't told them.
While Ginny listened in to her brothers' story of the previous summer's fiasco, Molly and Arthur gathered in front of a large fireplace at the end of the room.
Resting atop the mantel was a burnt orange flowerpot filled with a glittery green powdery substance. This substance, which the Wizarding World called Floo Powder, had two purposes;
One was to travel from one location to another by way of connection between fireplaces. The other was to communicate with someone else by way of sticking one's head into a connected fireplace.
Molly removed the flowerpot from the mantel and scooped out some Floo Powder. Once she had a handful, she threw it into their fireplace, shouting,
"Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts!"
A gust of green flames burst from the bottom of the fireplace and Molly stuck her face into the flames.
"Albus!" She called.
Meanwhile, several hundred miles away, there stood a large gothic stone castle, somewhere in the Scottish Highlands. This, unquestionably, was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Albus Dumbledore was sure to be making preparations for the coming school year.
Inside one of Hogwarts' many towers rested a large, circular room, with portraits of various witches and wizards, in varying sizes, hanging from the walls, surrounding the tower's windows. At the back of the room, just below a double-ended stairwell, rested a stone fireplace with another portrait resting above the mantel, larger than all the others.
The portrait was of a tall, thin man with silver hair and beard so long, it could be tucked into his belt. His nose was crooked, his eyes were a twinkling, brilliant shade of blue, framed by a pair of half-moon shaped spectacles. But most striking about him were the purple robes he wore, printed with a golden moon and star pattern, along with a matching pointed hat atop his head.
This, undeniably, was a portrait of Albus Dumbledore, who was sitting at a Mahogany desk in a golden throne, just below the portrait. He was busy reviewing a series of parchments laid on his desk, marking them down with a quill, completely and literally left to his own devices.
Sitting at the corner of Dumbledore's desk was a silver hookah-shaped instrument, without a hose or a plate. Its stem was split into three sections, separate from the base, spinning in various directions. The tip of the device emitted a swirling tower of red smoke as a green liquid sat at the crystalline base.
As long as this device emitted red smoke, Dumbledore knew all was well, so this day seemed like any other for him. Until he heard a familiar voice calling,
"Albus Dumbledore!"
Dumbledore turned from his work to find none other than the face of Molly Weasley in his fireplace, surrounded by green flames.
"Molly Weasley!" He exclaimed. "How wonderful to see you this summer."
"Albus!" Molly cried. "Thank goodness I was able to reach you at this hour."
"Well, there isn't much else to do at Hogwarts during the summertime, except prepare the next year's school lessons," Dumbledore explained. "Thankfully, we have our own offices for that. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Albus, It's Harry," Molly cried.
Judging by Molly's tone, Dumbledore easily knew something had happened to Harry. In times like these, he was known to change his benevolent, twinkling gaze into a glare soul-piercing, cold fury to emote his seriousness.
"What's happened to Harry?" he asked.
"We received a letter from him saying he was going to be outside of Britain this weekend," Molly explained, slipping the letter through the fireplace.
As the letter floated amongst the green flames, Dumbledore grabbed, unfolded it, and fortunately, didn't take very long to read it.
"Did you know anything about this?" Molly asked.
"I'm afraid he hasn't discussed it with me at all." Dumbledore replied, shaking his head. "I can't understand why he wouldn't have done so to begin with. Has he left any evidence of where he's gone off to?"
"No Albus," Molly denied. "But he did say he was going to meet up with an old friend of his parents; a muggle one."
"I see..." Dumbledore mused, stroking his beard in his long, skillful fingers. He glanced back at his desk, where the spinning silver hookah in the corner still spit rotating columns of red smoke.
"A silver instrument on my desk indicates Harry is perfectly safe."
"Explain," Molly requested.
"When I moved Harry into his relatives' home, an old protection was invoked," Dumbledore explained. "His mother's sacrifice saved him from the killing curse, thus, he required someone of the same blood to take him in. As long as he declares their house his home, he is safe. The red smoke spitting from my instrument tells me that."
"And where do you suppose his relatives are in this?" Molly wondered.
"I have two possible conclusions," Dumbledore replied. "They have either approved him going, or they've gone with him to meet this muggle. I'll ask Arabella if she knows anything about it."
"Arabella Figg?" Molly guessed.
"Indeed," Dumbledore confirmed. "I asked her to take up residency in Little Whinging so she could keep an eye on Harry for me."
"Thank you, Albus," Molly cried.
"Not at all, my dear," he reassured her. "Good day, Molly."
The flames in the fireplace disappeared, along with the face of Molly Weasley as Dumbledore located his own pot of Floo Powder atop the mantel. He pulled out a handful of powder and tossed it into the fireplace shouting,
"Figg Residence, Wisteria Walk, Little Whinging, Surrey."
As the next roar of green flames emerged in the fireplace, Dumbledore stuck his face in.
Hundreds of miles back south, in a house that smelled of cabbage, a batty-looking old woman rested on a pink and cream striped sofa. Her grizzled, gray flyaway hair was tied in a hairnet, tartan carpet slippers on her feet, and covered with a pink dressing gown.
This woman, needless to say, was Arabella Figg. Essentially, she always looked as if she'd just woken up, and joining her on the sofa were four cats. Adorning the walls of her living room were numerous photographs of other cats, most likely ones she'd owned before.
But these cats were somewhat unusual in their appearance; their ears were a bit larger than those of typical cats and the tips of their tails were slightly plumed. Their coats were lightly spotted, speckled, or even flecked.
All of the photographs were given nameplates to identify each cat and the four on Miss Figg's sofa all wore collars with name tags of their own;
The first cat was grey with black flecks, its name tag read Tibbles. The second was pure white, its tag read Snowy. The third cat was black with a white face, paws, and tip of the tail, whose name tag read Mr. Paws. The fourth was light brown, with brown speckles and ear tufts, whose tag read Tufty.
The cats were curling up with her, as if they'd sensed her tiredness. They and their mistress were enjoying their relaxation until they were startled by a sudden burst of green flames and the face of Albus Dumbledore.
"Arabella!" He called.
"Oh, Albus!" she cried, embarrassed by her indecency.
"Please forgive me for the intrusion, Arabella," Dumbledore implored.
"Albus, I completely forgot to tell you..." Miss Figg interrupted.
"I am well aware that Harry has left Britain, Arabella," Dumbledore confirmed. "I've been given a note that he had written to the Weasleys about his sudden departure. What involvement do the Dursleys have in this?"
"They left with him just this morning," Arabella replied.
"Then that leaves Harry's protection perfectly in place," Dumbledore realized, sighing in relief. "But exactly where have they gone?"
"I can't say for sure," Arabella replied. "But Harry's uncle told me it was somewhere west of Costa Rica. He also said some old friend of Lily and James' was providing them with a free holiday."
"Then we are left with only two means of locating Harry," Dumbledore concluded. "We either seek him out on our own or hope he brought his wand and wait for the trace to activate."
"Albus!" Arabella gasped. "I can't believe you'd even suggest that. Surely, Harry would know better than that."
"Alas, I've known Harry to inherit both his mother's wit and his father's recklessness," Dumbledore sighed. "Just last summer, he received a warning from the Ministry for Improper Use of Underage Magic."
"He didn't!" Arabella gasped. "Well, that certainly explains the bars."
"Bars?" Dumbledore puzzled.
"On his window," Miss Figg added.
"I beg your pardon, Arabella? Dumbledore requested.
"This is only a rumor, but last summer, people in the neighborhood have said that the Dursleys put bars on Harry's window for ruining a meeting with some important clientele," Arabella explained. "That must be what the warning was about."
"Are you sure this is only a rumor?" Dumbledore implored.
"I don't have anything else to hang on," Arabella denied. "But still, I'm not sure whether or not to be surprised if it were true. I had to convince the Dursleys to let me watch Harry by convincing them I'd make his experience as mundane as possible."
"Really..." Dumbledore pondered.
"Yes, really," Arabella confirmed. "Frankly, I'm beginning to reconsider my position in this protection plan of yours."
"There will be no more mistakes, Arabella," Dumbledore promised. "I'll gather a search party and we'll scout for possible locations near Costa Rica."
The flames in Miss Figg's fireplace died out and the face of Dumbledore disappeared. But as he sat in his office, he had no realization that Harry was somewhere with bars on his window, and he'd be taken out of there the following morning.
