The Burning of Privet Drive

The nights at number 4 Privet Drive were quiet. The only noises heard in the very normal household were the snores of the inhabitants and the ticking clock in the downstairs hallway. The one person in the house not asleep was a young boy in a cupboard underneath the stairs.

Harry Potter could feel sweat trickling down his brow, his breathing at a rapid pace. He scrunched his eyes to hold off his nausea, as his nerves were nearly too much for him to handle. The clock chimed at midnight, the noise causing the boy to flinch and to let out a light gasp. Harry felt a spike of panic and adrenaline traverse his body. "I have to do this," he whispered to himself repeatedly.

After a minute of quiet self-reassurance and deep breaths, shaky hands grasped a bobby pin and, with an ability that showcased his experience, the young boy quickly unlocked the lock on the cupboard door. Small feet slowly left the cupboard and inched their way to the front door. A misplaced step on the wooden floor caused a noticeable creak in the house. Harry froze and does not dare move, hoping the noise failed to awaken his relatives. After a minute of paranoid listening and when he was assured it was safe, Harry again treks his way to the front door and successfully make his way to the outside world. He stood on the front porch and looked along Privet Drive.

With no one in sight and cool fresh air entering his lungs, Harry found himself at a crossroads, a choice that would shape his destiny for the rest of his life. On one hand, he could keep walking and hope the police would not pick him up. It would not even be hard, one foot in front of the other, and he would be free. However, he had done this before, and when the police discovered the young boy and returned him to his relatives, his punishment was extensive. Recalling his experience on the doorstep of the house, Harry felt a spike of fear, and he knew he could not risk being found and returned to his aunt and uncle.

His eyes looked to his left to the bushes he pruned earlier that day, a red can only slightly visible beneath the foliage in the darkness. The boy licked his chapped lips nervously. He knew what happened when a lit match was put into gasoline. His cousin, Dudley, once threatened to burn him with it. He took a deep breath as he knew it is too late to back out. Earlier that day, Harry stole a red gas can from a neighbor's open shed. While his aunt's attention focused elsewhere, he superglued the upstairs windows shut with glue he stole from the garage. If anyone noticed the windows were glued shut or the neighbor's gas can was missing, he knew he would be discovered.

Harry fortified himself and quietly picked up the gasoline can. He opened the container and began to trickle a line of gasoline from the front door to kitchen and up the stairs. With extreme caution, Harry slowly poured the volatile liquid into the rooms of his relatives. Throughout this process, Harry's skin became clammy, and his nausea reached new peaks. He knew this was not what good children were supposed to do. He knew his aunt and uncle gave him a roof over his head, but he could not live at number 4 Privet Drive any longer.

Harry stepped in front of his cupboard, his only comfort to him throughout his time with the Dursleys. He poured the rest onto his ratty mattress and mourned his only home. Ensuring that the doors were jammed as much as he could, he threw the match into the hallway and closed the front door.

As soon as he the match hit the wooden floor, flames rocketed towards the ceiling. Harry ran.

Years later, after Dumbledore was dead and the Dark Lord defeated, Harry sat and recalled that night. He still vividly remembered the screams and the smell of burning flesh, the bangs as the Dursleys attempted and failed to escape, the tears that ran down his face and his hysterical laughter. Later, when Hermione noticed the smile on Harry's face and the peaceful look in his eyes, she asked him why smiled. He told her the truth.

"I'm happy," hey said. "I'm free now."